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Edited by Kristen Walker Painemilla, Anthony B. Rylands, Alisa Woofter and Cassie Hughes

Edited by Kristen Walker Painemilla, Anthony B. Rylands, Alisa Woofter and Cassie Hughes

Conservation International 2011 Crystal Drive, Suite 500 Arlington, VA 22202 USA Tel: +1 703-341-2400 www.conservation.org Editors : Kristen Walker Painemilla, Anthony B. Rylands, Alisa Woofter and Cassie Hughes Cover design Paula K. Rylands, Conservation International : Layout: Kim Meek, Washington, DC Maps [except where noted otherwise] Kellee Koenig, Conservation International : Conservation International is a private, non-profit organization exempt from federal income tax under section 501 c (3) of the Internal Revenue Code. ISBN 978-1-934151-39-6 © 2010 by Conservation International All rights reserved. The designations of geographical entities in this publication, and the presentation of the material, do not imply the expression of any opinion whatsoever on the part of Conservation International or its supporting organizations concerning the legal status of any country, territory, or area, or of its authorities, or concerning the delimitation of its frontiers or boundaries. Any opinions expressed in this publication are those of the writers, and do not necessarily reflect those of Conservation International (CI). Suggested citation: Walker Painemilla, K., Rylands, A. B., Woofter, A. and Hughes, C. (eds.). 2010. Indigenous Peoples and Conservation: From Rights to Resource Management. Conservation International, Arlington, VA. Cover photos: Background: Red-and-green macaw (Ara chloroptera) with two Kayapo children, Pará, Brazil. © Cristina G. Mittermeier. Left column (from top to bottom): Man in native dress at the Celebration of the YUS (Yopno, Uruwa, and Som watersheds) Conservation Area Dedication in Teptep village, Papua New Guinea. © Bruce Beehler/Conservation International. Woman carrying firewood, Valparai, Annamalai range, Western Ghats, Tamil Nadu, India. © Russell A. Mittermeier/Conservation International. Net-fishing in winter: Pikangikum First Nation in the Canadian boreal forest, northwestern Ontario. © N. Deutsch. Aboriginal man, Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, sacred site of the Anangu aboriginal people, Northern Territory, central Australia. © Sterling Zumbrunn/Conservation International. Section photos: Page 3 Kaieteur Falls (226 m), Potaro River, Kaieteur National Park, southern Guyana. © Russell A. Mittermeier/Conservation International. Page 4 War orphans living at the Tayna Center for Conservation Biology, North Kivu province, in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo. The center is an educational project to reinforce the operational and scientific capacities of the Union of Associations for Conservation of Gorillas and for Development in the East Democratic Republic of Congo (UGADEC) that comprises eight community conservation reserves in the region, including the Tayna Gorilla Reserve created in 1998 nearby. © John Martin/Conservation International. Page 60 Floating markets are a common tradition throughout Southeast Asia where the numerous rivers and waterways are a primary means of transportation and commerce between villages: Bangkok, Thailand. © Art Wolfe. Page 196 Fijian farmer with taro leaves. Taro roots and leaves are important foods for Fijians. © Haroldo Castro/Conservation International. Page 256 Woman feeding her butterflies in Amani Nature Reserve, Tanzania. Bee-keeping and butterfly farms are providing income for the people living near the reserve. © 2009 Per-Anders Pettersson.

Table of Contents
Preface ......................................................................................................................................... vii .
Victoria Tauli-Corpuz

Foreword ....................................................................................................................................... ix
Russell A. Mittermeier

Introduction ................................................................................................................................... 1
Kristen Walker Painemilla

Human Rights and Conservation ................................................................................................... 5
Ron Reed and Kari Marie Norgaard

Salmon Feeds Our People: Challenging Dams on the Klamath River ...............................................7

Conflicts about Biocultural Diversity in Thailand : Karen in the Thung Yai Naresuan World Heritage Site Facing Modern Challenges ............................................................................17
Reiner Buergin

Indigenous Peoples and the Struggle for Governance of Natural Resources in Belize ........................................................................................................................................27
Gregory Ch'oc

Co-Management, Conservation, and Heritage Land in the Kalahari ..............................................39
Cassie Hughes

Indigenous People and the Kahuzi-Biega National Park in the Democratic Republic of the Congo ...............................................................................................49
Dominique Bikaba

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Table of Contents

Natural Resource Management ................................................................................................... 61 Beauty, Power, and Conservation in the Southeast Amazon: How Traditional Social Organization of the Kayapo Leads to Forest Protection ......................................................63

Barbara Zimmerman

Indigenous People and Conservation: The Suledo Forest Community in Tanzania ........................73
Joseph L. Massawe

Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area: A New Approach to Protected Area Management in Australia ...................................................................................................................................81
Dermot Smyth, Djawa Yunupingu and Steven Roeger

Marine-Based Community Conserved Areas in Fiji: An Example of Indigenous Governance and Partnership ........................................................................................................95
Mark A. Calamia, David I. Kline, Sireli Kago, Kerry Donovan, Sirilo Dulunaqio, Taito Tabaleka and B. Greg Mitchell

Building a Shared Vision with Indigenous People: Biodiversity Conservation in the lower Río Caquetá, Colombia ...............................................................................................115
Erwin Palacios, Adriana Rodríguez, Darío Silva Cubeo, Celina Miraña and Célimo Mora Matapí

Conservation in Amazonian Indigenous Territories: Finding a Common Agenda in the Wetlands of the Abanico del Pastaza ................................................................................125
Aldo Soto, Mariana Montoya and Hernán Flores

Beekahncheekahmeeng Ahneesheenahbay Ohtahkeem (Pikangikum Cultural Landscape) : Challenging the Traditional Concept of Cultural Landscape from an Aboriginal Perspective ......137
Iain Davidson-Hunt, Paddy Peters and Catie Burlando

The Impact of Participatory Forest Management: The Experience from Lulanda Village, Southern Tanzania .........................................................................................................145
Charles Meshack and Kerry A. Woodcock

Managing Traditional Lands for Conservation and Development: The Wai Wai in Southern Guyana ....................................................................................................................155
Community Members of Masakenari, Susan Stone, Andrew Demetro, Margaret Gomes and Curtis Bernard

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Indigenous Peoples and Conservation: From Rights to Resource Management

Table of Contents

Biodiversity Management in New Caledonia: The Co-management Conservation Project in the Mount Panié Reserve .......................................................................171
Henri Blaffart† , Djaek Folger and François Tron

Indigenous and Local Community Based Conservation in India: Current Status and Future Prospects ..................................................................................................................181
Ashish Kothari and Neema Pathak

Traditional Knowledge ............................................................................................................... 197 The Bugakhwe and the || Anikhwe San of the Okavango Panhandle: Traditional Knowledge, Conservation and Empowerment ..........................................................199
Alison White and the || Anikhwe and the Bugakhwe San of the Okavango Panhandle

The Tlingit Way of Conservation: A Matter of Respect ................................................................211
Thomas F. Thornton and Herman Kitka Sr.†

Traditional Ecological Knowledge for Improved Sustainability: Customary Wildlife Harvests by Maori in New Zealand .............................................................................................219
Henrik Moller and Phil O’B. Lyver

Using Traditional Knowledge to Address Climate Change: The Fiji Scenario ...............................235
Joeli Veitayaki and Loraini Sivo

Indigenous Wildlife Monitoring in Canada’s North: A Community-Based Initiative on the Beverly-Qamanirjuaq Barren-Ground Caribou Range ........................................247
Anne Kendrick and Micheline Manseau

Innovative Approaches .............................................................................................................. 257 Chalalan — The Process and Impacts of an Indigenous Ecotourism Enterprise ............................259
Cándido Pastor Saavedra

The Forest Stewards: An Innovative Approach to Conserving Cultural and Biological Diversity in the Heart of New Guinea .........................................................................269
William Thomas

The Amani Butterfly Project: Butterfly Farming and Forest Conservation in the East Usambara Mountains, Tanzania ....................................................................................277
Theron Morgan-Brown

Table of Contents

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Table of Contents

Establishing an Indigenous-Run Ecolodge and Protected Area in Southern Suriname ................287
Annette Tjon Sie Fat, Stanley Power and Krisna Gajapersad

La Gran Reserva Chachi: Integrating Biodiversity Conservation and Indigenous Community Development in Ecuador .........................................................................................299
Margarita Mora, Aaron Bruner, Wilton Díaz, María Cristina Félix, Free de Koning, Marina Kosmus, Tannya Lozada, Alonso Moreno, Luis Suárez, Damian Villacrés and Patricia Zurita

Kokolopori and the Bonobo Peace Forest in the Democratic Republic of Congo: Prioritizing the Local in Conservation Practice ............................................................................311
L. Alden Almquist, Albert L. Lokasola, Sally J. Coxe, Michael J. Hurley and John S. Scherlis

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Indigenous Peoples and Conservation: From Rights to Resource Management

Preface

t is a known fact that there have been, and still are, tensions between conservation NGOs and indigenous peoples. I still remember the first time I visited Greenland in 1993. An issue raised by the Inuit was the ban on seal hunting; severely undermining their subsistence hunting livelihood and the incomes they earned from trading seal fur. The seals compete with the Inuit for the fish catch. This is a clear example of how conservation objectives and economic development can be in conflict. The intensity of tensions such as these is abating over the years. This is due to a number of factors. One is the increasing efforts of indigenous peoples and conservationists to come together to deal with problems raised by indigenous communities in relation to the conservation efforts which affect them. Indigenous peoples’ movements, from local to global, are gaining strength, and governments, corporate business and the conservation community cannot continue to ignore our assertion of our rights to our lands, territories and resources, and to self-determination. The adoption of the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples by the United Nations General Assembly on 13 September 2007 is a second factor. This declaration sets the minimum standards that should be adhered to by nation-states and broader society to ensure our dignity and our continuing survival as distinct and diverse peoples and cultures. Another factor is our success in creating spaces and bodies within the United Nations that address our issues and which are mandated to provide advice to States and the international community. These bodies within the UN monitor whether our well-being and rights are promoted, respected and protected. The United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues is an example. I chaired the Forum over the past five years, and continue now as a member. The Forum provides for dialogue between indigenous peoples, states, the UN system, civil society, and academia to address the tensions between them and to search for solutions. Last, but not least, is our increasing participation in the processes of multilateral environmental agreements such as the UNFCCC and the CBD1. We are championing the need to ensure that the ecosystems approach and the human-rights-based approach to development are the guiding frameworks for the policies, agreements and the implementation of these conventions. Our worldview is driven by the imperative to live in harmony and in reciprocity with Mother Earth and all of creation. It defines who we are and underpins our practices, and we are striving to make the Parties and dominant society understand that it comprises many solutions to the ecological crisis facing the world today.

I

1

United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCC) and the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD).

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Preface

It is in this context that this book is important, providing as it does more visibility to the collective practices and thinking of both indigenous peoples and conservationists. As our generation is simultaneously confronted with the global ecological crisis and the global economic crisis, we are compelled to seriously address the balance between conservation and human rights and development at multiple scales, and to demonstrate in practice that it is possible to maintain it. We indigenous peoples have proven that we are still active custodians of Mother Earth. Many of the case studies in this book provide evidence for this. Our capacity to continue carrying out this noble task is limited, however. The partnership between us and the conservation NGOs has to be nurtured to achieve this mission but should be within the framework of the respect for and implementation of the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. I congratulate the authors and Conservation International for compiling this book. The stories told testify to the continued determination and capacity of indigenous peoples worldwide to secure their rights and maintain their traditions, values and ways of life — livelihoods which are so closely entwined with and dependant on the wildlife and natural resources that are essential to the wellbeing of all of humankind.
Victoria Tauli-Corpuz Executive Director, Tebtebba Foundation and Member, United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues

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Indigenous Peoples and Conservation: From Rights to Resource Management

Foreword

I

am delighted to be able to write the foreword to this important book, a publication that I think is long overdue. Since entering the conservation business more than 40 years ago, I have always believed that those of us who work on issues of biodiversity conservation and those who focus on the rights, well-being, and aspirations of indigenous peoples really have much in common, and that we stand to gain an enormous amount by working in close collaboration. Indeed, many of the highest priority areas for biodiversity conservation fall within the borders of indigenous lands, and many of the world’s indigenous cultures, always so strongly dependent on nature, require the continued maintenance of intact natural landscapes. What is more, the vast wealth of traditional knowledge held by indigenous peoples, though often undervalued and rapidly disappearing, can make a major contribution to providing economic justification for biodiversity conservation, in addition to the great importance that such knowledge continues to have for the people themselves. Another common element is that neither biodiversity conservation nor the rights of indigenous peoples has ever been very high on the list of priorities of the global community, and both have been, and continue to be, grossly under-funded at both global and national levels. To be sure, the past has seen conservation-induced injustices to indigenous peoples, and at times they have been disastrous for local communities. These pale, however, beside the injustices wrought by poorly-planned development, be it from massive hydroelectric dams, commercial logging, or widespread land conversion for agriculture, not to mention the large scale take-over of indigenous lands since the earliest days of European colonization. With the world facing a never-ending onslaught of threats from climate change that put at risk the survival of entire island nations, to large-scale conversion of rain forests to commercial monoculture agriculture, to oil spills of unimagined scale, to the continued environmental impacts of war, if ever there was a time to elevate the importance of both issues and to demonstrate their commonalities, it is now. We can and we must find common cause, and work in the closest possible collaboration to counter the real threats that face us all. Conservation International has been involved in indigenous issues since its creation in 1987. We have always recognized the need to work with people in order to achieve biodiversity conservation objectives, and this has been reflected in every project that we have conducted or helped to support. Our new mission, articulated in 2009, puts human well-being as the principal focus of our work, and very often this translates to work with indigenous communities. Some of CI’s most important long-term projects, such as our efforts with the Kayapo people of the southeastern Brazilian Amazon, the Trio people of southern Suriname, the Wai Wai of Guyana, and the Mayan people of southern Mexico, Guatemala, and Belize, date back to the late 1980s and early 1990s, and we now work with more than 50 indigenous groups around the world. We are particularly proud to have been one of the first conservation organizations to develop “Principles for Partnership with Indigenous Peoples”, as long ago as 1996. We updated this statement in 2003, and, with input from many indigenous leaders, a new revision is underway which will be finalized in 2010. In 2003, we consolidated our work with ix Foreword

indigenous peoples into the Global Indigenous and Traditional Peoples Program, and we also provide major support for projects by indigenous peoples through our CI Field programs present in over 30 countries, and through the Global Conservation Fund, the Critical Ecosystem Partnership Fund, and our Conservation Stewards Program. Last but not least, CI has recently signed onto a Conservation Initiative on Human Rights (CIHR) that affirms the commitment of the CEOs of major conservation organizations to improve the practice of conservation by integrating a human rights approach into existing conservation policy and practice. Although conflicts still exist, there is a growing recognition of the fact that biodiversity conservation and the well-being of indigenous peoples have much in common. The role of indigenous people in international conventions such as the CBD and the UNFCCC, along with the various international gatherings organized by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), including the World Parks Congress and the World Conservation Congress, has grown significantly over the past decade. This is due in part to the struggle of indigenous peoples for the recognition of their rights over the past thirty years, and reflected globally with the adoption of the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in 2007. One of CI’s most important objectives is to support and strengthen the capacity of indigenous peoples to engage as full partners in policy dialogue and negotiations in conservation-related events and the design and implementation of conservation programs, with the full range of knowledge and a complete understanding of the options available to them. A recent example of this is the creation, in 2009, of the CI-facilitated Indigenous Advisory Group, which will give indigenous peoples a voice in the development of conservation- and climate-related activities, not only of CI as an organization, but also in influencing the CBD, UNFCCC, and national level processes that affect their rights. In 2010, CI launched the Indigenous Leadership Conservation Fellowship Program at the meeting of the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Peoples. From a personal perspective, I have had a strong interest in indigenous cultures since childhood and a strong commitment to indigenous peoples since my first field work in Amazonia in the early 1970s. Although I am first of all a primatologist and herpetologist, both my undergraduate degree and my PhD are in biological anthropology, and part of my PhD research was on the interactions between wildlife and indigenous cultures (the African Maroons and the Amerindians) in the rain forests of Suriname. Indeed, I have spent a large portion of my fieldwork visiting indigenous communities in many parts of the world to better understand their needs and aspirations, their relationship with the wildlife that is such an essential part of their lives and cultures, and how to resolve whatever conflicts might exist. I have no doubt that this personal commitment will continue into the future, and that it will be reflected both in my own activities and in the priorities of our organization. In closing, I would like to congratulate the editors and authors of this volume, which is sure to be the most influential of its kind to date and hopefully the first of many to come. I have no doubts that it will make a major contribution in demonstrating the strong links between indigenous peoples and biodiversity conservation and that it will help us to develop more and greater opportunities for close collaboration in the near future.
Russell A. Mittermeier President, Conservation International and Vice-President, International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN)

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Indigenous Peoples and Conservation: From Rights to Resource Management

Introduction

any indigenous communities depend directly on natural ecosystems for their livelihoods — wild plants and animals for food, for clothing, for fuel, medicine, and shelter. The economy, identity, and cultural and spiritual values, as well as the social organization of indigenous peoples, are closely linked to biological diversity and natural ecosystems. Many of the landscapes where indigenous people live are of extraordinary value not only for their beauty and the regional ecosystem services they sustain, but also for their biodiversity. As such, indigenous peoples and their land holdings are a vital strategic component in regional and national conservation strategies. However, indigenous territories are often situated in landscapes experiencing rapid social and economic change resulting from factors such as the immigration of farmers and ranchers, and from logging and mining. Deforestation and forest fragmentation increasingly affect indigenous lands as road networks expand into wilderness areas. Climate change also undoubtedly threatens indigenous communities through increased drought conditions, exacerbated by regional deforestation and wildfires. Forest degradation and impoverishment is decreasing the availability of natural resources for indigenous communities. Amplifying these issues is the creation of international and national market mechanisms focused on carbon offsets that can easily target intact indigenous lands. Fortunately, indigenous communities have responded to these threats and raised their voices to demand their traditional rights and greater protection for the renewable resources of the forests, wetlands, lakes, rivers, and streams upon which they depend. They have initiated successful (and ongoing) campaigns to maintain their rights to natural resources and legally-define territories where they can establish adaptive management schemes that are based on their traditional knowledge. Indigenous organizations have engaged in international discussions on climate change and biodiversity and have supported initiatives to conserve forest habitats. After a 30-year struggle, the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples1 was adopted in September 2007. This declaration, along with internationally recognized legal instruments, has proven a strong instrument for indigenous peoples in their struggle to defend their rights and manage their natural resources both at the national level and in international negotiations concerning such as the UNFCCC and CBD.2

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1 The Declaration is a set of principles which describe equality, non-discrimination, partnership, consultation and cooperation between Indigenous peoples and governments. It is a comprehensive standard on human rights for Indigenous Peoples. The Declaration is not legally binding and it does not compel governments to certain actions. Rather, it is an instrument for aspirations concerning human rights that explicitly encourages harmonious and cooperative relations between governments and Indigenous peoples. 2 United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCC) and the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD).

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Introduction

The purpose of this book is to document case studies from across the globe that will cover the diverse approaches that indigenous peoples and their partners have taken to achieve territorial rights, conserve biodiversity and improve their livelihoods. The book also discusses the major issues facing indigenous people and conservation groups, and the enormous challenges they face to obtaining long-term success. The authors include indigenous peoples and organizations, conservation practitioners and academia, providing as such a wide array of perspectives, perceptions, and realities to local contexts and situations. The book is divided into four sections, addressing the themes of Human Rights and Conservation, Natural Resources Management, Traditional Knowledge and Innovative Approaches. While the themes of the book are interrelated, all are underpinned by the urgent need for the conservation of nature and natural resources and support for livelihood development of indigenous peoples. The division of the book provides the opportunity to look at similar case studies and different approaches, albeit in a small sample of the extraordinary cultural and biological diversity that is so massively threatened worldwide.
Kristen Walker Painemilla Indigenous and Traditional Peoples Program Conservation International

Acknowledgments
The editors sincerely thank the staff of Conservation International’s Indigenous and Traditional Peoples Program, particularly Susan Stone, Johnson Cerda, Theresa Buppert and Adrienne McKeehan, and also Suzanne Zweizig, John Watkin, Kim Meek (layout), Kellee Koenig (maps), Paula K. Rylands (cover design), Olivier Langrand, Russell Mittermeier and Vicky Tauli-Corpuz, whose support and wisdom in their various areas of expertise has been invaluable. The publication of this book would not have been possible without the generous support of the Gordon and Betty Moore Foundation, The Edward E. Hills Fund, and an anonymous private donor. We are most grateful to the following for allowing us to publish their photographs: Vitus Antone, Bruce Beehler, Martin Bendeler, Curtis Bernard, Haroldo Castro, Raju Das, N. Deutsch, Julie Futter, Marna Herbst, Vinicio Linarez, Isidore Kikukama, John Kahekwa, Brian Karl, Paiakan Kayapo, John Martin, Betsie Meyer, Hamadiel Mgalla, Adam Mgovano, Cristina G. Mittermeier, Russell A. Mittermeier, Henrik Mouritson, Takeshi Murai, Jamie Newman, Josh Newman, Jeffry Oonk, Par Oscarson, Michael Tweddle and Robert Urassa. Finally, the editors would like to acknowledge and pay respect to indigenous peoples across the world in their struggle for their rights, and the preservation of their cultures, traditions and livelihoods, and the wildlife, lands, rivers, and seas so vital to them.

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Indigenous Peoples and Conservation: From Rights to Resource Management

Human Rights and Conservation uman well-being and environmental protection are interconnected and essential goals of the global community, as reflected in the Universal Declaration on Human Rights1, in Principle 1 of the Stockholm Declaration 2, and, more recently, in the Millennium Development Goals, and the 2007 passing of the Universal Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP). Throughout the world, land and natural resources provide indigenous people with their primary sources of food, their freshwater, their traditional medicines, and the materials for their needs (houses, cooking utensils, canoes, hunting weapons, and cultural artifacts, etc.), and are tightly interwoven with their cultural identity and livelihoods. Indigenous peoples have always protected their lands and the rich resources they hold; managing their resources through customary laws and traditional practices. Some of the best protected biodiversity-rich areas are those in the lands and territories of indigenous peoples. Indigenous peoples have been using UNDRIP as a mechanism to leverage their rights and secure their participation in local, national and international processes that directly or indirectly affect their communities. Securing their basic human rights, their rights to their lands, and their access to the natural resources they depend upon is increasingly affected, however, by the shocks and stresses induced by such as climate change, violent conflicts and natural disasters, as well as the developmental trends of, for example, population growth and agricultural expansion, and megaprojects such as the construction of large dams and highways. Many indigenous peoples have suffered discrimination within their national context in terms of their culture, language, and religious beliefs, and their rights to use and occupy lands where they have lived for hundreds of years or even millennia. Reed and Noorgard document the devastating effects of six dams affecting the fish stocks, principally salmon, that are the mainstay of the diet and livelihoods of the northern Californian Karuk Indians. In Belize, the Sarstoon Temash National Park of 16,590 ha was created in 1994, and no one doubted the immense importance of the lands, rivers and wildlife that it was to protect. Ch’oc relates how the indigenous communities (Q’eqchi and Garifuna) there faced not only judicial difficulties in establishing their permanence but also had to fight the subsequent concession of rights for petroleum companies to enter the park, in contravention to the very decree that was resulting in their exclusion. Other

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1 The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) is a declaration adopted by the United Nations General Assembly on 10 December 1948 in Paris. The Declaration has been translated into at least 375 languages and dialects, making it the most widely translated document in the world [1]. The Declaration arose directly from the experience of the Second World War and represents the first global expression of rights to which all human beings are entitled. It consists of 30 articles which have been elaborated in subsequent international treaties, regional human rights instruments, national constitutions and laws. 2 Stockholm Declaration on the Human Environment (1972), laid out common principles to inspire and guide the peoples of the world in the preservation and enhancement of the human environment

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Human Rights and Conservation

examples can be found in the section on Natural Resource Management, notably the report by Soto et al. on the fight of the Achuar and Kandozi peoples to put a stop to the pollution and degradation of rivers and forests resulting from the poor environmental practices and negligence of petroleum companies in the wetlands of the Abanico del Pastaza, Peru. As with the Mayan communities in southern Belize, threats to the livelihoods of indigenous communities also come paradoxically from the efforts of conservationists and governments to halt environmental degradation and protect the very natural resources upon which they depend. Setting aside extensive areas of wilderness as protected areas has been the single most successful means for the long-term conservation of nature, threatened species, and entire landscapes worldwide. The original model for this was the national park that excluded all human activities — nature left to thrive without the depredations and pollution of human communities. The implicit notion that humans cannot be a part of natural ecosystems comes ironically from an acceptance that the modern industrial developmental models are, in very large part, entirely destructive of nature and ruinous for current ideals of healthy ecosystems and the maintenance of ecosystem services. This exclusionary approach has of course been disastrous for many indigenous peoples. It has been rightly criticized for its disregard of internationally recognized human rights, and in many cases it is seen as directly, and perversely, undermining the very conservation objectives themselves3. Buergin discusses the situation concerning protected areas and resettlement of Hill tribe communities, in Thailand, particularly focusing on the Karen living in the Thung Yai Naresuna Wildlife Sanctuary. Gregory Ch’oc reports on the remarkable struggle of Mayan communities in asserting their rights to return to land decreed as the Sarstoon Temash National Park in the Toledo District of Belize; land they have occupied since well before European colonization. Hughes documents the extraordinary story of the Khomani San Bushmen who achieved their right to return to the Kalahari Gemsbok National Park in 1999 after nearly 70 years of exile following its creation in 1931. Last in this section, Bikaba relates the complex situation of the Pygmy communities living in and around their ancestral lands that now constitute the Kahuzi-Biega National Park in the Democratic Republic of Congo, created in 1970 and expanded in 1975 to 600,000 ha. The creation of the park was followed by forced expropriation and exile. The situation of the Pygmies is still undefined and many will probably never return, having already lost their capacity to live in the forest. Bikaba argues that an appropriate solution for the Pygmies is vital not just for their welfare but also for the future of the park, it being impossible to preserve the forests and wildlife without the direct and positive involvement of the communities around it.

3

Rights-based Approach (RBA) to Conservation: https://community.iucn.org/rba1/RBA%20Wiki/RBA%20to%20Conservation.aspx

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Human Rights and Conservation

Salmon Feeds Our People:
Challenging Dams on the Klamath River

Ron Reed and Kari Marie Norgaard

Quick Facts
Country: United States of America Geographic Focus: Klamath River Basin on the California Oregon border Indigenous Peoples: The Klamath River Basin is a national ecological treasure, encompassing steep mountains and canyons, high desert, lush rainforests and wetlands, and salmon spawning streams.

Introduction
This is a story of how an impoverished northern California tribe challenged a massive Goliath — a huge private utility corporation. It is about one piece in the current struggle of the Karuk People in the Klamath River Basin to retain cultural traditions and restore their river ecosystem. Here we describe how a study was conducted that articulated a formerly unseen connection between human and environmental health, and which became an important piece in legal proceedings underway that may result in the largest dam removal effort in history. With over 3,200 members, the Karuk Tribe is the second-largest American Indian tribe in California. The Karuk are a fishing people, who have managed their Klamath River fishery in a way that provides for its sustainability through the use of ceremony and harvest techniques in coordination with neighboring tribes. This they have been doing for tens of thousands of years or, as the Karuk say, since the beginning of time. However, the salmon populations have been damaged by over-fishing and the degradation of their habitats since the arrival of non-Indians in the 1850s. Today, farmers in the upper reaches of the river basin remove so much water for agriculture that river flow drops to very low levels during summer and fall when water temperatures are highest. A series of five dams, built from 1917 to 1962 and operated by PacifiCorp, blocks access to 90% of the spawning habitat of the most important salmon run, the Spring Chinook. As a result, the populations of this and many other aquatic species, such as lamprey and sturgeon, which are so important to the Karuk people, have plummeted. Interestingly, despite more than 100 years of onslaught, salmon populations maintained numbers sufficient to continue as a significant food supply for the Karuk until the 1980s. Because the area is remote and many Karuk people retain their traditional culture, a large number of people were able to continue eating salmon several times a day

Author Information
Ron Reed is a traditional Karuk Dipnet Fisherman and Cultural Biologist for the Karuk Tribe of California. He works for the Department of Natural Resources. E-mail: rreed@karuk.us Dr Kari Marie Norgaard is a Sociologist and Professor of Environmental Studies at Whitman College in Walla Walla, WA. E-mail: norgaakm@whitman.edu

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Human Rights and Conservation

when in season, right up to this time. In 2005 however, the entire tribe caught less than 100 fish all year. Since that time fish consumption has averaged less than five pounds per person per year. Consumption has been estimated at 450 lbs per person per year — over one pound per person per day — prior to European contact (Hewes 1973). This gives the Karuk the dubious distinction of suffering one of the most dramatic recent diet shifts of any tribe in North America. Due to the absolute degree to which Klamath river-dams are squelching the salmon runs, and despite the ongoing tribal traditions, surviving only by a thread, it is the belief of the authors that the dams on the Klamath are currently responsible for the most significant human rights violation resulting from any dam construction in the United States. Power companies are granted licenses to operate dams in the public interest by the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC). In 2006, the current license application for the dams on the Klamath River expired. If these licenses are not renewed, the dams that have so damaged the river ecosystems and the tribal people who depend upon them can be removed. Fisheries, biologists and tribal people have viewed this license expiration as the largest restoration opportunity of their lifetimes, and the only chance for the survival of the salmon. Many fear that by granting another 30- or 50-year license for dam operation, the FERC would effectively eliminate the salmon — and with them many fundamental aspects of Karuk culture and livelihood. The relicensing process involves years of scientific investigation and input and discussion from the communities that have been affected by the dam. Beginning in 2001, the first author, a traditional Karuk dipnet fisherman and a cultural biologist for the tribe, served as the Karuk tribal representative for the relicensing process. Reed attended meetings for one week of every month for five years. During that time his mother and several of his aunts died, all of them in their seventies or younger. Reed became convinced that the lack of healthy food, specifically the loss of salmon, was directly affecting the health of his people, leading to high rates of diabetes and heart disease and a decreased life expectancy. He spoke passionately about this problem in the meetings. In February 2004, PacifiCorp filed their final license application for the operation of the five dams. Despite years of meeting with the Karuk and other tribes who gave extensive

Figure 1. The Karuk are a fishing people who have sustainably-managed their Klamath River fishery through the use of ceremony and harvest techniques for tens of thousands of years. Since the arrival of nonIndians in the 1850s, however, the salmon populations have been damaged by over-fishing and the degradation of their habitat. Photo © Karuk People.

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Indigenous Peoples and Conservation: From Rights to Resource Management

Human Rights and Conservation

Figure 2. Ron Reed served as the Karuk tribal representative for the relicensing process. Reed became convinced that the lack of healthy food, specifically the loss of salmon, was directly affecting the health of his people, leading to high rates of diabetes, heart disease and a decreased life expectancy. Photo © Karuk People.

Figure 3. Klamath River Watershed with the designated dams and the Karuk Territory. Map courtesy of Conservation International.

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testimony as to the ecological and cultural impacts of the dams (not to mention testimony by commercial fishermen, scientists and environmental groups), the power company claimed that there were no impacts from their operation below the dams. In the words of Reed, “the document was five feet tall and contained no mention at all of our needs.” It was at this time that the authors of this essay began working together. Ron Reed approached Kari Norgaard and asked whether, as a professor of sociology, she could document, in scientific terms, how the loss of salmon affected the health of tribal members. Together we conducted a study and produced a report that made visible the relationship between ecological and human health in an entirely new way. Our report, the preliminary draft of which was written in a few short months, became the first example of a tribe articulating how the denial of access to traditional foods led to a spike in the rate of diabetes. It was also the first example of research that showed how dams led to major diet-related disease. The tribe has seen new doors open at decision-making tables as a result of these findings.

The Invisible Struggle
Since time immemorial Karuk people have relied directly on the land and rivers for food. With the invasion of their lands by European Americans, the circumstances of the Karuk people changed considerably. They suffered systematic, state genocide followed by decades of extreme discrimination and human rights violations. Today, the Karuk Tribe still struggles to recover from past genocide and ongoing discriminatory policies instituted by local, state and federal governments. As is the case for many native peoples around the world, much of their struggle is invisible. This invisibility is perpetuated by myths that American Indians are gone, or that they are fully assimilated. The recent political history of the Karuk Tribe is a story of success in the face of continued injustice. Despite direct genocide, forced relocation, economic hardship, and the lack of a reservation, a high percentage of tribal members continue to live in their ancestral territory. The Karuk did not gain Federal Recognition as an American Indian Tribe until 1979. The Karuk still have no reservation and no hunting and gathering rights, and only have rights, besides, to fish at one specific site for subsistence and ceremonial purpose. Beginning in the 1960s, as federal recognition accompanied changes in the political climate and gains in the courts for Indian people across the United States (for example, concerning fishing rights), the Karuk people experienced a political, economic and ethnic renewal (Nagel 1996; Bell 2002; Wilkinson 2005). Tribal members are now actively recovering cultural traditions, including the use of their language, ceremonial practices and traditional basket weaving. The Karuk Tribe today has an active Department of Natural Resources, which has a Fisheries Program, and is prominently involved in local land management. The present-day struggles of the Karuk people, however, are still significant. Poverty, food insecurity, diabetes, and emotional challenges plague them. As of 2007, the fundamental cultural, political and economic issues faced by the Karuk Tribe revolve around environmental policies affecting the Klamath River anadromous fishery and related cultural and natural resources. The Klamath River was once the third-largest salmon-producing river in the western United States. Early anthropologists marveled at the enormous abundance of natural resources available to the people living there. The Karuk, together with their neighboring tribes the Yurok and Hoopa, are considered to have been the wealthiest of all Indian people in California, and this wealth was a direct result of the Klamath River’s year-round abundance of food resources, particularly salmon. Today Karuk tribal members are amongst the poorest Californians; median income for Karuk families is US$13,000, and 90% of tribal members in Siskiyou County live below the poverty line (Norgaard 2005). According to both Karuk observations and the scientific literature, a number of factors either deny or limit the access of people to their traditional foods. Genocide and forced assimilation over the past century have led to a loss of traditional knowledge of the land (including the preparation and acquisition of traditional foods), and a change in the
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people’s tastes and desires. Yet, despite dramatic events early in the century, the testimonies of elders about foods they ate indicate that considerable changes have also occurred just within the last generation. These most recent changes are largely due to denied access to traditional foods. In particular, a series of four dams block the access of fish and other species to some 350 miles of spawning habitat in the upper basin. The Spring Chinook was a most important source of food for the Karuk people, not just in terms of the salmon species, the decline of which is most visibly linked to the construction of the dams, but because of many other species. At least 25 species of plants, animals and fungi that formed part of the traditional Karuk diet are currently limited or denied outright to the Karuk people (Norgaard 2005). The two foods that were most central to the Karuk diet, providing the bulk of energy and protein — salmon and tan oak acorns — are among the missing elements. The Karuk people are currently denied access to foods that represented upwards of 50% of their traditional diet. Until quite recently, the abundance of freshwater and upslope forest resources to which Karuk people had access provided a safety net of foods should one or other species fail to produce a significant harvest in a given year. Thus, while salmon were centrally important, other foods were also available, fresh and preserved, to provide nutrition throughout the year. Yet in 2006, populations of every freshwater food species consumed by Karuk tribal members were in decline. Now, so few fish exist that even ceremonial salmon consumption is limited. The elimination of traditional foods, including multiple runs of salmon, Pacific lamprey, sturgeon and other aquatic species, has had extreme adverse health, social, economic, and spiritual effects on the Karuk people. A series of health problems has emerged as the presence of healthy traditional foods has declined in the Karuk diet. Although ruination of their principal source of food was not employed as an intentional means of genocide of the Karuk people in the way that the destruction of the buffalo was for the Plains Indians the effect is very much the same. The Karuk People have a sacred inherent responsibility to protect salmon, which are even viewed as part of one big family with the people. The annual return of the salmon defines the reciprocal spiritual relationship between the Karuk people, the “Great Creator” and “Mother Earth.” On a material level they are an abundant, healthy food source, and their loss has had a profound effect on the physical health, economic circumstances and cultural practices of the Karuk. This is the perspective from the Karuk country. This is the perspective that the power company disregarded in their report on the impacts of their dams.

What We Did: Changing the Discourse with the Altered Diet Study
Previous research on the loss of traditional foods and tribal health focused on environmental contaminants such as mercury and Persistent Organic Pollutants. The focus of our work was different, however. People described their situation as a case of “denied access” to traditional foods. The inability to continue to eat their traditional foods — and the corresponding rise in diet-related diseases — was neither coincidental nor the fault of the Karuk people (who had somehow, it was implied, mysteriously become “poorly educated” with respect to healthy eating); rather it occurred because the state failed to protect tribal trust resources, despite their mandate to do so. We began our research by contacting anyone who might help us: diabetes researchers, medical practitioners, and traditional food experts and advocates. These people shared important research perspectives, medical data, and reports that formed the basis of our research design. We also began a series of interviews. We spoke to elders and gathered their testimony in oral interviews, including elders whose declining heart conditions had improved after eating salmon. To evaluate the prevalence of diet-related disease among the Karuk, in 2005 we obtained medical data on current rates of diabetes, heart conditions, high blood pressure, and obesity from the records of the Happy Camp Tribal Office, Happy Camp, California (see Norgaard 2005).
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In-depth interviews were conducted with 18 tribal members, gathering information on health, diet, food access and consumption, and economic conditions. Information was also gathered on family history and health conditions over time. These individuals served as “key informants” regarding a range of cultural and fisheries topics. Interviewees were women and men, ranging from age 30 to the mid-70s, and representative of various aspects of the community (members of Tribal Council and Staff, as well as people who had no role in the tribal organization). We also conducted a survey to obtain a wider view of community experience. The 2005 “Karuk Health and Fish Consumption Survey” had a response rate of 38% (90 of 238 questionnaires in all) (see Karuk Tribe 2005). Although we are unable to know the views of those who did not respond, we speculated, given the community demographics, that many of the non-respondents were more traditional, and had lower incomes than those who did respond. Through the survey we were able to see that, as suspected, there was a direct relationship between the disappearance of the Spring Chinook salmon and the emergence of diet-related diseases.

What We Found
In October 2004, the preliminary study, “The Effects of Altered Diet on the Health of the Karuk People”, was released; the full report was completed one year later (see Karuk Tribe 2005). The central thesis of the report was that the Karuk people were facing significant and costly health consequences as a result of denied access to many of their traditional foods. Not only does a traditional diet prevent the onset of conditions such as obesity, diabetes, heart disease, kidney trouble and hypertension, but, a traditional diet of salmon and other foods is one of the best treatments for such conditions. Salmon was estimated to have made up almost 50% of the energy and total protein intake in the diet of the Karuk before European contact (Hewes 1973). Limited access to traditional food forces the present Karuk population to buy most of their food in stores and/or rely on government commodities. These changes represent a major dietary shift. Through our survey we learned that, despite the reduced availability of salmon and other fish, a high percentage of Karuk families reported that someone in their household still fishes or hunts for food (Fig. 4). In 2004–2005, fishing for eels (Pacific lamprey and other lamprey species), Spring and Fall Chinook salmon, Coho and sturgeon all reached record lows. As shown in Figure 5, over 80% of the tribal members surveyed indicated that they were unable to gather adequate amounts of eel, salmon, stonehead, or sturgeon to fulfill their family needs.

Figure 4. Results of the 2005 Karuk Health and Fish Consumption Survey (n = 90 households). Fish diversity in the Karuk diet. The graph shows the percent of households that reported fishing for the different species in 2005. Source: Karuk Tribe (2005).

Figure 5. Results of the 2005 survey of Karuk tribal members (n = 18). Percent of members recording a shortfall in the Karuk People’s requirements for the four major fishery species in 2005. Source: Karuk Tribe (2005).

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Figure 6. Results of the questionnaire survey (n = 90). Dates when the households perceived that Spring Chinook was no longer a significant food source. The marked increase in the 1960s and 1970s, was associated with the completion of Iron Gate dam, the lowest of the five dams on the Klamath River. Source: Karuk Tribe (2005).

Figure 7. The percent incidence of diabetes in the Karuk by age group and in the entire population (gray columns) compared to the statistics for the entire USA (black columns). Sources: CDC (2003), Karuk Tribe (2005).

Furthermore, 40% of tribal members reported that there are species of fish that their family gathered in the past, but which they can no longer harvest. For most of these species the decline is quite recent. For example, over half the respondents reported that Spring Chinook lost significance as a food source during the 1960s and 1970s, within a decade of the completion of Iron Gate dam, the lowest of the five dams on the Klamath (Fig. 6), and only a few families continued to fish significant amounts into the 1980s and 1990s. Based on medical, survey and interview data, the Figure 8. The occurrence of diabetes rose significantly in families during identified health consequences of an altered diet for the the 1970s when Spring Chinook salmon dropped out of the diets of most Karuk people. Source: Karuk Tribe (2005). Karuk people included high rates of Type II diabetes, heart disease, and hypertension. The estimated diabetes rate for the Karuk Tribe in 2005 was 21%; nearly four times the US average (Fig. 7) (CDC 2003; Karuk Tribe 2005; Karuk medical data since 2005). The estimated rate of heart disease for the Karuk Tribe in the same year was 39.6% — three times the US average (Norgaard 2005). Despite the current epidemic levels, diabetes has only recently appeared in the Karuk population. Self-report data from the Karuk Health and Fish Consumption Survey (see Norgaard 2005) indicate that diabetes first appeared in most families (over 60%) after the 1960s (Fig. 8). It was during the 1960s and 1970s that Spring Chinook dropped out of the diets of most Karuk tribal members (Fig. 6), and shortly following this event, that diabetes was reported in high numbers (Fig. 8). Note below that diabetes begins to appear in about 30% of Karuk families roughly ten years following the loss of Spring Chinook salmon as a significant food source. The relationship between loss of fish in the diet and the incidence of diabetes may or may not be causal. The drop in Spring Chinook harvests and the rise in diabetes could be happening by chance, or due to some other outside force
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(such as people moving away from the river, or some dramatic event). Causality cannot be determined from the statistical analysis itself, but can be inferred from available information. First there was the fact that Native people around the world have experienced skyrocketing rates of diabetes concurrent with shifts from a traditional to a western diet. Second, doctors would recommend salmon as the ideal food to both prevent and cure diabetes. These two facts, together with the close temFigure 9. Graph showing the relationship between the decline in Spring poral association between the two events, make a very Chinook salmon populations after the building of the Iron Gate dam (the furthest downstream of the five built on the Klamath River during the compelling case for a causal relationship (Fig. 9). Lack of period 1917–1962) and the rise in the incidence of diabetes among the traditional food affects tribal members not only in that it Karuk. For more information on the dams, see . Source: Karuk Tribe (2005). decreases their nutritional intake related to specific foods, but also due to an overall lack of food. Poverty and hunger rates for the Karuk Tribe are among the highest in the state and nation. The poverty rate is between 80 and 85% (Data from 2004 Karuk Demographic Survey1). Finally, that Karuk tribal members are denied access to the healthy foods that have supported them since time immemorial also has costs for the broader society. Research by the American Diabetes Association has revealed that diabetics incur an average annual per capita health care cost of US$13,243 per person per year in the USA (American Diabetes Association 2003). Given the 148 diabetic tribal members in 2004, we calculated an estimated annual cost for Karuk tribal members at over 1.9 million dollars (ibid.). PacifiCorp does not reimburse the Karuk Tribe, nor do the Siskiyou and Humboldt Counties, for the increased health care costs. We argued that any cost-benefit analysis of the dams should include $1.9 million annually to provide medical services for the artificially high incidence of diabetes in the Karuk Tribe (Karuk Tribe 2005).

The Difference It Made: A Place at the Table
The above information was submitted to the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission. In 2005, we also released the report “The Effects of Altered Diet on the Health of the Karuk People” to the general public (Karuk Tribe 2005). It represents the first time in a dam re-licensing process that a tribe has described how dams have led to an environmental decline that, in turn, led to loss of traditional food sources and declining human health. It was a key moment when allies in the environmental movement put Reed in touch with a reporter at the Washington Post, who came for a full day visit and wrote a story that made the paper’s front page. That first story generated a second in the Associated Press, which was widely reprinted; there were dozens of additional news stories as well as coverage by local and regional radio stations. Since the release of the report and the political pressure it brought to bear, we found that our requests on behalf of the Karuk Tribe carried considerably more weight in meetings with PacifiCorp and other players. We spoke publicly on the report’s findings, and through contacts from these speaking engagements and as a result of the news coverage people

1 An internal survey conducted by the Karuk Tribe of California, Happy Camp Tribal Office, Happy Camp, CA.

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stepped forward offering resources, political connections and opportunities for future speaking. Reed now sits on the California Environmental Justice Advisory Board and was one of a handful of California delegates to the World Social Forum in 2007.

Conclusion and Next Steps
The Karuk and other Native American tribes in the United States and around the world are seeking to continue their traditional activities, including the use of their language, their ceremonial practices, land management systems and the consumption of traditional foods. The Karuk Tribe, in particular, is a poor people fighting one of the largest energy companies in the world. Many other tribes are also engaged in such fights against large corporations. Although their issues may vary according to the region, the type of environmental threat, and the extent the tribe has remained land-based, native peoples around the world face common challenges to their human rights, religious freedom, and access to traditional resources. What they all face, additionally, is the invisibility of their reality and their daily lives to the general public. This lack of awareness works together with outright racism, such as that which denied legitimacy to Reed’s voice until it was backed with evidence resulting from Norgaard’s research. Most Americans are so removed from the land that the concept of incurring real health effects from the loss of traditional foods is foreign to them. They are unaware of the connection between human and ecological health. One of the reasons our work was successful in changing the terms of the debate for the Karuk is that it made this connection visible along with the reality of daily life for Karuk people in ways that the dominant society could not ignore. As of this writing, Reed is participating in settlement negotiations that are now geared towards the real possibility of removing the dams. Reed and his family are working on many fronts to restore the river and the Karuk tribal culture, including continuing the practice of dipnet fishing at their ceremonial site and distributing fish to the community. They hope to begin culture camps for the youth and develop a facility for tribal members returning from prison to become involved in cultural practices. Norgaard is a Professor of Sociology and Environmental Studies at Whitman College, a small liberal arts school in eastern Washington. During the summer she takes her students to the Klamath area where they participate in research for the tribe. We continue to work together on research projects designed to increase the visibility of tribal needs in terms of diet and health. It has been no small task for a poor tribe such as the Karuk to challenge the will of a large multinational corporation. One important step was a media campaign and a trip overseas. In June of 2004, some two dozen members of four tribes, the Pacific Coast Federation of Fisherman’s Association and an environmental group, Friends of the River, traveled to Edinburgh, UK, to attend the shareholders meeting of Scottish Power, then owner of PacifiCorps. They captivated the Scottish media. On the day of the meeting, they rallied outside, obtained permission to speak inside the meeting and secured a private meeting with the CEO. If the dams on the Klamath River are removed it will be the largest peacetime dam removal project in history. This victory will be the achievement of the extended efforts of many people — we are just a few of the small army dedicated to the restoration of the river. We hope that other tribal people will be able to use some aspects of our approach as a template for their own work and to communicate the relationships between environmental and human health, and their circumstances within the continuum of genocide.

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Acknowledgments
Our work was supported by many people who shared their time and knowledge in the survey, interviews and throughout the research process. We thank all who made this project possible through their assistance. We are grateful to our families and also to Malcolm Terence for his editing.

Literature Cited
American Diabetes Association. 2003. Economic costs of diabetes in the U.S. in 2002. Diabetes Care 26(3): 917–932. Bell, M.K. 1991. Karuk: The Upriver People. Naturgraph Publishers, Happy Camp, CA. CDC. 2003. Diabetes Prevalence Among American Indians and Alaska Natives and the Overall Population–United States 1994–2002. Center for Disease Control (CDC), Atlanta. 2003/52 (30): 702–704. Hewes, G. 1973. Indian fisheries productivity in pre-contact times in the Pacific Salmon Area. Northwest Anthropological Research Notes 7(2): 133–155. Karuk Tribe. 2005. The Effects of Altered Diet on the Health of the Karuk People. Report on the Karuk Health and Fish Consumption Survey, Karuk Tribe, Happy Camp Tribal Office, Happy Camp, CA. 116pp. [Filed on behalf of the Karuk Tribe in the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission process on the relicensing of the Klamath Hydro Electric Project, November, 2005]. Nagel, J. 1996. American Indian Ethnic Renewal. Oxford University Press, New York. Wilkinson, C. 2005. Blood Struggle: The Rise of Modern Indian Nations. W.W. Norton & Co., New York.

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Conflicts about Biocultural Diversity in Thailand :
THAILAND

Karen in the Thung Yai Naresuan World Heritage Site Facing Modern Challenges¹
Reiner Buergin

Deforestation, Conservation and Community Forests Quick Facts
Country: Thailand Geographic Focus: The Thung Yai Naresuan Wildlife Sanctuary covering 320,000 ha is located on the western international border with Burma and is the core area of the Western Forest Complex, Thailand’s largest remaining forest area. Indigenous Peoples: People of the Karen ethnic minority group have been living in the area declared a Wildlife Sanctuary in 1974 for at least 200 years. Since the 1970s, various villages of ethnic minority groups, including Karen, have been resettled. In the late 1990s, some 3,000 almost exclusively ethnic Pwo Karen lived in the Wildlife Sanctuary. The remaining villages are threatened by resettlement and restrictions on their traditional sustainable land use system.

Author Information
Reiner Buergin is an Anthropologist with a background in Forestry. For his PhD project he carried out extensive field research in Thung Yai, studying problems of local change and land use in the context of national forest policies and international environmentalism. He is currently a lecturer at the Institute of International Forestry in Tharandt, Technical University Dresden, and researcher in the Working Group Socio-Economics of Forest Use in the Tropics at the University of Freiburg. E-mail: reiner.buergin@uni-freiburg.de

Biodiversity conservation in Thailand has focused on the establishment of protected areas that are controlled by the government. This modern approach to nature conservation gained strength in the 1950s during a period of pronounced nationalism, and resulted from the predominant international trend of presupposing an inherent incompatibility between nature conservation and resource use by local communities. Legal provisions for protected areas (PAs) were created in the 1960s, and the Royal Forest Department (RFD) was made responsible for their creation and management. During the first half of the 20th century, the main concern of the RFD was to allocate concessions for teak extraction. After World War II, tropical forests were increasingly seen as important resources for both industrialized and developing countries, and swidden cultivation was stigmatized as inefficient and detrimental to tropical forest resources. By the mid-1960s, almost 40% of Thailand’s land area was assigned to concession areas, and swidden cultivation was prohibited. At the same time, the demarcation of protected areas had begun, although it proceeded slowly at first. The global spread of modernization and the expanding world market was also influencing national agricultural policies. Thailand’s rapid economic growth during the 1960s and 1970s was based on the state-propagated extension of agricultural areas for the cultivation of cash crops for the world market. Along with a fast growing population, this policy resulted in rapid deforestation. From 1950 to the early 1980s, the forest cover in Thailand decreased from almost two-thirds to less than one-third of the country, and deforestation was increasingly perceived as a problem. The RFD had then to explain this rapid deforestation to a conservation-sensitive
1 The data and references on which this paper is based can be found in Buergin (2002).

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urban public with growing political power. It also had to deal with some 10 million rural people — about one-fifth of the total population — who were living “illegally” in areas declared forest reserves. Of these “forest areas,” more than onethird were used for agriculture, constituting at least one-third of Thailand’s entire agricultural area. In this situation of contested competence and growing resistance, the RFD concentrated on implementing a Protected Area System (PAS) that was to encompass 28% of the total land area of Thailand (Fig. 1). The issue of people in forest reserves, however, became an important societal controversy over social justice, resource control, land rights, and democratization (see Buergin and Kessler 2000). On the one side, the Forest Department together with primarily conservation-oriented NGOs and academics, concentrated on conservation issues. For them “people and forests cannot co-exist” and forest protection required the removal of human settlements. On the other side, peasant-movement groups, socially concerned academics, and people-oriented NGOs focused on the interests and problems of rural communities. They presupposed a vital interest of local communities in protecting their forests as a source of livelihood, as well as for ecological and cultural functions. To a large extent, this controversy developed in the context of drafting a Community Forest Bill (CFB), which was fiercely disputed throughout the 1990s (see Brenner et al. 1999). A so-called “people’s draft” was submitted to Parliament and passed in October 2001, but met heavy resistance in the Senate. It was adopted in March 2002, but only with significant revisions, triggering renewed national and international debates. In December 2007, the National

Figure 1. After World War II, the forest cover in Thailand decreased rapidly due to logging and the extension of agricultural areas. Until the 1980s, most forest areas where designated as concession areas. It was not until the 1970s that forest reserves and protected areas were increasingly demarcated. The discrepancy between areas declared forest reserves and real forested areas reflects growing societal conflicts about forests since the 1980s. The implementation of a Protected Area System (PAS) free of human settlement that encompasses 28% of the land area of Thailand complies with national and international calls for nature conservation. It threatens livelihoods and cultural identities of many people living in or close to protected areas, which predominantly are people of ethnic minority groups stereotyped as ‘hill tribes’.

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Legislative Assembly (set up after a military coup in 2006) approved the Bill just before dissolving, leaving its finalization to a new government. Specifically, the problem of communities and community forests in protected areas remained unsolved and controversial.

Protected Areas and “Hill Tribes”
The particularly problematic issue of ethnic discrimination is rarely addressed in the debate on forest legislation; most of the people living in areas designated for the PAs are members of “hill tribes”, who have a precarious status in Thai society. The term came into use in the 1950s as a generic name for various non-Tai 2 ethnic groups living predominantly in the uplands of northern and western Thailand. It soon acquired a negative stereotype, being associated with destruction of the forest, the cultivation of opium, and dangerous non-Thai troublemakers. During the 1960s and 1970s, the fight against opium cultivation and communist insurgency dominated hill tribe policies. By the mid-1980s, both issues had lost their urgency, but forest conservation had risen to a high level of public interest. The settlement areas of hill tribes were those areas where most of the remaining forests were to be found, and the hill tribes were conceived as the main “problem group” regarding deforestation. Forest conservation came to dominate hill tribe policies, and resettlement was the preferred solution. On ethnic minority groups and hill tribe policies in Thailand see Buergin (2000). On the local level as well, conflicts between ethnic Tai and hill tribe groups rose during the 1980s. Resource conflicts over land, forests, and water occurred as ethnic Tai farmers spread into the uplands, and as the populations of hill tribes grew and some of them took up cash cropping. Increasingly in the late 1990s, ethnic minority groups in the uplands were arbitrarily arrested, forcibly resettled, and terrorized. In the international debates on environment, development, and human rights, however, new conceptions of “traditional” or “indigenous” people 3 gained strength; increasingly conceiving them as promising partners in biodiversity conservation rather than as foes. In Thailand, likewise, an alternative image of “benign environmentalists” emerged in the 1990s for at least some of the ethnic minority groups in the uplands; prominent among them the Karen. In contrast to the stereotype of the forest-destroying hill tribes, which still prevails in Thailand, the Karen are increasingly referred to as “people living in harmony with nature.” This alternative stereotype — in Thailand as well as on the international level — meets with reproaches from various sides as being partly fictional, over-generalizing, or violating people’s rights to development. For the Karen, however, who never had access to the discussions in which these stereotypes were framed, this image of the benign environmentalists is one with which they can identify, at least to some degree. And for many of them who live in forests and protected areas it has become their most important asset in the national and international debates that will decide their future.4

History and Identity of Karen in Thung Yai
The case of the Karen groups living in the Thung Yai Naresuan Wildlife Sanctuary, on which the following account focuses, received considerable national and international attention, but cannot be easily generalized. In the late 1990s, some 3,000 people were living in Thung Yai. They were almost exclusively ethnic Pwo Karen, most of them born in

2 The term “Tai” is conventionally used to refer to linguistic or ethnic categories, while “Thai” indicates aspects of formal nationality and citizenship. 3 On problems regarding the concept of ‘indigenous people’ in Asia see specifically Kingsbury (1998). 4 Regarding ambiguities of these stereotypings see Buergin (2003).

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Thailand and within the sanctuary. Their ancestors had come to the area in the 18th century fleeing political and religious suppression in Burma. In the early 19th century, their leader was conferred a Siamese title of nobility as head of a principality with considerable importance for the Siamese Kings, as it guarded part of their western border with British-Burma. It was only in the beginning of the 20th century, after the establishment of the modern Thai nation state, that the Karen in Thung Yai lost their status. When they reappeared on the political scene towards the end of the 20th century, it was as forest encroachers and illegal immigrants. The Thai name Thung Yai (“big field”) refers to a savannah in the centre of the sanctuary. In Karen language this place is called pia aethala aethae, which may be translated as “place of the knowing sage,” referring to mythological hermits who are important for the identity of the Karen. The Karen see themselves as people living in and off the forest, part of a complex community of plants, animals, humans, and spiritual beings. Within this community, the Karen do not feel superior, but highly dependent on the other beings and forces. Living there requires adaptation as well as specific knowledge about the interdependencies and rules of this commuFigure 2. Karen village in the Thung Yai Naresuan Wildlife Sanctuary. In nity. Fostering relations with the various spiritual carethe late 1990s, some 3,000 people were living in Thung Yai. They were takers of this “forest community” is an important part almost exclusively ethnic Pwo Karen. of Karen life in the sanctuary. In these rules and norms, as well as in their daily practice of livelihood, the Karen conserve a very rich and specific knowledge about their environment, which — like their real and imagined history in Thung Yai — is at the heart of their identity.

Interethnic Encounters and Socio-political Transformations
Until the second half of the 20th century, when state institutions expanded into peripheral areas to control resources and people, external influences in Thung Yai were minimal. A crucial feature of Karen social organization in Thung Yai is their ancestor cult, ong chre. Until the 1960s, most of the households in Thung Yai practiced ong chre, which may be translated as “eating with the ancestors.” It is organized in matrifocal cult groups based on matrilineal descent. Children are born into their mother’s group, and men become members of their wife’s group when they marry, without leaving their mother’s group. Generally, the eldest female of the group

Figure 3. Ceremony for the guardian of the forest rukkhajue. As long as matrifocal cult groups were crucial for Karen social organization, ritual heads called thei ku fostered the relationship between each individual village and the “spirit of trees” rukkhajue. After the weakening of the matrifocal cult groups due to external influences, the Karen have started to pay respect to rukkhajue on a regional level as part of a big festival where all villages participate. This festival takes place in the big savannah (thung yai) to honour the aethae, mythological hermits who are important for the identity of the Karen. In Karen language this savannah is called pia aethala aethae, which may be translated as “place of the knowing sage.”

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is the ritual head of the cult groups. Households practicing ong chre are forbidden to raise chickens or pigs, or to consume alcohol, opium or marihuana. Furthermore, ong chre requires the purity of the village, which has to be restored in an annual village ceremony that has all villagers present while all outsiders have to leave the village. These requirements became difficult to meet after ethnic Tai people started to live in the Karen villages as government officials in the 1960s. As they generally raise pigs and chicken, and consume alcohol, they offend the purity of the village while simultaneously preventing its purification through their presence. As a result, many households adopted a new, less demanding form of the ancestor cult, called ba pho (“to do flowers”). This change was accompanied by transformations of the village organization. As long as ong chre was the predominant form of ancestor cult, matrifocal cult groups were the most important social units structuring the community beyond the household level. The ritual head of one of the matrifocal cult groups, called thei ku (“head of the tree”), fostered the relationship between the village and the rukkhajue, the “spirit of trees” who resided inside a village tree called thei waplieng. The relation to the powerful spirit of the trees was crucial for the well-being of the village within the forest. The thei ku was also responsible for keeping moral norms and for performing the Figure 4. Novices in a Karen Buddhist Wat. Besides their specific ancestor annual village purification ceremony. The permanent cult, a particular form of Buddhism different from Thai-Buddhism has presence of ethnic Tai in the Karen communities made long constituted an important part of Karen culture in Thung Yai. Traditionally, the Buddhist monasteries provided the only formal education it difficult if not impossible to perform these functions. for the Karen. Since the 1960s, Thai schools have been established in The change from the matrifocal ong chre to the more the sanctuary which all children have to attend. Regarding the tradition of their own culture, the Karen see these schools as highly problematic; household centered ba pho form of the ancestor cult furthe Tai teachers deliberately debase Karen culture and all-day schooling ther diminished the position of the thei ku. restricts children’s possibilities to partake in this culture. In the context of these changes, in most villages the cult of the village tree thei waplieng and its spirit rukkhajue was substituted by a village cult called priao. Compared to the cult of the village tree, which references the forest spirit, the village cult priao addresses a kind of village tutelary spirit called phu pha du or “very old grandfather,” which resembles spirits honored in Tai villages and shows closer connections to the “human,” “male,” and Buddhist sphere. These social and religious changes in Karen communities indicate a growing similarity between the Karen and the Thai society, as well as a weakening of the Karen’s traditional identity and their practice of maintaining a close relationship to their forests. While these changes have been unintentionally brought about by external actors, other political, educational, and economic transformations of the Karen communities are much more purposefully supported and enforced by people and institutions in Thailand aimed at assimilating and modernizing the Karen. With the incorporation of the
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Karen communities into the Thai nation state and the expansion of its institutions to the peripheries of the country, frictions between the internal, largely autonomous, egalitarian, and consensus-oriented organization of the Karen villages on the one hand, and the dominant, highly hierarchical and external bureaucratic system on the other, have increased considerably, and pose serious threats to the Karen way of life and identity. The Karen are even more concerned about the Thai schools in their villages, where their own culture is deliberately debased by the Tai teachers, and all-day schooling considerably restricts the children’s possibilities to experience their parent’s everyday life as well as efforts of Karen elders to establish supplementary Karen schools. Most threatening to their existence and particular way of life as Karen people in Thung Yai, however, are the persistent plans to resettle them or to enforce the modernization of their subsistence-oriented land use system.

Nature Conservation, Resettlement, and Enforced Modernization
Until the 1980s, the extension of state institutions into the peripheral areas triggered transformations and adaptations of the social, political, and ideological organization of the Karen communities in Thung Yai. Profound changes to their economic organization occurred in the late 1980s and are closely related to the declaration of Thung Yai as a protected area. The wildlife sanctuary was established in 1974, and in 1987-1988 Thung Yai attracted international attention concerning conflicts over the construction of the Nam Choan Dam, which would have flooded most of the sanctuary. After the dam project was stopped due to the protest of a broad public alliance, in 1991 the international community acknowledged the outstanding ecological value of Thung Yai by declaring it a Natural World Heritage Site. Together with the adjoining Huai Kha Khaeng Wildlife Sanctuary, it constitutes the core area of the Western Forest Complex — Thailand’s largest remaining forest area with considerable importance for biodiversity conservation in mainland Southeast Asia and worldwide (Fig. 5). Since the establishment of the sanctuary, villages have been removed, and the remaining Karen villages became a political issue when it was declared a World Heritage Site. The RFD and the Military used violence, and placed restrictions on their land use system, to induce them to resettle “voluntarily.” Most households in Thung Yai live on subsistence farming, predominantly growing rice on swidden fields and some paddy fields, although since probably at least Figure 5. The Thung Yai Naresuan Wildlife Sanctuary together with the adjoining Huai Kha the middle of the 19th century, Karen in Khaeng Wildlife Sanctuary was declared a Natural World Heritage Site in 1991. The two Wildlife Sanctuaries constitute the core area of the Western Forest Complex, Thailand’s Thung Yai have earned small incomes by largest remaining forest area with considerable importance for biodiversity conservation in mainland Southeast Asia as well as globally. selling traditional cash crops such as chilis,
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tobacco, forest products and domestic animals. These income sources have been important for the subsistence economy of most of the households until today. Since the late 1980s, monetary incomes increased mainly due to wage labor outside of the sanctuary, even though this increase was very moderate in absolute terms. The mean annual cash income per person in 1996 was less than US$50, and for more than one-third of the people it was below US$20. There was no evidence for a general shift from a subsistence to a market orientation. The future of the Karen’s subsistence economy in Thung Yai was threatened by the RFD’s restrictions, which prohibit the use of fallow areas older than three years. In the long term, this will necessarily lead to the breakdown of the traditional swidden system, as the soils under constant use lose their productivity. In the villages where RFD and military control was most effective, people were already reporting decreasing yields in the second half of the 1990s. Furthermore, the RFD started to plant tree seedlings on swidden fields in some villages, leaving the Karen to choose between being charged as forest destroyers or facing severe subsistence problems. The only possibility to adapt to these restrictions — apart from trying to avoid them — seemed to be economic modernization; to either try to increase the productivity of the fields using fertilizers and pesticides, which most of them cannot afford, to turn to cash cropping inside the sanctuary, or to wage labor outside of it. Intensification of agriculture and cash cropping is already propagated by some government institutions and NGOs working in the sanctuary, although most of the Karen in Thung Yai try to carry on with subsistence farming. Furthermore, intensification of land use, cash cropping, and increased market orientation endangers their reputation as “forest people living in harmony with nature,” their most important asset in the debate about the future of their villages.

Adaptation and Resistance
The transformations on the local, national, and international level over the last 50 years are highly interdependent, as this paper indicates. Locally, the most important changes are the decreasing importance of matrifocal kinship groups accompanied by the emergence of a more household centered and patrifocal village cult; the clash of a predominantly egalitarian and consensus-oriented internal political organization with a more authoritarian and hierarchical external political system; the challenge of the Thai education system to local Karen identity and tradition; and resettlement and the pressures on their subsistence economy. They were stereotyped as alien hill tribes, and their living place, the forests in Thung Yai, were first defined as economic resources for national development, and later — when the costs of development became more obvious — as national and global biodiversity assets that have to be protected against local people. Efforts to incorporate the Karen into the nation focused mainly on surveillance, cultural assimilation, resettlement, and enforced economic modernization. While “otherness” was assigned to the Karen, they themselves express a strong desire to retain a different way of life closely related to their living space. Far-reaching adaptations to the external challenges allowed them to retain a distinct identity as Karen in Thung Yai until today. Even though all of the Karen in Thung Yai believe that resettlement is neither justified nor desirable, they take different positions towards external influences. There is a small group, including most of the Phu Yai Ban (the village head in the context of the Thai administrative system), that is open to moderate economic modernization. But even these “moderate modernists” do not want to abandon their local Karen identity. The vast majority is rather more reluctant to modernization, preferring to “live like our grandparents did”, as a common saying goes. Among the Karen, there are marked differences in their reaction to external challenges and allies. A rather big group, including many influential elders as well as young people, can be labeled “extroverted traditionalists.” They are trying to shape the changes by strengthening Karen culture and identity, as well as seeking support from outside of Thung Yai. They emphatically participate in activities promoting environmental awareness, sustainable resource management, and
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indigenous knowledge. Another group of more “introverted traditionalists” also focuses on tradition, but invokes to a higher degree “exclusive” frames of Karen culture. They base their hopes on a strict compliance to the rules of a local millenarian buddhist sect and its promises of redemption. Regarding their relation to non-Karen outsiders, they rather tend to avoid transcultural exchange and support. Despite their differences in position and strategy, all groups wish to remain in their villages and protect their culture and homeland, even if offered improved living standards outside of the sanctuary. So far, the Karen in Thung Yai have had no chance to participate directly in the national and international discourses regarding their homeland. To defend their rights and interests, they Figure 6. Indigenous knowledge project in the savannah thung yai. When depend on advocates. They find allies predominantly in Thung Yai was declared a Natural World Heritage Site, the Karen people were perceived only as a disruptive factor which had to be eliminated. the peasant and civil society movement, even though it Studies carried out there since then clearly indicate that they are an integral part of Thung Yai. In their culture they keep a unique body of is a sometimes precarious alliance. Many of the Karen knowledge about their natural environment to which they maintain a feel that they cannot accurately communicate their own specific and deep spiritual relationship. To defend their rights on local resources and their own way of living they depend on external support views, and that their own urgent needs and interests may and advocacy. not necessarily be shared and supported by their external allies. To explain their current situation, an important spiritual and political leader in Thung Yai, who belongs to the group of “extroverted traditionalists,” told a story which may be recounted in a very condensed form as follows: Peoples of different origins were living on a big ship, among them Tai, Farang (Westerners), and Karen. Most of them had killed their ancestors, but not so the Karen. They had hidden their ancestors in a basket, being afraid the other people would kill them too. One day an enormous storm threatened to sink the ship. In this desperate situation, the Karen offered to ask their ancestors for advice, if the other people promised not to kill them. The advice of the Karen ancestors was to prepare a fish-hook with a cow as bait to catch a very big fish which would pull the ship out of the storm into safety. To understand the advice of the Karen ancestors requires an explanation of the symbols employed in the parable, which can be done here only in crudest terms. According to the Karen elder, the fish which saved the ship refers to a way of life respecting traditional habits, values, and ancestors, while the cow figures as a symbol for “religion,” and the fishhook indicates “faith”. By relating the threats to local Karen culture and identity (symbolized in the killing of the ancestors) to a global crisis (signified by the possible sinking of the ship) traditional Karen culture, in this parable, becomes crucial for the salvation of the local as well as the global crisis. On another level, the parable implies a criticism of “modernity.” In this perspective, uncontrolled greed, which the Karen personify in the figure of a mighty, vicious and devouring witch called My Sa Le Pli, is conceived of as a basic feature of modernity. Unleashed due to the loss of traditional values by “people who killed their ancestors,” greed is conceived as being at the root of the threats to the Karen way of life in Thung Yai as well as the global crisis. With their own “traditional” way of life, the Karen in Thung Yai see themselves not as a cause of the problem, but much more as a part of the solution, even regarding the global crisis, as the parable suggests.
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Biodiversity Conservation and Cultural Diversity
From a modern, ethical point of view there can be little doubt that the Karen in Thung Yai have a right to stay there. Their resettlement or the prohibition of their subsistence-oriented swidden system is hardly reasonable, even under strict objectives of nature conservation. Although the Karen were perceived as a disruptive factor when Thung Yai was declared a Natural World Heritage Site, studies done there clearly indicate that they are an integral part of Thung Yai. With their traditional sustainable land use system they have shaped the sanctuary considerably over a long time and increased its biodiversity. In their culture they keep a unique body of knowledge about their natural environment to which they maintain a specific and deep spiritual relationship. This history and relationship even suggests a reconsideration of the status of Thung Yai. The sanctuary may be better conceived of as a Cultural Landscape World Heritage Site, which would acknowledge the profound interdependence between “nature” and “culture” in Thung Yai, and may provide a frame supportive to the survival of a distinctive living culture as well as to the protection of the unique biological diversity of the region. There are strong forces in Thailand that support either the exclusion or a complete assimilation of the so-called hill tribes, as well as their removal from protected areas. However, over the last 30 years, Thailand has undergone a remarkable process of democratization, has committed itself to the principles of human rights, and has enacted a constitution (in 1997) that explicitly grants rights to local communities for cultural self-determination and the use of local resources. Unfortunately, these commitments are not always easy to implement. Furthermore, their interpretation is often contentious and subject to political bargaining where weaker social groups may be at a disadvantage. Regarding the still-pending Community Forest Bill, the vulnerable position of ethnic minority groups in the uplands should be reconsidered and provisions included that support their traditional land use systems and land claims. The case of the Karen in Thung Yai and the more general problem of integrating the hill tribes into Thai society remain a challenge for democratic forces in Thailand. In international environmental discourses, forced resettlement is no longer a legitimate option; participation and cooperative resource management are prominent concepts in protected area management. After having adopted Thung Yai as a World Heritage Site, responsible international institutions should have disapproved the pressures and violence towards the Karen, even more so, as “indigenous knowledge” and “cultural diversity” are increasingly seen as significant factors for sustainable development and biodiversity conservation. Furthermore, as so called “biodiversity hotspots” frequently coincide with areas of extraordinary cultural diversity, the protection of cultural diversity is increasingly propagated as a strategy for global biodiversity conservation. In practice, however, interdependencies between biological and cultural diversity often find their expression in conflicts about biocultural diversity, in which biological as well as cultural diversity are threatened, be it due to continuing tendencies of modern societies to exploit natural resources and overwhelm non-modern groups, or by way of fortress conservation strategies depriving indigenous people of their homeland and resources for subsistence. Protecting biological as well as cultural diversity on a global scale not only requires a reconsideration of exploitative environmental relations, but also a new respect and support for non-modern groups at the fringes of modernity, with their different ways of life and world views.

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Literature Cited
Brenner, V., Buergin, R., Kessler, C., Pye, O., Schwarzmeier, R. and Sprung, R.-D. 1999. Thailand’s community forest bill: u-turn or roundabout in forest policy? University of Freiburg, Freiburg. Website: . Accessed: 7 June 2009. Buergin, R. 2000. ‘Hill tribes’ and forests. University of Freiburg, Freiburg. Website: . Accessed: 7 June 2009. Buergin, R. 2002. Lokaler Wandel und kulturelle Identität im Spannungsfeld nationaler Modernisierung und globaler Umweltdiskurse. PhD Dissertation, University of Freiburg, Freiburg. Website: . Accessed: 7 June 2009. Buergin, R. 2003. Trapped in environmental discourses and politics of exclusion. In: Living at the Edge of Thai Society, C.O. Delang (ed.), pp.43–63. Routledge Curzon, London. Buergin, R. and Kessler, C. 2000. Intrusions and exclusions: democratization in Thailand in the context of environmental discourses and resource conflicts. GeoJournal 52: 71–80. Kingsbury, B. 1998. ‘Indigenous peoples’ in international law: a constructivist approach to the Asian controversy. American Journal of International Law 92: 414–457.

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Indigenous Peoples and the Struggle for Governance of Natural Resources in Belize
BELIZE

Gregory Ch'oc

Quick Facts
Country: Belize Geographic Focus: Toledo District of Southern Belize Indigenous Peoples: There are five Q'eqchi communities and a Garifuna community in the vicinity of the Sarstoon Temash National Park, Belize.

Introduction
The Sarstoon Temash National Park (STNP) is in southern Belize in the district of Toledo, along the border with Guatemala. It lies on the Bay of Amatique in the Gulf of Honduras, with approximately 10 miles of coast and 29 miles of terrestrial border. Created in 1994, the STNP is the second-largest park in Belize’s protected areas system, harboring unique ecosystems and a number of threatened species.1 It was created over what the Belizean government considered to be vacant “National Land,” that is, land belonging to the government. However, the realities on the ground contradict the government’s perceptions of the status of the park. The lands inside and outside the park, as well as those in other parts of Toledo District, have been used and occupied by Mayan communities since time immemorial. The conflicting view of land ownership in southern Belize has been the source of controversies between indigenous peoples and the government. In a landmark decision on 18 October 2007, however, the Supreme Court of Belize changed this by declaring that Conejo (Q’eqchi’ Maya community) and Santa Cruz (a primarily Mopan Maya community) hold collective native title to the land they traditionally used and occupied. Conejo’s land claim included the northern portion of the STNP, while that of Santa Cruz included a western portion of the Rio Blanco National Park. This landmark ruling by the Supreme Court has the potential to change the governance of natural resources in the region, moving it towards addressing indigenous people rights to continue stewardship of the natural resources and wildlife of the region.

Author Information
Gregory Ch'oc is the Executive Director of the Sarstoon Temash Institute for Indigenous Management (SATIIM). He is a Q'eqchi' Maya from San Miguel, Toledo. Ch'oc has been working with SATIIM since 2001. E-mail: gjchoc@satiim.org.bz, laain2002@yahoo.com

1 The STNP was created by Statutory Instrument No. 42 in May 1994 and was assigned IUCN Protected Area Management Category II.

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The Wildlife of the Sarstoon Temash National Park
The Sarstoon Temash National Park comprises 16,590 ha (41,000 acres) of relatively undisturbed wetland in southern Belize along the Guatemalan border (Fig. 1). There are four distinct primary vegetation types; permanently and seasonally inundated tropical evergreen lowland forest, Manicaria swamp forest, and lowland peat shrubland with sphagnum moss (Harcourt et al. 1996; Meerman et al. 2003). The fauna includes 226 species of birds, 24 mammals, including jaguar (Panthera onca), jaguarondi (Herpailurus yagouarundi), ocelot (Felis pardalis) and manatee (Trichechus manatus), 22 reptiles, including Morelet’s crocodile (Crocodylus moreletii), 42 fishes (most of them marine) and 46 species of Lepidoptera (Meerman et al. 2003). The park contains the only Comfra palm forest (Manicaria saccifera) in Belize, and the only known lowland sphagnum moss bog in Central America, and is said to contain the best stretches of Figure 1. The Sarstoon Temash National Park is located in the southern Belize district of Toledo, along the border with Guatemala including The undisturbed Red mangrove (Rhizophora mangle) forest Sarstoon Temash National Park Management Plan zones (SATIIM 2005). in the region. There are a number of species that are on It is the second-largest park in Belize’s protected areas system created in 1994. Map © Kellee Koenig/CI. the IUCN Red List, including the Critically Endangered Hickatee turtle (Dermatemys mawii), the Endangered black howler monkey (Alouatta pigra) and Baird’s tapir (Tapirus bairdii), and the West Indian manatee which is ranked as ‘Vulnerable’ (IUCN 2008). The Neotropical river otter (Lontra longicaudis) is classified as ‘Data Deficient’, and the Great Curassow (Crax rubra) and jaguar are ‘Near Threatened’. This is also an important refuge for Morelet’s crocodile that the IUCN Red List classifies as of Least Concern but dependant on conservation measures for its continued survival. Local people report that cacomistles (Bassariscus sumichrasti) occur in the area. This species is rare throughout most of Belize, and the only places where it is apparently common are in certain areas along the Maya Mountains (Meerman et al. 2003). The STNP is an important wildlife corridor for other protected areas in Belize and neighboring Guatemala, and is also pivotal for the protection of the watershed protecting the Belize Barrier Reef system. The STNP, along with its adjacent protected area, the Rio Sarstún Multiple Use Area in Guatemala, were both declared Ramsar wetlands of international importance in 2006, creating the first bi-national Ramsar site in Central America.

Indigenous and Traditional Peoples
Like all of Belize, the Toledo District was inhabited by Mayans long before the arrival of the Europeans and the establishment of the State of Belize. The numerous Mayan temples in the district and their continuous use for religious purposes testify to the connection between contemporary and ancient Maya. Today, the Toledo District has a population of 30,100, consisting of Creole, East Indian, Garifuna, Mestizo, and Maya (Belize, SIB 2008). The Maya are the largest group, accounting for 70% of the district’s population. A breakdown between the two Maya subgroups, Mopan and
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Q’eqchi’, in the 2000 census shows the Q’eqchi’ to be the larger group, accounting for 45.8% of the population (Belize, SIB 2008). Six indigenous communities living in and around the STNP have ancestral and historical connections to the area, rooted in their economic, social, cultural and spiritual well-being. They are Barranco, Midway, Conejo, Sunday Wood, Crique Sarco and Graham Creek. Five are inland Q’eqchi communities with a total population of approximately 900 people. Barranco, located on the coast, is the only Garifuna community, with a population of 241 (SATIIM 2003, p.37). The region’s years of isolation has led the Q’eqchi and Garifuna people to develop strong social and economic relationships. The Q’eqchi’ still live in traditional wooden huts with thatched roofs and earth floors. They maintain traditional subsistence farming practices; growing corn, beans and rice as staples as well as cash crops. The Q’eqchi have an intimate relationship with the forest, as it provides them with food, shelter and medicine. They have traditional systems of governance visible in their institutions and processes. One such institution is the Rujhil li calebal or Alcalde System, which is the Maya traditional government. A significant number of Q’eqchi communiFigure 2. The jaguar, a Near Threatened species according to IUCN (2008), can be found in the STNP. Photo © CI/Haroldo Castro 1999. ties hold on to elements of their traditional governance systems even though they continue to be undermined by the State through the introduction of western social structures, policies and burocratic procedures. The Garifuna People, or Afro-Caribs, arrived in Belize at the start of the 19th century from the Caribbean island of Saint Vincent where escaped African slaves had intermarried with the native Carib inhabitants. During the British and French war to control the island, the Afro-Caribs allied themselves with the French, who eventually surrendered to the British in 1796. As a result, the British deported the more African looking Caribs to the islands of Roatan Bay off the coast of Honduras. Migration by the Garifuna north and south has resulted in settlement along the Caribbean coast of Central America. In 1823, the Garifuna obtained permission to migrate to Belize, where they started small settlements along the coastline. This brought them to the region that is now Sarstoon Temash National Park. The Garifuna farmed, fished, hunted, and gathered in the coastal plains. One of their homesteads is the village of Barranco. This settlement provided productive fishing grounds and areas to collect traditional construction material such as timber, bush sticks, palm leaves and vines. The Sarstoon region proved to be important to the traditional life style of the Garifuna People. Since the 1960s, however, Barranco has experienced a steady economic decline caused by a large exodus of its residents to other areas and countries. The Garifuna, who are traditionally expert farmers and fishers and exported rice and bananas, found their means of livelihood affected during the 1980s as a result of fish stock depletion and the domination of markets by large growers.
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Lack of Land Tenure Rights and its Consequences
The Toledo District has been the milieu of many development, environmental and natural resource management projects. While some have achieved modest success, others have failed miserably and have been a disappointment to the indigenous peoples. Disillusioned, they are establishing their own paths for development. Notable among these experiences is the indigenous-people-initiated management of the Sarstoon Temash region, in particular the national park. The region’s indigenous population has been at the forefront of the battle for change, fuelled by the desire to assert their rights. To bolster their claims, they have been engaged in scientific research documenting the region’s archaeological, biological, social, economic and cultural landscape as a means to defend their ancestral relationship to the region. Armed with this scientific research and their documented traditional knowledge, they are advancing their rights in the courts and in the political arena in order to regain their custodial rights over their land and forests. These issues have given rise to conflicts between the State and the indigenous peoples that continue to unfold today. These conflicts are largely the result of i) the increased capability of indigenous leaders to access international support for projects aimed at demonstrating their peoples’ ability to maintain active stewardship of natural resources in both traditional and contemporary manners, and their demands for legislative and policy reforms to formalize this, ii) the sustained proactive strategy of indigenous leaders who have been advocating for globally emerging rights that they view as imperative for the engendering of their people, and (iii) the strong opposition to the government’s decision to grant an oil-prospecting concession in the Toledo District, in particular, the Sarstoon Temash National Park. To understand the complex nature of the indigenous people’s actions in the Sarstoon Temash region, it is important to understand the context that fuels them. As noted earlier, the communities surrounding the STNP depend almost entirely on subsistence farming of corn, beans, rice, and numerous other fruits and vegetables. Despite the dependence on their lands, there was, until 2007, no specific provision in Belizean national law recognizing ancestral Maya or historical Garifuna land claims. Thus, the government considered these villagers to be “squatting” on national lands. This lack of land tenure security has created not only disincentives for investment (i.e., in improvements, permanent crops, and the proper management of natural resources) but has also fostered the threat of physical dislocation, as lands traditionally used for farming, hunting or harvesting are increasingly leased out to loggers and speculators. The land tenure situation for the indigenous Garifuna and Q’eqchi Maya is precarious at best. While the Garifuna have integrated their traditional land tenure systems into the individual private tenureship promoted by the State, the majority of the Maya have resisted. Despite their long-standing use and occupancy of the land, they have no formal recognition of their farms, orchards, hunting grounds or even house lots. Instead, the government has issued leases, which are basically rental agreements, over typically 30-acre (12.1-ha) plots of land. Although the expansion of individual land leases has progressed over the past few years, very few villagers have benefited from land leases because a significant Figure 3. The Sarstoon Temash National Park comprises 16,590 ha number of them continue to practice, use and believe in (41,000 acres) of relatively undisturbed wetland. The STNP, along with its their traditional land tenure system, rooted in the notion neighbouring protected area, the Rio Sarstún Multiple Use Area in Guatemala, were both declared Ramsar wetlands of international significance of communal usage and ownership as opposed to indiin 2006, creating the first bi-national Ramsar site in Central America. vidual private titles. Photo © SATIIM.
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Insecure land tenure is widely recognized internationally as a cause of both deforestation and short-term, unsustainable land-use practices. In Belize, tenure insecurity is a strong disincentive for Maya communities to make long-term investments in improving their land. Mayas have seen their land alienated from them by a stroke of the ministerial pen and given away to politically connected non-Mayans or foreign investors. Despite these injustices, many communities continue to guard their traditional custodian role over their remaining forests. The lack of legal recognition for their traditional land tenure also makes it difficult or impossible for Mayans to access capital or negotiate benefit-sharing agreements with development concessionaires, which further limits their ability to invest in sustainable land and resource management. The government’s failure to recognize traditional indigenous land management practices carries additional consequences. When the government leases out communally held lands to individuals without considering the communally-designated use of the land, this forces members of a community to move to new areas to farm. This, combined with growing population pressure and tenure insecurity, is undermining the long fallow periods in the shifting cultivation system of milpa farming, and magnifying the negative impacts of forest clearing for agriculture. Degraded agricultural lands also intensify the pressure on communities to give up on sustainable practices and join in the rush to cash out the forest for its many values, including timber, animals and non-timber forest products, such as xate (leaves from three Chamaedorea palm species, C. elegans, C. oblongata and C. ernesti-augustii, used in the floral industry), orchids, and palm leaves for roof thatch. For indigenous peoples, logging and the expanding agricultural frontier are no longer the only threats to sustaining Toledo’s high biodiversity and interconnected ecosystems; oil exploration has also been gaining ground. The Belizean government has, in fact, granted most of the Toledo District to foreign oil companies, now engaged in an “oil rush” to discover the next reservoir of black gold. Most of these companies are small and under-capitalized, using outdated technologies and unfamiliar with international best practices for high biodiversity areas; they have little interest in preventing or mitigating their environmental impact. The potential for widespread damage from roads, drilling platforms, oil pipelines, spills and contamination of waterways is high, especially in a context where the government is unwilling or unable to monitor their compliance with existing environmental laws and agreements. With the land base for the indigenous communities being lost, essentially an entire culture and way of life is being destroyed. Mayan languages and cultural norms are left behind as families migrate out of the village in search of employment. With this disappearance comes the loss of traditional knowledge about indigenous land and the forest management practices that kept the exploitation of these forests sustainable for generations. This traditional knowledge could be incorporated into western-style management plans to help reconcile conservation and community needs and create successful models of biodiversity protection and sustainable use. Securing rights for the land tenure systems of indigenous peoples is, then, perhaps the single most important step that can be taken to protect Toledo’s high biodiversity forest ecosystems. Indigenous peoples in Belize have a strong interest in managing natural resources sustainably, one that runs deep in their culture and world view, and they are the best suited to sustainably manage the district’s natural resources. Recognition of indigenous rights to traditionally-used and occupied lands could remove many of the direst threats to ecosystem maintenance, such as short-term forest concessions that will involve deforestation and ill-conceived attempts to drill for petroleum without due consideration of the environmental impacts. Indigenous leaders recognize that control of Toledo’s forests would not only benefit the environment, but would significantly improve their peoples’ well-being. Sustainable agriculture, forest management and environmentally friendly businesses such as eco/ethno-tourism could generate employment and sustainable revenue streams for the communities. Land-tenure insecurity in Toledo is a major obstacle, therefore, to the conservation of the environment and to sustainable development — one that has repeatedly been identified by national and international development projects,
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researchers and practitioners. Resolving this issue would advance both human rights and community conservation, while helping to bring about a long-term reduction in the high levels of poverty among the communities around the Sarstoon Temash National Park.

The Creation of Protected Areas in Belize and the Role of the Indigenous Peoples as Co-Managers
The survival of the Toledo district’s immense biological resources, particularly Sarstoon Temash’s unique wetlands and mangrove complex, owes a great deal to the careful management of the local indigenous peoples who have historically depended on its resources. Southern Belize’s pronounced physical isolation from the hubs of national economic and infrastructure development has also been a major contributing factor. Indigenous peoples recognize that the “natural protections” are being weakened, and the national park’s relatively pristine status is now under acute and serious threat from legal and illegal logging, hunting, fishing and the illicit trade in wild animals (largely iguana), large-scale mining, and petroleum prospecting. As the indigenous peoples came to terms with these inevitable challenges, they have also had to deal with the protected areas established around their communities. Over the last 25 years, Belize has established a number of parks and reserves to ensure proper management of the country’s natural resources; most of them without the knowledge of indigenous communities. These parks have affected the indigenous peoples, as they excised and restricted the indigenous communities’ access to the lands and resources they traditionally used and occupied. In establishing these protected areas, such as the STNP, the government was operating under the modus operandi of the time, where developing countries were urged to adopt environmental protection measures in exchange for aid by the international community. Although the government created several protected areas, however, it did not establish the necessary institutional support to manage them effectively. This situation has been compounded by budget cuts that have severely limited the abilities of the various statutory agencies involved, forcing the government agencies with management jurisdiction to explore management collaboration with communities living near protected areas. Collaborations have been through a co-management framework. However, the models promoted and presumed by state planners are seemingly at odds with the rights and traditions of the indigenous peoples. This assumption has created tension between state planners and indigenous peoples over the governance of protected areas. The government’s management of natural resources in Belize has been autocratic. The government dictates the terms of all co-management arrangements, leavFigure 4. SATIIM, a non-profit, founded by community leaders docuing indigenous peoples and civil society with little ment the region’s biological landscape. The region’s indigenous populaor no room to accommodate their interests. The law, tion have been at the forefront of the battle for change, armed with this scientific research and their documented traditional knowledge; they are which has vested interests concerning the ownership of advancing their rights in the courts and in the political process to regain the resources by the State, has been used to define the their custodial rights over their land and forests. Photo © Vinicio Linarez.
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relationship. Indigenous peoples have always been troubled by this, seeing it as an infringement on their rights and dismissive of their traditions. Despite this apprehension, and perhaps seeing no other alternative, indigenous peoples reluctantly entered into co-management with the Belizean Forest Department. The indigenous communities around the STNP did so because i) they wanted to influence and safeguard their interest in the management of the STNP, ii) they wanted to continue to be the stewards of the park’s resources, and iii) they wanted to advance their traditional and customary rights to the land and resources, since state planners were promoting the concept of co-management as having the potential to share authority and responsibility. One of the major fallacies of the co-management agreement in this case was that it would address issues of customary and traditional rights; a fundamental flaw was that it failed to take into consideration Mayan traditional processes and structures of governance. Governance and resource management activities that were difficult to capture in the procedures were excluded, creating a crisis for some of the communities.

SATIIM and the Creation of an Indigenous Management Plan
The Sarstoon Temash Institute for Indigenous Management (SATIIM) has challenged the status quo of natural resources governance in Belize. It was created to undertake the work of co-managing the park, and represents the six communities that surround it. It is Belize’s most successful indigenous park management organization and has, by the government’s own admission, surpassed the expectations of the co-management agreement. Since 1997, SATIIM’s work in the STNP has come to represent a new model for the direct participation of indigenous peoples in protected areas’ management. It promotes the conservation of the STNP in ways consistent with indigenous people’s cultural practices and with an eye towards the sustainable well-being of the indigenous peoples who live around it. As such, SATIIM is on the cutting-edge of community-based natural resource management in Central America. SATIIM was founded by community leaders in 1997 as the Sarstoon Temash National Park Steering Committee (http://www.satiim.org.bz/index.php?section=2). It was incorporated in December of 1999 as a non-profit, and duly registered as a non-governmental organization. SATIIM’s mission is to safeguard the ecological integrity of the Sarstoon The Sarstoon Temash Institute for Indigenous Temash region and use its resources in an environmenManagement promotes the conservation of tally sound manner for the economic, social, cultural and spiritual well being of its indigenous peoples. SATIIM the STNP in ways consistent with indigenous has a nine-person elected Board of Directors made up of people’s cultural practices. elected representatives from the five buffer zone communities, indigenous NGOs (including the National Garifuna Council, the Q’eqchi Council of Belize and the Toledo Alcaldes Association) and the Belize Forest Department. The five buffer-zone communities have a majority of seats on the Board. A General Assembly made up of residents from the buffer-zone communities (called a Gathering) meets every two years to elect Board members and decide overall policy and strategic direction. A cadre of young professionals implements the resolutions from the Gathering in partnership with the Board of Directors. Through SATIIM, the indigenous peoples of the Sarstoon Temash Region have developed one of the most comprehensive management plans for a protected area in Belize; the Sarstoon Temash National Park Management Plan (SATIIM 2005). It was completed in September 2004, and is based on extensive scientific data and the traditional ecological knowledge of the indigenous peoples. Both data sets were gathered by expert researchers working with the indigenous
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peoples through an innovative project in community-based park management, sponsored by the Global Environment Facility (GEF) through the World Bank. The STNP management plan broke new ground for both Belize and Central America in reconciling the needs of indigenous communities with the need to protect the environment. A number of aspects of the plan call for significant changes in the national policy framework regarding protected areas and natural resource management. Most notably, it calls for the creation of an indigenous harvesting zone in the national park, and multiple use zones, recognizing both the ancestral rights of indigenous communities, and their reliance on its resources for their survival (Fig. 1). The plan also sets forth a comprehensive set of conservation strategies; the result of a broad consultation with the communities, and ratified by their representatives. These include the development of alternative livelihoods and the promotion of sustainable community development.

Challenges for SATIIM and Indigenous Peoples’ Action
Besides addressing the ecological aspects of the park’s administration and management, SATIIM developed the plan on the basis of the government’s promise to address the rights of Maya and Garifuna to their land and resources. During the negotiation stage of the plan with the Forest Department, however, the government objected to the provisions for customary usage, including hunting, fishing and extraction of building materials. They cited the National Park System Act in prohibiting any form of resource extraction, and providing only for research and recreation (Belize, National Parks System Act 2003). After intense negotiations at the Ministerial level, the Forest Department accepted the plan, but only after diluting the provisions for customary and traditional access and rights. The Forest Department only agreed, for example, to activities such as the extraction of medicinal herbs and traditional fishing, reasoning that they were unlikely to undermine the ecological integrity of the park. Although the Forest Department accepted the park plan developed by SATIIM, there was no legal framework to give it legitimacy and validity. The very nature of co-management agreements is that they should provide both parties with equal decision-making capacity, and this was not the case with SATIIM. All of this became evident in 2004–2005, when the government of Belize negotiated and ultimately granted a production-sharing agreement (PSA) with US Capital Energy, a company based in the United States, for oil exploration over 700,000 acres in southern Belize, and including the STNP (Geology and Petroleum Department PSA I99/2001). The Forest Department granted a seismic survey permit to US Capital Energy, ignoring the park plan’s conservation and management strategies. Moreover, the legality of the co-management agreement that authorized SATIIM to develop the management plan was challenged by the Belize Forest Department lawyer in the Supreme Court case between SATIIM and the Forest Department of the Ministry of Natural Resources. On becoming aware of the permit granted to US Capital Energy, SATIIM initiated discussions with the Forest Department to question the legality of the permit issued within the STNP. Meanwhile, US Capital Energy, armed with its permit, commenced operations, mobilizing personnel and machines. Company personnel visited communities and urged them to sign up for employment, and shortly thereafter commenced the clearing of seismic trails. US Capital Energy was moving forward fast with its plan, and the government became reluctant to further discuss SATIIM’s objections. SATIIM sought legal advice. It became clear that they had a case for a Judicial Review Order to revoke the permit issued to US Capital Energy. The permit was challenged on the following grounds: • The National Parks System Act, under which the STNP was created, does not permit seismic testing or oil exploration activities in protected areas;

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• •





the permit was not issued under the proper authorization procedures, since under Belizean law, only the park administrator not the chief forest officer, may issue such permits; SATIIM’s legitimate expectation under the signed co-management contract with the government, was violated, since the permit was granted without any proper consideration of, or even the opportunity to discuss, the objections made by SATIIM; Belize’s international treaty obligation under the Ramsar convention, to which Belize is a signatory and the park a designated site, was violated, since that treaty requires Belize to protect and prevent any activities that would undermine the ecological value of the wetlands; and the actions of the government violated the Environmental Protection Act, since that Act requires that an Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) be carried out prior to the issuance of a permit, and no such EIA had been conducted or even required by the state agency.

On 15 May 2006, SATIIM filed an unprecedented lawsuit in the Belize Supreme Court asking for a judicial review to seek an order revoking the permit issued by the Forest Department and an injunction order restraining US Capital Energy–Belize Ltd. from proceeding or continuing with entry into, and/or seismic testing, in the SarstoonTemash National Park until trial of the action or further order. On the 29 September 2006, the Supreme Court delivered it decision in the case of SATIIM vs. the Forest Department, with US Capital Energy as the interested party. Of the five grounds on which SATIIM argued, only one succeeded. Judge Sam Lungole Awich agreed with SATIIM that the Environmental Protection Act mandated an Environmental Impact Assessment. The lack of compliance with this procedure was sufficient to squash the permission given by the Forest Department to US Capital Energy–Belize Ltd. to enter the Sarstoon Temash National Park to carry out seismic surveys, until the Environmental Impact Assessment was completed (Belize, Supreme Court 2006). While SATIIM succeeded in having the court revoke the permit, it fell short of stopping seismic testing inside the park; it merely delayed these activities until the EIA was carried out. When the EIA for US Capital Energy–Belize Ltd. Seismic Survey – Block 19 was completed, it was up to the Forest Department to review the findings and decide whether or not to renew the permit. As anticipated, in September 2007, the government agency responsible for rejecting or accepting the EIA, the National Environmental Appraisal Committee (NEAC) gave its approval to US Capital Energy to carry out the seismic testing. This decision signalled the continued violation of the rights and interests of the indigenous peoples in the STNP. This action was further exacerbated by the refusal of the government and US Capital Energy to have SATIIM’s involvement in the EIA process, and has cast a shadow of uncertainty over SATIIM’s role in managing the Park. SATIIM objected to both the manner in which the EIA was developed and the technical soundness of the recommendations put forth to the NEAC, and requested involvement in the development of the Environmental Compliance Plan (ECP). SATIIM’s exclusion from the development of the EIA significantly undermined its role as co-manager of the Park under a co-management agreement with the government. Its future role as an environmental and social watchdog of activities in the Park remains unclear. The most damaging aspect of the government’s decision to proceed with oil exploration will be the potential political response that will likely generate future conflict. For a decade, the Garifuna and Maya people who live around the park have restricted their use of the Park’s resources in accordance with the law governing the protected area. For years, the indigenous communities were told that they could not carry out traditional activities such as hunting and farming (upon which their livelihood and culture depend), because these acts posed a threat to the natural environment that the Park was attempting to protect. The recent government actions to allow oil exploration in the park indicate a selective
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application of the law in favour of multi-national companies and environmental interests, and to the detriment of the rights of indigenous communities. This unequal application of the law has exacerbated and fuelled new political and legal conflicts with indigenous peoples that could undermine the advances that have been made in engaging them in protected areas management.

Indigenous Rights as the Basis for Sustainable Management
The continued failure of the government to recognize and protect Garifuna and Maya land rights, coupled with the impending threats of the oil exploration, catalyzed the Maya people of the Toledo District to expedite their long standing land right claim, which has ricocheted between domestic and international legal forums for over a decade. In April 2007, with the help of Maya leaders and SATIIM, two Maya villages, Conejo and Santa Cruz, filed a Constitutional Claim in the Supreme Court of Belize to seek redress for violations arising from the government’s failure to recognize, protect, and respect the customary land rights of the Maya people, which are based on their traditional land use and occupancy. The trial took place from 18–21 June 2007, during which time Chief Justice Dr. Abdulai Conteh heard the claimants, experts, and government witnesses. On 18 October 2007, the Supreme Court of Belize handed down its landmark decision in the case of the Mayan communities of Conejo and Santa Cruz vs. the Attorney General and Ministry of Natural Resources (Belize, Supreme Court 2007). The Supreme Court accepted the arguments of Conejo and Santa Cruz villages that Mayan customary property rights, like other forms of property, are protected by the Belize Constitution and international human rights law. The Chief Justice held that the government’s failure to recognize, respect, and protect the land rights of the Mayan claimants violated constitutionally-protected rights to property, non-discrimination, and life. The Supreme Court declared that the Mayan people of Conejo and Santa Cruz have rights to the lands and resources that they have used and occupied according to Mayan customary practices and ordered that the Government of Belize: • • Determine, demarcate and title Conejo and Santa Cruz village lands in accordance with Maya customary practices; and cease and abstain from any acts that might affect the value, use, or enjoyment of Conejo and Santa Cruz village lands (including issuing leases, land grants, or concessions for logging and oil), without adequate consultation and agreement of the Mayan villagers.

This judgment set a precedent affecting over thirty-eight Mayan communities that use lands in the southern Toledo District. The order to determine, demarcate, and title the traditional lands of Conejo and Santa Cruz villages requires that the government carry out legislative and administrative reforms and initiate a consultation and demarcation process that will extend to other Maya communities. Indigenous leaders are educating communities on the ruling and its significance, and have attempted to collaborate with the government to develop a framework to implement the decision of the court. The ruling will necessarily usher in a new relationship between the government of Belize and the Mayan people that will shift the balance of power, particularly concerning control over lands and resources. It is still too early to ascertain whether the judgment will strengthen other areas of indigenous self-determination, such as self-governance and customary law. In addition, as stipulated by the court decision, the government will have to re-evaluate all previously issued development concessions over Mayan lands, since these were granted without the informed consent of the Mayan people and under the erroneous presumption that the land belonged to the government.
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SATIIM will work the communities that now have direct decision-making powers as owners of the land in the Park. The models for protected areas governance in southern Belize will need to be re-evaluated in light of the fact that land and resources are legally vested in the communities rather than the government. SATIIM thus has the challenge of implementing its comprehensive park management plan to reflect a true indigenous-managed protected area that accommodates the traditional land tenure practices of the indigenous land owners. This is an opportunity that should strengthen all facets of Mayan traditional governance structures and processes, so that the Maya become active participants in all areas of their development, including protecting the lands and resources upon which they depend. The Maya have succeeded in asserting their rights over their land and its resources in Toledo; it is left to be seen whether the government will honor and implement the Supreme Court ruling in partnership with the Maya People.

Literature Cited*
Anonymous. 1998. Sarstoon-Temash National Park: Transcript of Stakeholders’ Workshop, 22 February, 1997, Community Center, Barranco Village, Toledo Distrct, Belize. Producciones de la Hamaea, Caye Caulker, and Community Conservation Consultants, Gays Mills, Wisconsin. 38pp. Websites: and . Accessed: 20 December 2008. Belize, National Parks System Act. 2003. Chapter 215 Revised edition 2003: Showing the subsidiary laws as at 31st October, 2003. Revised edition of the Subsidiary Laws, prepared by the Law Revision Commissioner under the authority of the Law Revision Act, Chapter 3 of the Substantive Laws of Belize, Revised Edition 2000, Government of Belize, Belmopan, Belize. Website: . Accessed: 20 December 2008. Belize, SIB. 2008. 2008: Mid-Year Population Estimates by Region and Sex. Statistical Institute of Belize (SIB), Government of Belize, Belmopan, Belize. Website: . Accessed: 20 December 2008. Belize, Supreme Court. 2006. Claim No. 212 Sarstoon Temash Institute for Indigenous Management v. Forest Department Ministry of Natural Resources and Environment and U.S. Capital Energy – Belize. Justice S. L. Awich. Website: . Accessed: 20 December 2008. Belize, Supreme Court. 2007. Consolidated Claims No. 171 and 172 Santa Cruz and Conejo Maya Communities v. Attorney General and Ministry of Natural Resources and Environment. Chief Justice Dr. A. O. Conteh. Website: . Accessed: 20 December 2008. Harcourt, C. S., Bird, N., Gray, D., Palmer, J. and Burton, J. 1996. Belize. In: The Conservation Atlas of Tropical Forests: The Americas, C. S. Harcourt and J. A. Sayer (eds.), pp.151–159. Simon and Schuster, New York. IUCN. 2008. 2008 IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), Species Survival Commission (SSC), Gland, Switzerland, and Cambridge, UK. Website: . Accessed: 20 December 2008. Iyo, A., Tzalam, F. and Humphreys, F. 2007. Belize New Vision: African and Maya Civilizations. National Institute of Culture and History (NICH), Ministry of Education, University of Belize, and Image Factory of Art Foundation, Belmopan, Belize. Meerman, J. C., Herrera, P. and Howe, A. 2003. Rapid Ecological Assessment. Sarstoon Temash National Park, Toledo District, Belize. Volume I. Appendices: Species Lists and Raw Data. Volume II. Report prepared in Partnership
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with the Garifuna and the Q’eqchi Maya People of the Sarstoon Temash Region, Sarstoon Temash Institute for Indigenous Management (SATIIM), December 2003. 80pp. Websites: , and . Accessed 12 December 2009. SATIIM. 1999. Transcript of Governance and Management of NGO Workshop. Punta Gorda, 23 February 1999. Sarstoon Temash Institute for Indigenous Management (SATIIM), Punta Gorda, Toledo, Belize. Website: . Accessed: 20 December 2008. SATIIM. 2003. Socio-Economic Assessment of the Sarstoon Temash Region. Sarstoon Temash Institute for Indigenous Management (SATIIM), Punta Gorda, Toledo, Belize. SATIIM. 2005. Sarstoon Temash National Park Management Plan. Sarstoon Temash Institute for Indigenous Management (SATIIM), Punta Gorda, Toledo, Belize. June 2005. * Note – in press The Mayan communities have won an historic court case against the Government of Belize. On 28 June 2010, Chief Justice Doctor Abdulai Conteh’s ruling for 38 Mayan Communities in the Toledo District was in line with the 2007 ruling that the villagers of Santa Cruz and Conejo have constitutionally protected customary land tenure rights over the areas surrounding their communities. The Chief Justice’s judgment was in favor of all rights for the Mayan communities.

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Co-Management, Conservation, and Heritage Land in the Kalahari

Cassie Hughes

Quick Facts
Country: South Africa Geographic Focus: Kgalagadi National Transfrontier Park is a bi-national park between Botswana and South Africa, bordering Namibia in the west. Indigenous Peoples: In South Africa, indigenous peoples are the Khoekhoe, the Nama, and the San. The San are the traditional indigenous inhabitants of the Kalahari region. The Khomani San are the group living outside of Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park in South Africa. The community is estimated to be around 500 people strong, a small percentage of the population of the district.

Introduction
In 1999, nearly 70 years after their exile from the Kalahari Gemsbok National Park, the Khomani San Bushmen celebrated their successful land claim for a home in the Kalahari.1 Then Deputy President Thabo Mbeki presided over the ceremonies and stated, “This is a step towards the rebirth of a people that nearly perished because of oppression.” The claim was the culmination of four years of research, negotiations, and the reunification of the Khomani San diaspora. With the claim, the Khomani San won six farms in the region, in addition to the more symbolically important gain of land in the newly named Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park2, of which they were now owners and comanagers with South African National Parks (SANP) — an organization with whom the Khomani San had had an acrimonious past. In post-apartheid South Africa, however, these two groups are learning to work together, despite very different views of the land. The Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park is a bi-national park straddling South Africa and Botswana.3 The South African portion, once known as the Kalahari Gemsbok Park, is wedged between the international borders with Botswana on the east and Namibia on the west, in the remote far northwest of South Africa. This triangle of land was declared a national park in 1931 to prevent the extinction of several key species (including the Gemsbok or Oryx, Oryx gazella) from over-hunting by the few hardy settlers in this inhospitable land and by white trophy hunters. While it is a transfrontier park, the South African portion

Author Information
Cassie Hughes was a volunteer for South African National Parks in Kgalagadi from 2003–2004. She received her Masters in Practical Anthropology from the University of Cape Town. She is currently the East Africa Program Specialist for the USDA Forest Service International Programs, based in Washington, DC. E-mail: cassieahughes@yahoo.com
1 The term San was developed in the 1930s by anthropologists who found the term ‘Bushman’ to be derogatory. In academic discourse today, ‘San’ and ‘Bushman’ are virtually synonymous. As the literature on the Khomani San and the official agreement with South African National Parks (SANP) refer to ‘the San’, I use this term. However, in the Kgalagadi region, residents refer to the Khomani San as “die Boesmans” (the Bushmen). 2 The transition of the Kalahari Gemsbok Park to the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park occurred in the same year as the Khomani San winning their land claim. The transition from a national park to a transfrontier park was nearly unnoticeable; no fences had ever existed on the South Africa/Botswana border. 3 The Mier Community, a local ‘colored’ community, joined the land claim and also won land in the Park, north of the Khomani San Heritage Land, as seen in the map, Figure 2.

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of Kgalagadi is still managed by South African National Parks, the parastatal national parks authority. South African National Parks manages the park as a “wilderness” area with little human influence — a “handsoff” policy. Waterholes are the main alteration to the landscape, with some 60 waterholes spread throughout the South African portion of the park, ostensibly to provide previously migratory species with perennial sources of freshwater during the dry season (many waterholes are close to the road and also provide visitors with sightings). The park is fenced on the Namibian and South African sides, while the transfrontier portion in Botswana is unfenced. Park infrastructure consists of three “rest camps”, each with a petrol station, overnight accommodation in cabins, a small shop, and an office. Six remote “wilderness camps” with simple overnight Figure 1. Kgalagadi National Transfrontier Park (in green) is a bi-national facilities are spread throughout the northern portion of park between Botswana and South Africa, bordering Namibia to the west. In 1931, this land, which had been home to San Bushmen hunter the park. Park staff manage a system of roads: two graded gatherers for thousands of years, was delcared a national park. sand roads carved into the two riverbeds and one that crosses the dunes between the two. A 4 × 4 trail crisscrosses the park from north to south across dunes, and is used (at most) a few times a week. This park infrastructure exists to support tourism and, to a lesser extent, conservation research. Park entry fees, accommodation costs, and activity fees (guided safari drives and walks) provide financial support for the park. The Southern Kalahari, in which Kgalagadi is located, is an arid landscape of dunes that range in color from a dark yellow to bright orange, and scrubland unfolding in waves across thousands of kilometers of southern Africa. The Kalahari is the largest sand basin in the world, stretching from the Congo River in the north to the Orange River in northern South Africa. This is the southernmost portion of the Kalahari and is considered semi-arid savannah. The “fossil” sand dunes are sparsely covered with tufts of annual and perennial grasses and Rhigozum (Bignoniaceae) scrub. Occasional Grand camel thorn trees (Acacia erioloba, Fabaceae) grow in the dry ancient riverbeds (with their high water table), while the Petite grey camel thorn (Acacia haematoxylon) dominates the dune slopes, and squat Shepherd’s trees (Boscia albitrunca, Capparaceae) sprawl in the dune valleys. Rainfall averages 150 mm per year in the northern portion of Kgalagadi and 300 mm per year in the south. Summer temperatures can reach highs of 45°C/115°F (November– December), with nighttime lows of around 20°C/68°F. In winter (April–September) temperatures often fall below 0°C/32°F at night. Remarkably, the park is extraordinarily biologically diverse for such a harsh climate. Many species are well adapted to survive long periods of drought; gemsbok (Oryx), Blue wildebeest (gnu), Eland, Red hartebeest, Springbok, duiker, and Steenbok antelopes, Bat-eared and Cape foxes, porcupines, pangolins, two species of mongoose, and Meerkat colonies. Carnivores include genets, caracals, jackals, both Brown and Spotted hyenas, and the African wild cat, as well as the larger cats: cheetahs, leopards, and lions are found in the park. There is a diverse bird fauna, including substantial raptor populations and unusual birds such as social weavers and Pygmy falcons.

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Other than park staff, people are only visitors; they do not live within the park’s boundaries. As it is a “wilderness” area, there is an implication that people do not belong there, except as visitors. Given this traditional notion of conservation, the success of the Khomani San’s land claim in 1999 required a drastic change in SANP’s approach to conservation.

The Khomani San and Their Land Claim
San Bushmen had inhabited land in the Kalahari for thousands of years as nomadic hunter-gatherers. In the 19th century, South African military moved into this land to defend the border and the farmer settlers who then also moved in. In the years following the creation of the Kalahari Gemsbok Park in 1931, the San were forced to leave the park. Without land or income, they dispersed throughout the country. A few lived and worked in the new national park as maids, field staff, and camp staff, but by 1970 Khomani San were no longer living their traditional lifestyle in the Kalahari Gemsbok Park. Roger Chennells, the lawyer for the Khomani San land claim, best explains their situation in the years after the park’s proclamation: Where men hunted game for food, they were persecuted and arrested for trespassing on private land. Similarly freedom to gather bush foods and medicines became severely restricted, and the use of traditionally collected foods, practices and rituals began to fall away.4 The old languages spoken by the San had fallen into disuse, and the language loosely described as the Khomani language (in fact the correct name for the language is N/u, (Crawhall, Nigel) was prematurely declared to be officially “dead” in 1970. In many cases children did not know that they were members of the San peoples, and the official assumption was that the N/u language was no longer in use, anywhere. The community, dispersed and demoralised, had ceased to exist. (Chennells 2002, p.51) For the South African National Parks Board in 1931, allowing nomadic hunter-gatherers to occupy land set aside for conservation was inconsistent with conservation ideals. Conservation of natural resources, and the new idea of ‘national parks,’ rested on the philosophy that man naturally exploits nature (as had been the case in the region from over-hunting) and must be restricted from certain areas of biological importance. This was conservation by exclusion, now sometimes called “fortress-style conservation.” So for SANP, allowing the Khomani San rights to access the land within the park was contentious.

What Made the Claim Possible
Inescapably, relations between the Khomani San Community living outside the park and the South African National Parks’ staff inside the park were, for decades, tense and hostile. Specifically, it was the Khomani San in the early 1990s who confronted SANP managers on many occasions; by sitting under the park manager’s desk and refusing to leave, by talking to tourists in the rest camps or, on at least one occasion, climbing a radio tower in the park and announcing that this land belonged to them. Senior park staff actively excluded the Khomani San from the park, forcibly removing them

4 The impetus for the South African Human Rights Commission (SAHRC) to come to the region in 2004 was the untimely death of Optel Rooi at the hands of local police a few months earlier. Questions surrounded the death, and there were also reports of discrimination towards the Khomani San Community by local authorities (police, schools).

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on each of these instances and making entry difficult. However, more commonly, the Khomani San’s vocal and tireless struggle for recognition was simply ignored by senior park staff. By the early 1990s, tension between the senior park staff and several Khomani San were at a peak. Despite a lack of community cohesion, a small clan of Khomani San were living at the Kagga Kamma tourist resort in the Western Cape province. They started to plan a return to the Kalahari. This group was led by Regopstaan Kruiper, one of the few remaining San to remember living in the park. Regopstaan once had a dream that led him to prophesy, “When the strangers come, then will come the big rains. And the Little People will dance. And when the Little People in the Kalahari dance, then the Little People around the world shall dance too” (Isaacson 2001, p.55). Regopstaan believed that “strangers” would help his people once again walk their land. From 1992 to 1995, he and his clan acquired a lawyer (Roger Chennells), set up a committee and, with support from the Minister for Land Affairs, lodged a claim for land in the Kalahari Gemsbok Park. With the official end of apartheid in 1994, the legal landscape of South Africa began to change dramatically. New legislation was created to address issues of equity in a country that had been divided unequally by race for decades. The Restitution of Land Rights Act was one of the first and most important pieces of rights legislation. This act was instrumental in the Khomani San claim for land. The Act mandated “the restitution of rights in land to persons or communities dispossessed of such rights after 19 June 1913 as a result of past racially discriminatory laws or practices” (Restitution of Land Rights Act 22 of 1994). This legislation also came around the opportune time of several international declarations on the rights of indigenous peoples. The International Labor Organization (ILO) conventions 107 and 169 (1991), Article 22 of the Rio Declaration in 1992 with Article 8J of the Convention on Biological Diversity, and provisions relating to indigenous peoples in “Agenda 21” were all drawn on for support. In addition, 1993 was declared the Year of Indigenous Peoples by the United Nations, followed by the formal Decade of Indigenous Peoples from 1994 to 2004. Roger Chennells, the lawyer for the Khomani San, explains the process that the community underwent: Borrowing from other struggles of indigenous peoples abroad, in particular the Native Americans of the Far North, a process known as “Cultural Resource Audit and Management” was commenced. In essence this process involved the interviewing of elder (initially) San individuals in order to record all they could tell, in particular their priceless knowledge relating to land, history, culture and identity. Thereafter the process would ensure that the body of knowledge recording their culture was managed in the most beneficial and effective manner. Elders were approached to recount their life stories in such a way as to indicate their clan and familial relationships, traditional knowledge, rituals, stories, songs, myths, healing and medicinal practices, hunting and gathering places, landmarks, burial sites, sources of water, shelter, and sustenance. As the process continued to gather information on the unique life experiences and cultural knowledge of these elders, far-flung members of families and clans became re-united, and the concrete proof of this common cultural identity became a tangible and central core around which the community began to recognise their interconnectedness as a cultural community. The youth began to express a sense of pride in their San identity, and an eagerness to acquire the knowledge that had become submerged. Many are committed to the task of rebuilding the community around the reclaimed land. (Chennells 2002, p.52)

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The Ae!Hai Kalahari Heritage Park Agreement
The successful Khomani San land claim made Regopstaan’s dream, in theory, a reality. With the successful claim, the Khomani San gained ownership rights to 26,000 ha of land in the park, in addition to 38,000 ha of farming land outside the park. As shown on Figure 2, the park land granted to the Khomani San is designated as ‘San Heritage Land,’ while the Khomani San have ‘symbolic and cultural rights’ to the remaining 400,000 ha of the South African portion of the park. The zone between the San land and the Auob River is a “San preferential commercial zone,’ where the San have the first right to develop tourism products. The 26,000-ha Heritage Land has been transferred in deed to the Khomani San Community, but is co-managed by the Joint Management Board (a panel of SANP Kgalagadi managers, Khomani San Community representatives and representatives from the local Mier Community [“colored” settlers] who also won park land in the claim) under a 99-year lease. This land is a “contractual park” with SANP, which is responsible for the day-to-day “conservation management” of the land. Deciding exactly how SANP and the Khomani San would manage and use the land, within the concepts of both “conservation” and “heritage”, was the task of the next three years. From 1999 to 2002, the Khomani San, with the help of their lawyers, along with independent mediators appointed by the Department of Land Affairs, negotiated with South African National Parks, the Department of Environmental Affairs and Tourism, and the Mier Community. The process included workshops attended by hundreds of interested parties to outline the uses and management of the Khomani San land inside the park. The Ae!Hai Kalahari Heritage Park Agreement was the product of these discussions. The Agreement specifies that these heritage lands are explicitly intended for “activities pertaining to conservation and sustainable economic, symbolic and cultural use compatible with conservation “(Ae!Hai Agreement, 2002, sec. 18.1). So the Khomani San Community may “sustainably” use the flora and fauna, conduct “cultural activities” including gatherings, festivals, religious ceremonies, and other activities considered important to the community. All of these activities, however, must be “compatible with conservation.” This requirement has two consequences. Figure 2. With the post-apartheid government and international recogniFirst, and most significantly, while Regopstaan and the tion of indigenous people’s rights, the time was right for the Khomani original claimants had aspired to once again reside on San to reestablish their claim to the land. This they achieved in 1994. They were granted 26,000 ha in the park lands, called The San Heritage Lands, land within the park, Khomani San can only visit this which they co-manage with the South African National Parks. The San Heritage Lands are in the area within the boundaries CDEFGC. land and not live on it. The Agreement states that land
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may not be used for “residential”, “agriculture” or “mining” purposes (Agreement, 2002: sec.18). Secondly, it is up to SANP to decide what exactly is “compatible with conservation.” The relationship between the Khomani San Community and parks officials often appears, therefore, very much the same as it was before the claim. So while the Agreement followed a lengthy process of negotiation, the end result of the land claim, just like the notion of “heritage land,” is difficult to quantify. Often, for the Khomani San community, there is a sense that “nothing has changed” (pers comm.). This is not entirely true though, while change is slow, it does inevitably Figure 3. The park was created to prevent the extinction of a number happen. of key species, including the Gemsbok (Oryx) antelope. The Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park has a great diversity of wildlife despite its harsh climate. The Agreement also allows for “economic” uses. The Photo © Marna Herbst. idea is that the lands should produce some economic benefit for the community. To achieve this, the Agreement mandates the development of a joint tourist lodge venture between the Khomani San Community and the neighboring Mier community.5 In 2007, after several missteps (the original concessionaire backed out, construction was slow and sometimes faulty, etc.), the !Xaus Lodge opened for business. Owned jointly by the Khomani San Community and the Mier Community, the Lodge is a 24-bed thatched luxury eco-lodge run by the concessionaire Transfrontier Trails. The Khomani San will receive one-third of the profits and rights to employment. The main draw is walking safaris led by San trackers as they unravel the stories of the countless animal prints in the Kalahari sand. Many hopes are pinned on the success of the !Xaus lodge, with the potential of some employment and revenues reaching both the communities, and it is hoped that the lodge’s economic success will rectify some of the poor management and unfair allocation of communal property and assets in the years after the claim (see below). The Agreement also mandated the establishment of a Joint Management Board (JMB) to aid the co-operative management of the “contractual park.” It is composed of representatives from South African National Parks, the Khomani San Community, and the local Mier Community. The JMB is intended to be a forum for each party to inform the others of “actual or intended development” on their areas (Ae! Hai Agreement, 2002: sec.41) and to discuss any issues of relevance to the park land. The group is mandated to meet monthly; however, between 2002 and early 2007 they met irregularly, sometimes with gaps of many months. In 2007, the JMB began to operate as required in the Agreement, meeting every three months and dealing with practical issues relating to the contractual Community Parks. In 2008, they began revising the Management and Development Plan for the contractual parks and developing a work plan and budget. The JMB hopes to attain funding for an implementation officer who can administer and implement programs on behalf of the JMB on a day-to-day basis.

5 The Mier community also has Heritage Land in Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park, which abuts the Khomani San land and is also considered a contractual park with South African National Parks.

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Contemporary Use of the Park Including Resource Rights and Access
In the years following the finalization of the Agreement, the Khomani San made several complaints regarding Kgalagadi’s response to the land claim. The late Vet Piet Kleinman, while attending the World Parks Congress in Durban, South Africa in 2003, is quoted as saying: Our rights are written in the documents, yet park authorities have the same attitude and tend to prescribe to us what we should do [...].There are a number of problems which need to be addressed, such as access to our sacred sites and graves as well as support of our active involvement in management. () These have been recurring issues for years subsequent to the claim. However, in 2006 the JMB held a workshop to improve the involvement of the community and to educate the Khomani San and Mier Communities about what the Agreements allowed and mandated, and what they meant for them. A history of unfair and restrictive rules also continued into the years following the claim, and were a more tangible impediment to Khomani San use of park land. One rule in particular was the SANP demand that a park staff member accompany the Khomani San into the park. For the Khomani San this implied that they were not trusted or that they did not have the knowledge or ability to navigate the park safely on their own. This issue, and many other rules, has now been replaced by more fair rules; for example, certified tracker/guides can now lead groups on their own. Many of these rules have been developed in cooperation with the Khomani San Community, and not by SANP alone. In 2006, for example, SANP Kgalagadi and the Khomani San developed resource-use protocols on the details of permissible hunting, plant use, and “walkabouts” with traditional overnight stays in the park. “Walkabouts”, for example, are permitted but must conform to a number of rules that the Khomani San drafted, with a few modifications from SANP. These rules include: plant harvesting will occur only with the permission of a Khomani San Park Committee, assisted by a Khomani San Traditional Sub-committee; strict records will be kept for all visits about species hunted and plants collected (to include the use of electronic data gathering equipment [the “Cybertrackers”] and a GIS system); for hunting, bows and arrows are permitted, but not the use of hunting dogs; Gemsbok, Blue wildebeest, Springbok, Eland, Red hartebeest and other species may be hunted with a permit issued by the San Park Committee (comprising San elders).

Complexities of the Khomani San Community
Beyond the relations between the Khomani San and South African National Parks officials, the Khomani San Community itself faces conflict and division. Since winning the land claim in 1999, the Khomani San Community has grown from nearly 300 to, in 2007, about 500. As Roger Chennells, the lawyer for the Khomani San, stated, it is “a reconstituted and ‘virtual’ community” (Chennells 2002). There are splinter groups within this group. The primary division is between the original claimants who advocate living a “traditional” lifestyle (led by Dawid Kruiper, the traditional leader and Regopstaan’s son and successor) and others (led previously by Petrus Vaalbooi and now by Gert Bok) who see more promise in livestock farming. There is also some disagreement concerning land outside the park earmarked in the Agreement for “traditional” use (for example, hunting, gathering, and ceremonies), that some community members believe should be developed as a township. These significant divisions have often contributed to mismanagement (such as the allegations of corruption and the pilfering of funds lobbed at the Communal Property Association [CPA] that had been asked to manage and distribute the community’s assets), and an inability within the community to craft a vision

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of a common future. Beyond these differences, the Khomani San community also suffers from larger societal problems. Poverty is universal, and alcoholism, disease (including AIDS and Tuberculosis), and violence are common. In 2004, the South African Human Rights Commission (SAHRC) came to the region to evaluate the Khomani San’s circumstances; five years after winning the land claim.6 Over the course of four days, the SAHRC interviewed, held workshops, and arranged meetings with Khomani San Community members. They reviewed the condition of the farms won outside the park as well as, briefly, the status of the Heritage land inside the Kgalagadi. The SAHRC report reiterated that Khomani San feel they are not granted “free access” to the park by SANP, and that their engagement with their land has not been any easier: Allegations have also been made that SANP, as senior and capacitated partner in the Park JMB, has up to now not facilitated any initiatives to implement the provisions of the agreed upon Contract Park Management Plan. These relate to capacity building, small business development, and adequately maintained infrastructure (such as water supply) on the KTP land belonging to the Khomani San community. (SAHRC 2005, p.16) SANP Kgalagadi, in return, has few resources or manpower to devote to “initiatives” of capacity building or business development. Only one person in the park is responsible for all local community involvement (there are four towns within 100 km of the park that are considered ‘local’), including a thriving environmental education program and community outreach.

Conclusion
Including local communities, whether through co-operative management or by incorporating their particular histories, is a relatively new concept for protected areas and conservation in South Africa. As a result, changes in what was the former operational status quo are required. Considering the history of hostile relations in Kgalagadi, reframing relations is a complex, but necessary, task for senior SANP officials. Offering a local community access to land, not as tourists, but as temporary inhabitants, is a new concept here. Nonetheless, SANP must decide that achieving lasting co-operation and open communication between themselves and the Khomani San is of utmost importance. Offering goodwill towards the Khomani San Community and a willingness to help them understand and access their land in the park would be a sigThe land has been mandated to remain nificant step in the right direction. Likewise, for the Khomani San, the new task of man- protected and to belong to the Khomani San aging land with SANP has been complicated. Participating in perpetuity. The hard work is behind them; in land management (through the JMB) and the planning what remains is to develop new ways to work and preparation that SANP demands (as seen in the protogether to reach the common goals of land tocols for use of the Heritage land) are new skills for most members of the community, and learning to work with conservation and heritage preservation.

6 To some extent, the difficulties facing Kgalagadi staff and the Khomani San Community are a legacy of apartheid. Shedding historical social division and inequality is a task that all of South Africa faces. Forging a new future requires an understanding of the way the past affects today, while also dramatically shifting away from the past.

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SANP senior officials requires redefining their relationships with them. Cooperative participation within the Khomani San Community is also essential, however difficult this may be in a divided community. Developing ways to work together in the region and reach a common understanding has been the evolving process of the past six years. The Ae!Hai Heritage Park Agreement, through the formation of a “contractual park,” gives the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park a comprehensive, formalized framework that outlines how to co-operate with the Khomani San Community. In the years after the claim, however, it became clear to the Khomani San Community and SANP that there were contradictions within the Agreement (such as conferring authority on SANP to develop rules and protocols while considering the coownership with the Khomani San Community as equal) and that perhaps the document needs to be revisited. Regardless, the ultimate goal of successfully implementing the Ae!Hai Agreement should be to reach a common understanding. Both organizations care passionately about this land, while their approaches to its use may sometimes — but not always — be different. The land has been mandated to remain protected and to belong to the Khomani San in perpetuity. The hard work is behind them; what remains is to develop new ways to work together to reach the common goals of land conservation and heritage preservation. For this to, in fact, be a “rebirth” of a people, as Thabo Mbeki foretold in 1999, SANP must ease and facilitate the return of the Khomani San to their land, allowing it to be both frequent and meaningful.

Figure 4. A field ranger at Nossob camp looks out over the dry Nossob riverbed in the northern section of the Transfrontier Park. After the agreement, Khomani San were only allowed to visit, not live, in the park. The South African National Parks (SANP) decided which activities were “compatible with conservation.” The relationship between the Khomani San Community and park officials often appears, therefore, very much the same as it was before the claim. Photo © Betsie Meyer.

Figure 5. The Kalahari after seasonal rains. This southern area of the park receives on average 150 mm of rain per year, and looks this way for just a few weeks a year. Photo © Marna Herbst.

Literature Cited and Further Reading
Chennells, R. 2002. The Khomani San Land Claim. Cultural Survival Quarterly: World Report on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples and Ethnic Minorities 26(1): 51–52. Crawhall, N. 2005. The San: sustainable development before its time. The New Courier 2005. Local and Indigenous Knowledge Systems (LINKS), United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), Paris. Website: . Accessed: 5 June 2009.

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Crawhall, N. 2009. African hunter-gatherers: threats and opportunities for maintaining indigenous knowledge systems of biodiversity. In: Learning and Knowing in Indigenous Societies Today, P. Bates, M. Chiba, S. Kube and D. Nakashima (eds.), pp.107–126. United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), Paris. 128pp. Crawhall, N. and Rutgerd, B. (eds.). 2008. Water and Indigenous Populations. Rutgerd Boelens Coordination, Water Law and Indigenous Rights Programme (WALIR), Wageningen University, Netherlands. Hughes, C. 2005. “Nothing Changes in the Kalahari”: Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park, the Ae!Hai Kalahari Heritage Park Agreement and the Effects of Difference, Discourse, and the Past. Master’s thesis, Department of Social Anthropology, University of Cape Town, South Africa. Isaacson, R. 2001. The Healing Land: The Bushmen and the Kalahari Desert. Grove Press, New York.

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D.R.C.

Indigenous People and the Kahuzi-Biega National Park in the Democratic Republic of the Congo
Dominique Bikaba

Quick Facts
Country: Democratic Republic of Congo Geographic Focus: Kahuzi-Biega National Park (KBNP) is on the eastern border of DRC. Indigenous Peoples: There are seven ethnic groups, including Pygmies, living in the surroundings of the Kahuzi-Biega National Park. Indigenous people indicates Pygmies in this study.

Introduction
The Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) has about 1,127,211 km² of forest, covering about 48% of the country (Laporte et al. 1998). According to Bakarr et al. (2008; data current to 2005), there are 83 protected areas in the DRC, comprising 8.2% of the area of the country. The DRC government’s objective is to increase the number of protected areas to cover 15% (DRC, Ministère de l’Environnement, Conservation de la Nature, Eaux et Forêts 2002). The principal issue in this endeavor is that appropriate consideration and compensation has yet be provided for local communities and indigenous people who lost their lands or had their livelihoods impaired when the existing protected areas were created. Local communities and indigenous people should be involved throughout the process of the creation and management of any new protected areas in the DRC. Between 1979 and 1996, five of the seven national parks in DRC were recognized by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) as World Heritage Sites; among them, inscribed in 1980, the Kahuzi-Biega National Park (KBNP). Created in 1970 and augmented in 1975 (Fig. 1), the park boundaries were not negotiated with local communities and were the cause of considerable contention (Kasereka 2003). Forced land expropriation, and their exclusion from the park (poorly-defined boundaries aggravating the situation) and consequent loss of access to natural resources caused much hostility from some of the traditional chiefs. A participatory project to demarcate the park boundaries was initiated in 1985, and effective demarcation began in 1990. This alleviated the conflicts to a degree, but the issue is still not resolved. To this day none of the communities have received appropriate compensation. This situation has been a source of conflict between the park administration and the surrounding communities, and even a cause of wildlife depredation in the communities’ farms around the park. As pointed out by Kasereka

Author Information
Dominique Bikaba is the coordinator and co-founder of the Pole Pole Foundation (POPOF), created in 1992 by workers in and around the Kahuzi-Biega National Park. The mission of POPOF is to promote the long-term protection and conservation of the wildlife in KahuziBiega National Park, particularly the eastern lowland gorilla, through reduction of human pressures on its natural resources and wildlife by involving and supporting communities in the vicinity of the park. Bikaba graduated in rural development (Regional Planning) and has lived with the Pygmies since his childhood. He has worked with the Pygmies for 14 years. Bikaba works also as an independent consultant in feasibility studies for conservation projects, in environmental impact assessment, and in protected areas management planning. E-mail: bikaba@gmail.com

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(2003): “as human populations keep growing they will demand more natural resources and space. Conflicts, therefore are likely to continue over the alignment of zone boundaries, park boundary demarcation and the levels of exploitation permitted within the park” (p.182). The local communities were mollified to some extent by their inclusion on the demarcation process and the development benefits the park was attracting. However, even when tourism was in vogue prior to the successive wars that began in the DRC in 1996, the 40% quota of the park’s income that should have been awarded as restitution to the surrounding communities, as determined by law, was never honored. An assessment of the responsibilities of the three major stakeholders in the conservation of this area — the Congolese government, the international community that designated it a World Heritage Site and the local communities — is urgently needed.

The Kahuzi-Biega National Park
The Kahuzi-Biega National Park (KBNP) is named from the two extinct volcanoes, Mount Kahuzi (3,308 m), and Mount Biega (2,790 m). The park comprises a high-altitude block of 60,000 ha, designated for conservation in 1970, and a low-altitude block (540,000 ha) that earned conservation status when the park was extended in 1975. About 10% of the 600,000 ha of the park is montane and the remainder lowland. Although the park is managed from the South Kivu province, it borders the provinces of North Kivu and Maniema. It is on the western side of the Mitumba mountain range in eastern DRC. The altitude varies from 900 m above sea level in the western lowlands to 3,300 m in the eastern mountains. Geographic coordinates are 1°36'– 2°37'S to 27°33'–28°46'E. The highland and eastern parts of the park have a montane climate with a dry season in June, July, and August and a rainy season from September to May. The average annual rainfall in the highland part is 1,900 mm with two peaks, one in April (226 mm) the other in November (236 mm). The average monthly temperature in the eastern part of the park is almost constant at about 15°C. As a result of human depredations and pressures on the park’s natural resources, mainly caused by recent wars in the DRC, in 1997 the UNESCO placed it on the List of World Heritage Sites “In Danger” (UNESCO 1997). It is a wildlife sanctuary of exceptional importance, Figure 1. The Kahuzi-Biega National Park (black dotted line) is on the eastern edge of the Demoincluding notably Grauer’s or eastcratic Republic of Congo. This 600,000-ha park contains a high-altitude block that was designated for conservation in 1970 and a lowland block added in 1975. The agricultural areas ern lowland gorilla (Gorilla beringei surrounding the park are shown in pink. Map © ICCN/KBNP. Inset: sketch of the Kahuzi-Biega National Park, drawn by POPOF. © Bikaba et al. (2004). graueri), chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes
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schweinfurthii) (see Yamagiwa et al. 1992), and African elephant (Loxodonta africana cyclotis), and numerous other species endemic to the Albertine Rift. The vegetation of the lowland part of the park is still poorly known. Michel et al. (1993) describe the montane vegetation of the park as follows: • 1,800–2,100 m: an open forest with typically montane African redwood (Hagenia abyssinica, Rosaceae), while from 900m to 1800m the lowland part of the park contains a humid tropical forest, • 2,000–2,400 m: high-altitude secondary forest with Myrianthus holstii (Cecropiaceae) and Xymalos sp. (Monimiaceae); a deciduous tree and a primary forest with Podocarpus sp., (Podocarapceae); • 2,250–2,350 m: swamp with Nutsedge (Cyperus sp., Cyperaceae); • 2,250–2,600 m: bamboo forest (Arundinaria alpina, Graminaeae); • 2,600–3,300 m: dry formations (heath, groundsel, lobelia, and herbaceous savannah).
History 1937–1970

The Kahuzi Zoological and Forest Reserve (75,000 ha) in the Constermansville province (now the Kivu provinces) was created on 27 July 1937 by the Ordnance N°81/Agri of the Belgian Congo’s General Governor, M. Ryckmans (IZCN 1992). The motivation for this act was to constitute a forestry seed bank for the Institut National pour l’Etude Agronomique au Congo (INEAC) (now the Institut National d’Etude et de Recherche Agronomiques: INERA/MULUNGU) that was created in the region at the same time. In September 1966, the Provincial Minister of Agriculture and Veterinary Service, M. Sukari Gaston, through his letter N°370/473/CAB/MINAGRIVET/66, initiated contacts with the country’s hierarchic authorities with the intent of creating the Kahuzi-Biega National Park, asking the United Nations High Commission of Refugees (UNHCR) to evacuate the Rwandan refugees who had been settling in the reserve since 1964. Two days later, on 19 September, 1966, M. Sukari Gaston designated M. Adrien Deschryver as Officer of Judiciary Police (Officier de Police Judiciaire – OPJ) of the Kahuzi Forest Reserve through his letter 370/490/CAB/MINAGRIVET/66 (see Bikaba 1996). On 23 December 1966, Kivu students in Belgium addressed a letter to the provincial minister requesting the creation of the Kahuzi-Biega National Park.
History 1970–1975

On 30 November 1970, the reserve became the KahuziBiega National Park (KBNP) of 60,000 ha1. The objective of the change in status was to protect the habitat and population of the eastern lowland or Grauer’s gorilla, Gorilla beringei graueri; a subspecies of the Mountain gorilla, Gorilla beringei occurring to the north in the

Figure 2. The Eastern lowland gorilla (Gorilla beringei graueri) is an endangered species protected in the Kahuzi-Biega National Park. Other key species in the park include elephant (Loxodonta africana cyclotis) and the chimpanzee (Pan troglodytes schweinfurthii), and numerous species endemic to the Albertine Rift. Photo © Conservation International/ Russell A. Mittermeier.

1 By Order-Law 70/316 of the President of the Republic. Of the 75,000 ha of the original forest reserve 15,000 ha were distributed among 16 wealthy farmers.

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Virunga Massif (see Ferris et al. 2005). Meanwhile, to accommodate the local and indigenous communities that had been living in the forest reserve, the government ceded to them the land between Kilometer 53 on the Bakavu-Bunyakiri road and the entrance of Bitale, more precisely by the Nyabugobugo River (Bikaba 1996). This retrocession was an attempt to resolve the land conflicts that had already started between the park administration and the neighboring population. Unfortunately, the ceded lands were quickly shared among wealthy farmers and the communities remained without any access on them. In 1972, Adrien Deschryver began habituating the gorillas’ in the KBNP, and tourists were brought in in 1973; the first attempt at such a venture in all of Africa (Nishuli 2009).
1975–Present

The KBNP was increased in size to 600,000 ha, ten times its original extent, on 22 July 19752. The Pygmy villages were removed from the 60,000 ha of the original national park when it was created from the forest reserve, but the villages in the vast area of lowland forest of the extension were not.

Pygmies and the Kahuzi-Biega National Park
There are seven tribes living in the surroundings of the KahuziBiega National Park, including the Pygmies. The Pygmies who Figure 3. The community lands around Kahuzi-Biega National are called the “Batwa,” “Mbuti,” or the “Bambuti” are also desPark (KBNP). The Pygmy communities and those of other ethnic ignated “indigenous people” to describe this ethnic group as groups were evicted from KBNP when the forest first became a national park in 1970. Some Pygmy groups spread along the park the first people who settled in the area before the arrival of other boundaries and scattered among other communities including those of the Bashi, the Bahavu, and the Batembo. © GTZ, Projet ethnic groups, such as the Bantus. Some Pygmies now live on Kabare 1992. the edges of the park; others live further away, including Idjwi Island on Lake Kivu. Pygmies and communities of other tribes were evicted from KBNP when the forest reserve was transformed into the national park in 1970. The Pygmies evacuated the park by groups organized around a customary and traditional authority. These groups spread along the park boundaries and scattered among other communities including those of Bantu tribes — Bashi, Bahavu, and Batembo — around the highland part of the park. Some other tribal groups who lived in, and used to farm in, the forest were also evicted when it became a national park, but were much luckier because most of their large families already had large landholdings outside the forest, where they were welcomed. The Pygmies who were dependant on the forest received no compensation or provision for resettlement, and their situation was precarious with regard to education, primary health care, food and

2 By Order-Law 75/238, 22 July 1975.

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shelter, and remains so today. The Pygmies would enter the park to hunt and trap small and large mammals, including primates, for their subsistence, and encouraged other tribes, such as the Bashi, to do the same. In 1993, the number of Pygmies living around the high-altitude part of the KBNP was estimated at 1,608, grouped into 400 families (Ndukura 2001-2002). Censusing Pygmies is difficult given the problems of safety in a region plagued by civil disturbance and military activities, and also due to the fact the Pygmies are constantly on the move. The largest Pygmy village near the KBNP headquarters is Buyungule, in Chombo in the Miti administrative grouping (sector). This Pygmy village has about 656 inhabitants of 150 families and is near the entrance of the park, one kilometer from the Tshivanga. The Pygmies have benefitted little if at all from development activities in the region. Some families, and mostly the women, have learned some farming techniques. Both men and women hunt, but hunting is principally a male occupation; women prepare food supplies for hunting parties. Currently, one child out of 10 school-age Pygmy children goes to school, and it is very rare for girls to get an education. Many women are now the heads of the household; they are either widows or have been abandoned by their husbands. Normally the village is headed by a chief, however, and women have a secondary position.

Major Threats to Kahuzi-Biega National Park
Major threats to the KBNP include the presence of armed troops in the park, poaching, illegal encroachment, mining (gold, cassiterite, and columbite-tantalite or coltan), bush fires, and the spread of an alien invasive liana (Sericostachys scandens, Amaranthaceae) in the bamboo forest (Arundinaria alpina). In the early days, Pygmies trapped and hunted in the park for subsistence only; young animals, mostly gorillas, were often maimed in the traps they laid. Commercial hunting was rare, limited to bartering for food such as bananas or beans, or for drinks. This changed, however, shortly before the war in the DRC, notably during the period when Rwandan refugees (who arrived in 1994 after the Rwandan genocide) were in the country. Their camps were sometimes less than 5 km from the park, including the Kashusha, the INERA I and II, and the ADI Kivu fields. It was at this time that the Pygmies started hunting for trade. In 1993, a Pygmy was involved for the first time in the killing of a gorilla — Masheshe, the pride of KBNP — because he wanted to sell its skull. This newly acquired habit of exploiting natural Others 1% resources in KBNP grew during the war in the DRC, Timber 22% and extended to other activities such as mining. In 2000, there were over 90 quarries (mining mainly coltan, a valuable mineral used in the manufacture of cell phones and computer chips), and more than 8,000 people inside the park (The Durban Process 2004). Formerly trapping Mining 57% only small mammals for subsistence, Pygmies gradually became involved in numerous illegal activities. Arrests in Game 20% the park in 2000 indicated that Pygmies were involved to a greater or lesser degree in all of the numerous illegal activities then threatening its integrity. Pygmies comprised 18.4% of those arrested for poaching game, 2.9% of those for illegal mining, 14.5% Figure 4. Relative occurrence of illegal activities at the KBNP in 2000. of those taking timber (firewood) from the park, and the Mining is predominant and the greatest threat to the KBNP.
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majority (54.5%) of people arrested for a variety of other illicit activities. This was a clear sign that the well-being of the Pygmy communities had to be given due consideration and support as part of the solution to improving the effectiveness of the park in protecting the gorillas, elephants and wildlife of the region.

Community-Based Conservation and Development
Conservation approaches for protected areas in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) have changed over time. When parks and reserves were first established, they were protected by very limited interventions of military-trained park rangers. Most communities living near protected areas had no knowledge or understanding of the reason for these protected areas, and it was quite unreasonable and practically impossible to pursue this policing approach effectively. The police were unable to limit encroachment into national parks for hunting and the exploitation of their natural resources. Conflicts of over land between national parks managers Table 1. The numbers of people arrested at the KBNP in 2000 for differand local communities escalated. ent offences (Bikaba 2006). Pygmies represent 9.2% of poachers at the There was an evident and urgent need for the develKBNP, a number proportional to the numbers of Pygmies living in the area relative to other tribes. opment of a conservation strategy that would integrate Offence Male Female Pygmies Total wildlife and natural resource conservation with the wellPoaching game 104 16 27 147 being of the local communities; an important change Mining 371 38 12 421 in philosophy for the conservation movement in the 57 79 23 159 DRC, and with particular relevance for the KBNP. This Cutting firewood, logging timber for construction, approach, first developed by non-governmental orgacharcoal production, and nizations (NGOs) and subsequently adopted by the cutting bamboo Congolese government through the Institut Congolais Others (illegal encroach4 1 6 11 pour la Conservation de la Nature (ICCN), recognized ment in the park) the importance of involving the local communities in the Total 536 134 68 738 plans and procedures for the management of protected areas. It was necessary to raise awareness of the conservation ethic among the communities, providing them with training and information on the natural riches of national parks and the reasons to preserve them; measures which generated interest in and an understanding of the concept of sustainability and resource conservation. While 98.7% of populations living around the high-altitude part of KBNP (Bashi, Bahavu, Batembo, Barongeronge and Pygmies) recognize the social, economic, and ecological significance of this site for the country, 83.4% of the same population admitted that the creation of the park raised serious problems, not only in limiting access to forest resources and fertile farmFigure 5. Military-trained park rangers patrol the KBNP. The police were land, but also in being associated with arbitrary arrests as unable to limit the encroachment of humans into national parks. Since well as outbreaks of violence in the region, with armed the Pygmy communities have been involved in community development, daily data collection on illegal activities in areas adjacent to Pygmy villages gangs which have been settling in the park since 1996 show that illegal activities by Pygmies were reduced from 62% in 1999 to 1.4% in 2002 (Bikaba 2003). Photo © Isidore Kikukama, WWF/PCKB. (Bikaba 2006). These armed troops are mainly elements
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of the FDLR3 (Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda) who have been killing, raping and looting in villages adjacent to the park. Pygmies, the late Mishebere and Mr. Pilipili, were involved in the habituation of gorillas for tourism in the high-altitude block of KBPN in 1972, shortly after the park’s creation. Pilipili and other Pygmy men were subsequently hired by ICCN for tracking and patrol work. Since then, ICCN and other research institutions working at KBNP, such as Kyoto University (since 1978), employ Pygmies for data collection and general help in the field. Pygmy communities living around KBNP Figure 6. Mr. Pilipili Purusi (right) pursues a professional career at the now distinguish themselves for their knowledge in comKBNP along with the late Mishebere. They were the first Pygmies involved munity conservation; an approach that focuses on crein the gorilla habituation project. Photo © POPOF/Dominique Bikaba. ating sustainable activities that benefit the communities around the park. Initiatives, based on the premise that improving the livelihoods of people living in the vicinity of the park minimizes depredation of the park’s natural resources, are developed by the communities themselves prior to being submitted to potential donors. For over ten years, NGOs such as the Pole Pole Foundation (POPOF) have developed activities that integrate Pygmy communities with sustainable conservation measures at KBNP. They include socio-economic projects and literacy campaigns for men and women in the villages of Buyungule, Kashodu, and Muyange. Many more projects have been designed by the Pygmy communities around the KBNP and supported by POPOF, including extension activities in livestock breeding and farming, microcredit for small business ventures, and making clothes, as well as campaigns and projects to raise awareness about gorillas and species conservation. All aim to empower the Pygmies and create socio-economic alternatives to the over-exploitation of the park’s natural resources. Pygmy children are encouraged to attend the POPOF conservation schools around the KBNP. There they can meet and compete with children of other tribes. These approaches focus on future Pygmy generations. Tourism has now developed into a significant source of revenue for the province of South Kivu. Funds and material resources from tourism have been channeled to the region to improve the socioeconomic conditions of the communities or for direct conservation activities in the park. Tourism in KBNP and community-based tourism can also offer opportunities for socioeconomic exchange among the ethnic groups living around the park. This would enable to communities, including Pygmies, living around the park to exhibit tourism products, such as their traditional way of life, dances, culinary customs, and other aspects of their rich cultures. The community development activities near KBNP have had significant positive results not only for the Pygmies but also the conservation of the natural resources of interest to them and consequently for the integrity of the park. Daily monitoring of illegal activities in areas adjacent to Pygmy villages has shown that illegal activities (incursions) in the park by Pygmies have been reduced from 62% in 1999 to 1.4% in 2002 (Bikaba 2003), since they have been employed and otherwise occupied by the different projects.

3 FDLR: These are Rwandans (mainly Hutus) who were brought into DRC as refugees by the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) in 1994 after they had lost power in Rwanda. They created this military and political party after their refugee camps were destroyed by the 1996 wars in DRC.

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Important Threats and Challenges to the Sustainability of Pygmy Actions
The Pygmy communities still face a great challenge — the lack of land, without which they can never have a settled life. The community-based conservation initiatives mentioned above, conducted by the POPOF and others, have attempted to give the Pygmies the wherewithal to be better able to define their destiny. This power encompasses an endogenous definition of the actual needs of “the Pygmy by the Pygmy” at different levels; socioeconomic, cultural, and political. There remains however a fundamental problem. The communities are not allowed access to the forest; something so important for their cultural well-being (ceremonies, traditions, and sacred sites, for example) and their very survival in terms of access to the natural resources so vital for their daily needs and health. Their direct involvement in the initiatives promoting sustainable development in the region should be benefitting them both financially and socially (health and education). Compared to other communities, Pygmies at KBNP still have limited access to opportunities for paid work, mainly due to their limited training and education. Education would give these communities more opportunities to develop the means to communicate and document their traditions and pass them on to other generations. The recovery and documentation of their traditional knowledge and way of life would, above all, benefit the Pygmies in its being an essential part of achieving social and economic stability among their communities. Lack of access to basic health care reduces their life expectancy and debilitates any initiatives to improve their financial and social stability. Their plight in this sense is aggravated by the fact that the KBNP prohibits access to the forests where they have always collected the plants and plant parts they use for traditional medicinal practices. Finally, their lack of representation at decision-making levels in local and provincial government is also a challenge. The Pygmies are being marginalized in the regions where they live. Their capacity to understand and their willingness to be involved in any action to improve their welfare should be taken into account. Only when they can be heard and achieve direct involvement in the governments that make decisions and affect their livelihoods will they be able to better their lot Figure 7. Pygmies from the village of Buyungule participate in an animal breeding project and a Pygmy women sows park ranger uniforms. Many organizations have promoted socio-economic development and reverse the insidious marprojects with Pygmies around the KBNP which helps integrate Pygmy communities into sustainable conservation practices and improve their livelihoods. Photo © POPOF/Dominique Bikaba and John Kahekwa. ginalization prevalent today.

The Way Forward
There have been, and are, numerous organizations and initiatives concerned with the welfare, activities and education of the Pygmies living around the KBNP. Many of them, however, have had little or no success in providing for any significant improvement in the Pygmies’ living conditions when compared to the financial, material, and human resources invested. A preliminary analysis (POPOF 2007) shows that this lack of result is due not only to the challenges and difficulties already mentioned, but also to the lack of an appropriate and well-considered community development strategy; one that takes into account the real needs of the Pygmies, focusing on their socioeconomic development, and involving
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the Pygmies from the beginning and right through planning, implementation and the evaluation. To achieve this, projects must include neighboring ethnic communities in areas where Pygmies already live outside the forests. This approach would reduce the marginalization of those communities and improve cultural sharing among them. For example, some Pygmy children near the KBNP show interest in going to local schools. Sending them to schools where children from other ethnic groups are present increases their future competitiveness important for the life of their communities. Terms such as “Pygmy school” or “Pygmy health center” are divisive and should be avoided; activities that allow them to share their culFigure 8. Pygmy children from the Chombo village. One child out of ten school-age Pygmy children goes to school, and it is very rare for girls to ture and understanding with neighboring communities get any education at all. Education is an important need for future Pygmy should be promoted. This analysis was conducted in two generations. Photo © POPOF/Dominique Bikaba. different schools near the KBNP, and the results on habituation and degree of competitiveness of Pygmy children compared to children of other communities are encouraging. In the future, groups and individuals working for the development of Pygmy peoples should intensify their interventions in order to allow Pygmy communities evicted from KBNP to gain access and rights to land, as the basic means of subsistence in the region. This can be promoted indirectly by socioeconomic projects that facilitate access to basic resources. Active community involvement in all planning stages must be ensured. Agriculture and livestock initiatives would allow communities in the high-altitude part of the park access to food security, and would provide significant socio-economic opportunities. Any initiatives must, however, be inclusive; accompanied by measures to improve access to health care and education. Development opportunities should focus on the preservation of the Pygmy’s cultural values and traditional knowledge. In the past, cultural practices have generally been recounted and written by people from outside the group — anthropologists and others who visit the Pygmy villages for brief periods of time — and rarely by someone who lives with the Pygmies, or by the Pygmies themselves. Because Pygmies communicate mainly by “word of mouth” and often by other instruments such as a drum or silent signs, formal education would enable them to document their culture and ensure that they pass their cultural values on to future generations.

Conclusion
The findings reported in this article are the result of observations and collaboration with Pygmies living around the highaltitude part of the KBNP. At this point, it seems unlikely that the Pygmies will be allowed to return to the forest of the KNBP. Evicted Pygmies who have experienced cultural influences from other communities for three generations no longer have the capacity to survive in forest. Alternatives should be developed to benefit these communities, while ensuring their integration in the multi-ethnic communities where they now live. As mentioned previously, there are two conservation approaches for the forests of the KBNP, one of strict protection (exclusion) and the other that allows for the limited integration of communities to promote the park’s conservation through sustainable development projects. Some people of the Bakano, Barega, and Banyang ethnic groups still live in
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the lowland part of the KBNP. There they exploit the natural resources in a way which makes full use of their traditional knowledge and practices. The options are two ends of a continuum and would involve the appropriate accords and zoning to fulfill the aims of the park and to provide for the livelihoods and aspirations of the Pygmies. Both are important depending on context and objectives. It is practically impossible, however, to try to preserve the forests and wildlife of the KBNP without the direct involvement of the local communities, and it should not be assumed that community development alone is enough to efficiently protect the park. Actions for the KBNP should find a balance between park protection and regulation while intensifying opportunities for local communities to improve their socio-economic conditions.

Acknowledgments
We thank Mr. Ntavuna, Chief of the Chombo Pygmy village, who contributed significantly to this chapter. We also thank the staff of the Pole Pole Foundation (POPOF) and the KBNP who contributed valuable information. We are grateful to Partners in Conservation (USA), the Gorilla Organization (UK), the Canadian Ape Alliance, Kyoto University, Zero footprint (Canada) and the Born Free Foundation, for their support to the Pygmy communities at the KBNP through the POPOF for conservation and development projects there.

Literature Cited
Bakarr, M.I., Kormos, R. and Lisinge, E. 2008. West and Central Africa. In: The World’s Protected Areas: Status, Values and Prospects in the 21st Century, S. Chape, M.D. Spalding and M.D. Jenkins (eds.), pp.238–247. University of California Press, Berkeley. Bikaba, D. 1996. Approches palliatives au braconnage dans le parc national de Kahuzi-Biega du Sud Kivu, Cas spécifique de la collectivité-chefferie de Kabare. Travail de Fin de Cycle de graduat, Institut Supérieur de Développement Rural (ISDR), Bukavu, DRC. Bikaba. D. 2003. The Pygmies and the Kahuzi-Biega National Park in the Eastern DR-Congo. Gorilla Gazette 16(1): 46–49. Bikaba, D. 2006. Etude d’une approche de minimisation de l’impact de l’extraction minière sur les ressources naturelles du Parc National de Kahuzi-Biega du Sud Kivu: Cas spécifique du Coltan. Mémoire de Licence, Institut Supérieur de Développement Rural (ISDR), Bukavu, DRC. DRC, Ministère de l’Environnement, Conservation de la Nature, Eaux et Forêts. 2002. Code Forestier, Loi No.11/2002 du 29 août 2002. Kinshasa, République Démocratique du Congo. Ferris, S., Robbins, M. and Williamson, E.A. 2005. Eastern gorilla (Gorilla beringei). In: World Atlas of Great Apes and their Conservation, J. Caldecott and L. Miles (eds.), pp.129–152. UNEP World Conservation Monitoring Centre (WCMC), Cambridge, UK, and University of California Press, Berkeley. Gouvernement de la RDC, Loi N° 007/2002 du 11 Juillet 2002 Portant Code minier, Journal Officiel, N° spécial du 15 juillet 2002. Gouvernement de la RDC, Ministère de l’Environnement, Conservation de la nature et Tourisme Document de politique sectorielle, inédit. GTZ, Projet Kabare. 1992. Analyse et proposition de projet, Zone de Kabare. Report, German Organisation for Technical Cooperation (GTZ), Eschborn. January 1992.

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IZCN. 1992. Aperçu historique sur le PNKB, rapport de la commission chargée d’examiner les problèmes du PNKB face aux revendications de la population locale. Unpublished report, Institut Zairois pour la Conservation de la Nature (IZCN), Bukavu, DRC. Laporte, N.T., Goetz S.J., Justice C.O. and Heinicke M. 1998. A new land cover map of central Africa derived from multi-resolution, multi-temporal AVHRR data. International Journal of Remote Sensing 19(18): 3537–3550. Kasereka, B. 2003. Factors affecting the boundary demarcation in the Kahuzi-Biega National Park, Kivu, D. R. Congo. African Study Monographs 24(3): 181–194. Michael, Jolanta, S., Bernd, S.B. 1993. Parc national de Kahuzi-Biega. Bukavu, DRC. Ndukura, C.S. 2001-2002. Analyse de l’interdépendance socioéconomique et écologique entre le Parc National de Kahuzi-Biega et les populations de son hinterland — Axe Mudaka-Lemera, Mémoire de Licence, Institut Supérieur de Développement Rural (ISDR), Bukavu, DRC. Nishuli, R. 2009. Efforts de conservation des gorilles de plaines orientales au Parc National de Kahuzi-Biega (PNKB) [Eastern lowland gorilla conservation efforts in the Kahuzi-Biega National Park (KBNP)]. Paper presented at the Symposium “Gorilla — Gentle Giants in Need”, Frankfurt Zoological Gardens, Frankfurt, 10 June 2009. Website: . Accessed: 8 September 2009. POPOF. 2007. Programme pygmée: Rapport d’évaluation. Unpublished report, Pole Pole Foundation (POPOF), Bukavu, DRC. The Durban Process. 2004. Report of the Second Meeting Tarangire Safari Lodge, Arusha, Tanzania, 14th–16th April 2004. The Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund, London. Unpublished. UNESCO. 1997. Parc national de Kahuzi-Biega. United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), Paris. Website: . Accessed: 7 September 2009. Yamagiwa, J., Mwanza, N., Spangenberg, A., Maruhashi, T., Yumoto, T., Fischer. A., Steinhauer-Burkart, B. and Refisch, J. 1992. Population density and ranging pattern of chimpanzees in Kahuzi-Biega National Park, Zaire: a comparison with a sympatric population of gorillas. African Study Monographs 13(4): 217–230.

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N
atural Resource Management is now underpinning indigenous community conservation initiatives around the world. This section explores the many ways in which indigenous peoples are adapting traditional natural resource management schemes to bring them into alignment with methods and approaches developed in Europe and the United States. Often, however, it is the reverse — governments and natural resource managers are learning from indigenous peoples, as amply illustrated in a number of these case studies. Ideas of self, place and cultural identity of many indigenous peoples are inextricably linked to the land upon which they and their ancestors have always depended for their livelihoods.

Here we provide examples of indigenous conservation initiatives that include Marine-based Community Conserved Areas in Fiji (Calamia et al.), Community-Conserved Forests of Suledo (Massawe) and Lulanda (Meshack and Woodcock) in Tanzania, Community Based Conservation (CBC) initiatives in India (Kothari and Pathak), cultural landscapes in northern Canada (Davidson-Hunt et al.), and the community management of indigenous territories and reserves — the Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area in Australia (Smyth et al.), the Community-Owned Conservation Area (C.O.C.A.) of the Wai-wai in Guyana (Community Members of Masakenari and their collaborators), and reserves in the wetlands of the Abanico del Pastaza in Peru (Soto et al.) and the ríos Mirití and Apaporis and middle and lower Caquetá in Colombia (Palacios et al.). For indigenous peoples today, natural resource management frequently involves the cooperation of state authorities and non-governmental organizations. This section provides examples of success in this endeavor resulting from collaboration between indigenous communities, government, and local and international nongovernmental organizations (see especially the case of the Mount Panié reserve and conservation corridor in New Caledonia; Blaffart et al.). There are several threads that run through these case studies, binding them together and giving them a coherence that their geography and ecosystems may otherwise lack. The strongest of these is the primary need to secure land rights — each of the communities had established their rights to their traditional lands and resources. There is ample research demonstrating that communities with land and resource rights are better stewards of their natural resources, with a greater ability to not only set internal regulations that the community obey through customary law and practice, but also to enforce laws that outside resource-users must obey as well. And, as Massawe, Calamia et al., and Blaffart et al., for example, demonstrate, it is essential to take account of, and work within, the traditional authority structures in determining new management schemes.

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A second aspect so evident in these articles is that one of the principal barriers facing indigenous people, especially when dealing with strong outside forces such as oil companies, is lack of information. Access to knowledge, especially concerning their rights and the appropriate means to express and enforce them, means that communities have the power to hold extractive industries and other outside forces to national and international laws that may otherwise be disregarded. As in the case of Peru (Soto et al.), indigenous peoples were not only able to make a petroleum company pay to clean up the damaged environment, but they also energized the government to assume their rightful responsibility for this task because of their understanding of the legislation and the problems and possible solutions. Given an understanding of their rights, it also necessary to provide the means by which they can exercise them. Zimmerman recounts the remarkable way that the Kayapo communities of the Xingu basin in the southeastern Amazon, were, with the help of NGOs and government, able to patrol and defend the integrity of their forests over more than 11 million ha in a region that has otherwise been devastated; carved up by roads, highways, logging, mining, agriculture and cattle-ranching over the last 25 years. A third, and perhaps most important, thread running through this section is indigenous peoples’ commitment to upholding traditional practices while at the same time looking to the future for sustainable uses of their natural resources. This is especially well demonstrated in the cultural landscape1 of the Pikangikum First Nation (PFN) in northwestern Ontario, Canada (Davidson-Hunt et al.). Although many indigenous peoples still rely on the land for subsistence, it is important to remember that cultures are ever-evolving entities, and new interpretations of traditional management schemes are one of the many paths towards the future conservation and sustainable use of natural resources.

1 Cultural Landscape often refers to living landscapes that indigenous peoples or local communities value because of their enduring relationship with that place and its continuing importance to their cultural identity and language.

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BRAZIL

Beauty, Power, and Conservation in the Southeast Amazon:
How Traditional Social Organization of the Kayapo Leads to Forest Protection
Barbara Zimmerman

Quick Facts
Country: Brazil Geographic Focus: A contiguous block of five Kayapo territories totaling almost 105,000 km² in the south of the state of Pará and the north of the state of Mato Grosso in the highly threatened southeastern Amazon of Brazil. Indigenous Peoples: The contemporary Kayapo population approaches 7,000 living in 18 villages.

Introduction
Beginning in the 1980s, an extraordinary phenomenon could be observed from space in the southeastern Amazon of Brazil — tentacles of the agricultural frontier were reaching into the forests of the north of the state of Mato Grosso and southern Pará. Fifteen years later, vast areas of forest had been reduced to smoking ruins as ranchers transformed forest into pasture in an unceasing quest to occupy the land. Logging, gold mining and homesteading also formed part of the mix, but it was the insistent march of ranching that was easy to follow from space. This landscape transmogrification appeared inexorable. Remarkably, however, the forest clearing simply stopped at the border of Amerindian lands (Fig. 1). Three decades after this barrier effect was first observed, Amerindian lands of the Rio Xingu basin remain intact in a sea of deforestation that now almost completely surrounds them. What forces conspired to stop deforestation at these borders? On the ground, it is well known that the southeastern Amazon region has lacked governance: violent conflict over land, illegal resource exploitation, fraud and corruption have been rampant, and continue largely unimpeded today. “Hired gun” is a job category, assassination being a popular method of resolving frontier disputes. Flagrant abuses of the law often go unprosecuted. The integrity of the Amerindian territorial borders cannot, therefore, be attributed merely to their protected status under the law. Of course indigenous peoples actively — even militantly — protect their land rights. But in the face of intense and powerful economic forces, lack of governance in the frontier, and large numbers of settlers pouring into the region, how do relatively few Indians manage to keep the chainsaws and bulldozers at bay over a vast area of pristine forest? In this chapter, I examine the case of the Kayapo who protect the largest block of indigenous territory in the region; indeed, contiguous Kayapo territories form the largest protected tract of tropical

Author Information
Barbara Zimmerman is director of the Kayapo project with The Wild Foundation (USA) and the International Conservation Fund of Canada. She founded this conservation and development project with the Kayapo in 1992 and led it for many years for Conservation International. She received her PhD in tropical ecology from Florida State University. E-mail: b.zimmerman@wild.org

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forest anywhere in the world. I propose that the remarkable conservation success on Kayapo lands can be traced to the social organization of its inhabitants and their ability to capitalize on external resources and partner with external organizations to meet their livelihood. Furthermore, as the Kayapo example demonstrates, traditional Amerindian social organization presents unparalleled conservation opportunities in the Amazon.

A Brief Recent History of the Kayapo and Their Involvement in Gold Mining and Logging
The Kayapo inhabit six legally ratified indigenous territories in the south of the state of Pará and the north of the state of Mato Grosso. A contiguous block of five territories totals almost 105,000 km², and the total contemporary Kayapo population there approaches 7,000, living in 18 villages. After decades of fighting and fleeing eastward in front of the advancing frontier, leaving behind savanna (cerrado) ecosystems and entering predominantly forest ecosystems, most remaining Kayapo groups were “pacified” by government agents and missionaries in the late Figure 1. A 2004 MODIS satellite image showing plumes of smoke ris1950s and 60s, although this hardly stopped the threat ing from burning of primary forest along the border of the Kayapo and to Indian lands or the violence between Indians and setXingu Park Indigenous territories (dark green). From space it is clear how deforestation (light brown) stops at the boundaries of indigenous territlers. During the first half of the 20th century, introtory in the southeastern Amazon of Brazil. Source: . duced diseases decimated Kayapo groups even as they warred with settlers and each other. As late as the 1960s, they were a warrior culture that practiced raiding, and boys were raised to fight. Over the last three decades, Kayapo society has undergone many changes. During the 1970s, increasing contact with government agents, missionaries, and the occasional anthropologist introduced superficial change as the Kayapo adopted western clothes and the widespread use of guns and metal tools (Verswijver 1996). More drastic change has occurred since the mid-1980s when, one after the other, Kayapo leaders succumbed to the seduction of goods and money proffered unremittingly by loggers and miners intent on extracting Kayapo gold and mahogany (Swietenia macrophylla, Meliaceae). During the 1970s, the Kayapo became sedentary, and ceased warring except when there was a direct territorial threat. The Kayapo struggle to have their lands demarcated did not heat up until the 1970s when the Kayapo began to patrol the disputed southeastern border of their reserve, actively protecting it from ranchers who were starting to move into the area. Similarly, the Metuktire Kayapo to the west of the Rio Xingu were militantly asserting their land rights in

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the southern Capoto/Jarina region (G. Verswijver pers. comm.). The land claimed by the Kayapo continued, however, to be increasingly invaded by ranchers, miners and loggers. Encroachment by miners began in the late 1970s when gold was discovered on Kayapo lands around the eastern villages of Gorotire and Kikretum. The Kayapo of these communities were bitterly divided over how to deal with the gold miners, with some favoring doing business and others not. In 1980, the Kayapo forcibly removed gold-miners (garimpeiros) from their territory, with the Federal Police and the federal government Indian Agency (Fundação Nacional do Índio – FUNAI) completing the expulsion. The garimpeiros soon returned, however, and in 1982 the Kikretum chief, Pombo, having second thoughts, signed an illegal contract with a gold mining company, allowing them to mine gold under the stipulation that they pay him 10% of the gold extracted. Although FUNAI and other Kayapo chiefs opposed this deal, the Kayapo of Kikretum became accustomed to western goods and began forcing the garimpeiros to pay even higher royalties. Today Pombo is considered by the Kayapo to have been a great chief because, in accordance with traditional values, he shared with his people all that he made from the gold mining revenues. In 1985, after a second invasion of Kayapo land by gold miners near the community of Gorotire, three Kayapo chiefs took over the Cumaru gold mines by closing the airstrip and holding several thousand garimpeiros hostage before expelling them. The Kayapo demanded 10% royalties on gold extracted, including back-pay, and further demanded a ransom for the 789 hydraulic mining units and 47 mechanical crushers that they had seized (Schmink and Wood 1992). … in their struggles with The Kayapo realized that the gold mining crisis was their best bet for resolving the gold miners, the Kayapo their land claim and stated they would only reopen the gold mines after their claim was settled. The government, under pressure from the Kayapo and gold developed skills for dealing with miners, agreed to demarcate a 3,262,960-ha reserve named the Terra Indígena Brazilian society and ultimately, Kayapo. for successfully resolving the Similar incursions of gold-mining occurred in western Kayapo lands; first land question in Pará. in 1993 on land west of the Rio Xingu that was not ratified as an Indian reserve at the time, although the Kayapo considered it to be theirs. Kayapo expelled the garimpeiros. In 1990, gold was again discovered in the southwest before the western Kayapo reserves of Bau and Mekranoti had been recognized. Although there was much opposition, a few chiefs followed the example of Kikretum and allowed gold mining in exchange for royalties. By the early 1990s, however, gold mining was becoming less profitable with a decline in gold prices, ever more demands by the Indians, and the depletion of gold reserves at the major mines in the east. It is widely acknowledged, however, that in their struggles with the gold miners, the Kayapo developed skills for dealing with Brazilian society and ultimately, for successfully resolving the land question in Pará (Schmink and Wood 1992).
Party time

As gold mining was decreasing in the early 1990s, the mahogany loggers became major players on the scene. Two villages located closest to the frontier and, not coincidentally, those that had first sold gold mining concessions, Gorotire and Kikretum, entered into agreements to sell mahogany logs in the late 1980s. By 1992, mahogany logging was widespread across Kayapo territories and was rampant until the government finally stopped it in 2002. Driven by an export market, mahogany is one of the world’s most valuable timber species, commanding a price that is an order of magnitude higher than the next most valuable species in the area. Mahogany was the only timber ever extracted on a wide scale on Kayapo land, due to high transportation costs over trackless wilderness (Zimmerman et al. 2001).

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The involvement of the Kayapo in mahogany logging unfolded in the same manner in all communities. During the late fall, loggers seeking concessions would wine and dine Kayapo chiefs accompanied by their younger, Portuguesespeaking mediators in the frontier logging centres. Contracts typically promised the Kayapo community about US$50/m³ of mahogany harvested in exchange for exclusive harvest rights. Depending on log quality, mahogany was worth US$250–650/m³ to the logger at the local mill. It was up to the Kayapo to monitor the log volumes extracted on their territories. Of course the largely illiterate Kayapo were regularly cheated, but they did manage to control access to their territory and extract large payments from loggers. Throughout the Kayapo territories of Mekrangnoti and Bau alone, it is estimated that 500,000 m³ of mahogany was extracted over 10 years. With no levies or forest management fees to pay, poorly paid workers without recourse to labour rights, a highly lucrative timber species and inexperienced Indian landowners; the loggers made fortunes. Why, however, did the Kayapo become involved in an illegal and predatory activity on their land only to end up weakened by infighting and to lose forever a valuable, potentially renewable resource (Zimmerman et al. 2001)? Most Kayapo realized that the loggers were not invaders: they did not stay, and they would do almost anything to obtain permission to remove trees of a Driven by an export market, species with no cultural value from a landscape of trees numbering many milmahogany is one of the lions. The logger’s insatiable thirst for mahogany made them seem easy targets world’s most valuable timber to exploit — an attitude that for centuries had been a factor in the Kayapo raids against their neighbours (Turner 2000). From the Kayapo point of view, species… Mahogany was the it was time to party! only timber ever extracted Unsurprisingly, the Kayapo were exceedingly ingenuous as far as what extensively across Kayapo land they gained from loggers and at what price. Most of the Kayapo were, and still because the extraordinarily are, to a large degree, illiterate and uni-lingual; most had no experience with money; and little, if any, contact with outside society at the time. Mahogany high market value of these paid for a bonanza of travel, transport, tools, radios, boats, fuel, clothes, coftrees compensated for the fee, sugar, tobacco and beads. Chiefs felt pressure to bring goods into their high transportation costs over communities — a traditional function of a chief — in the same manner that other chiefs were able to do in communities that allowed gold mining and log- trackless wilderness. ging. Their lack of experience in a capitalist world meant that money was not invested in anything durable and ran through their hands like water. After logging ended, the Kayapo realized that they had gained neither developmental benefits nor capacity outside society from the millions of dollars they had received from loggers. Worse, Kayapo society was disrupted by the perverse incentives introduced by loggers, such as obtaining goods under a regime of aggressive badgering and benefits accruing to elites only. The Kayapo had developed a need for manufactured goods but no ability to obtain those goods other than selling off irreplaceable resources in Faustian deals made at great cost to their society and natural environment. By 2000, mahogany throughout millions of hectares in Kayapo territories was rare and communities and loggers were fighting among each other over remnant patches of small trees. In 2002, under international pressure, the federal government put an end to this embarrassing abuse of the law in the Xingu, and mahogany logging was stopped. The party was over.

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The Kayapo and the Environmental Movement
The Kayapo became famous in the late 1980s when they mobilized to protest construction of a World Bank-backed mega-dam project on the Rio Xingu — dams that would have flooded parts of their territory and caused environmental damage that would be prejudicial to the natural resources upon which they were dependant. The Kayapo-led protest at Altamira in 1989 galvanized support from international environmental NGOs and media. After this event and the international press coverage it received, the World Bank dropped their loan for dam construction and environmentalists elevated the Kayapo to the status of heroes. It was around the time of the Altamira meeting that environmentalists were discovering a common cause with indigenous peoples of the Amazon. Whereas before pro-Indian advocacy had argued from a stance of human rights and cultural preservation, the language of the environmental movement offered Indians a way to communicate and legitimize native claims to land and resources in a manner that outsiders could comprehend (Conklin and Graham 1995). Amazonian Indians had gained powerful allies that forced the state to pay attention to their minority rights. Environmental activists, on the other hand, benefited from the evocative symbolism of “moral and political legitimacy” that Indians provoke in western society (Conklin and Graham 1995). Kayapo leaders quickly learned to translate Amerindian cultural values into western terms using the language of environmentalism. Turner (2000) described how Kayapo leaders organized the protest at Altamira on their New Corn ceremony — a ceremony that expresses the Kayapo conception of the interdependence of society and nature. By using the New Corn ceremony, Kayapo leaders implicitly communicated to their people what they were asking them to defend and what it was that was threatened by the dam. They built a camp at Altamira that was a total Kayapo community with families pursuing domestic activities and, thereby, presented themselves to the outside world as a vital human society under imminent threat (Turner 2000). The Altamira meeting in 1989 was a high point in the emerging alliance among Kayapo, environmentalists and public opinion. The honeymoon ended when it became known that behind the scenes the Kayapo were profiting from illegal mining and logging and that some leaders were using this money to live lavish and dissolute lifestyles in frontier towns. Conklin and Graham (1995) observed that in Amazonian eco-politics, the political power of indigenous people “exists only so long as the Indian’s political identities resonate with western ideas and symbols.” By allowing mining and logging, the Kayapo had violated the Indian-as-one-with-nature symbolism, so cherished by the west, and the environmental movement largely, but not entirely, abandoned them.

Beauty, Power and Conservation in the Amazon
Satellite images of the Xingu region are striking. Kayapo lands and the contiguous Xingu Indigenous Park to the south (home to 14 indigenous ethnicities) form a 14 million-hectare forest island within a spreading sea of agriculture. No matter what criticisms are leveled at the relationships between Indians and environmentalists, the fact remains that a tract of forest larger than many small countries has, for thirty years, withstood a crushing wave of destruction that is the Amazonian frontier. This landscape phenomenon owes its existence to the traditional organization of Amerindian society and, in the 21st century, also to alliances of indigenous peoples with environmental organizations. The great Kayapo land gains of the 1980s and 90s can be traced to strong leaders who led their warriors to protest, pressure, and even kill when necessary: Kanok, Toto-the, Paiakan, Ropni, and Megaron to name a few of the most prominent, but many were involved. That the Kayapo were able to coordinate this campaign with such remarkable effect reflects a warrior tradition certainly, but also the foundation of a well-developed communal society, one predicated upon complex ceremony and symbolism.
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Kayapo chiefs lead by consensus and, until very recently, had to undergo decades of training to learn the many chants and recitations that constitute essential parts of major ceremonies. The public performance of these was one of the basic ritual functions of a chief (Verswijver 1996). Even today, aspiring chiefs can use the power of speech-making only when they reach a certain age — age grades being another important facet of Kayapo social organization. Chief candidates are evaluated on exemplary conduct, knowledge of culture, combative spirit, solidarity and generosity (Verswijver 1996). “For the Kayapo, the moral force of social solidarity or the power of strong leaders to compel consent and obedience is created and conveyed by symbolic performances such as communal ceremonies or chiefly oratory and imbued in the symbolic acts, images and verbal [expressions] of which they are constructed” (Turner 2003). The particular social organization of the Kayapo is, then, a cauldron that forged great leaders who have achieved more for the conservation of the southeastern Amazon than all governments, scientists and NGOs together. Today, as overt warrior culture recedes into history, traditional ritual organization of the Kayapo remains vital and continues to be a wellspring of Kayapo strength into the 21st century. In contrast to Western society, which is concerned with the production of commodities for exchange and the individual accumulation of monetary wealth, Kayapo society is concerned above all with the production of social persons and the social values attached to them (Turner 2003). The main categories of social value among the Kayapo are “power” and “beauty.” These are the qualities by which the relative worth of persons, their role in the community, their relative prestige and influence, and their capacity for leadership and political effectiveness are judged. These values are realized in the public domain of ritual, political activity and collective action (Turner 2003). What this means is that a Kayapo strives in his or her life not for production and accumulation of material surplus, but rather to attain social values of “beauty” and “power” that can be bestowed only through properly orchestrated ritual enacted by the community to which the person belongs and plays an integral role. In Kayapo society, rituals constitute the fundamental expression of concepts and truths for the group (Fisher 2003). The production of personal identity is accomplished through the transference to the child of names and ceremonial wealth (rights to specific forms of ornamentation) in collectively choreographed ceremonies. These names and wealth are said to be “powerful” and “beautiful” (Turner 2003; Fisher 2003). Kayapo villages are circular, with dwellings built around a large open central plaza where the communal ceremonies take place (Fig. 2). Fisher (2003) points out that, while names bestowed in the great name-giving ceremonies do accord social prestige, the interest of the participants lies in their own experience of ritual and the feelings of longing, happiness and harmony that are attributed both to relations within an extended family and to a performing community as a whole. This harmony grows into “beauty” that results from the choreography of singers, dancers and food providers, and from viewing the ceremonial ornaments of all legitimate inheritors disposed in their correct places around the village plaza during the ritual climax (Fig. 3). As persons progress from stage to stage of the life cycle, they thereby acquire the right to growing deference from the young, and public recognition of their increasing beauty, and become able to exercise a greater measure of leadership and control in the social and political life of their communities (Turner 2003). “These, rather than a few scraps of material subsistence production, are goals worthy of a life project which can manage to make even Figure 2. Kayapo village from the air. Kayapo villages are built around a central communal space used for rituals. Photo © Cristina G. Mittermeier. growing old seem worthwhile” (Turner 2003).
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The result of such societal organization is to reinforce solidarity and bind individuals into a network of social obligations and roles such that a single community, rather than individuals, controls actions in the great common-property forests. The profound implication for conservation is that across huge areas of Amazon forest under the control of Kayapo communities, conservationists deal with a single entity pursuing a single agenda, rather than facing the complicated situation on non-indigenous lands where many stakeholders hold differing agendas.

Figure 3. Kayapo dancing in a name-giving ceremony at A’Ukre village. Photo © Paiakan Kayapo.

Conservation Opportunity with Indigenous Peoples of the Xingu
The environmental movement can make huge gains in the Amazon by empowering indigenous peoples to control access to their territories and manage their resources sustainably; thereby preserving their cultural essences — the very cultures that have protected forest landscapes in the highly threatened southeastern Amazon. At the beginning of the 21st century, the Kayapo and other indigenous peoples of the Xingu basin find themselves almost completely surrounded by an insatiable capitalist society fed by the burning of forests. Twenty years ago, for example, the Kayapo had to defend a few hundred kilometers of border in the east; today they must monitor more than 2,000 km in all directions. Infrastructure development and increasing economic activity coupled with weak governance in the region (Nepstad et al. 2001; Laurance et al. 2004) overwhelms the capacity of indigenous peoples to monitor and control their borders on their own. Therefore, the first strategic area where NGOs can promote conservation is to help indigenous peoples uphold their constitutional right to maintain the integrity of their borders. Sustainable economic autonomy for indigenous communities is a second strategic area for investment by environmental organizations. Although tenure security is necessary for indigenous peoples, it is not tantamount to sustainable management. Amazonian Indians generally see animals, plants, rivers, and forests as the basis for reproduction of their societies, but they may have no cultural restriction against resource extraction — at times to the point of exhaustion of a particular resource (Turner 2000). When they lack alternative sources of income, indigenous peoples are as vulnerable as any to offers of material wealth by third parties coveting their natural resources — as was demonstrated amply by the Kayapo during the 1980s and 90s. Controlling access to resources is the sine qua non of any strategy for sustainability in large tropical landscapes, and Amerindian peoples have largely achieved this thus far (Schwartzman and Zimmerman 2005). For the long-term preservation of forest ecosystems, Amerindian communities need economic alternatives — congruent with their cultural norms — that they can control. As exemplified by the Kayapo, Amerindian societies generally conform to the criteria that sociologists have identified as requisites for successful common-property resource management regimes (Ostrom 1990; Becker and Ostrom 1995; Morrow and Hull 1996; Gibson et al. 2000): (1) clear definition of the resource and its users and the ability of users to sustain legal claims and to effectively defend the resource from outsiders; (2) clear criteria for membership as an eligible user; (3) rapid access to low-cost, internally adaptive mechanisms of conflict resolution; (4) fair decision-making rights and use rights among users; (5) no challenge to or undermining of institutions created and defined by users by any other authorities; and (6) user communities are accustomed to negotiating and cooperating with each other. In essence, this

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means that conservation and development enterprises tailored to fit Amerindian culture have a high chance of resulting in sustainable management of common property resources and the conservation of biodiversity. Conservation and development projects with Amerindian communities must be designed around aboriginal values of equity, cooperation, and reciprocity that are expressed in terms of local authority. These are achieved by consensus and common-property access, rather than by western values of competition, exclusive rights to resources, and centralized management authority (Chapeskie 1995). In other words, by supporting the development of economic enterprises that satisfy cultural values and benefit all members of a community, conservation organizations will win out over loggers and miners every time, no matter what seductive short-term profits the latter offer because: (1) logging and mining violate egalitarian principles and benefit elites only; (2) predatory activities will end a conservation and development enterprise that benefits all, and (3) the community, not individuals, controls decisions on common property territory. Individuals find themselves unable to make private deals with loggers because their community will not tolerate activities that Investments in territorial control and threaten sources of equitably shared benefits. The deal between economic alternatives for Amerindian peoples the community and the conservation organization is explicit: the NGO will invest in sustainable development as long as the form the basis of long-term conservationist community does not engage in illegal activities. Such investand indigenous alliances that can affect ment by conservation NGOs in traditional Amerindian societfrontier expansion and forest protection ies remains a largely unexploited but immense opportunity for long-term conservation of Amazonian ecosystems, as environ- at a significant scale. The challenge is to mental NGO’s are proving in the Xingu region of Brazil. devise long-term investment strategies that Some environmental NGOs have made long-term commitments to indigenous peoples of the Xingu. The Instituto remunerate indigenous peoples for the ecosystem services of the lands they protect, Socio-ambiental (ISA) is an environmental and indigenous rights NGO in Brazil that has worked for more than 15 directly linking development benefits with years with 14 indigenous groups in the 2.8 million-ha Xingu conservation. Indigenous Park located next to Kayapo lands in the south, as well as with the Panara people, who occupy a 500,000-ha territory on the southwestern border of the Kayapo lands. ISA helped the Xingu peoples organize the Xingu Lands Indigenous Association (Associação Terra Indígena do Xingu – ATIX ) in an effort to achieve greater political and economic autonomy. ISA and ATIX monitor territorial control projects and also support the development of economic alternatives and resource management by the communities. Similarly, for more than 15 years Conservation International (CI) and, more recently, NGO Kayapo partners the Environmental Defense Fund (EDF), The Wild Foundation (WF) and International Conservation Fund of Canada (ICFC), have invested in programs of territorial control, economic alternatives and local indigenous associations with the Kayapo. Both ISA and the CI-EDF-WF-ICFC partnership implement territorial surveillance and conservation and development projects in collaboration with the National Indian Foundation (FUNAI). FUNAI receives inadequate government funding to fulfill its constitutional obligation of protecting indigenous peoples and their lands, and NGOs can help fill this gap under the partnership models used by the Kayapo NGO consortium, ISA and their local indigenous partner organizations. The bottom-line to these alliances is that there are no invasions or illegal activities on lands controlled by those communities in the Xingu Indigenous Park, Panara or Kayapo Indigenous Territories where NGOs have been able to support combined programs of territorial control and sustainable development.

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Conclusion
No mechanism in western society has approached the success of the Kayapo at protecting tropical forest. Although the Kayapo example is particularly striking because of the size of the area and its location in a frontier zone, similar Amerindian landscape-scale conservation efforts can be found in many other places in Brazil and the Neotropics (Stocks et al. 2007; Nepstad et al. 2006). It follows that conservation organizations working in the Amazon where indigenous peoples hold legal tenure over 100 million ha must prioritize the preservation of indigenous cultures and their sustainable transition to the 21st century. Investments in territorial control and economic alternatives for Amerindian peoples form the basis of long-term conservationist and indigenous alliances that can affect frontier expansion and forest protection at a significant scale. The challenge is to devise long-term investment strategies that remunerate indigenous peoples for the ecosystem services of the lands they protect, directly linking development benefits with conservation.

Literature Cited
Becker, D. and Ostrom, E. 1995. Human ecology and resource sustainability: the importance of institutional diversity. Annual Review of Ecology and Systematics 26: 113–133. Chapeskie, A. 1995. Land, landscape, culturescape: aboriginal relationships to land and the co-management of natural resources. Report for the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Land, Resource and Environment Regimes Project. The Government of Canada, Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, Ottawa. Conklin, B.A. and Graham, L.R. 1995. The shifting middle ground: Amazonian Indians and ecopolitics. American Anthropologist 97: 695–710. Fisher, W.H. 2003. Name rituals and acts of feeling among the Kayapo (Mebengokre). Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 9: 117–135. Gibson, C.C., McKean, M.A. and Ostrom, E. (eds.). 2000. People and Forests: Communities, Institutions, and Governance. MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Laurance, W.L., Albernaz, A.K.M., Fearnside, P.M., Vasconcelos, H. and Ferreira L.V. 2004. Deforestation in Amazonia. Science 304: 1109–1111. Morrow, C.E. and Hull, R.W. 1996. Donor-initiated common pool resource institutions: the case of the Yanesha forestry cooperative. World Development 24: 1641–1657. Nepstad, D., Carvalho, G., Barros, A.C., Alencar, A., Capobianco, J.P., Bishop, J., Moutinho, P., Lefebvre, P., Silva Jr., U.L. and Prinz, E. 2001. Road paving, fire regime feedbacks, and the future of Amazon forests. Forest Ecology and Management 154: 395–407. Nepstad, D., Schwartzman, S., Bamberger, B., Santilli, M., Ray, D., Schlesinger, P., Lefebvre, P., Alencar, A. and Prinz, E. 2006. Inhibition of Amazon deforestation and fire by parks and Indigenous reserves. Conservation Biology 20: 65–73. Ostrom, E. 1990. Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK. Schmink, M. and Wood, C.H. 1992. Contested Frontiers in Amazonia. Columbia University Press, New York. Schwartzman, S. and Zimmerman, B. 2005. Conservation alliances with Amerindian peoples of the Amazon. Conservation Biology 19: 721–727. Stocks, A., McMahan, B. and Taber, P. 2007. Indigenous, colonist and government impacts on Nicaragua’s Bosawas reserve. Conservation Biology 21: 1495–1505.

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Turner, T. 2000. Indigenous rights, environmental protection and the struggle over forest resources in the Amazon: the case of the Brazilian Kayapo. In: Earth, Air, Fire and Water: The Humanities and the Environment, J. Conway, K. Keniston and L. Marx (eds.), pp.145–169. University of Massachusetts Press, Amherst. Turner, T. 2003. The beautiful and the common: inequalities of value and revolving hierarchy among the Kayapo. Tipiti 1: 11–26. Verswijver, G. 1996. Mekranoti: Living Among the Painted People of the Amazon (African, Asian and Oceanic Art). Prestel Publishing, München. Zimmerman, B.L., Peres, C.A., Malcolm, J.R. and Turner, T. 2001. Conservation and development alliances with the Kayapo of south-eastern Amazonia, a tropical forest indigenous people. Environmental Conservation 28: 8–22.

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Indigenous People and Conservation:
TANZANIA

The Suledo Forest Community in Tanzania

Joseph L. Massawe

Quick Facts
Country: Tanzania Geographic Focus: Suledo Forest, situated in the southeastern corner of the Kiteto District, Manyara Region, the United Republic of Tanzania. Indigenous Peoples: The Suledo Forest Community is a multi-ethnic society of nine villages. The population is 53,900.

Introduction
The Suledo Forest Community is a multi-ethnic society of nine villages in and around the Suledo Forest, in the southeastern corner of the Kiteto District in the Manyara Region of the United Republic of Tanzania (Fig. 1).1 The total population of these villages is about 53,900 (Table 1). Within the legally gazetted borders of these nine registered villages is the Suledo Forest; a vast and species-rich miombo forest covering an area of 167,400 ha. The major, and unique, characteristic of the forest is that it is used for grazing by the Maasai, who are pastoralists and who formerly controlled the land. A gradual immigration in recent years of other tribes has resulted in a quite diversified society, bringing with it other land uses, mainly farming, which is threatening the Maasai’s traditional use of the forest as a grazing ground. This situation is also bringing new challenges to the residents, who want to continue to manage the forest sustainably, thereby securing their important grazing areas.
Historical background

Author Information
Joseph Massawe is a Forester by profession. He is currently working with the Kiteto District Council and as technical advisor in Suledo Forest. E-mail: massjoss@hotmail.com

In 1993, the Regional Forest Administration planned to set aside and gazette this large forest as a Central Government Forest Reserve. A conventional forest inventory was carried out, boundaries were cut, and beacons placed on the ground to mark the area to be gazetted. No survey of socio-economic conditions was carried out, however, and there were no consultations with the local people in spite of the fact that there were established villages, cultivated fields, and settlements inside the planned reserve. This triggered an immediate response from the villagers in the adjoining villages, who feared that the establishment of a government forest reserve would make their major land use — forest grazing — illegal

1 SULEDO is the acronym for the three wards in Kiteto District; Sunya, Leng’atei and Dongo.

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overnight; threatening their livelihoods and undermining their life style as an indigenous population. Villagers felt that the government should be advised to modify their plans, and leave the villagers to continue with their responsibility for the forest. Their suggestions were forwarded to higher authorities. Finally, a socio-economic study was carried out in 1994, which suggested that the villagers should manage the forest. This was well before the publication of the 2002 Forest Act, which empowers villagers to own and manage forests on their village land. The proposal was approved for implementation in June 1995. Since then, surveying, mapping and, finally, gazettement of the area gave the forest the status of a Village Land Forest Reserve, a category which is recognized in the new and current Forest Act no.14 of 2002.

Figure 1. Map of Tanzania showing the location of the Suledo forest and the nine villages. Map © Conservation International. Table 1. Forest land/population distribution in the Suledo villages. The Suledo Forest Conservation Area encompasses nine villages, each of which have a management committee to make decisions and enact bylaws on the zoning and use of their forest lands.

Biological Significance of the Suledo Forest
The vegetation types of the Suledo Forest are predominantly Miombo woodland, mixed Acacia/Combretum, and thicket (Table 2). It is located at the interface of Brachystegia/ Julbernada savanna woodland and Acacia/Commiphora thornbush as defined by Stuart et al. (1990). Natural resource inventories carried out for each of the nine villages identified 80 tree and shrub species (Malimbwi 1999a–c, 2000a–f), besides a rich fauna of large mammals and reptiles typical of the savanna woodlands of Tanzania (Table 3).

Village

Population density (2002 census)

Village land area (ha)

Forest land (ha)

Sunya Lengatei Olgira Asamatwa Loltepesi Laiseri Olkitikiti Mturu Lesoit Total

5,554 3,778 1,151 3,331 3,747 2,926 1,108 997 1,567 24,189

16,850 8,710 23,280 33,860 52,050 50,050 38,613 31,025 15,560 269,958

10,000 4,408 18,020 19,375 26,741 32,669 30,812 19,952 5,348 167,416

Community Strategy
Community-based forest management initiatives were started in the Suledo area in 1994. The purpose was to improve the overall socio-economic situation of the people and to reduce poverty by improving natural resource management; introducing equitable use and sustainable practices, most particularly in raising livestock, farming, and in the management of the available natural resources (land, water, forests, wildlife, and beekeeping, for example). No expensive forest inventories were carried out at the start; the main goal then was to bring the use of the forest under control. From the beginning, emphasis was on
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Source: Forest Inventory Reports for the nine villages (Malimbwi 1999a-c, 2000a-f). Table 2. The different vegetation types in the Suledo Forest, Tanzania.

Vegetation type

Area (ha)

Miombo woodland Acacia/Combretum zone Thicket Acacia zone Combretum zone Dry montane

126,694 58,784 19,066 6,644 2,700 525

Source: Forest Inventory Reports for the nine villages (Malimbwi 1999a-c, 2000a-f).

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straightforward, common-sense planning by the residents of each village, who themselves would define how to protect, use, and develop their forest resources. Based on a participatory land-use planning exercise, each village divided their land into management zones and established simple rules for the use for each. Traditional, indigenous knowledge and institutions formed the basis for these plans. The rules gained legal status as they were formulated and passed by the respective village assemblies into “Village By-laws.” This planning process was kept on track by the District Forest Officer and by sporadic outside facilitation.
Table 3. Wildlife in the Suledo Forest. Large mammals and reptiles that offer the basis for a micro-tourism enterprise. Since establishing the Suledo Forest Reserve, species such as elephant and eland that were hunted in the past are now recovering their numbers.

The Management of the Suledo Forest
The communities at the sub-village, village and zonal levels formed Environmental Management Committees. These committees drew up zones in the forest for local use, made simple forest rules, and put a patrolling system in place. Committees meet regularly and take minutes, and have well-defined roles and duties, including detailed terms of reference for the Chairman, Secretary and Treasurer. The forest is managed collectively by an apex body called the Zonal Environmental Committee (ZEC), which draws its membership from the Village Environmental Committees of each of the nine villages (Fig. 2). The Forest Act allows the managing committee (in this case the ZEC) of a village land forest reserve to enter into agreement with local authorities in order to receive technical assistance. Currently, the ZEC and the Kiteto District Council are negotiating an agreement under which the district council provides assistance to ZEC, with the latter covering the expenses involved. The Forest Act also provides for financial matters related to the joint management of village land forest reserves. The joint committee managing the forest reserve (ZEC) is obliged to collect part of the revenue from fees, royalties and licenses charged or issued. The joint committee similarly must “meet part of the costs of the management of such gazetted village land forest reserve,” as stipulated by the Forest Act. In this regard, the Suledo agreement allows the ZEC to defray the costs of managing the Suledo Forests by charging a portion of the revenue generated from the sale of timber and other forest produce, and distributing a part of that equally to the nine Village Environmental Committees. Suledo maintains a delicate balance through this organizational set-up. The ZEC is not under any village government, and the ZEC members are not members
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Swahili Name

English Name

Nyani Ngedere Sungura Bweha Mbwa mwitu Fisi Chui Simba Kakakuona Mhanga Tembo Pundamilia Nguruwe Ngiri Twiga Nyati Tandala Tandala Pofu Mbuzimawe Digidigi Tohe Swala Swala Swala Kongoni Nyoka Kobe

Yellow baboon (Papio cynocephalus) Vervet monkey (Chlorocebus pygerthrus) Scrub hare (Lepus saxatilis) Bat-eared fox (Otocyon megalotis) Wild dog (Lycaon pictus) Spotted hyaena (Crocuta crocuta) Leopard (Panthera pardus) Lion (Panthera leo) Ground pangolin (Smutsia temminckii) Aardvark (Orycteropus afer) Elephant (Loxodonta africana) Zebra (Equus quagga) Bush pig (Potamochoerus larvatus) Warthog (Phacochoerus africanus) Giraffe (Giraffa camelopardalis) Buffalo (Syncerus caffer) Greater kudu (Tragelaphus strepsiceros) Lesser kudu (Tragelaphus imberbis) Eland (Taurotragus oryx) Klipspringer (Oreotragus oreotragus) Kirk’s dikdik (Madoqua kirkii) Reedbuck (Redunca redunca) Thomson’s gazelle (Gazella rufifrons) Grant’s gazelle (Gazella granti) Impala (Aepyceros melampus) Hartebeest (Alcelaphus buselaphus) Snakes Tortoise

Source: Forest Inventory Reports for the nine villages (Malimbwi 1999a–c, 2000a–f).

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of any of the nine Village councils; only of the Village Environmental Committees. The ZEC has its own bank account that cannot be accessed directly by any of the nine village governments.

Preparation for Sustainable Harvesting
Harvesting timber in a Village Land Forest Reserve is, surprisingly, a relatively new concept in Tanzania, and Figure 2. Suledo Zonal Environmental Committee (ZEC) members in their quarterly meeting. This group is composed of members from each of a learning process for all involved. There are few examthe village’s managing committees responsible for jointly managing the ples in the country, the principal one being the smallforest. Photo © Par Oscarson. scale harvesting practiced by the 13 villages in the Iringa district that have also established village forests, and Suledo now has also embarked on a plan to engage in the sustainable harvesting of timber in their village forests. What follows summarizes the current state of the harvesting process in Suledo and some of the early experience gained (Lissu and Ulrike 2007). A natural forest such as that in Suledo has a generation time of 60 years (African Blackwood or Ebony, Dalbergia melanoxylon, as much as 80 years). The decision of whether and how to harvest timber in the forest was discussed at much length. The Suledo Community eventually decided to use one cut in one village as a pilot. Sunya village has a 10,000-ha forest, and under a 60-year rotational system the size of one cut could be 167 ha. The area is now being demarcated, with trees above 40 cm Diameter at Breast Height (DBH) being marked for harvesting. A number of big, healthy trees are to be kept standing as a gene pool (seed source) for future regenerations. The cubic meters (and income) resulting from this cutting will then determine whether this size of cut is economically viable. Early indications are that the area may not be sufficient, and that it may be necessary to demarcate an additional cutting from an adjacent village’s forest area (see Table 4 and Fig. 3). With funds from Suledo, the Kiteto District Forest Office (DFO) is supporting the technical work of demarcation and marking. The DFO has proposed a budget and action plan, which was accepted by the ZEC. Presently, three foresters are working on the cut; involving and training village women and men in these activities. It is hoped that eventually the services required from the DFO will decrease as the community capacity increases. The present cooperation is outlined in a written agreement specifying roles and responsibilities between the Suledo ZEC and the Kiteto DFO. In the future, however, it is the discretion of the Suledo ZEC to employ whoever they want for this service — it could be another district forest office as well as foresters from the private or NGO sector. In such cases, the involvement of the DFO would be restricted to issuing transit passes for harvested forest produce. It has been difficult to manage non-timber products; firewood and charcoal in particular. The districts of Kiteto and Simanjirio supply charcoal to urban populations in Moshi, Arusha, and beyond. Much of the trade is unregulated and illegal, and has significant ecological impacts in both districts. If Suledo villages were to produce charcoal from the leftover branches after timber has been retrieved (which can account for up to 60% of the total harvested volume), this would provide a second source of income. Arrangements could also be made to provide this work to the more vulnerable groups or women’s groups. Because this trade is unregulated, however, it is controversial in the community, and an overall plan as to how to proceed has yet to be established. Suledo forest has quite a number of valuable Mpingo (African Blackwood or ebony, Dalbergia melanoxylon) stands that could be harvested; however, no such venture will be undertaken at this time because the Mpingo market is specific, and appropriate procedures have to be explored first.
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Achievements
So far, the nine villages have successfully implemented their management plans and have seen successes in the management and functioning of their reserve, in poverty reduction, and in mitigating the negative effects on biodiversity.
Management successes





Village Environmental Management Committees with gender and ethnic composition that represent the composition of the villages have been formed, and are operational in all nine villages. Village forest patrol teams have been established by the community and, equipped with identity cards, are operating in all nine villages.

Figure 3. A grazing zone in the Suledo forest shows Brachystegia (Mkalakala) woodland. This species is the highly valued for its timber (notably for furniture and railway sleepers), cattle fodder, apiculture, firewood and charcoal, fibre (rope for roof ties, sacks, cloth, corn bins, beehives), tannin and dyestuff, and its medicinal roots. Photo © Robert Urassa.

Table 4. List of commercial timber species in Suledo forest. After 10 years of conservation, species that were previously heavily exploited, such as Pterocarpus are recovering.

Botanical Name

Family

Common name

Local Name

Other Uses

Pterocarpus angolensis Brachystegia spiciformis

Fabaceae Fabaceae

Transvaal teak Zebrawood, Msasa

Mninga Mkalakala

Timber (construction, furniture) and medicine. Timber (furniture, railway sleepers), fodder, apiculture, firewood and charcoal, fibre (rope for roof ties, sacks, cloth, corn bins, beehives), tannin or dyestuff, medicinal (roots). Timber, fodder, apiculture. Timber (furniture, cabinets, parquet floors), fodder, apiculture, tannin or dyestuff, medicine (root bark), boiled roots are a soap substitute. Carving, animal fodder, apiculture, firewood, medicinal (roots and smoke). Timber (heavy construction, mining timbers, railroad crossties), firewood and charcoal. Timber (walking sticks and canes, tool handles, weapons, hut frames and nomadic tent posts), fruits (edible and fermentable), mucilaginous leaves (used as binding agents for sauces), fibre (cordage), fodder (favoured more by sheep and goats than by horses, donkeys and cattle), firewood, medicinal (leaves. root, wood and bark), leaves used as a soap substitute for washing clothes. Timber (handles, poles, stools, construction and fence posts), cattle fodder, apiculture, firewood and charcoal, tannin or dyestuff, medicinal (roots, leaves, gum).

Brachystegia microphylla Albizia versicolor

Fabaceae Fabaceae

Miombo (generic) Large-leaved false thorn

Msane Mkingu

Dalbergia melanoxylon Julbernadia globiflora Grewia bicolor

Fabaceae Fabaceae Tiliaceae

African blackwood, Mpingo African ebony Mhangala Bastard brandy bush Mkole

Combretum molle

Combretaceae

Velvet bush willow

Mlamamweusi

Sources: Forest Inventory Reports for the nine villages (Malimbwi 1999a–c, 2000a–f); Agroforestry Tree Data Base, International Centre for Research in Agroforesty (ICRAF), Nairobi. ; Hines and Eckman (1993); Mathew et al. (2008).

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• • • • •

Decisions have been passed into by-laws that govern the use of the forest, and other land uses have been formulated and approved by the community and are operational in all nine villages. A Zonal Environmental Management Committee (ZEC), comprising representatives from all nine villages, has been established, and meets regularly. Demarcation, surveying and mapping of the forest have been completed in the nine Suledo villages. Participatory land use management plans have been prepared and are in use. Villagers are collaborating with the different offices of the Forest Division to carry out forest inventories to determine the amount and distribution of timber species available in the forest.

Poverty reduction

The forest provides numerous products and services besides timber and grazing, such as fruits, nuts, medicines, and mushrooms, also being the place for initiation ceremonies that are crucial to the livelihoods of the rural poor. The increased availability of timber for houses and community buildings has reduced household expenditure. Milk production has increased from 1 liter to 1.5 liters daily per cow, and the farming communities have managed to increase crop production from 15 to 25 bags of maize per ha on average. Through proper protection and management, the increased supply of water from natural sources has enabled villagers to establish tree nurseries, vegetable gardens and fruit orchards that contribute directly to improved livelihoods (Fig. 4). Easier and more reliable access to water reduces the workload of family members, in particular for the women.
Biodiversity

The Suledo communities’ protection of the natural forest and the control of harvesting have been very successful in promoting the recovery and regrowth of the natural resources so valuable to them. The forest is now rich in a variety of tree and other plant species of different age classes, and the population numbers of the large mammals are recovering, improving the potential for drawing tourism to the area. Many of the wildlife and tree species that were in danger of becoming extinct are now coming back, such as sandalwood (Santalum album, introduced from India) and Pterocarpus, which were heavily exploited, and eland and elephants, which were largely exterminated by poachers.

Challenges and the Way Forward
Despite having a well-defined platform for management, implementation has not been without problems. There are still a few cases of encroachment from outsiders in some of the villages, and management procedures still require some professional technical support from the district office or other parties. There are also wildfires every year spreading from adjacent villages. After more than 10 years of conservation work, the Suledo Forest community members have expressed their desire to start harvesting mature and over-mature trees of select species. The sustainable use of the forest requires the development of sustainable harvesting plans and the responsible use of the revenue generated. The pilot
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Figure 4. Maize field in the Suledo area. Since the establishment of the Village Reserve, maize production has increased from 15 to 25 bags per ha. Photo © Robert Urassa.

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harvest of 167 ha will be a test case, and will provide valuable experience for the communities. The rotation of 60 years, however, is a time range that the villagers will find hard to grasp and plan for. To be committed to a plan beyond one’s lifespan is very difficult, especially for groups of villages. A long-term management plan for Suledo has to take this into account, and must break down that period into shorter units (but within the framework of the 60 years rotational system) with adequate work and financial plans for those units. The profits accrued will also determine the long-term future and management of the forest. A further consideration in the longer term is whether or not to pursue Forest Certification for harvested timber. This certification could open up high-value markets, improve networking and provide professional management advice, but the process is very costly and is not likely to be embarked upon unless a partner can be found who is ready to invest in the process. In a large forest area such as Suledo one can expect a return of wildlife numbers — as has happened in Mgori forest in the Singida District — which brings with it costs in the form of crop damage; and the villagers do not have the right to harvest or manage wildlife in their forest area. The legal options are unclear but urgently need to be addressed. Community-based management involving agreements with hunting companies overlapping such a reserved area should be discussed and guidelines developed. The agreements that are made between tourist companies and village governments or chairs often fail to benefit the wider community concerned. The biggest challenge, however, is that the Suledo villages will have to learn from their mistakes during a time when their international partner, the Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency (Sida), is withdrawing its assistance. To allow them to make these mistakes without them threatening their very survival as a group is the biggest challenge — not only for Suledo but also for the Tanzanian authorities concerned.

Conclusion
Recognizing their conservation initiatives, the Suledo community was among the top six finalists awarded the Equator prize, which included a certificate of recognition, a trophy, and the monetary award of US$30,000. This success was partly a result of the simplicity and abundant common sense of the approach. It builds on the institutional framework that exists in Tanzania, with a decentralized government, and puts the village at the center. It strengthens villagelevel democracy as it is during Village Assembly Meetings that decisions are taken on how the village uses its land and resources. The achievements and successes of Suledo have been significant, and provide a prominent example in Tanzania of the ways to empower villagers to manage their own resources wisely, and enjoy the benefits they gain in the sustainable and harmonious use of their natural resources.

Acknowledgments
In compiling this article, I would like to take this opportunity to thank Mr M.S. Minja and Mr Robert Urassa for their advice, and the whole SULEDO Community for helping in data collection. Also I would like to convey my sincere thanks to Kiteto District Council because much of the time I have been using their resources. Lastly, I also thank my fiancée Shani Mwambeni for her support in giving me time to work on this project.

Literature Cited
Hines, D.A. and Eckman, K. 1993. Indigenous Multipurpose Trees of Tanzania: Uses and Economic Benefits for People. Cultural Survival Canada and Development Services Foundation of Tanzania Ottawa, Ontario. [Translation to
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Swahili: Richard Mabala and Paul Manda]. Website: . Accessed: 15 June 2009. Lissu, T.A.M. and Von Mitzlaff, U. 2007. Moving towards sustainable harvesting of village forests — experiences from Kiteto district – Suledo forests. The Arc Journal (21): 8–10. Website: . Accessed: 15 June 2009. Malimbwi, R.E. 1999a. Natural Forest Management in Lengatei Village. A Pilot Project for the Local Management of Natural Resources Programme in Kiteto District: Lengatei Natural Forest Inventory Report. Sokoine University of Agriculture, Morogoro. Malimbwi, R.E. 1999b. Natural Forest Management in Olgira Village. A Pilot Project for the Local Management of Natural Resources Programme in Kiteto District: Olgira Natural Forest Inventory Report. Sokoine University of Agriculture, Morogoro. Malimbwi, R.E. 1999c. Natural Forest Management in Sunya Village. A Pilot Project for the Land Use Management Programme in Kiteto District: Sunya Natural Forest Inventory Report. Sokoine University of Agriculture, Morogoro. Malimbwi, R.E. 2000a. Natural Forest Management in Asamatwa Village. A Pilot Project for the Local Management of Natural Resources Programme in Kiteto District: Asamatwa Natural Forest Inventory Report. Sokoine University of Agriculture, Morogoro. Malimbwi, R.E. 2000b Natural Forest Management in Laiseri Village. A Pilot Project for the Local Management of Natural Resources Programme in Kiteto District: Laiseri Natural Forest Inventory Report. Sokoine University of Agriculture, Morogoro. Malimbwi, R.E. 2000c. Natural Forest Management in Lesoiti Village. A Pilot Project for the Local Management of Natural Resources Programme in Kiteto District: Lesoiti Natural Forest Inventory Report. Sokoine University of Agriculture, Morogoro. Malimbwi, R.E. 2000d. Natural Forest Management in Loltopes Village. A Pilot Project for the Local Management of Natural Resources Programme in Kiteto District: Loltopes Natural Forest Inventory Report. Sokoine University of Agriculture, Morogoro. Malimbwi, R.E. 2000e. Natural Forest Management in Mturu Village. A Pilot Project for the Local Management of Natural Resources Programme in Kiteto District: Mturu Natural Forest Inventory Report. Sokoine University of Agriculture, Morogoro. Malimbwi, R.E. 2000f. Natural Forest Management in Olkitikiti Village. A Pilot Project for the Land Use Management Programme in Kiteto District: Olkitikiti Natural Forest Inventory Report. Sokoine University of Agriculture, Morogoro. Mathew A., Mndolwa, M.A., Lulandala, L.L.L. and Elifuraha, E. 2008. Evaluation of tree species enumerated in Kitulangalo Mitmiombo plots by uses and benefits. Working Papers of the Finnish Forest Research Institute 98: 5–9. Website: . Accessed: 15 June 2009. Stuart, S.N., Adams, R.J. and Jenkins, M. D. 1990. Biodiversity in Sub-Saharan Africa and Its Islands: Conservation, Management and Sustainable Use. Occasional Papers of the IUCN Species Survival Commission (6): 242. IUCN – The World Conservation Union, Gland, Switzerland. The United Republic of Tanzania. 1998. National Forest Policy. Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism, Dar es Salaam. The United Republic of Tanzania. 2002. Tanzania Forest Act No. 14. Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism, Dar es Salaam.

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Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area:
AUSTRALIA

A New Approach to Protected Area Management in Australia

Dermot Smyth, Djawa Yunupingu and Steven Roeger

Quick Facts
Country: Australia Geographic Focus: Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area is located on Aboriginal-owned land surrounding Nhulunbuy in the Northern Territory. Indigenous Peoples: 13 Yolηu (Aboriginal) clans own the Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area.

Introduction
In Australia, Indigenous Protected Areas (IPAs) are lands (sometimes including coastal waters) voluntarily declared as protected areas by indigenous peoples who commit to taking responsibility for their conservation and management (Langton et al. 2005; Szabo and Smyth 2003). The first IPA was declared in Australia in 1998. Since then, 64% of all new protected areas in Australia have been IPAs, which now comprise about 20% of the total area devoted to terrestrial protected areas across the country (Smyth 2006). IPAs are managed by indigenous peoples in accordance with the protected area guidelines of the World Commission on Protected Areas (WCPA) of the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), and are funded in part by the Australian Government’s IPA Programme of the Department of the Environment, Water, Heritage and the Arts (DEWHA). In some instances IPA management is also supported by State or Territory conservation agencies.1 Further information about the IPA Programme is available at . Dhimurru IPA2 is located on Aboriginal-owned land surrounding Nhulunbuy in the Northern Territory (Fig. 1). The area of Dhimurru IPA is 101,000 ha, including Bremer Island offshore to the north of Nhulunbuy. The IPA includes almost 9,000 ha of coastal waters (Smyth 2007).

Author Information
Dermot Smyth has worked as a consultant in Indigenous natural resource management throughout Australia for over 25 years. He has been involved in the development of the IPA concept in Australia since the mid 1990s, and undertook a comparative study of Dhimurru IPA and a jointly managed government national park (Booderee) in 2007. E-mail: dermot@sbconsultants.com.au Djawa Yunupingu is Director of Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation and a Traditional Owner of land and sea areas in Dhimurru IPA; he has played a major role in supporting the establishment of other IPAs in Australia through his membership of the Environment Minister’s IPA Advisory Group. E-mail: Djawa@dhimurru.com.au Steven Roeger is Executive Officer of Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation and is responsible for administering the organization and maintaining external funding and collaborative partnerships. E-mail: Steve@dhimurru.com.au

1 Australia is governed as a federation of six States and two Territories (formerly separate British colonies), and most national parks and other protected areas are managed by State and Territory government conservation agencies. 2 Dhimurru is the Yolηu language name for the east wind that brings life-giving rain.

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Figure 1. Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area is on Aboriginal-owned land surrounding Nhulunbuy in the Northern Territory. The total area of Dhimurru IPA is 101,000 ha, including Bremer Island offshore to the north of Nhulunbuy. The IPA includes almost 9,000 ha of coastal waters. Source: Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation.

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History of Dhimurru IPA3
Northeast Arnhemland is where the Aboriginal people made their first legal claim in Australia to traditional ownership of land under their own customary law. Although the Federal Court denied the claim in 1970, the case led to a Royal Commission into Aboriginal Land Rights, and subsequently to the passage of the Aboriginal Land Rights (NT) Act 1976, under which former Aboriginal Reserves in Arnhemland, including the land in the Dhimurru IPA, were transferred to Traditional Owners. The Dhimurru Land Management Aboriginal Corporation, now called the Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation, was established in 1992 by members of 11 Yolηu (Aboriginal) clans (subsequently increased to 13 clans) whose lands were being affected by the activities of an increasing number of miners and their families who had settled in Nhulunbuy since the establishment of a bauxite mine in the 1970s. Dhimurru set up a permit system that enables Nhulunbuy residents and tourists to visit designated areas for recreation. Fees raised through sale of permits help meet the costs of managing the recreation areas, with additional funds contributed by a suite of government and non-governmental organizations, including the local mining company (Ayre 2002; Robinson and Munungguritj 2001). Throughout the 1990s the Northern Territory Government sought to enter into a joint management arrangement with the Traditional Owners to establish a national park in Cape Arnhem. The Traditional Owners, however, wanted to retain sole management of their lands and repeatedly Figure 2. The Yolηu universe, including people, declined this offer.4 When the concept of IPAs was developed in the late plants, animals and land, is divided into two sec1990s, Dhimurru facilitated consultations with each of the clan groups tions called Yirritja and Dhuwa (Williams 1986). On the Dhimurru logo the black cockatoo represents to consider whether this form of protected area would be acceptable to the Dhuwa and the white cockatoo the Yirritja. They them. A decision was reached to establish the Dhimurru IPA, a manare encircled by the stem of a rowu plant (Ipomoea pes-caprae), a creeping ground plant that grows on agement plan was developed and the IPA was formally declared in 2000 the coast and represents the unity of clans working together. (Dhimurru Land Management Aboriginal Corporation 2000; Ayre 2002).

Value of Dhimurru IPA
Dhimurru IPA is managed for its Yolηu values, for its environmental value and unique natural features, and for its other community values. The area is important for the Yolηu because the entire landscape and seascape, including particular physical features, unite the people with their ancestral past and with the present spiritual and natural world. It is also the source of social connectedness and responsibility, and the source of sustenance and shelter. From a natural heritage standpoint, Dhimurru IPA contains high plant diversity, intact assemblages of certain animal species, coastal regions not represented in any other protected area, the largest Quaternary dune system on the Northern Territory mainland, and significant feeding and nesting sites for seabirds and for a number of threatened species of marine turtle. Other community values include the recreational, camping and fishing opportunities it provides to residents of Nhulunbuy, and the opportunity to promote reconciliation and cultural understanding through the interpretation of Yolηu beliefs and values to visitors.

3 For further information on the history of Dhimurru see Ayre (2002) and Robinson and Munungguritj (2001). 4 For an overview of joint management of national parks in Australia see Smyth (2001a).

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The Section 73 Agreement
Following the decision to found the IPA, a formal agreement was signed under Section 73 of the Territory Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act between traditional owners and the Northern Territory Government. It provides a strong foundation for partnerships in the management of the IPA, and a formal advisory and support role for the government agencies, while retaining management responsibility for the IPA in the hands of the traditional owners through Dhimurru. The Section 73 Agreement is for a term of 21 years. If desired, the parties can enter into negotiations for renewal in the final year of the term, (Smyth 2007). The Agreement provides that Dhimurru, in collaboration with the Northern Territory Parks and Wildlife Service (NTPWS), the Northern Land Council (TLC) and the traditional owners, prepare a management plan for the IPA that reflects the wishes of the traditional owners. The management plan provides a framework for addressing such issues as tourism and infrastructure, regulation of commercial activities, land use by the tradiFigure 3. Dhimurru IPA was formally declared in 2000. The area contional owners, biodiversity conservation, mapping and tains high plant diversity, intact assemblages of certain animal species, coastal regions not represented in any other protected area, and the largrecording culturally and ecologically significant sites and est Quaternary dune system on the Northern Territory mainland. Photo © Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation. knowledge, and scientific research.

Organizations involved in the IPA
The Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation has sole management responsibility for the Dhimurru IPA; however, over its 15 years of operation, it has developed funding, technical and cooperative partnerships with several government and non-government organizations that contribute significantly to the management of the IPA.
Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation

Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation is a Traditional Owner organization that undertakes land and sea management responsibilities of the IPA on behalf of the 13 clans whose lands and coastal waters lie within it. Each clan is represented on the Dhimurru Committee, which guides the management programs and projects. The organization receives advice and other assistance from outside agencies (Fig. 4). The guiding principles of Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation are as follows: a commitment to conservation and the enhancement of the region’s natural and cultural values in a way that reflects its Yolηu owners and their aspirations; a commitment to a sustainable and collective form of land and sea management that is representative of, and determined by, its Yolηu owners, and that derives conservation strategies from a mutual investigation of Ngapaki 5 and Yolηu systems

5 European or non-indigenous

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of knowledge; and a commitment to the continued development of positive interactions with the non-Aboriginal world and the sponsoring of co-operative, respectful, educative and mutually beneficial relationships (Dhimurru Land Management Aboriginal Corporation 2000). Dhimurru currently employs 13 Traditional Owners, and four non-indigenous staff in administrative and facilitator positions. These include a Director, with overall responsibility for carrying out decisions, a Senior Cultural Advisor, responsible for maintaining liaisons between the traditional landowners and committee members and ensuring that the Yolηu protocols are followed, and an Executive Officer who is responsible for securing funds and other resources and communicating with non-aboriginal partners.
The Northern Land Council

The Northern Land Council (NLC) was instrumental in helping Traditional Owners establish Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation and continues to play an advisory role when required. The NLC has statutory functions under the terms of the Aboriginal Land Rights (Northern Territory) Act (ALRA), including representation of and assistance to the traditional owners of the IPA and consultations with traditional owners regarding actions in relation to the land which require the consent of the NLC under the ALRA; for example, consent to the draft of a management plan or proposals

WANGA-WATANGU YOLNGU (Traditional Yolngu Owners) Set management requirements and access arrangements

ADVISORY GROUP Provides advice on programs and assists with collaborative arrangements Membership: 2 × Dhimurru 1 × Northern Land Council 1 × NT Parks & Wildlife Service 1 × Commonwealth Department of the Environment and Water Resources Others by invitation

DHIMURRU COMMITTEE Responsible for formal decision-making on behalf of Dhimurru Land Management Aboriginal Corporation

Dhimurru Staff Implement Plan of Management, refers issues to Executive and wanga- watangu for direction

MANAGEMENT PROGRAMS Visitor management, hands on works, monitoring, research, education, etc.
Figure 4. Dhimurru Committee decision-making structure contains representatives from each of the 13 clans. It receives advice and other assistance from an Advisory group comprising representatives from federal and regional government staff.

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for commercial development of the land. The NLC has agreed to give other management support services relevant to the management of the IPA as may be agreed, as well as to advise Dhimurru of any development proposals that it becomes aware of that may affect the IPA. The administration of permit applications to visit the IPA, a role normally carried out by the NLC, has been delegated to Aboriginal Corporation.
Northern Territory Parks and Wildlife Service

The Northern Territory Parks and Wildlife Service (NTPWS), part of the Northern Territory Department of Natural Resources, Environment and the Arts (NRETA), is the agency responsible for protected area management in the Northern Territory (NT). NTPWS has had a long involvement in the northeast region of the NT through crocodile management and other wildlife activities. The previous NT Government withdrew its Parks and Wildlife Ranger position from Nhulunbuy when negotiations to establish a jointly managed national park at Cape Arnhem failed. Traditional Owners were, however, keen to reestablish a cooperative working relationship with NTPWS and lobbied to have the ranger position reinstated. Following the declaration of the IPA in 2000, and the negotiation of the “Section 73 Agreement” in 2002, the NTPW re-appointed a ranger at Nhulunbuy. In addition, the NTPWS agreed to assist Dhimurru in training of ranger staff and in other management support services, such as helping work programs, by laws, community education activities. Dhimurru and the NTPWS are currently negotiating to establish Dhimurru Rangers as Honorary Conservation Officers under the Territory Parks and Wildlife Conservation Act. If these negotiations are successful, Dhimurru Rangers will have limited powers, normally given only to government rangers, while ensuring that the care and control of the land remains in the hands of Dhimurru.

Figure 5. The Dhimurru currently employs 13 traditional owners and four non-indigenous staff in administrative and facilitator positions. Photo © Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation.

Figure 6. The Northern Territory Parks and Wildlife Service (NTPWS) Rangers work to train Dhimurru ranger staff and other management support services. Photo © Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation.

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There is now a very close and positive day-to-day working relationship between Dhimurru, the NT Ranger and other NTPWS staff, as Dhimurru’s Sea Country Plan asserts: “This day-to-day on-ground assistance and partnership is one of the cornerstones of Dhimurru’s success. We now have many highly respected and valued friends with research and technical and management expertise with the Parks and Wildlife Service.” (Dhimurru Land Management Aboriginal Corporation 2006).
Commonwealth Department of the Environment, Water, Heritage and the Arts (DEWHA)

DEWHA is responsible for administering the IPA Programme, which provides funding and other support for the Dhimurru IPA (Table 1). DEWHA has also provided funding and support for marine turtle research and management, the removal of abandoned fishing nets from beaches and waters around the IPA, the development of a Sea Country Plan, and other natural resource management projects. A strong collaborative relationship has develTable 1. Summary of Dhimurru income sources for 2005/2006. oped between DEWHA and Dhimurru Aboriginal Source Contribution Corporation since the latter’s inception in 1992. The Permits, merchandise and service charges 12% Director of Dhimurru is a member of DEWHA’s Australia and NT Governments 69% Indigenous Protected Area Advisory Group, and a repreIndustry 16% sentative of DEWHA is a member of the Dhimurru IPA NLC and conservation NGOs 3% Advisory Group (Smyth 2007).
Other partner organizations

Dhimurru has developed an impressive network of support from other key government, non-governmental and commercial organizations that provide funding, technical advice, volunteers and other support. The Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO) and Dhimurru, for example, are operating a joint project to eradicate Crazy Ants from the Nhulunbuy region. This involves two CSIRO researchers, along with funding and training for two Dhimurru ranger positions. Alcan Gove, the bauxite mining company based in Nhulunbuy, has provided an annual grant to Dhimurru since 2000 to assist with operational costs, and has made a block of land available within Nhulunbuy for the new Dhimurru office. Dhimurru also receives occasional assistance from university students undertaking undergraduate or postgraduate studies in the field of indigenous environmental management, as well as help from conservation volunteers.

Recognition of Dhimurru’s success
Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area is widely regarded as a successful IPA, with a track record of innovative environmental management over a period of 15 years and a tradition of developing productive partnerships with government and non-governmental organizations. Formal recognition of Dhimurru’s success includes two Northern Territory Chief Minister’s awards for Excellence in Public Sector Management won as a result of the partnership between NT Parks and Wildlife Services and Dhimurru, an Australian Government Environment Minister’s Coastal Custodian Award (High Commendation) to Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation for its Dhimurru Sea Country Plan (which includes management of the marine component of the Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area), two Banksia Water Awards, and a Northern Territory Landcare Award.
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Dhimurru’s staff has also been recognized as active in promoting indigenous conservation. Director, Djawa Yunupingu is a member of the NT Parks and Wildlife Advisory Council and the NT Bushfires Council. In addition, Dhimurru is a member of the International Ranger Federation, and has given presentations at the last two International Congresses, held in Australia and Scotland respectively.

Partnerships: Two-ways Management of the IPA
The Dhimurru IPA Management Plan embraces a “two-ways management” approach, which means a commitment to using both the skills and knowledge of Aboriginal tradition and of contemporary science. This approach is reflected in the partnerships that Dhimurru has developed, in the mix of skills and experience among the Dhimurru staff and in the in the Section 73 Agreement. When Dhimurru staff deliver presentations explaining their two-ways approach they display a Traditional Owner’s representation of the area next to a scientist’s representation as a GIS map (Smyth 2007).

Figure 7. The Dhimurru IPA Management Plan embraces a “two-ways management” approach, which means a commitment to using both the skills and knowledge of Aboriginal tradition and of contemporary science. The picture on the left is a representation of Yolηu country drawn by Yama Munuηgiritji in 1947; the picture on the right is a GIS map of the same area produced by the NTPWS in 1993.

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Research and monitoring partnerships

Research and monitoring has been a key component of Dhimurru’s activities since its inception, resulting in continuing partnerships with research and management agencies. Dhimurru has played a particularly important role in marine turtle research and monitoring, including the use of satellite transmitters to track turtle migration (Kennett et al. 2001, 2004), and patrolling beaches in the IPA to rescue and gather data about marine turtles that become entangled in abandoned fishing nets (ghost nets). This research has involved partnerships with Charles Darwin University and NTPWS, and also with WWF-Australia, which has developed a ghost net identification kit with assistance from NT Fisheries. These research partnerships have increased Yolηu and scientific understanding of the migration patterns of marine turtles and contributed to a deeper awareness of sources and impacts of ghost nets, most of which drift into the Gulf of Carpentaria having been abandoned by foreign fishing in the Arafura Sea and elsewhere in southeast Asia. Dhimurru expanded the ghost net monitoring partnership by helping to establish the Gulf of Carpentaria Ghost Net Programme which now involves participating indigenous communities around the Gulf of Carpentaria.6
Learning Network Partnerships

While the partnerships with the NLC, NTPWS and DEWHA form the backbone of joint management arrangements for the Dhimurru IPA, other partnerships make vital contributions by providing political support, technical expertise, funding and diverse opportunities for Dhimurru staff and other Traditional Owners to gain experience in the complexities of contemporary land and sea management. Through the development of the Dhimurru Yolηuwu Monuk Gapu Wäηa Sea Country Plan (Dhimurru Land Management Aboriginal Corporation 2006), Dhimurru is strengthening its partnerships with other indigenous organizations, and government agencies responsible for marine management and surveillance and commercial enterprises in the region. This will provide opportunities for Traditional Owners to play a role in managing their traditional Sea Country, which extends beyond the current seaward boundary of the IPA.

Figure 8. Dhimurru has played a particularly important role in marine turtle research and monitoring, including the use of satellite transmitters to track turtle migration, and patrolling beaches in the IPA to rescue and gather data on marine turtles that become entangled in abandoned fishing nets (ghost nets). Photo © Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation.

6 For further information on the Gulf of Carpentaria Ghost Nets Program see .

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Funding partnerships

Funding partnerships underpin all the operations of Dhimurru Corporation, including the management of the IPA. The DEWHA IPA Programme provides contract payments (negotiated every two years) to Dhimurru for undertaking agreed management tasks consistent with the management plan. These funds alone are not sufficient, however, to cover the cost of managing the IPA. Dhimurru has been successful in combining the modest IPA Programme funding with funding from other sources to expand its operations year by year. In 2005/2006, the total Dhimurru budget was approximately AUS $1.4 million, comprising contributions from a number of government and non-government sources (Table 1) (Smyth 2007).

Successes and Challenges
The undoubted success of the Dhimurru IPA, and the operations of the Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation can be attributed to several factors: the commitment of Traditional Owners to take care of their country; good governance structures, leadership and management practices; a commitment to partnership building; and a willingness to innovate. Each of these attributes of success is discussed in more detail below.
Commitment to a Sustainable Management of Country

Figure 9. Ghost nets drift into the Gulf of Carpentaria after being abandoned by foreign fishing in the Arafura Sea and elsewhere in southeast Asia. Dhimurru is helping to establish the Gulf of Carpentaria Ghost Net Programme which now involves participating indigenous communities around the gulf. Photo © Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation.

Underlying Dhimurru’s success is the longstanding and ongoing commitment by Traditional Owners to care for their country — to manage sustainably all the cultural and natural values of their traditional land and sea estates. This commitment was demonstrated by the investment of Traditional Owners of their personal funds to enable the Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation to function in the early years, and it is demonstrated today by their continued interest in attending management and planning meetings, by their participation as members of the Executive Committee, in their seeking employment with Dhimurru, and in their work with a large number of partner organizations and individuals.
Good governance and leadership

The Traditional Owners who founded Dhimurru in 1992 put in place a governing structure that maximized the benefit for clan groups of collaborating without impinging on the authority of each clan or individual Traditional Owner. The structure also ensures that Traditional Owners retain control of the development of Dhimurru, while recognizing the need for outside expertise within the Dhimurru staff as well as the benefit of building collaborative partnerships with government environmental and natural resource management agencies and other government and non-government organizations.
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Current management of Dhimurru recognizes the need for flexibility to enable Yolηu staff to meet their family and cultural obligations as well as their work demands. At the same time, it has very clear policies in place to manage challenging staff issues, such as the private use of work vehicles and equipment, besides alcohol and drug misuse. Regular weekly staff meetings, daily meetings for members of project teams and good communication between Dhimurru and its partner agencies help keep the diverse range of projects and personnel on track. Dhimurru has also devoted considerable effort to producing communication tools such as books, guides, plans, CDs and DVDs to enable partners and others to understand, engage with, and hence support the organization.
Partnership building

As demonstrated by Dhimurru’s operational budget and by the diversity of projects it undertakes, building and maintaining partnerships with government and non-government agencies is a major factor in Dhimurru’s success. This requires not only the skill to build and maintain relationships, but also a mindset that values rather than fears collaboration. While these things result from good leadership, they also stem from an understanding that Aboriginal landowners, particularly those in remote locations in Australia, have something valuable to offer in their knowledge and commitment to Country, and that natural resource management can only be achieved in partnership with Aboriginal people. Successful partnerships need to be mutually beneficial, and this is what Dhimurru can offer. For example, the Australian Government’s support for the Dhimurru IPA contributes significantly to the national objective of building the National Reserve System (NRS) in a biogeographic region that was hitherto unrepresented in the NRS. Similarly, financial contributions from Alcan Gove enhance its reputation as a responsible corporate citizen in a region where it is reaping big financial rewards from its mining activities (Smyth 2007). It is possible also that the collaborative relationships that developed between Yolηu and Macassans (indigenous tribes from Macassar and elsewhere in what is now Indonesia) during their annual visits to collect sea cucumbers during a period of several hundred years until the early 1900s has contributed to the capacity and willingness of Traditional Owners to build contemporary partnerships. Then as now, the challenge of partnership-building is to achieve mutually agreeable benefits without losing authority and control, as is expressed in the Vision Statement at the beginning of the IPA Plan of Management: “We envisage working together with the Parks and Wildlife Commission; we need their help in making our vision a reality. But the only people who make decisions about the land are those who own the law, the people who own the creation stories, the people whose lives are governed by Yolηu law and belief.” (Dhimurru Land Management Aboriginal Corporation 2000).
Innovation

Dhimurru was the first indigenous environmental agency in the Northern Territory to establish an IPA, the first to negotiate a Section 73 Agreement with the NT Parks and Wildlife Service, the first to develop a Sea Country Plan, and the first to negotiate a Shared Responsibility Agreement (SRA) with the Australian Government.7 These “firsts” indicate a capacity to recognize new opportunities and a willingness to use innovative mechanisms to achieve the Traditional

7 The SRA secured funding for the completion of the Sea Country Plan.

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Owners’ goal of looking after Country. While the goal has remained the same for the last 15 years (and no doubt countless years before), the mechanisms to achieve the goal have adapted to emerging opportunities. Each new step, however, has been taken cautiously, with appropriate consultation and access to good advice. One of the attractions of the IPA Programme is that it provides funding in stages, so that indigenous landowners can develop an understanding of what IPAs are and whether it is right for them before they begin developing a management plan and commit to declaring an IPA. The IPA Programme was therefore ideally suited to meet the Yolηu need for caution as well as the Yolηu willingness to innovate.
Funding

Despite an annual budget in excess of $1 million over the last few years, an ongoing challenge for Dhimurru (and for all Indigenous environmental management agencies) is to maintain funding levels to meet existing needs and growing expectations. The continued success of the IPA will therefore continue to rely on Dhimurru’s capacity to generate additional income, such as through the sale of recreation area permits and in securing additional grant funding from diverse sources. Whether Dhimurru can continue to meet this challenge will require continued good governance and leadership, and continued support from the network of partners that Dhimurru has developed over the last 15 years. The Section 73 Agreement with the Northern Territory Government provides further security and support, though it contains no commitment to direct funding.
Managing Sea Country

Coastal IPAs typically do not include marine areas, as it is usually only on their land that indigenous people in Australia have had legally recognized management authority, even though traditional clan estates extend out to sea all around Australia. The Dhimurru IPA, however, incorporates about 9,000 ha of marine area comprising many sacred sites registered by the Northern Territory Aboriginal Areas Protection Authority. This formal recognition of the cultural significance of this marine estate was sufficient for it to be included in the IPA, despite the fact that the management authority of Traditional Owners is not as strong over marine sites as it is over land. The marine area currently included in the IPA is not the only sea country of concern to Traditional Owners. A future challenge is how to extend Traditional Owner management over marine areas currently outside the IPA either by extending the IPA boundary or by some other means. The challenge of managing sea country is being addressed through the Dhimurru Yolηuwu Monuk Gapu Wäηa Sea Country Plan launched in 2006. This plan sets out a vision for Yolηu management of sea country, and seeks to build Dhimurru’s marine management capacity through its sea rangers and recently launched coastal patrol vessel, as well as through partnerships with marine management agencies and marine industries. Dhimurru’s experience in partnership-building for land management provides a firm foundation for building partnerships with marine managers. Gaining comprehensive recognition of the rights and interests of indigenous peoples over the sea has, nevertheless, historically been far more difficult than over land. In marine title determined so far it has been clear that the marine rights of indigenous peoples must “yield” to all other legal rights and interests, even in areas where marine native title has been found to exist. In extending its interests into the sea — a logical and necessary step in achieving its founders’ vision of looking after Country — Dhimurru is tackling one of its greatest challenges to date. The challenges of establishing sea country IPAs are discussed further in Smyth (2009).

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Lessons for Other Protected Areas
IPAs in Australia provide an innovative approach to the management of protected areas that complements the system of government-declared and managed national parks and marine parks (Langton et al. 2005; Smyth 2001a, 2001b). Through the IPA Programme, large areas of ecologically and culturally significant land, previously unrepresented or under-represented in the National Reserve System (NRS), have been brought under protected area management. This has been achieved without expending scarce conservation funding on the purchase of land — funds which instead can be devoted to protected area management through the IPA Programme. A recent review of the IPA Programme (Gilligan 2006) found that the declaration and management of IPAs over the last 10 years has been very cost effective in contributing to the conservation aims of the NRS. The review also found that there are considerable positive social and cultural outcomes from the IPA Programme, including the transfer of traditional indigenous knowledge and engaging young indigenous people in positive educational experiences centered on the equitable exchange of western science and traditional knowledge. Dhimurru IPA provides an example of how the autonomy of indigenous sole management of a protected area can lead to partnerships that enhance rather than threaten Traditional Owner authority and that deliver tangible conservation, and social and cultural benefits. While IPAs lack the financial security that comes with jointly managed government-declared national parks, the Dhimurru example shows that it is possible to build a degree of security through multiple bilateral and multilateral partnerships, rather than single bilateral partnerships typical of joint management. The Dhimurru IPA, as with the other IPAs across Australia, demonstrates that, when given the freedom to choose how to take care of their Country, Traditional Owners willingly enter into collaborative partnerships that can assist them to manage their traditional estates sustainably.

Literature Cited and Further Reading
Ayre, M. 2002. Yolηgu places and people: taking aboriginal understandings seriously in land and sea management. PhD thesis, University of Melbourne, Melbourne. Bauman, T. and Smyth, D. (eds.). 2007. Indigenous Partnerships in Protected Area Management in Australia: Three Case Studies. Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, Canberra. 168pp. Website: . Accessed: 6 July 2009. Dhimurru Land Management Aboriginal Corporation. 2000. Indigenous Protected Area Management Plan. Dhimurru, Nhulunbuy, Australia. Dhimurru Land Management Aboriginal Corporation. 2006. Dhimurru Yolηuwu Monuk Gapu Wäηa Sea Country Plan. Dhimurru, Nhulunbuy, Australia. Website: . Accessed: 6 July 2009. Gilligan, B. 2006. The Indigenous Protected Areas Programme – 2006 Evaluation. Department of the Environment, Water Heritage and the Arts, Canberra. Website: . Accessed: 23 December 2009. Kennett, R. and Munungiritj, N. 2001. Looking after miyapunu: indigenous management of marine turtles. In: Protected Area Management – Principles and Practice, G. Worboys, T. De Lacey, and M. Lockwood (eds.), p.188. Oxford University Press, Melbourne. Kennett, R., Munungiritj, N. and Yunupingu, D. 2004. Migration patterns of marine turtles in the Gulf of Carpentaria, Northern Australia: implications for aboriginal management. Wildlife Research 31(3): 241–248. Langton, M., Rhea, Z.M. and Palmer, L. 2005. Community-Oriented Protected Areas for Indigenous Peoples ad Local Communities. Journal of Political Economy 12: 23–50.
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Robinson, C. and Munungguritj, N. 2001. Sustainable balance — A Yolηgu framework for Cross-cultural collaborative management. In: Working on Country: Contemporary Indigenous Management of Australia’s Lands and Coastal Regions, R. Baker, J. Davies and E. Young (eds.), pp.92–107. Oxford University Press, Melbourne. Smyth, D. 2001a. Joint management of national parks. In: Working on Country: Contemporary Indigenous Management of Australia’s Lands and Coastal Regions, R. Baker, J. Davies and E. Young (eds.), pp.75–91. Oxford University Press, Melbourne. Smyth, D. 2001b. Management of Sea Country. In: Working on Country: Contemporary Indigenous Management of Australia’s Lands and Coastal Regions, R. Baker, J. Davies and E. Young (eds.), pp.60–74. Oxford University Press, Melbourne. Smyth, D. 2006. Indigenous Protected Areas in Australia. Parks 16(1): 14–20. Smyth, D. 2007. Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area: sole management with partners. In: Indigenous Partnerships in Protected Area Management in Australia: Three Case Studies, T. Bauman and D. Smyth (eds.), pp.100–126. Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, Canberra. Website: . Accessed: 6 July 2009. Smyth, D. 2009. Just Add Water? Taking Indigenous Protected Areas into Sea Country. In: Indigenous Governance and Management of Protected Areas in Australia, D. Smyth and G. Ward (eds.), pp.95–110. Chapter 8 in E-book published by the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, Canberra. Website: . Accessed: 5 July 2009. Smyth, D. and Bauman, T. 2007. Outcomes of Three Case Studies in Indigenous Partnerships in Protected Area Management: Policy Briefing Paper for the Australian Collaboration. Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, Canberra. Szabo, S. and Smyth, D. 2003. Indigenous Protected Areas in Australia. In: Innovative Governance: Indigenous Peoples, Local Communities and Protected Areas, H. Jaireth and D. Smyth (eds.), pp.145–164. Ane Books, New Delhi. Williams, N.M. 1986. The Yolηgu and Their Land: A System of Land Tenure and the Fight for Its Recognition. Stanford University Press, Stanford.

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Marine-Based Community Conserved Areas in Fiji:
FIJI

An Example of Indigenous Governance and Partnership

Mark A. Calamia, David I. Kline, Sireli Kago, Kerry Donovan, Sirilo Dulunaqio, Taito Tabaleka, and B. Greg Mitchell

Quick Facts
Country: Fiji Geographic Focus: Yanuca Island, south central portion of the Fijian Archipelago Indigenous Peoples: Yanuca clan. Population 241

Introduction
In the last decade, the Southwest Pacific island nation of Fiji (Fig. 1) has been the focus of considerable attention from international conservation NGOs and consultants as they have assisted indigenous Fijians in establishing Marine-based Community Conserved Areas (MBCCAs) in areas of local customary fishing rights. Over-harvesting together with pollution, soil erosion, and land run-off has led to a crisis in Fijian fisheries. Overfishing tends to be prevalent in both deep water and near-shore fisheries (The Austral Foundation 2007). The Manado Ocean Declaration of the World Ocean Conference, in Manado, Indonesia, 11–14 May 2009, included among its 21 points the need to: Further establish and effectively manage marine protected areas, including representative resilient networks, in accordance with international law as reflected in UNCLOS [United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea] and on the basis of the best available science, recognizing the importance of their contribution to ecosystem goods and services, and to contribute to the effort to conserve biodiversity, sustainable livelihoods and to adapt to climate change. (World Ocean Conference 2009, Point 15). The MBCCAs have been established primarily to ensure sustainable management of local coral reef ecosystems that provide habitats for tropical fish and marine invertebrates, many of which are essential protein and economic resources for local residents.

Author Information
Mark A. Calamia is owner and principal investigator of a small consulting firm Ethnographic Inquiry. He is a cultural anthropologist with a specialty in ecological anthropology. E-mail: markcalamia@hotmail.com David I. Kline earned his PhD from the Scripps Institution of Oceanography. He is an expert on coral reef ecology with a special emphasis on climate change and factors that lead to disease and mortality. Sireli Kago is a member of the Matiqali Nukutabua of Yavusa Nukutabua, Yanuca Island, Fiji. He has the title of turaga ni koro, a position that serves as coordinator for the Village Council. Kerry Donovan is the Pacific Blue Foundation Coordinator for Fiji. He has experience in financial planning, boat operations, commercial fishing, and construction. Sirilo (Didi) Dulunaqio is an employee of the Wildlife Conservation Society, Suva, Fiji. He focuses on underwater surveys of coral community ecology. Taito Tabaleka earned a Master’s degree in Management from Southern Cross University, Australia. He is a member of Matiqali Batiluva of Yavusa Nukutabua, Yanuca Island, Fiji. B. Greg Mitchell is the Director of the Pacific Blue Foundation and a PhD Research Biologist and Senior Lecturer at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography in La Jolla, California, USA. He is an expert in algal photosynthesis, satellite remote sensing, aquatic optics and modeling. E-mail: mitchell@spg.ucsd.edu

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The Fiji Islands have exceptional marine biological (South and Skelton 2000) and cultural diversity (Derrick 1974; Ravuvu 1983). They are located in a region of strong gradients in coral diversity, and many of the coral species are at the easternmost extent of their natural range. The precise number of species in Fiji for most marine organisms is not known. Many regions have not been extensively surveyed, especially the more remote islands. Fenner (2006) estimated that the number of coral species might be as high as 500. Zann (1992) recorded 298 species of scleractinian corals, while Lovell and McLardy (2008) reported 72 genera and 342 species, along with five genera and 12 species of non-scleractinian corals, for a total of 354 species of corals. The diversity of other organisms in Fiji has been reported to include five species of gorgonians (Muzik and Wainwright 1977), 15 zoanthids (polyps and sea mats) (Muirhead and Ryland 1981), and 1,900 fishes of 162 families (Vuki et al. 2000). The dominant corals (hard and soft), food fish, and regularly harvested reef invertebrates of the Beqa Lagoon region of this case study are listed in Table 1. Lovell and Sykes (as reported in Kaur and Swarup 2006) found that from 1999 to 2004 live hard coral coverage on Fijian reefs averaged 22–24%. Pollution, elevated nutrient concentrations, outbreaks of the crown-of-thorns starfish, and mass bleaching events have caused significant damage to Fijian coral reefs (Vuki et al. 2000). A mass coral bleaching event in 2000 affected 80% of the coral species in the Beqa lagoon (Vuki et al. 2000), the region of focus in this report. Fiji’s reefs are recovering from the 2000 bleaching event, as well as a less serious event in 2002 that together caused the loss of 40%–80% of the hard coral cover in Fiji (Lovell and Sykes 2004). Surveys from 2004 indicated, however, that over half of the reefs surveyed were within 10% of the pre-bleaching levels of coral cover (Lovell and Sykes 2004). Shell collection for sale to tourists has resulted in a decline of the giant triton shell, Charonia tritonis, the main natural predator of the crown-of-thorns starfish (Vuki et al. 2000). Two species of giant clams have also been extirpated in Fiji; Tridacna gigas, last seen 50 years ago, and Hippopus hippopus, which could only be found as dead shells or fossils, but has recently been reintroduced for the aquaculture trade (Lewis et al. 1988; Vuki et al. 2000). In this case study, we address the development of indigenous governance for effective and equitable management of a Marine-based Community Conserved Area (MBCCA). In particular, we explore the establishment of a MBCCA in the customary fishing rights area (qoliqoli, pronounced ‘ngolee-ngolee’) surrounding Yanuca (pronounced Yanutha) Island, which belongs to the people of Yanuca village. The island is situated in the south central portion of the Fijian Archipelago, in the 352-km² Beqa Lagoon (Figs. 1 and 2). The large MBCCA west of Yanuca Island is in a region known for considerable marine biodiversity, some of which is threatened from overfishing (Mitchell et al. 2006; PCDF 2007b). This protected area was created through a partnership between Yanuca village and the Pacific Blue Foundation (PBF) — a small development and conservation NGO based in La Jolla, California, USA. The nexus between traditional knowledge, culture, resource management, external capital and conservation (cultural and ecological) is the focus of PBF, as represented in this case study, and influenced by contemporary Fijian researchers such as Joeli Veitayaki who Figure 1. The Fiji Islands. This project focuses on promoting community conservation and ecological management with the Yanuca Island village, wrote: “Indigenous knowledge, wisdom, and experience 10 km south of Vitilevu (black arrow) in the Beqa lagoon. Base map courare valuable, appropriate, and still relevant for people in tesy of Google Images.
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Table 1. Common sceleractinian (hard) and octocoral (soft) corals, food fishes, and commonly harvested reef invertebrates of Yanuca.

Scientific Name Scleractinian (hard) corals

Common Name

Fijian Name

Other Fijian Names

Acropora tenuis Acropora valenciennesi Acropora nasuta Montipora digitata Stylophora pistillata Pocillopora meandrina Diploastrea heliopora Porites lobata
Octocoral (soft) corals

Staghorn coral Staghorn coral Velvet finger coral Club finger coral Cauliflower coral Moon coral Lobe coral Finger coral Toadstool Leather coral Lobed Leather coral Gorgonian fan Carnation Tree coral Tree coral or Colt coral Broccoli or Cauliflower coral Honeycomb rock cod White spotted grouper Camouflage grouper Big spot coral trout Many spotted sweetlips Thumbprint emperor Bi-color parrotfish Daisy parrotfish Wrasse Trochus shell Sea cucumber, Black teat fish Sea cucumber, Brown sandfish Triton’s trumpet Black sea cucumber,Lollyfish Spider shell

Lase tagane Lase tagane Vatubuso, Puga or Ravuga Baka Kawakawa Kawakawa-ni-tiri Kawakawa Donu Sevaseva Kabatia Ulavi Bose Karakarawa Vivili Loaloa Vula Davui Loli Ega

Senikawakawa Kerakera Kasala Lava Drekeni Kabatiko Ulavidraniqai, Dogosasa

Sinularia Sarcophyton Lobophytum Melithaea Dendronephthya Litophyton Nephthea
Fishes

Epinephelus merra Epinephelus caeruleopunctatus Epinephelus spp. Polyphekadion spp. Plectropopmus spp. Plectrochinus chaetodonoides Lethrinus harak Scaridae spp. Chlorurus sordidus Chelinus spp.
Reef invertebrates

Trochus niloticus Microthele nobilis Bohabschia marmorata Charonia triotonis Holothuria atra Lambis lambis

Sici, Leru Lolo Tavui Loliloli Yaga

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developing countries like Fiji. It must be incorporated into sustainable development planning, contemporary development strategies, and resource management.” (Veitayaki 2002, p.401). Lovell et al. (2004) classified the Beqa lagoon (Fig. 2) as having a medium overall threat to its reefs, a high threat level from overfishing, a medium threat from coastal development, and a low threat from pollution, sediment damage, and destructive fishing. The economic value of Fijian coral reefs has been estimated at between F$200,000 to F$1 million per km² per year (Kaur and Swarup 2006). There is great merit in pursuing a well-structured management of the coral ecosystems in Fiji for the conservation of their biological Figure 2. High resolution (30 m) “true color” image of Beqa Lagoon obdiversity, for their cultural links to the marine ecosystem, served 4 February 2001, using the NASA Landsat 7 Enhanced Thematic as well as for their sustainable economic use. Mapper. The Fiji Government, with input from local villages, has established geographic borders for qoliqoli (customary fishing regions) for all Since 2006, the Pacific Blue Foundation has supFijian communities. The qoliqoli boundaries for the Yanuca Island and Beqa Island communities are shown by white borders, and were obtained ported Ethnographic Inquiry (EI) consultants in a multifrom the Fijian Government. Area 5 is owned solely by Yanuca, while year process with the Yanuca Community. The EI consulArea 4 is shared with two yavusas on Beqa Island. The area bound in red within area 5 is the Kauviti MBCCA, created through the process reported tant had prior experience in sociocultural and ecological in this case study. Image courtesy NASA and USGS. studies on Kadavu Island, Fiji, and recommended collaboration with Partners in Community Development Fiji (PCDF). PCDF is a Fijian-based affiliate of the Foundation of the Peoples of the South Pacific International (FSPI), and its focus on community awareness, sustainable management of marine resources, small-business development, and good governance are key areas of mutual agreement among PBF, EI, PCDF and the Yanuca Island Community. Facilitating dialogue with the Yanuca community regarding the establishment of a MBCCA involved both traditional and non-traditional aspects of ecological and cultural information in decision-making and implementation processes. As part of the discussion about indigenous MBCCA governance, we employed management concepts and policy guidance established by the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) and the First International Marine Protected Areas Congress in 2005 (Day et al. 2007). The successful collaboration between PBF, EI, PCDF and the Yanuca Community resulted in the establishment of MBCCAs, along with a governance framework for their long-term management.

Convention on Biological Diversity Resource Governance and Management Categories
After the 5th IUCN World Parks Congress (Durban, South Africa, September 2003), policy guidelines for protected areas worldwide were drafted by the Program of Work on Protected Areas, and subsequently endorsed by the 7th Conference of the Parties (COP 7, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia 2004) of the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) and the First International Marine Protected Areas Congress (Day et al. 2005). These guidelines have been broadly adopted by organizations such as the Locally Managed Marine Network (LMMA; ), which has a country-wide network in Fiji (Govan 2009). These organizations and their guidelines have had an influence on our implementation strategies and efforts, as outlined in this case study. In many indigenous conservation efforts, governance needs to take into account power struggles, social relationships, responsibility to local groups (including familial lineages), and accountability to socio-cultural institutions
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(Borrini-Feyerabend 2008). When authority is centralized, communication ineffective, and the globalization of natural resource markets infringes on traditional local management, decisions can be influenced by external capital, which may be counter-productive for the local communities. Good community-based governance and decision-making is essential to minimize the tendency of external capital (focused on resource extraction or tourist development, for example) to distort local decisions in a way that may result in ecological economics which are unsustainable and unfavorable to the local communities that depend on healthy ecosystems. The CBD Program of Work (PoW target 4.1) encourages parties to develop and adopt standards, criteria, and best practices for managing and governing regional, national, and local protected areas. Ultimately, goals can only be achieved by integrating locally-managed projects to balance conservation, traditional culture and resource use in a sustainable and equitable way. Management addresses what is carried out in a particular protected area, while governance addresses who makes the decisions and who defines the processes. For protected area governance, it is essential to understand who is responsible for making which decisions. Authority depends on institutions, formal mandates, and legal and customary rights. Decisions are also influenced by access to information, economic sustainability, history, culture, and other relevant factors (Borrini-Feyerabend 2008). Four types of governance over natural resources have been distinguished by the CBD PoW. They are based on who holds management Ultimately, goals can only be authority and responsibility and who is held accountable according to achieved by integrating locallyde jur, de facto, and customary rights (CBD 2004). They are as follows: managed projects to balance 1) Government Managed Protected government/social Areas (government agencies, at various levels, make and enforce decisions); 2) Co-managed conservation, traditional culture Protected Areas (different government/social groups collectively make and and resource use in a sustainable enforce decisions); 3) Private Protected Areas (private landowners make and equitable way. and enforce decisions); and 4) Community Conserved Areas (indigenous peoples or local communities make or enforce decisions). Each of these governance types has two or three sub-types that pertain to particular management structures. These categories were later revised and incorporated into the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN)’s Guidelines for Applying Protected Area Management Categories (Dudley 2008). Community Conserved Areas (CCAs) are natural and/or modified ecosystems that are voluntarily conserved by indigenous communities through customary laws or other means. Decision-making authority is largely with the community, but state authorities retain significant influence through specific conditions, for example, approval of management plans, policies, laws, administrative frameworks, and financial support (Borrini-Feyerabend 2008; Pathak et al. 2004). In the last decade or so the South Pacific has witnessed considerable progress in the application of community-based coastal resource management. A combination of traditional knowledge and resource ownership together with a local awareness of the need for immediate action are often the commencement points for these community driven initiatives. The majority of documented CCAs in the region have been (re)established only recently (Govan et al. 2009). The Yanuca Island marine reserve initiative is considered a CCA based on the definition cited above and, in principle, there is broad acceptance in Fiji of the customary fishing right’s areas being controlled locally by the indigenous owners. As they exist today, both land ownership and customary fishing rights reflect the social and traditional organizations of the Fijian people and the legislative structures that were developed by the former British colonial government to protect the tenure rights of the indigenous Fijians. Traditional communal ownership of lands rests with the lineages or mataqali (Ravuvu 1983). In Fiji, as in many other island countries throughout the South Pacific, coastal waters or nearshore resources are shared under dual ownership. Thus, the state has rights to the land beneath the sea and the Fijian tribes or clan units exercise their rights to fish these areas by virtue of the waters being the customary fishing grounds for
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subsistence. State ownership of marine resources includes all coastland and inherent resources below the high water mark to the outer reef system as well as archipelagic waters and beds, and the inherent resources underneath up to the 200-mile economic zone boundary (Native Lands and Fisheries Commission [NLFC] pers. comm. 1999). The customary rights of Fijian clan (yavusa) units are restricted to recognized fishing grounds, typically from the low water mark and including the fringing reefs on the coastal waters and around isolated islands, up to the barrier reefs. As the law stands now, Fijians have statutory and traditional rights to fish in but not own their fishing grounds; fishing grounds are reserved for the state (see, however, Williams [2006] for review of the draft Qoliqoli Bill tabled in 2006). The IUCN have also identified Indigenous and Community Conserved Areas (ICCAs) as special areas for conservation because of their stewardship by indigenous peoples. The IUCN definition of ICCAs is as follows: ICCAs are natural and/or modified ecosystems containing significant biodiversity values, ecological services and cultural values, voluntarily conserved by indigenous peoples and local communities, both sedentary and mobile, through customary laws or other effective means. ICCAs can include ecosystems with minimum to substantial human influence as well as cases of continuation, revival or modification of traditional practices or new initiatives taken up by communities in the face of new threats or opportunities. Several of them are inviolate zones ranging from very small to large stretches of land and waterscapes. (See ). The Yanuca MBCCAs also qualify as ICCAs because the communities relate culturally to the ecosystem and species, as seen in many other CCAs throughout the world (cf. Pathak et al. 2004). The community management decisions and efforts are now beginning to lead to the conservation of habitats, species, ecological services, and associated cultural values, although the conscious objectives of management are focused more on livelihoods. The community dominates in decision-making and implementation regarding the management of the sites, implying that the Yanuca institutions have the capacity to enforce regulations with the assistance of other stakeholders in partnership. Indigenous influence over the Yanuca MBCCA is substantial, with new initiatives being taken up by local residents who perceive threats to their coral reefs and fisheries. In the case of Yanuca, PBF serves as a significant facilitating partner, but primary decision-making resides with the Yanuca community itself.

Overview: Environmental and Village Setting2
Yanuca Island is approximately 2 km² and is just south of the main island of Viti Levu (Figs. 1, 2 and 3). This volcanic island has a few rolling hills and is surrounded by an exclusive customary fishing rights area (qoliqoli) (see Region 5 in Fig. 2 and Table 2). It is in the Beqa Lagoon (~20 km × 15 km), which has a fringing reef on the perimeter of an extinct submarine volcano, and has indigenous Fijian residents living in a village also called Yanuca. The village is on a large cove on the southeast side of the island (Figs. 3 and 4). In April 2007, the population consisted of 241; 125 males and 116 females, and 34 households in all. The small village includes a church, a primary school, and an older church building that serves as a community hall. Most of the Yanuca villagers are devout Methodists. They are members of Yavusa (clan) Nukutabua. There are three mataqali (patrilineages), and each has two tokatokas (extended families). Derrick

2 Much of the information in this section is adapted from the Partners in Community Development Fiji workshop reports (PCDF 2007a, 2007b) and personal communication with the Pacific Blue Foundation.

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Figure 3. A. Google Earth image of Yanuca Island including part of the Beqa Lagoon perimeter boundary reef that is closest to the island. Boundaries drawn are for the three MBCCAs with the Wainidubu MBCCA shown in white (total area of 0.13 km²), the Daga MBCCA shown as a yellow dot (total area of 0.02 km²) and the Kauviti MBCCA shown in red (total area of 8 km²). Image courtesy of Google Earth. B. Aerial view of Yanuca Island form the southwest. The red lines show the boundaries of the Kauviti MBCCA close to the island. Photo © Kerry Donovan.

(1974) and Ravuvu (1983) provide additional details on Fijian customs, history, familial structure and governance. Customary fishing rights to the qoliqoli are held communally by the yavusa. Their exclusive qoliqoli is approximately 77 km² (Region 5, Fig. 2; Table 2) and has coral reefs and deep water passages surrounding the island. Yavusa Nukutabua also shares qoliqoli rights with two yavusas on Beqa Island in Region 4 (Fig. 2; Table 2). The land on Yanuca is owned by the three mataqali in three discrete parcels, while two small areas are owned by the Vunivalu (paramount chief of Serua province) and the Raralevu patrilineage of Serua Island, about 10 km northwest of Yanuca Island, very close to Viti Levu. Figure 4. The Yanuca Island village viewed looking east from the trail Much of the subsistence and non-subsistence economic that leads to the school. Beqa Island is visible in the background. Photo activity on Yanuca is based on fishing and a small-scale © Mark A. Calamia. agriculture that includes taro, cassava (manioc), kava, and various other Pacific root and tree crops. The indigenous residents of Yanuca rely heavily on fish for their protein, while plant root crops, fruits and vegetables provide carbohydrates. The people of Yanuca also sell their fishery products as a source of cash income to purchase clothing, pay school fees, support village functions and church activities, and sundry items. These cash needs have helped the local people understand the importance of managing their marine resources in a sustainable manner. Approximately 8 km² of Yanuca’s exclusive qoliqoli has been set aside as a ‘no-fishing’ MBCCA, leaving about 68 km² of the 77-km² qoliqoli as fishable. They also share fishing rights in the adjacent 91-km² Region 4 (Fig. 2). Presently the
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shared qoliqoli has no MBCCA sites, but there is strong communication between the Yanuca community and their counterparts on Beqa Island. The 352-km² Beqa Lagoon has both hard and soft corals and their associated tropical marine vertebrates and invertebrates (Table 1). Scuba diving sites in the Kauviti MBCCA Region Area (km²) are known especially for soft coral formations as well as several shipwrecks. In the reefs 1 28 surrounding Yanuca Island, the live coral cover in both MBCCA and non-MBCCA sites 2 19 is between 15% and 50% (PCDF 2007b). Overall, the coral cover surrounding the edge 3 38 of Yanuca Island is in good condition and is expected to improve while the MBCCA is maintained and enforced (PCDF 2007b). During a major warm-water bleaching 4 91 event that took place throughout Fiji in 2000, areas adjacent to the Yanuca MBCCA 5 77 were severely affected, and continue to exhibit dead corals beside those that survived. 6 68 Fortunately, new coral recruits have settled, and recovery is strong (PCDF 2007b, Fig. 5). 7 31 For the last 10 years, the site of Kauviti MBCCA has been used for commercial live coral Total 352 trade and collection of aquarium fish. MBCCAs Many of the best dive sites in Beqa Lagoon are in the Kauviti MBCCA (Figs. 3 Kauviti 8.00 and 5). Regional resorts and tourist dive boat operators pay fees to the community for Wainidubu 0.13 access to these dive sites. Conservation within the Kauviti MBCCA will, therefore, likely Daga 0.02 contribute to revenue from ecotourist scuba diver fees. Frigates Passage is part of an off-shore fringing reef that is renowned for its world-class surfing. The passage is about 10 km south of Yanuca Island (Fig. 2). The local people of Yanuca are paid a fee by resorts and individuals who surf there or dive in their qoliqoli. The community also operates Yanuca Island Resort that can accommodate about 15 guests who are usually budget-conscious backpackers or surfers. They also obtain revenue from commercial divers collecting live aquarium organisms, and from small-scale commercial fishing enterprises operating from Vitilevu. One objective of PBF and the PCDF is to assist the community to develop sustainable economic options that minimize exploitation of the natural system and consolidate their commercial use within the Yanuca community.
Table 2. Surface areas of qoliqioli regions for the Beqa Lagoon and the MBCCAs in the Yanuca qoliqoli (region 5). See also Figures 2 and 3.

Establishing the MBCCAs through a Workshop Approach
Since 2004, PBF has coordinated approximately two visits per year by various consultants who research the ecological, sociocultural, subsistence, economic and marine conservation needs of the Yanuca people (Mitchell and Donovan 2006, 2007). The Pacific Islands Coordinator for PBF lives in Pacific Harbour, 17 km from Yanuca Island. He works full time with members of the community on matters related to the management of the MBCCAs, the island environment, and socio-economic needs. In that regard, he is assisting the Yanuca community with their relationships and dealings with national and provincial government departments, non-governmental organizations, educational institutions, and businesses. For the work reported here, consultations have been coordinated with: the Ministry of Fijian Affairs, the Department of Lands and Fisheries, the Native Lands Trust Board, the Serua Provincial Council, The University of the South Pacific, Partners in Community Development Fiji (PCDF), and the Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS). In October 2004, the Yanuca community invited PBF to carry out initial underwater surveys, to review the status of the marine ecosystems in their qoliqoli, and to make recommendations for next steps (Mitchell et al. 2006). The recommendations made by PBF were to organize ecological studies and community consultations, to establish a MBCCA, to reduce commercial fishing by outside enterprises, to reduce anchoring, to organize a community evaluation concerning
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options for balanced management, and to document the fishery harvest. PBF, with the assistance of the village headman (turaga ni koro), presented the concept of a MBCCA to the village council and chief. After deliberation, the community recommended that PBF consult with the Department of Fisheries Lami regarding the process for establishing the MBCCA. PBF, with the turaga ni koro, consulted with the Department of Fisheries, who informed them of the required protocols which needed to be followed to achieve the community’s goal. First the community needed to define the area and prepare a proposal. The proposal would then need to be evaluated by the village and the Department of Fisheries and, upon approval, implemented. Subsequently, the small 0.13-km² Wainidubu MBCCA was established through a preliminary partnership between the village and Yanuca Island Resort (YIR), their locally-owned resort at Wainidubu beach. The establishment of this initial MBCCA involved a traditional institutional process — a village meeting where the manager and the boat captain of Yanuca Island Resort offered a ritual presentation of kava roots known as a sevusevu, followed by ritualized kava drinking and talanoa (open discussion about the topic being considered). The Wainidubu MBCCA was approved and declared a no-fishing and no-anchoring area, forty-four juvenile giant clams were introduced, and the community initiated periodic snorkel surveys. The clams continue to grow, and small fish species returned to the area. Surveys in 2007 and 2008 indicated the coral was recovering in areas that had previously suffered damage from anchoring and bleaching. Surveys in 2009 revealed a crown-of-thorns starfish threat indicating incomplete recovery of predators of this coral-killing starfish. Plans to remove the starfish are in progress. The Wainidubu MBCCA (Fig. 3) was the first to be formed by the community. Its northern boundary meets the island at Dakurukua, a known fish aggregation area (Fig. 2, Table 2). It was subsequently incorporated into the 8-km² Kauviti MBCCA, but its proximity to the Yanuca Island Resort allows for a more effective enforcement of no-take and no-anchoring rules. Although subsumed into the larger Kauviti MBCCA, the precedence that was set by its formation is very important to the community. Since it is near the shore, it is more rigorously protected from illegal poaching. The easily observed coral recovery following the ban on anchoring, and the success of the reintroduction of the giant clams

Figure 5. Photos of the Light House Reef, which is representative of the Yanuca Island coral reefs found in the Kauviti MBCCA. (A) High diversity of scleractinian corals. (B) Close-up of the reef benthos indicates that many of the coral colonies are young, replacing those that died in the 2000 and 2002 bleaching events. The Yanuca Island reefs appear to have strong recruitment and growth leading to good recovery from the bleaching mortality. Such strong recovery with high diversity can only be attained for reefs that already are in good health before major stressors such as warm water bleaching. Establishing areas of conservation helps ensure healthy populations that will support recovery following natural or anthropogenic stress and damage. Photos © David J. Kline.

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and of the coral gardening project are a source of pride, and evidence of the potential of MBCCAs. A serious problem yet to resolve, however, is the frequent presence of illegal poachers in the deep water passage and reef of the Kauviti MBCCA to the west of the Island, and the discovery in 2009 of a crown-of-thorns starfish outbreak. In May/June 2005, PBF returned to Fiji and consulted with Yanuca leaders and the Department of Fisheries, who agreed to let them assist with village meetings regarding conservation initiatives. During that visit, the PBF consultants collaborated with Fijian marine ecology and community experts who were working with the Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS) to conduct scuba surveys in the exclusive qoliqoli (Region 5, Fig. 2) along with community consultations and surveys. The WCS is routinely involved with major programs on Fiji’s Great Sea Reef Project north of Vanua Levu, and the Namena marine protected area. The experience of the WCS staff was invaluable in helping with the underwater surveys and also in promoting effective communication with the Yanuca village about the status of their qoliqoli, options for sustainable management, and concepts for alternative economic development that do not deplete their natural resources. A year later, in May 2006, PBF sponsored the first Yanuca Village Marine Awareness Workshop, led by Ethnographic Inquiry (EI), an ecological anthropology consulting firm based in the US, with assistance from the PBF coordinator and the turaga ni koro of Yanuca, and others in the village. The workshop provided an opportunity to address issues pertaining to the use of marine resources, governance, and the boundaries of their customary fishing rights area. It was at this workshop that the idea of a large MBCCA was discussed in detail, based on concepts first introduced by such as PBF and the Department of Fisheries (see Mitchell et al. 2006). In March 2007, PBF coordinated a Marine Awareness and Participatory Learning and Action (PLA) workshop, led by Partners in Community Development of Fiji (PCDF) with support from members of the Serua Provincial Office, and the Department of Fisheries office at Navua, Serua. The goal was to initiate the development of each village’s qoliqoli Marine Management Action Plan, outlining strategies to restore the surrounding coastal fishing areas for all villages in Serua Province (PCDF 2007a). The island and marine resources map created by the Yanuca Community at this workshop is shown in Figure 6. Figure 7 shows the workshop where Powerpoint presentations were given to present underwater digital images. Many of the following conservation measures, as outlined in the workshop, have, or will be, initiated in the Yanuca qoliqoli with the strictest rules implemented for the Kauviti and Daga MBCCA (PCDF 2007a): • • • • • • • Limit anchoring to very small areas that are sandy, and prohibit anchoring for most of the qoliqoli; install moorings at main fishing, diving, surf and other tourist locations; reduce removal of live corals and aquaria fish, and prohibit this activity within the MBCCAs; reduce gleaning and spear-fishing with scuba, and prohibit these activities within the MBCCAs; prohibit the use of poison derived from derris (duva), an illegal fishing practice with devastating indiscriminate effects on all nearby organisms; establish coral replanting programs within the MBCCAs, and set up coral farms that have the potential to generate sustainable local income through live coral sales; and train members of the community as government-certified fish wardens.

During the PLA workshop, the PCDF conducted a socio-economic survey in the seven villages of the district (PCDF 2007a). It revealed that the fishery was primarily subsistence, and commercial fishing by the Serua villages was very limited. This brought to the fore the option for the community to develop its own fishery cooperative, and eliminate, or greatly reduce, the number of licenses to non-local commercial fishers. PBF is exploring a micro-finance scheme
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to establish a sustainable fishery cooperative with Yanuca to support the villagers’ economic needs and their subsistence protein requirements. Much of the subsistence and non-subsistence economic activities on Yanuca are based on fishing and small-scale agriculture, but the soil and limited freshwater on Yanuca are not ideal for farming. Some members of the Serua villages get their major income from working in tourist resorts or providing other services to tourism, while others focus on small-scale fishing, farming, and other activities (PCDF 2007a). The Yanuca community has very small tourist resorts that generate a modest income. Scuba and surf fees also provide some revenue. The workshop and survey also showed that there was significant overfishing of Serua’s qoliqoli, including Yanuca (PCDF 2007a). Poaching in MBCCA sites was identified by the communities as an issue. In May 2009, the fisheries warden workshop for Yanuca and other Serua Province villages further raised awareness of the poaching problem and was featured in the June 6, 2009 Fiji Times (Anon. 2009). The Fiji Times pointed out that the district, provincial, and

Figure 6. Hand drawn map with annotations of regions of highest value specified by the Yanuca community. During the March 2007 workshop, villagers assigned no-take or rest zones, and designated other areas to be actively fished. This workshop process captured the intrinsic cultural, economic and ecological value to the community of the diverse habitats within their qoliqoli. Based on balancing the use of these different areas, the community specified the MBCCAs summarized in this report. Sketch map courtesy of Yanuca Community and Partners in Community Development Fiji.

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Figure 7. Children join the March 2007 workshop coordinated by PBF and led by the PCDF. This workshop established the three community conservation areas within the Yanuca qoliqoli described in this report, and a preliminary set of conservation guidelines regarding fishing, anchoring, and live coral/fish extraction in the newly designated MBCCAs. The community also made long-term commitments to continue to re-evaluate and balance implementation with respect to economic sustainability and conservation; a process required for viability of MBCCAs. Photo © Kerry Donovan.

government authorities could help mitigate or eliminate poaching by assisting with patrols. Overall, the PCDF marine awareness and participatory learning workshop and the socioeconomic survey of Serua District indicated that the people were well informed of conservation concepts and had the framework for various actions to improve their natural environment while also promoting long-term social and economic sustainability (PCDF 2007a). In collaboration with the WCS and with support from PBF, in July 2007, EI conducted an ethnographic study of Yanuca Island cultural history and its trade relations with nearby islands. The WCS and PCDF helped us communicate with the Yanuca village about the options for the sustainable management of their qoliqoli, and the alternatives for an economic development that does not deplete their natural resources. Consistent with the March 2007 workshop recommendations, in April 2008,

Figure 8. Photograph of Epeli “Big Bola” Bolatagici (left) and Etonia “Doko” Dokonivalu (right), two of the most inspiring elders who championed the establishment of the MBCCAs reported here. Big Bola and Doko were superlative fishermen and craftsmen whose smiles were infectious. Their knowledge of the fish and ecology of the qoliqoli and the trust the community had in their knowledge and wisdom, were very important in the MBCCA planning process that was based on traditional knowledge and customary approaches to marine conservation. Doko passed away in February 2008 and Big Bola in April, 2009. Documenting the traditional knowledge of the elders relative to both cultural and ecological conservation is part of the mission of the Pacific Blue Foundation, and this report is dedicated to their memory and the hope that their leadership will be emulated by their descendants. Photos © Kerry Donovan.

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under the supervision of PCDF, coral farming structures were installed on non-coral, sandy-bottom areas 50 m from Wainidubu Beach. By November 2008, PBF surveys revealed that these structures were ready for harvest and would allow the sale of live, farmed coral for a sustainable income.

The Socio-Political Decision-Making Process on Yanuca and Indigenous Governance of MBCCAs
Making decisions about the Yanuca MBCCAs has always been in the hands of the indigenous community members. In October 2004, the village headman (turaga ni koro), a paid administrative position under the Office of Fijian Affairs, was approached in a traditional manner by a prominent elder of the Batiluva patrilineage who requested a meeting of the village elders (the heads of the three patrilineages and others) in response to an overture from PBF. Shortly after this 2004 visit by PBF, the Yanuca Island Resort manager and the resort’s boat captain approached the village elders in a traditional way (with kava roots for the sevusevu ceremony) to request the initiation of the small MBCCA at Wainidubu (see Fig. 3). According to the turaga ni koro, the manager and boat captain “asked for permission to place marker buoys at the site, to chase people away if fishing or anchoring [at the site], and [for] the power to keep it a no-fishing reserve.” They also asked the villagers “to be aware of the MBCCA and observe it as a start towards protecting [their] own waters, as an example and a beginning. This talking and open discussion is the traditional way [for example, talanoa].” The turaga ni koro added “the non-traditional way was to accept help and workshops from two NGOs and [the] fisheries department.” Following this non-traditional and traditional talanoa (consultation), the turaga ni koro contacted the village chief, the Tui Daga, who lives on the main island of Viti Levu, to notify him of the meeting and the ensuing recommendation to form the MBCCA. He approved of the village recommendation. However, given that the chief does not live on Yanuca Island for most of the time, he deferred his decision-making authority to the turaga ni koro and the village elders. The leadership of several elders was particularly powerful, including that of (the late) Doko and Big Bola (Fig. 8). As mentioned above, the community approved the small MBCCA at Wainidubu in May 2004. Although the majority of the community is in favor of collective decisions for the common good, some individuals can disrupt the process and threaten the achievement of community goals. In 2003, a member of the Yanuca clan, Yavusa Nukutabua, began harvesting sea cucumber with scuba in the Yanuca qoliqoli while employed (on wages) by a man from Nairai, Lomaiviti Island Group, who was living in Suva. The man evidently believed that just being a member of the clan Yavusa Nukutabua was sufficient to be an owner of the qoliqoli and did not understand (or wish to understand) that the activity was illegal and unsustainable. By Fijian law, it is illegal to use scuba for any form of fishing. In 2006, he began harvesting sea cucumber using his own boat and scuba gear. He employed untrained divers from the village. Despite continuous appeals from the elders to stop, the clan member continued the lucrative enterprise. Sadly, on 13 May 2006, a Yanuca diver died while diving from the clan member’s boat; other divers reported he was using a faulty buoyancy vest. The clan member was asked by the elders to stop, but he defied them. From his sea cucumber sales he was able to buy more tanks and a larger boat; on 29 November 2006 another Yanuca man went missing while in his employ, and his body was never recovered. The clan member was forced to stop illegal harvesting in the Yanuca qoliqoli by the elders, and he left the area to fish and harvest sea cucumber illegally elsewhere. The chief of Yanuca wrote to the Serua Provincial Office, Commissioner Central, and the Minister of Fisheries, asking them to decline any application for harvesting sea cucumbers with scuba. These sad events galvanized the will of the majority and led to a strengthening of support for traditional communal governance informed by modern concepts for sustainable resource use. During the PCDF workshop in April 2007, further decisions were made by community members to recognize the large Kauviti reef MBCCA and a smaller MBCCA at Daga (Fig. 3; Table 2). Two weeks after the workshop, the
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village turaga ni koro called a meeting of the elders and the Tui Daga to discuss the proposed expansion of conservation areas. Following traditional protocol, the clan chief listened to his village elders and council, and eventually gave his approval. As mentioned above, the larger Kauviti MBCCA encompassed the original small Wainidubu MBCCA. The Daga MBCCA is a marine area around an underwater pinnacle reef 200 m from the island (Fig. 3). It rises from the seabed to about 6 m below the surface, and is ecologically important because large schools of juvenile and adult Trevally (saqa) fish routinely aggregate there. In the past the fishermen speared or trolled for Trevally at Daga, and it was chosen as a MBCCA to determine if a fishing moratorium during the next five years would result in an increase in numbers; the decision to forego fishing at Daga was a testament to the community’s ability to make compromises to achieve their conservation goals.

Managing and Monitoring the MBCCAs for Effective Conservation
The indigenous people of Yanuca are in the nascent stages of managing their marine resources, as well as exploring other potential economic development incentives that will provide needed income on a sustainable basis. Similar marine resource conservation efforts and community-based marine species’ identification work have also been undertaken on the nearby islands of Ono and Kadavu (Calamia 2003, 2008). Although the Yanuca villagers rely heavily on fishing for their protein, they recognize the importance of maintaining the sustainability of their resources and have worked with partners to establish several MBCCAs in their qoliqoli. The community has become active in monitoring the status of their qoliqoli, and they are considered leaders in Serua Province and the Beqa Lagoon area. The underwater surveys conducted during the 2007 PCDF workshop revealed that the most abundant fish were Parrot fish (Scaridae spp.) and Wrasse (Chelinus spp.). Other important food species, such as Rock cod (Gadidae), Coral trout (Plectropomus, Serranidae), Sweetlips (Plectorhinchus, Haemulidae), Unicorn fish (Naso, Acanthuridae), and Emperors (Lethrinus, Pomacanthidae) were not seen during the survey (PCDF 2007b). All these species are targeted for both subsistence and small-scale commercial fishing. Since the surveys were not rigorous ecological studies, the presence/absence and relative abundance are not considered quantitative. However, the data collected from these surveys imply the area has been prone to intensive fishing pressure, substantiated by the information that night diving has been prevalent around Yanuca. (PCDF 2007b). The local people and the NGOs involved, expect that the fish will increase in numbers within the MBCCAs leading to “spill over” to adjacent areas that are fished PCDF 2007b). Underwater surveys conducted as part of the training indicated that the invertebrate count near Yanuca Island was similar for MBCCA and non-MBCCA sites. This was not surprising, given that the MBCCAs have only recently been created. The main exception was the successful reintroduction of the giant clams, and the coral transplanting and gardening near Wainidubu MBCCA. Invertebrate populations, especially of sea cucumbers which have been heavily over-exploited, are expected to increase as a result of the MBCCA’s. Future surveys of invertebrates will indicate the success or otherwise of the MBCCA initiative in Yanuca’s waters (PCDF 2007b). The community is now able to monitor and manage its marine resources because of the collaboration reported here. Local Yanuca residents continue to improve their MBCCAs by installing moorings to prevent anchor damage, and by replanting coral, removing crown-of-thorns starfish, and creating coral gardens that can provide sustainable income without the removal of the natural corals. To help the Yanuca in the management of the MBCCAs, in April 2007, the Serua Provincial Office, the Fisheries Department, and PCDF organized the Serua District Fish Warden Training and Biological Survey. Fish warden training included instructions on conducting underwater surveys to assess resource abundance and biodiversity. Twelve members of the Yanuca community were trained as Honorary Fish Wardens (PCDF 2007b), adding to the three already trained with support from PBF in August 2006. The Fish Wardens have established
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their own committees, and they coordinate patrols to reduce poaching, conduct periodic surveys to monitor the health and number of fish and coral populations, and take an active role in communicating the status of the qoliqoli to the villagers (PCDF 2007b). According to the Fisheries Officer in charge of Serua Province, non-local poachers routinely engage in night fishing; a major problem for the authorities throughout Fiji. The Fish Warden committee continues to plan with PBF to devise more effective methods for preventing poaching that does not require excessive use of fuel. These plans are being developed with coastal villages in Serua Province, and island villages on Beqa Island (Rewa Province).

The Development of a Community Trust as a Governance Tool
The need for clear and present leadership is the single most pressing issue; one that has impeded the development of “good governance” of the Yanuca MBCCA. As recently as November 2008, the Tui Daga (Yavusa chief ) was continuing to sign commercial fishing permits for non-Yanuca fishers to operate within the Yanuca qoliqoli without consulting the community. Fees for these licenses were paid directly to the Tui Daga. Typical of issues related to the failure of communication, consultation and governance, some of these licences allowed fishing within the Kauviti MBCCA. Once signed, the permits were processed through the district office and the Fisheries Department, the staff of which were not aware of the lack of community consultation. In the past, the chief often signed permits without consultation with the community, but agreements were made during PBF and PCDF workshops described above that community consultation would be assured in the future. Currently, there is an agreement that no further permits will be issued for commercial activities (fishing, scuba, surfing, harvesting) without community consultation. New licenses and permits will be granted for a maximum of one calendar year; this facilitates future protection of the fishery itself as well as the MBCCAs. To address these governance issues on Yanuca (which are common throughout Fiji), PBF helped the Yanuca village council to draft a Yavusa Nukutabua Deed of Trust (Yavusa Trust), naming the members of the Yavusa Nukutabua as the beneficiaries. With agreement from the community and a learned businessman from the village who vets all “Western” negotiations involving Yanuca, the community gave approval for PBF to hire a Fijian attorney knowledgeable in customary governance and protocol to assist in drafting a revocable deed of trust that would include traditional aspects of the Fijian governance structure. The village elders are also in the process of obtaining an independent review. The Yavusa Trust is being drafted with the help of the turaga ni koro and the PBF attorney to ensure that the indigenous peoples’ ownership and use rights will be legally conveyed into the trust. The trustees selected by the community will decide collectively on fair and equitable compensation for the use of their marine resources by external stakeholders. This instrument will only hold those assets that the beneficiaries (Yavusa Nukutabua) agree should be placed in the trust. Once legally executed, the trustees selected by the community will be able to enter into agreements on behalf of the beneficiaries, including lease agreements made with various stakeholders, for example, use of the MBCCA for dive tourism, sport fishing, surfing and commercial fishing outside the MBCCA. A set of bylaws for the Yavusa Trust is in the process of being drafted as well. The expectation is that rules established for the MBCCA by the community will be adhered to in all decisions by the trustees, minimizing the risk that the chief, or other powerful members of the community, will make individual decisions that are not supported by the community. Two representatives from each of the six extended families (tokatoka) will be selected as trustees to initiate the Yavusa Trust. The heads of the three patrilineages (mataqali) and the village chief (Tui Daga) have been involved in the selection of trustees, which is consistent with traditional governance of Fijian communities. A fixed number of trustees (12) has been specified, but they may be changed over time. The trust has a structured plan for re-election of a subset of trustees at regular intervals. A parallel process has been initiated to develop a deed of trust for each mataqali that has owner-

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ship rights to land on Yanuca. It is anticipated that the Yavusa and each of the three mataqali will finalize the Yavusa and Mataqali Trusts in 2009 and proceed to a full community vote on the four separate deeds of trust. Several village-wide meetings have already been convened to explain how the Yavusa Trust will work and to solicit input in traditional ways. A small committee coordinated by the turaga ni koro has been formed to work with the attorney in revisions. As is customary, the chief may express his approval or disapproval before the other members offer their decision on matters. However, the turaga ni koro, who in this case also has the role as spokesman for the chief (mata ni vanua), and the heads of the tokatoka and mataqali all recognize that the trust will reduce the chief’s influence by ensuring that all decisions involving the MBCCA and other assets of the Yavusa qoliqoli will be approved by a majority of the trustees. Through this process, the community hopes to eliminate chiefly permitting of outside commercial fishers who seek to exploit Yanuca’s marine resources, and prevent any individual or smaller group of mataqali landowners from allowing use of marine resources without community consultation and consent. For instance, in 1995 a number of mataqali elders gave permission to two foreigners to build and operate an unregistered back-packer style motel at one of the beaches. During the occupation different members of the mataqali received unequal — and minimal — amounts of small cash rental payments, which created jealousy and concern among some. The resort’s owners also exploited the marine resources of surfing, swimming, and fishing at little benefit to the community. Although a legal eviction was issued by the Native Land Trust Board, the resort continues its operations. The community recognizes, following consultations with the PCDF, that the equitable representation of the trustees and a more efficient decision process will facilitate progress on other economic projects of interest, including forming a Yanuca commercial fishing cooperative or creating partnerships with investors for ecotourism, resorts and other sustainable economic options for which the community has expressed interest.

Conclusion and Next Steps
Community Conserved Marine Areas were defined at the First International Marine Protected Area Congress (IMPAC I) in 2005 as “marine and coastal ecosystems including significant biodiversity, ecological services, and cultural values voluntarily conserved by indigenous and local communities through customary laws or other effective means.” The three MBCCAs of Yanuca Island reported here are in accordance with The World Congress of Protected Areas Management Category VI (Protected Area with sustainable use of Natural Resources) that may include coastal marine areas under restricted use and/or communal rules that assure sustainable harvesting through time (Borrini-Feyerabend et al. 2004; Dudley 2008). These also follow the general guidelines of community-based management encouraged by the Locally Managed Marine Network (LMMA). The Yanuca Island community has exhibited decision-making authority as seen through their ability to diagnose problems in workshops and capacity-building exercises and to determine specific actions to resolve problems and to carry them out. They are devising solutions and beginning to take action to protect their resource base, combining centuriesold institutions of customary access rights and responsibilities for marine resources with modern conservation and legal methods. Their customary rights and traditional decision-making institutions, however, cannot be fully effective unless they are nested within collaborative and supportive institutions at national or regional levels (TILCEPA 2005; TGER 2005). The Yanuca MBCCAs are an example of conservation areas that are governed beyond “consultation” initiatives; the deeds of trust, for example, will be registered with the Fijian authorities so that decisions of the trustees will be more formalized and publicly disclosed. Two effective avenues to empower indigenous and local communities to manage and conserve their marine resources are the use of the Community Conserved Areas (CCAs) and co-managed resources and protected areas (shared
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stewardship). In the case of Yanuca village, we have seen the former, where traditional institutions and values continue to be recognized, respected, and supported as a way to promote institutions capable of effective response to changes in ecological, economic, and sociopolitical circumstances. At this time the MBCCAs do not qualify as co-managed protected areas because authority, responsibility, and accountability are not fully shared among partners, such as non-governmental organizations, the Fiji government, and the rights holders. Yanuca’s newly created MBCCAs were established with ongoing assistance from the local NGO Partners in Community Development Fiji (PCDF), and Yanuca’s primary partner Pacific Blue Foundation (PBF) and their consultants, but the indigenous community retains all authority over decisions. As mentioned above, the Yanuca MBCCAs also qualify as Indigenous and Community Conserved Areas (ICCAs) since the community dominates decision-making and implementation regarding the management of the site. The PBF is currently engaged in discussions with the Yavusa Nukutabua and the three mataqali to define oppor- It is important to stress that developing effective tunities for sustainable economic alternatives to harvesting partnerships that support governance of their reef resources, to resolve issues of enforcement and patrolling of the large no-take Kauviti MBCCA, and con- Marine-based Community Conserved Areas is cerning the creation of small business enterprises that can an ongoing process that typically takes several generate revenue to offset lost revenue from the MBCCA. years to accomplish and requires transition This latter may include a fishery cooperative and some form of ecotourism (catch-and-release fishing, surfing, diving, to a sustainable economic base which can sailing and hiking). Through the development of a revoca- enable the community to be vigilant in their ble deed of trust, the Yanuca community is hoping to estab- conservation goals. lish a protocol for “good governance” and accountability to ensure that Yanuca’s marine resources are managed sustainably for its future generations and to provide the community with a mechanism for more efficient and formal governance and decision-making as related to external partners. Following successful mooring initiatives on Namena Reef, one central component of the plan will be for PBF to help finance the installation of moorings at diving and access points on the island that will also serve as points of pay for services such as diving and tourism. This is expected to minimize damage to the reefs from anchors, and also provide a way for the community to establish a uniform fee-basis for use of their qoliqoli. As of this writing, no final agreements have been established but there has been considerable consultation of experts, focused on detailed surveys and studies of the socio-economic status of the community, their specific aspirations, and concepts for steps forward. It is important to stress that developing effective partnerships that support governance of MBCCAs is an ongoing process that typically takes several years to accomplish and requires transition to a sustainable economic base which can enable the community to be vigilant in their conservation goals.

Acknowledgments
First and foremost we wish to thank the indigenous Fijian people of Yanuca Village for their generosity, kindness, and dedication to finding sustainable solutions to their marine resource conservation and development challenges. This work is dedicated to the memories of Sireli Drivatiyawe and Mosese Bati who died while working with illegal sea cucumber fisherman, and of Epeli “Big Bola” Bolatagici and Etonia “Doko” Dokonivalu, whose elder status, ecological vision, and leadership were essential in the progress made by the Yanuca Island community in initiating marine conservation. Sadly, Doko passed away in February, 2008 and Big Bola in April, 2009. This work was partially sponsored and coordinated by Pacific Blue Foundation (PBF). Partners in Community Development Fiji were supported separately. The
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authors thank Taito Tabaleka who first invited PBF to consult with the community, the Tui Daga, Chief of the Yavusa Nukutabua, the Yanuca Women’s Committee, and the entire Yanuca community, for inviting our team to carry out this work, and for their gracious hosting of many events, their patience and their enthusiasm. Mark A. Calamia offers a special vinaka vakalevu (thank you very much) to the family of Sireli Kago (Yanuca’s turaga ni koro), especially his wife Merelevu Rokolewa who graciously hosted him in their home during his 2006 and 2007 visits to Yanuca. We acknowledge the PCDF for their excellent assistance with Fijian customs and in defining priorities; PCDF consultant, Austin Bowden-Kerby, for guidance on community interaction and local ecology; Aisake Batibasaga of the Fiji Department of Fisheries; the Wildlife Conservation Society Fiji for allowing PBF to hire their expert Fijian marine ecology and community consultants; illuminating discussions, and encouragement from members of the faculty and staff of University of South Pacific — in particular, Professors Paul Geraghty, William Aalbersberg, and Joeli Veitayaki — for their constructive comments and insights during numerous meetings and correspondence; Talina Konotchick for her efforts during PBF scuba surveys in 2005, Mati Kahru and Haili Wang for their in satellite graphics, and Mary Anderson for outstanding assistance in editing the manuscript.

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Ravuvu, A. 1983. Vaka I Taukei: The Fijian Way of Life. Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific, Suva. Secretariat of the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD). 2004. Guidelines on Biodiversity and Tourism Development: International guidelines for activities related to sustainable tourism development in vulnerable terrestrial, marine and coastal ecosystems and habitats of major importance for biological diversity and protected areas, including fragile riparian and mountain ecosystems. (CBD Guidelines). Secretariat of the Convention on Biological Diversity, Montreal, 29pp. South, R. and Skelton, P. 2000. Status of coral reefs in the Southwest Pacific: Fiji, Naru, New Caledonia, Samoa, Solomon Islands, Tuvalu and Vanautu. In: Status of Coral Reefs of the World, C. Wilkinson (ed.), p.20. Australian Institute of Marine Science, (AIMS), Townsville, Queensland. The Austral Foundation. 2007. Review and Analysis of Fiji’s Conservation Sector: Final Report. The Austral Foundation. TILCEPA, 2005. Theme / Strategic Direction on Governance, Communities, Equity, and Livelihood Rights in Relation to Protected Areas (TILCEPA), 2005. Website: . TGER, 2005. International Theme on Governance and Equality (TGER), 2005. Website:. Veitayaki, J. 2002. Taking advantage of indigenous knowledge: the Fiji case. International Social Science Journal 54(3): 395–402. Vuki, V., Naqasima, M. and Vave, R. 2000. Status of Fiji’s Coral Reefs 2000. Unpublished status report by the SW Pacific node of the Global Coral Reef Monitoring Network (GCRMN). Website: . Accessed: 21 May 2009. Williams, D. 2006. The regulation of ‘customary’ entitlements by statute law: a perspective from Aotearoa, New Zealand on the Customary Fisheries Qoliqoli Bill. Journal of South Pacific Law. 10(2). Website: . World Ocean Conference. 2009. Manado Ocean Declaration. Manado, Indonesia. Website: . Accessed 13 July 2009 Zann, L.P. 1992. The State of the Marine Environment of Fiji. Report to National Environmental Management Project, Environmental Management Unit, Suva, Fiji.

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COLOMBIA

Building a Shared Vision with Indigenous People:
Biodiversity Conservation in the lower Río Caquetá, Colombia
Erwin Palacios, Adriana Rodríguez, Darío Silva Cubeo, Celina Miraña and Célimo Mora Matapí

Quick Facts
Country: Colombia Geographic Focus: Lower Río Caquetá area of the Colombian Amazon rainforest. Indigenous Peoples: There are more than 15 indigenous ethnic groups, mostly from the middle and lower ríos Caquetá, Mirití and Apaporis. Most prominent among them are the Yucuna, Miraña, Tanimuca, Matapí and Macuna.

Introduction
Around the world, the responsibility of understanding and preserving biological diversity has been assigned to governmental and non-governmental organizations, academic groups and individuals. However, such responsibility has not been explicitly assumed by civil society insofar as many people are almost totally unaware of biodiversity and its importance to society’s well-being. Perhaps rural societies, especially those sharing the ownership of a territory that they rely on for subsistence, are those that take the most responsibility for the conservation of wildlife and natural resources; a responsibility grounded in their knowledge of biodiversity and its importance for their physical, spiritual and cultural well-being. The Amazon rain forest’s indigenous peoples are a clear example of this; in many cases they still live on their ancestral lands applying their traditional knowledge to their occupation and use of the forests, rivers and lakes. However, from the perspective of a conservation organization or a state institution, it is possible that these practices are now, or will soon become, insufficient to preserve the biological diversity found in these territories; especially to the extent that these people are forced to relate now to the western world, so their traditional practices are in many cases no longer a central element of forest resource management and are less commonly applied by the new generations. It is here where the need for shared responsibilities and possibilities arises. It is here that it is necessary to know how others think, to begin to understand how they see the world, how they manage it, how they plan it, how they use it and how they gain the perception that their actions may transform the world. This chapter briefly presents a mutual experience between indigenous communities in the lower Río Caquetá area of the Colombian Amazon rainforest, and Conservation International Colombia. This process has resulted in actions that strengthen these communities’ capacities and biodiversity conservation in their territories.
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Author Information
Erwin Palacios works for the Amazonia Region Program, Conservation International. E-mail: epalacios@conservation.org Adriana Rodríguez works for the Amazonia Region Program, Conservation International. E-mail: arodriguez@conservation.org Darío Silva Cubeo, works for AIPEA, the Asociación de Autoridades Indígenas de La Pedrera Amazonas. Celina Miraña works for the Junta de Acción Comunal Vereda Madroño. Célimo Mora Matapí works for the Junta de Acción Comunal Vereda Villa Marcela.

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Biological Importance and Cultural Richness of the Region
The Manaus Priority Setting Workshop in 1990 (Prance 1990; Rylands 1990; Rylands et al. 1991), the 1999 Amazon region conservation priority setting workshop of the Brazilian government in Macapá (Veríssimo et al. 2001), and the Conservation Priority Setting Workshop for the Guiana Shield (Conservation International 2003) have all underscored the immense importance of the lower Caquetá and Apaporis river basins as a region with one of the “highest possibilities and priorities for the conservation of biological diversity.” This region has been also identified as one of the most resilient areas in Amazonia under numerous possible scenarios of future climate change (Killeen 2007; Killeen and Solórzano 2007). It lies in a biogeographical transition zone, between the Imerí and Napo centers of endemism (Wetterberg et al. 1976; Silva et al. 2005) where many of the existing species in the region originated and then dispersed, and, at a larger scale, between the Amazonian and Guianese biogeographical provinces (Bennett, 1994). At present, the forests of this vast region are relatively undisturbed and provide refuge for a number of species threatened elsewhere and throughout a large part of the Amazon. They include such as the Wattled curassow (Crax globulosa), the Giant armadillo (Priodontes maximus), the Giant otter (Pteronura brasiliensis), the Amazonian manatee (Trichechus inunguis), the Black caiman (Melanosuchus niger), the Amazon River dolphin (Inia geoffrensis), and Humboldt’s Woolly monkey (Lagothrix lagothricha) among others. Many fishes that are now threatened and scarce in Colombia are also present in the region, for example, the Pirarucú (Arapaima gigas) and the catfishes Brachyplatystoma filamentosum and B. flavicans. Two national parks have been established on the lower Río Caquetá: Cahuinarí National Natural Park of 575,000 ha, and Río Puré National Natural Park of 999,880 ha. They protect the basins of the Caquetá’s two main tributaries: Cahuinarí and Puré, which are connected to lake systems that are breeding sites for numerous fish species and habitats of other large vertebrates. The island of Mirití, on the river mouth of Caquetá’s tributary also named Mirití, has been designated an Important Bird Area (IBA) by BirdLife International (2005), as it includes one of Colombia’s four populations of the Wattled curassow (Crax globulosa), known only from some few localities in the western Amazon, and ranked as Vulnerable on the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species (IUCN 2008). Two more populations have been discovered in recent years on nearby islands (Alarcón-Nieto and Palacios 2005, 2008). There are more than 15 indigenous ethnic groups, mostly from the middle and lower ríos Caquetá, Mirití and Apaporis. Most prominent among them are the Yucuna, Miraña, Tanimuca, Matapí and Macuna. This cultural diversity also includes settlers from a number of regions of Colombia, all with their own customs and traditions. The indigenous population of the region, numbering almost 1,350, lives in four Indigenous Reserves (Camaritagua [Tierra de Colores] 8,878 ha, Curare-Los Ingleses 212,320 ha, Córdoba 39,000 ha, and Comeyafú 19,000 ha) encompassing approximately 280,000 ha. Settlers live in two zones (Madroño and Villa Marcela) in Figure 1. The lower Río Caquetá basin in the Colombian Amazon raina forest reserve area of some 70,000 ha. Yuri or “Caraballo,” forest has been described as a region with one of the “highest possibilities and priorities for the conservation of biological diversity.” It contains a nomadic indigenous group that has not been contacted many threatened species, such as this Yellow-footed tortoise (Geochelone denticulata). Photo © Erwin Palacios. since the 70s, live in the northwestern zone of the Puré
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National Natural Park. The Cahuinarí National Natural Park in the middle Río Caquetá overlaps 85% of the territory of the Miraña. With the establishment of the Puré and Cahuinarí National Natural Parks, 1,575,000 ha have been set aside for biodiversity conservation, and the indigenous territories surrounding them represent an important opportunity to strengthen conservation efforts of Colombia.

An Unplanned Strategy
Ten years ago, when Conservation International Colombia (CI–Colombia) first began talking about biodiversity conservation with the local communities around the lower Río Caquetá, we hardly imagined that that would be the main topic for discussions and the foundation for action to create a combined view and regional strategy to use and preserve the biodiversity of the lower Río Caquetá. Since then, dialogue has been the most significant aspect of our work with the communities there, allowing us to understand in what contexts and to what extent traditional and western knowledge can be integrated to solve diverse challenges for sustainable use and conservation of forest resources. For instance, besides traditional leaders or “shamans”, the indigenous communities did not have a person in charge of different aspects of the use and management of natural resources, but as the work developed they saw the need to adopt such a formal figure. Now each community has natural resources secretaries, who know and understand the particularities of their territory,

Figure 2. Map of the project area. The overlap of two national parks and four indigenous reserves in the lower Río Caquetá region gave CI–Colombia an opportunity to begin discussions on participatory conservation planning with indigenous groups in the Camaritagua and Curare-Los Ingleses indigenous reserves and in the two settler zones of Madroño and Villa Marcela. Map © Juan Carlos Rubiano.

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and interact with their counterparts to discuss and make decisions on issues pertinent to the region as a whole. This has given communities and indigenous associations the means to strengthen initiatives and to more effectively interrelate with government and non-government entities. We have made every effort to allow the communities and their traditional authorities and leaders to go at their own pace in discussing their problems. Their full participation has not only strengthened the initiative but has also strengthened their role at the local level, providing them with more authority and standing with government authorities, as well as the non-indigenous commuFigure 3. The lower Río Caquetá seen from a hill, Cerro de Yupatí (120 m nities in the region. It has also resulted in strengthening above sea level). In 2001, CI–Colombia conducted the first participatory environmental diagnosis with indigenous communities in the region to the capacities needed by leaders and communities to identify what they perceived as environmental problems. They identiachieve their organizational and conservation goals. fied such issues as access to drinking water, inappropriate exploitation of certain timber trees and game animals, commercial overfishing, and Together, we have been able to jointly define, consolidate pollution of the Rio Caquetá as a consequence of illegal gold mining upstream. Photo © Erwin Palacios. and adopt values that work as pillars for the relationship between these communities and CI–Colombia. In the early days, there were very few examples we could follow where conservation initiatives had involved working closely with indigenous people to find the means to establish the long-term well-being of both the indigenous communities and the forests where they live. We decided to talk with the communities about their understanding of “environmental problems.” They named the problems they confronted as individuals and groups in their natural environment; they included access to drinking water, inappropriate (wasteful) exploitation of timber and game, and the pollution of the Caquetá due to illegal mining upstream. In 2001 we conducted the first participatory diagnosis of the environmental problems that were the concern of the nine communities in the four reserves of the Association of Traditional Indigenous Authorities of La Pedrera Amazonas (AIPEA). Besides the problems mentioned above, the communities identified commercial overfishing and the consequent scarcity of fish for their own subsistence, weak leadership of the communities’ authorities, and the lack of dialogue with regional environmental authorities. These issues were discussed and ideas were tabled which could address them. The communities were concerned with the lack of competence of their traditional leaders in finding ways to regulate the use of their natural resources; a cause of continuous conflict within and among the different communities. The communities understood that the natural resources they depend on were limited and that some basic management procedures were needed. This realization resulted in the creation of Natural Ethnic Conservation Areas (Areas Naturales Étnicas de Conservación – ANEC) in two indigenous reserves; zones designed and managed by the communities specifically for biodiversity conservation. Measures were also identified to train community leaders so that, making full use of the communities’ traditional knowledge, they could more effectively make and uphold agreements and practices for the wiser and more sustained use of forest resources. Associated with this, the communities recognized the importance of their traditional knowledge and cultural heritage in resource management, and as such the need to find ways to promote its recovery, consolidation and dissemination for future generations.

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The Curare-Los Ingleses Amazonas Indigenous Reserve and the Puerto Caimán Natural Ethnic Conservation Area (ANEC)
In 2003, CRIACIA (Spanish acronym for Consolidation of the Curare Los Ingleses Amazonas Indigenous Reserve) acknowledged that indigenous reserves in Colombia should not only provide for the well-being of indigenous groups, their cultures and traditions, but also serve a role in protecting Colombia’s biodiversity and natural ecosystems. CRIACIA consequently proposed drawing up a strategy for the sustainable use of the reserve’s natural resources based on the traditional knowledge of the communities living there; a strategy which, while guaranteeing the preservation of the cultural and sacred sites important for them and their neighboring communities, would constitute not just a concrete proposal for biodiversity conservation but a clear blueprint for their autonomy and self-determination regarding their livelihoods and way of life. The initial and most important step was to consult the diverse ethnic groups in the reserve. A threeyear process was begun to draw up the Curare-Los Ingleses Management Plan. It was led by an indigenous coordinating

Figure 4. People of the Curare-Los Ingleses Indigenous Reserve developed a management plan based on their traditional values and knowledge. The plan resulted in the zoning of the Curare-Los Ingleses territory into two areas; one for resource use and one for conservation. Photos: top row © Erwin Palacios. bottom row © Adriana Rodríguez.

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committee, and CI–Colombia provided logistical and technical support. Active and organized participation of all the people in the reserve was essential. A Natural Resource Secretariat was subsequently created to coordinate the activities of the reserve’s Management Plan. As indigenous people from the Curare-Los Ingleses Reserve say, their Management Plan was conceived “as a way to plan and develop a project to improve environmental conditions and regulate natural resource use in the territory to enhance the communities’ way of life.” This allowed them to understand and discuss among each other the meaning of their plan and how it was related to their aspirations for a secure future; from that moment on, they had to find clear answers and proposals taking into account their past, present and future lifestyle. The Management Plan was based on the traditional knowledge of their forests and rivers, held most especially by the elder leaders. The elaboration of this Management Plan created an opportunity for long and enthusiastic discussions concerning their understanding of the concept of conservation; who and what is involved. For instance, they discussed such topics as why animals become scarce and how it relates to their traditional beliefs and the modern practices of wildlife management, the relationships between different seasons and the availability of the natural resources they depend on for such as food and medicines. They also discussed how biodiversity conservation is achieved through the establishment of protected areas, a known, though only vaguely understood territorial concept, despite the fact that they were hedged in by two natural national parks. One of the main results of the Management Plan was the zoning of the Curare-Los Ingleses territory into two large areas — one for resource use and the other for strict conservation, each of approximately of 100,000 ha. The latter was named the Area Natural Etnica de Conservación (ANEC) of Puerto Caimán. The creation of the Puerto Caimán ANEC stimulated interesting discussions about the needs, possibilities and convenience of adopting similar initiatives to preserve culturally and biologically relevant areas along the lower Río Caquetá. The ANEC of Puerto Caimán is strategic in extending between the Puré and Cahuinarí National Natural Parks, providing an effective biological corridor and a buffer area for both, enhancing as such its importance for wildlife conservation in a regional and national context and consequently strengthening the communities’ position with authorities such as the Regional Autonomous Corporation (CAR) Corpoamazonía1 and the National Natural Parks Unit.2 Given the importance of the ANEC of Puerto Caimán for protecting sacred sites and biodiversity, the former were mapped and described, and biological surveys were carried out to document the diversities of plants, butterflies, bats, and birds. These measures strengthened CRIACIA’s community perception of the importance of conserving their cultural heritage and wildlife.

A strategy for each need; zoning of the "Tierra de Colores" and the search for a territory to preserve it
Each indigenous territory is different; their histories and the challenges they faced to gain recognition of their territory are distinct. The sizes of each differ, and were not necessarily determined by ancestral occupation, or the particular needs of the indigenous groups involved, but more by expedience and what was possible when other land uses had been demarcated. The Tierra de Colores Reserve, Camaritagua, at 8,878 ha very much smaller than the Curare-Los

1 The Regional Autonomous Corporations (Corporación Autónoma Regional – CAR) supervise the appropriate use and exploitation of natural resources in the Colombian departments. Website: . 2 Unidad Administrativa Especial del Sistema de Parques Nacionales, Ministerio de Ambiente, Vivienda y Desarrollo Territorial, Colombia. Website:

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Ingleses Reserve, illustrates this situation well. For many years, the area that is now the Camaritagua Reserve had been owned by everybody and nobody, and informal and uncontrolled exploitation of the existing natural resources increased as the population in the nearby town of La Pedrera grew. By the time the reserve was created in 2002, the forest and its wildlife had already suffered years of depredation, a situation which continued as the Indians continued exploiting their natural resources heedlessly and without consideration of their traditional practices. The community of Camaritagua was determined, however, to remedy this situation, seeing the need to create a strategy to consolidate their territory and rationalize the use of their resources for their long-term conservation. The community dedicated itself to developing such a plan over three and a half years; as with the CurareLos Ingleses, the entire community participated, using a framework of their traditional understanding of their forests and the use of its natural resources. Despite the small size of their territory — the smallest reserve on the lower Caquetá — the Indians acknowledged the need for zoning and resource management. Specific zones were delineated for resource use and for recovery and conservation, and norms were established for each. The community formed a Management Plan Committee to coordinate the consolidation of the zones and to control resource use. Like CRIACIA, the Indians at Camaritagua took steps to map and protect their special cultural sites. They also initiated a process to request Figure 5. People working with the delimitation and zoning in the Indigenous Reserve of Camaritagua, the smallest in the lower Caquetá region. an expansion of their reserve by a further 14,000 ha, While developing a management plan, this group is asking for an extenwhich would take its border up to the Puré National sion of 14,000 ha to their reserve to create a conservation area bordering the Puré National Natural Park. Photo © Erwin Palacios. Natural Park. This extension, in the process of being

Figure 6. CI–Colombia’s guidance and support in promoting the participatory design of resource management plans in Camaritagua and Curare-Los Ingleses have formed the basis for similar initiatives of the two communities or “veredas” of Madroño and Villa Marcela in a forest reserve area west of Camaritagua, which have both indigenous and non-indigenous populations. Photos © Erwin Palacios.

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legally incorporated as part of the reserve, has been conceived as a conservation zone — an ANEC, similar to Puerto Caimán in the Curare-Los Ingleses Reserve. The Colombia Program of Conservation International has conducted parallel processes to help design resource and land-use management plans for the indigenous and non-indigenous communities (veredas) of Madroño and Villa Marcela, west of Camaritagua. Although they still do not have any legal rights over the land, they have clearly seen the value of resource and land management planning, and the communities work with the same commitment as do those in the indigenous reserves. The need for the establishment and consolidation of a regional strategy for biodiversity use, management and the conservation of the lower Caquetá, and their responsibility in promoting this, are expected to constitute powerful arguments for the Colombian government in their request to form a settler reserve in the lands where they live. Following the example of their Camaritagua neighbors, they also defined a conservation area bordering the Puré National Park; in this way they show that both the indigenous and non-indigenous people of the lower Caquetá value biodiversity conservation. Their conservation plans are also based on their traditional knowledge combined with modern tenets of forest ecology and dynamics and the acknowledgement of their present and future needs.

What Has Been Achieved and What Are The Next Steps?
Indigenous and rural communities are increasingly aware of the need for management of their natural resources and the conservation of the wildlife and ecosystems upon which they depend. The means to achieve both are broadly overlapping; for example, in exerting their constitutional rights to interact with government environmental authorities, in the planning and implementation of conservation strategies, and in adopting sustainable development models suitable for their needs and appropriate for their traditions. Community initiatives have identified common challenges and opportunities, and the experiences of the communities in the Curare-Los Ingleses and Camaritagua reserves can be replicated in other portions of the Caquetá watershed where other indigenous groups face similar and, in some cases even more challenging situations. The challenges include threats from hunting and commercial fishing, logging, and more recently mining — dealing with them is aggravated by the fact that the presence of environmental state authorities is still weak. Community organizations, especially management plan committees that recognize and make use of the important roles of traditional indigenous authorities, are key to establishing wise and sustainable resource use. It is essential to continue promoting inter-institutional alliances in order to strengthen community conservation initiatives and traditional authorities and promote effective governance and management for the ANECs, not least by ensuring the respect of these areas by local people. It is also necessary to work with the National Parks Unit for the formal recognition of the ANEC in the national system of protected areas, considering particularly their ownership, form of governance, and role in cultural values and biodiversity conservation and sustainable resource management. Another vital element is education and training for the management plan committee members and community leaders, which would include regular meetings with other Figure 7. The new generation. Photo © Erwin Palacios.
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communities to share experiences, exchange ideas and promote a sense of community and an understanding of the common purpose in the various initiatives of the lower Caquetá watershed. This last aspect is fundamental to generate a continuous participatory discussion on how to orient and integrate conservation agendas involving communities, other members of civil society and the state, promoting and implementing effective measures, grounded in the traditional knowledge and cultural practices, for sustainable use alternatives for forest products, fish and wildlife. Ways to preserve and recover traditional practices with crops and forest products should be identified and supported to maintain and enrich the livelihoods of the local communities. The combination of these elements will strengthen the region’s resource management schemes, improve the living standards of its people, and guarantee the conservation of still largely intact expanses of forest; especially critical in a time when climate change poses challenges that will demand more highly coordinated efforts between local communities and those able to provide support to overcome them.

Literature Cited
Alarcón-Nieto, G. and Palacios, E. 2005. Confirmación de una segunda población del pavón moquirrojo (Crax globulosa) para Colombia en el bajo río Caquetá. Ornitología Colombiana 3: 93–95. Alarcón-Nieto, G. and Palacios, E. 2008. Estado de la población del pavón moquirrojo (Crax globulosa) en el bajo río Caquetá, Amazonia Colombiana. Ornitología Neotropical 19: 371–376. Bennett, S. 1994. Las Aves de la Estación Caparú: Un Lista Preliminar de Especies. Trianea (Act. Cien. Tecn. INDERENA) 5:379–400. BirdLife International and Conservation International. 2005. Áreas de Importancia para la Conservación de las Aves en los Andes Tropicales: Sitios Prioritarios para la Conservación de la Biodiversidad. Quito, Ecuador. BirdLife Internacional, Serie de Conservación de BirdLife (14), 769 pp. Conservation International. 2003. Prioridades de Conservación para el Escudo de Guyana: Consenso 2002. Center for Applied Biodiversity Science (CABS), Conservation International, Washington, DC. IUCN. 2008. 2008 IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), Species Survival Commission (SSC), Gland, Switzerland. Website: . Accessed 15 August 2009. Killeen, T.J. 2007. A Perfect Storm in the Amazon Wilderness: Development and Conservation in the Context of the Initiative for the Integration of the Regional Infrastructure of South America (IIRSA). Advances in Applied Biodiversity Science 7: 1–98. Conservation International, Arlington, VA. Killeen, T.J. and Solórzano, L.A. 2007. Conservation strategies to mitigate impacts from climate change in Amazonia. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B 16(24): 1–9. Rylands, A.B. 1990. Priority areas for conservation in Amazonia. Trends in Ecology and Evolution 5(8): 240–241. Rylands, A.B., Huber, O. and Brown Jr., K.S. 1991. Workshop-90: Biological Priorities for Conservation in Amazonia. Map scale 15.000.000. Instituto Brasileiro do Meio Ambiente e dos Recursos Naturais Renováveis (Ibama), Brasília, Instituto Nacional de Pesquisas da Amazônia (INPA), Manaus, and Conservation International, Washington, DC. Prance, G.T. 1990. Consensus for conservation. Nature, London 345: 384. Silva, J.M.C. da, Rylands, A.B., Silva Jr., J.S., Gascon, C. and Fonseca, G.A.B. da. 2005. Primate diversity patterns and their conservation in Amazonia. In: Phylogeny and Conservation, A. Purvis, J. Gittleman and T.M. Brooks (eds.), pp. 337–364. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK.
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Veríssimo, A., Moreira, A., Sawyer, D., Santos, I. dos, Pinto L.P. and Capobianco, J.P.R. (eds.). 2001. Biodiversidade na Amazônia Brasileira: Avaliação e Ações Prioritárias para a Conservação, Uso Sustentável e Repartição de Benefícios. Instituto Socioambiental, Estação Liberdade, São Paulo. Wetterberg, G.B., Pádua, M.T.J., Castro, C.S. de and Vasconcellos, J.M.C. de. 1976. Uma análise de prioridades em conservação da natureza na Amazônia. Projeto de Pesquisa e Desenvolvimento Florestal (PRODEPEF) PNUD/FAO/ IBDF/BRA-45, Série Técnica 8, 63pp.

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PERU

Conservation in Amazonian Indigenous Territories:
Finding a Common Agenda in the Wetlands of the Abanico del Pastaza

Aldo Soto, Mariana Montoya and Hernán Flores

Quick Facts
Country: Peru Geographic Focus: The Abanico del Pastaza, a large wetland complex in the north Peruvian Amazon. Indigenous Peoples: The Achuar, Kandozi (or Candoshi), Quechua, Urarina and Cocama Cocamilla are among the tribes that inhabit the Abanico del Pastaza.

Introduction
For more than a century now, conservation efforts for wildlands and biodiversity around the world have focused on the creation of protected areas: national parks, game reserves, wildlife sanctuaries and refuges, and the like. In numerous cases this has been problematic in the context of rural or agricultural development when protected areas restrict the use of resources by the local populations in their vicinity (Ghimire and Pimbert 1997). The local populations are frequently seen as threats to the integrity of the park, and consequently expelled from what they consider to be their ancestral territories (Berkes 2007). In cases where they are not totally excluded, they find themselves limited or even banned from practicing traditional activities such as hunting and fishing — their sustenance and livelihood of their families. This situation has had serious consequences for many indigenous peoples; in extreme cases involving armed conflicts with governments, but inevitably leading to tension — usually the breakdown of their traditional social arrangements and norms, to impoverishment and poor health, and the partial or total disintegration and loss of their cultural identity. Since the 1990s, this situation has begun to change; conservation organizations recognized the importance of considering the needs of indigenous peoples and their value as allies in the preservation of extensive and remote areas where government presence is lacking. In some cases, indigenous groups have become the best allies for conservation since they depend on natural resources to meet their needs and lifestyles and because their territories occupy extremely rich and biodiverse areas. The strategy of creating natural protected areas continues to be central to the work of conservation organizations such as the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) (see, for example, the Amazon Region Protected Areas (ARPA) program, hailed as the world’s largest tropical forest conservation program [WWF 2003]). However, in recent years,

Author Information
Aldo Soto is a biologist and the Pastaza Project Director. He is also the Coordinator of the Northwestern Amazon program and the Hydrocarbon and Infrastructure program for WWF Peru. E-mail: aldo.soto@wwfperu.org.pe Mariana Montoya is a biologist. She was the director of the Pastaza project and the Freshwater Manager of WWF Peru. Mariana is also a consultant for the project regarding socioeconomic issues. E-mail: mariana.montoya@mail.utexas.edu Hernán Flores is a biologist and the Field Coordinator of the Pastaza project. He has been involved in the project since 2004 working in Lake Rimachi with Kandozi fisherman, organizing the Yungani Artisanal Fishing Association and developing the Lake Rimachi Management Plan. He has also been working with Achuar and Quechua communities on water quality monitoring. E-mail: hernan.flores@wwfperu.org.pe

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WWF’s Peru program has been emphasizing the sustainable participatory management of natural resources by the indigenous peoples who depend on them. WWF and indigenous organizations have made agreements to work jointly on biodiversity conservation and poverty alleviation through the management of natural resources, by defending indigenous rights and by strengthening indigenous organizations. These alliances are forged through a process of constant learning and negotiation. Here we report on the conservation activities of WWF’s Peru program in the Abanico del Pastaza — a large region of the Amazon that stands out for its extraordinary biological and cultural diversity and the richness of its aquatic ecosystems. This area presents a major challenge for conservation, not only for the complexity of its landscapes, but also for the diversity of the indigenous groups that inhabit the area and the pressures it faces from the petroleum industry, logging, and overfishing. WWF’s work has focused on the Achuar and Kandozi Peoples, who, through their representative organizations, which they call federations, look to defend their territories against the threats from unsustainable development, most particularly from oil exploration and commercial fisheries. They are also demanding that the government acknowledge and respect their rights, as stated in the Peruvian Constitution and in Convention 169 on Indigenous and Tribal Peoples of the International Labor Organization (ILO), ratified by the Peruvian Government on 2 February 1994, and put into effect in 1995.

A Ramsar Site
The Abanico del Pastaza, with almost 4 million ha, is in the Department of Loreto (the largest in Peru, covering almost half of the Peruvian Amazon). It is a huge alluvial fan of volcanic sediments that washed down from the Ecuadorian Andes, extending between the ríos Pastaza and Tigre, north of the Río Marañon in the northern Peruvian Amazon (Fig. 1). Nationally, it has been rated as a priority site for biodiversity conservation by the Peruvian Government (Rodríguez et al. 1996); regionally, it is considered to be a priority basin for the conservation of the Amazon River and Flooded Forests Ecoregion by WWF (WWF 2005); and internationally, the Abanico del Pastaza was declared an important Wetland Complex by the Ramsar Convention1 in 2002, due to the presence of seven of the 20 types of wetland described by the International Convention (Fig. 1; see Ramsar 2006). It is an extremely diverse aquatic environment, and especially important for its fish diversity (Willink et al. 2004). The most important fish stocks are found in Lake Rimachi or Lake Musa Karusha, in the southwest region of the Abanico del Pastaza in the lower basin of the Río Pastaza (Fig. 2). It has an area of 7,900 ha and is the largest lake in the Peruvian Amazon. The Rimachi connects 40 smaller lakes through channels fed by the ríos Chuinda, Chapulli and Pastaza. The mix of the lake’s black waters with the white water (sediment-rich) from the Río Pastaza makes it highly productive for fish. Species such as the boquichico (Prochilodus nigricans, Prochilodontidae), the tucunaré (Cichla monoculus, Cichlidae), and gamitana (Colossoma macropomum, Serrasalminae) grow to sizes not seen in other parts of the Amazon.

1 International convention related to wetlands, signed in Ramsar, Iran, 1971. It is an intergovernmental treaty which provides the framework for national action and international cooperation for the conservation and wise use of wetlands and their resources (see Ramsar 2006).

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Territories and Indigenous Peoples
There are more than 300 communities of indigenous tribes — Achuar, Kandozi (or Candoshi), Quechua, Urarina and Cocama Cocamilla, among others — in the region, some of them in the Abanico del Pastaza Ramsar Site (Fig. 1). The configuration of their current territories has been determined by the expansion, reduction and migration that resulted from wars among the tribes, as well as from external pressures coming from such as rubber barons, loggers and logging companies and, more recently, interventions from petroleum companies. The presence of settlers or mestizos is minimal; their populations are mostly located close to the Río Marañon in the lower basin area. This creates a rather isolated space for the indigenous communities, many of which still maintain their languages and more traditional lifestyles.
The Kandozi

The Kandozi live in the lower Pastaza basin, mainly on the ríos Chapuli and Chuinda, but also, in fewer numbers, along the ríos Ungurahui, Huitoyacu and Manchari. The 1993 census recorded 1,447 individuals in 18 communities. The sizes

Figure 1. The northern Peruvian Amazon, showing the Ramsar site of the Abanico del Pastaza Wetland (outlined in red), in the Department of Loreto, Peru, north of the Río Marañon, near the Ecuador border. The territories of the indigenous peoples of the region are also shown. The borders of the Indigenous territories are referential.

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of the communities range from 3 to 25 houses (19–223 people). WWF’s latest estimation indicates 2,361 individuals in 44 communities (WWF 2009). In the past, the Kandozi lived to the north of their current territory, but in the early 20th century they moved south, fleeing from epidemics, the advance of western civilization, and constant battles with the Achuar people (Amadio 1985 in WWF-OPP 2002). Lake Rimachi, however, has always been an essential part of their ancestral territory. Families travel there to fish when the water levels are low. It represents food security for many communities, and the livelihood of their future generations. It is part of their history, and a key component of their vision of the world (Surrallés 2007). Since the first western historical data was gathered, the Kandozi people have had a history of rejecting and attacking foreigners. Missionaries, merchants and other explorers have been expelled from the Kandozi territory. During the rubber boom, for example, the Kandozi did not allow the rubber barons or their middlemen to enter their territory; they collected the latex themselves and exchanged it at the borders of their lands for metal tools. Only since 1950, thanks to the missionary work of the Summer Institute of Linguistics 2, have the Figure 2. One of the channels feeding Lake Rimachi in the Peruvian AmaKandozi increased the frequency of their interactions zon, with typical wetland vegetation. This lake has abundant fish, and is thus attractive to commercial fishers. It is also part of the traditional terriwith merchants and rubber businessmen (Surrallés tory of the Kandozi people, and as such has been an important source of 2007). food for them. Photo © Mariana Montoya. Despite their limited contact with the outside world, the Kandozi suffered a severe Hepatitis B epidemic at the end of the 1990s, probably contracted from oil company workers. As a result, a great number of Kandozi are now carriers and since there was no vaccination program many of them died. The population is recovering, however, as the Peruvian government, with the support of UNICEF, has implemented a vaccination program for newborns that has reduced the mortality rate among the Kandozi children (UNICEF 2006). Nowadays, however, the adult infected population receives no treatment, and many of them are dying. The Kandozi tribe is considered to be in danger of exinction. Figure 3. Kandozi Apus (leaders). The Kandozi live on the lower Río At present, the Kandozi communities are represented Pastaza, mainly around the ríos Chapuli and Chuinda. Along with their neighbors, the Achuar, they have rejected contact, infiltration and interby the Federation of Candoshi Native Communities of ference from outsiders, and have maintained a strong cultural identity. the Pastaza District (FECONACADIP). Photo © Michael Tweddle.

2 The Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) in Peru is an association of volunteers who, since 1946, have supported ethnic minorities. It is sponsored by the Ministry of Education and promotes literacy, healthcare and development projects.

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The Achuar people

The Achuar territory is located along the middle to upper Pastaza and Corrientes basins, and comprises between 30,000 and 40,000 km². Current population estimates vary from 9,913 to 13,635. The Achuar population is young, the average age being 17.8 years (MINSA and DGE 2006). The Achuar, who typically maintain a strong cultural identity, belong to the Jívaro cultural-linguistic group. At the end of the 15th century, Incas as well as Spaniards tried to conquer the Jívaro populations, organizing expeditions to contact them and reduce their numbers. Jívaros destroyed these expeditions until new colonist attempts were organized. During the rubber boom in the 19th century, the Achuar fiercely resisted the entry of rubber barons. Only in the early 1920s were they persuaded by middlemen who settled along the ríos Pastaza and Corrientes to commercialize forest products to sell in Iquitos. In 1941, the war between Peru and Ecuador took place, and military forces separated the Achuar people at country borders, breaking up family ties. The Achuar people are represented by three local organizations: Achuarti Iruntramu (ATI) (which means “the Achuar who are meeting”), the Achuar Chayat Organization (ORACH) and the Federation of Native Communities of the Corrientes River (FECONACO). Nationally, they are represented by the Federation of the Achuar Nationality of Peru (FENAP) and by the Bi-national Coordinating Committee of the Achuar Nationality of Ecuador and Peru (COBNAEP).

Social and Environmental Problems
Water pollution

Two of the oldest sites for petroleum extraction in the Peruvian Amazon are in the Abanico del Pastaza. In 1970, the Peruvian Government divided the Achuar territory of the Pastaza basin into “blocks” to explore and produce oil and, in 1971, signed a contract with the Los Angeles-based Occidental Petroleum Corporation (Oxy). Oxy began their operations in a remote region of the Río Corrientes basin that had long been inhabited by the Achuar people (Goldman et al. 2007). The site was designated “Block 1AB”. In the same year, Petróleos del Perú (PETROPERU), a public company, started its operations in Block 8, located in the Corrientes area. Large-scale production began in 1975, making Block 1AB Peru’s largest onshore oil field complex, eventually producing roughly 42% of Peru’s oil and 115,000 barrels of crude oil per day during the project’s peak (Goldman et al. 2007). The northern branch of the North Peru Oil Pipeline (Oleoducto Norperuano) that transports oil from the Amazon to the Peruvian coast, crosses the Abanico del Pastaza as well as the territories of the Quechua, Achuar and Kandozi. Crude oil from Block 1AB is pumped Figure 4. Pipes discharging the produced water from oil extraction in across the Andes from Andoas (close to the Ecuadorian Block 1AB into the Río Pastaza. The produced waters pollute the river border) to the Bayovar terminal on the coast of north with chloride and heavy metals. Studies by the Ministry of Health have registered lead, cadmium and barium concentrations in the blood of Peru. Since 2000, these blocks have been operated by the Achuar children and adults from the Río Corrientes that exceed the levels deemed safe by the World Health Organization. Photo © Aldo Soto. Argentine oil company Pluspetrol Norte SA.

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The extraction of crude oil causes environmental pollution and health hazards by discharging contaminated and poisonous “produced waters” 3 directly into the streams and rivers, by storing oil wastes in unlined pits in the ground, and through periodic spills of oil and toxic products. Produced waters from both blocks have been discharged into the nearest rivers and streams since commercial production began (Fig. 4); the pollution results in water containing high concentrations of salts (chloride) and traces of toxic heavy metals (Ba, Cd, Cr, Hg). At high temperatures these pollutants rise to the surface along with the oil and grease residues that were Figure 5. Laguna Ullpayacu in Block 1AB, totally degraded. In 2006, WWF began holding workshops in the territories of the Quechua, Achuar discharged into the water due to the inadequate separaand Kandozi, in the Pastaza basin, to inform them about the quality of tion of hydrocarbons. This pollution, besides degrading water in Blocks 8 and 1AB and to explain the impacts of the appalling insufficiency of mechanisms or practices on the part of the oil companies water quality, affects the abiotic and biotic components to avoid or mitigate the environmental degradation caused by oil drilling, of the streams and rivers, altering the aquatic commutreatment and transport. Photo © Aldo Soto. nities, diminishing or destroying the resources available to the indigenous people who depend on them (Fig. 5). Studies carried out by the Ministry of Health have registered concentrations of lead, cadmium and barium in the blood of children and adults of the Achuar people who live along the Río Corrientes that exceed the maximum allowed limits recommended by the World Health Organization. The samples of 74 children between 2 and 17 years old in six communities showed that 98.65% exceeded the limit values of cadmium in the blood (0.5 µg Cd/ dL) (DIGESA 2006).
Overfishing

During the 1970s, the Peruvian government declared that the Pastaza basin was an important area for fisheries (Fishery Reserved Zone), including Lake Rimachi. As a result, an office representing the Ministry of Fishery was opened in the Musa Karusha community with the aim of controlling and regulating the commercial fishery in the region. However, some members of the ministry allowed the use of large nets and practices that disregarded fishing regulations or any notion of sustainability. At the same time, the ministry personnel prevented the Kandozi people from fishing for local consumption. Fish stocks diminished drastically; for some species irretrievably. In 1991, after repeated claims. the Kandozi communities, led by their federation, FECONACADIP, took control of the lake and the government facilities in the area. Soon after, they announced a three-year closed season to enable the recovery of fish stocks (Surrallés 2007). Some did recover, such as those of the boquichico (Prochilodus nigricans). Yet some overfishing and ill-advised fishing practices continue, mostly by mestizo fishermen from nearby villages.

3 Drilling fluids (highly toxic chemicals) are pumped into wells to push oil out of the rock. They combine with “formation waters” (salty water that lies below the oil-bearing shale), and come to the surface with the crude oil. Separation batteries separate out the desirable crude oil and/or gas and the so-called produced waters are discharged, pollutant residues and all, into rivers and streams.

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Conservation by Defending the Rights and Territories of Indigenous Peoples
In 2001, World Wildlife Fund (WWF), recognizing the importance of the Abanico del Pastaza, organized an ecological evaluation of this enormous wetland complex to determine its biological importance (WWF-OPP 2002).4 Based on the results, the National Institute of Natural Resources (INRENA) and the Peruvian Ministry of Foreign Affairs requested the Ramsar Convention to declare the Abanico del Pastaza a wetland of international importance. The request was granted in 2002, and WWF took on the challenge of supporting the creation of a number of protected areas to ensure its conservation. The Achuar and Kandozi disagreed, however, on the creation of protected areas, since it would transfer the land ownership to the goverment. They were determined to take responsibility for the sustainable management of the Abanico, as they had done for generations, and the model they called for was that of the indigenous territory. Their understanding of the concept of the indigenous territory embodied the idea of a collective heritage, one that would be absolute, exclusive, and inalienable, and which would be administered autonomously by them in perpetuity. It would legitimize their modus vivendi, their rights, and their capacity to manage and conserve the rich wildlife and natural resources of the region (García Hierro and Surrallés 2004). WWF held a number of meetings with the various indigenous communities and their leaders, and it became evident that the creation of protected areas was inappropriate; it would generate further conflict between the indigenous people and the government. The development of an appropriate model for an indigenous territory which would guarantee the conservation of wildlife and the health of the natural ecosystems involved was more than just simple negotiation; it was hampered by mutual distrust. WWF and the Kandozi and the Achuar found common ground, however, in each other’s agendas. The threats to the region’s biodiversity, most especially in the degradation of the aquatic ecosystems, were also the threats to the livelihoods and health of the Achuar and Kandozi. The undermining of their rights by governmental and private interests were also the root causes of the environmental damage that the region was suffering. WWF, therefore, adopted a natural resource management focus, and, as they did with the Achuar, worked with the Kandozi communities to plan activities to ensure biodiversity conservation based on sustainable and participatory use of the natural resources so vital to them. WWF helped the Achuar and Kandozi to promote their governance over the territory and its natural resources, facilitating their access to information, and helping them to defend their access to natural resources. It was notable that this improved the capacity of the indigenous leaders to make informed decisions on sustainable resource management, and to demand better environmental practices from the petroleum companies.
Sustainable fishing

Even though the Kandozi had recovered control of Lake Rimachi, and entry by large-scale commercial fisheries was restricted, fish stocks were still declining (being fished before spawning when the catch was more valuable). The Kandozi did not have legal ownership of the lake (title cannot be given to such water bodies), and their challenge was to put in place norms and practices that would allow the fishery to recover, by means of negotiation rather than imposition or regulation. In 2003, WWF began consulting the communities to look for ways to collaborate in promoting a recovery of the fish stocks, and to obtain some sort of legal guarantee over the lake with the intention of securing the enforcement of all measures taken. The Kandozi soon agreed to ban fishing with toxic substances and unregulated nets, and they also agreed to stop the occasional hunting of aquatic mammals, such as the Amazon manatee (Trichechus inunguis) and the river dolphins (Inia geoffrensis and Sotalia fluviatilis).

4 The evaluation was conducted by the Conservation Data Center (CDC) of the Universidad Nacional Agraria La Molina, with the participation of the Research Institute of the Peruvian Amazon (Instituto de Investigaciones de la Amazonia Peruana - IIAP) and the Museum of Natural History of the Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Lima (CDC-WWF 2002).

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Given the existing threats to the integrity of the natural ecosystems in the region, especially from oil exploration concessions in the Kandozi territory, and the impossibility of outright ownership of Lake Rimachi, alternative options were explored that could provide for some sort of formal or official recognition of the Kandozi’s rights to their natural resources, and most especially to the fisheries. The decision was made to develop a management plan for the lake, not only to provide for a sustainable fishery but also to give exclusive fishing rights. At the end of 2003, the Kandozi met with the Regional Office for Production of Loreto (DIREPRO) 5 Figure 6. Kandozi fisherman checking his net in the Cocha Aguajal, Río Chapuli, a tributary of the Río Pastaza. WWF worked with the Kandozi in Musa Karusha. It was the first time for some years to ban fishing that uses toxic substances and unregulated nets, and to that they had approached the government authority in refrain from hunting aquatic mammals such as the Amazon manatee and river dolphins. The Yungani Artisanal Fishing Association was created charge of fisheries. in 2004, resulting in the development of a fishery management plan for From then, WWF took on the role of facilitating the Lake Rimachi and recognition of the Kandozi’s fishing rights over the lake. Photo © Aldo Soto. new relationship between DIREPRO and the Kandozi. DIREPRO subsequently trained 115 Kandozi fishermen and registered them as artisanal fishers, which resulted, in 2004, in the creation of the Yungani Artisanal Fishing Association. The Association then facilitated the development of a fisheries management plan for Lake Rimachi which established the the Kandozi’s fishing rights. The fisheries management plan was adopted, with constant monitoring of catch sizes and relative abundance, and monitoring committees were created to ensure that the regulations were met. A commercialization plan was also developed to improve negotiations between fishermen and middlemen or fish buyers to increase their sales and guarantee fair prices.
Environmental monitoring

In 2006, WWF held a series of workshops in the territories of the Quechua, Achuar and Kandozi to provide information on water quality in the Blocks 8 and 1AB, and to explain the consequences of the low environmental standards of the petroleum companies working there. The situation in the Río Corrientes was used as an example of social and environmental impacts and bad practices. Formal groups were set up, composed of members of the local communities, to monitor the oil drilling and exploration, and to check on water quality. Membership involved a serious commitment, not only because their community’s health would be at stake, but also because they would undoubtedly suffer pressure from oil companies as well as from the communities themselves concerning their actions and decisions. Monitors were trained in map reading, the use of Geographic Positioning Systems (GPS) and digital cameras, in the collection of water samples and in the analysis of the relevant physico-chemical parameters. They were also informed of the environmental standards to which oil companies must comply according to the current legislation. In this case, the objectives of indigenous peoples and those of WWF were clearly identical — the provision of potable water and healthy aquatic ecosystems.

5 At present, the government institution in charge of fisheries. Formerly the mandate of the Ministry of Fishery.

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Strengthening indigenous organizations and communities

Considering the problems the Achuar and Kandozi were facing, there was an evident need to strengthen capacity of the communities and leaders, and this was recognized as a high priority by WWF. WWF’s strategy with regard to this was based on the understanding that it was for the indigenous organizations themselves to formulate and present the communities’ claims to the different relevant sectors: government, private sector and international bodies. WWF’s mediumterm goal was to help the indigenous organizations to become true and powerful representatives of their communities. The indigenous organizations, with trained leaders and support from the communities well-informed on the environmental problems affecting their lands, would be the driving force to secure the compliance of the environmental regulations, and even improve on them when necessary. WWF was able to initiate this process with the help of the NGO Racimos de Ungurahui, a partner with considerable experience in indigenous issues throughout the Peruvian Amazon. Alliances with local NGOs such as Racimos de Ungurahui changed WWF’s approach concerning conservation measures in indigenous territories. The organizational strengthening of the indigenous federations was achieved though a working group of their leaders supported by external advisors who could assist them in confronting the different issues and formulating the strategies to deal with them. The committed assistance from NGOs and other specialists were key components in, for example, their meetings with government institutions, negotiations with businesses, their budgeting and accounting, the control and supervision of the working group’s members, and administrative procedures. The strengthening of indigenous organizations allowed their participation in different forums at the regional, national and international levels. The training of leaders and technicians allowed them to participate in different arenas, and establish meetings with ministers, congressmen, government organs, directors, company managers and other public and private officials. Of considerable significance on a number of occasions was the participation of the community leaders, named “Apus”, who bear the symbolic weight of an entire village. They took part in national and international press conferences, and their contributions strengthened the trust and commitment of the federation leadership and technicians.

Current Activities
The various initiatives of WWF and local NGOs such as Racimos de Ungurahui mean that the Achuar and Kandozi are now much better informed of their rights, and understand better the threats they face and the possibilities and means of addressing them. Strengthening the federations has increased their capacity for dialogue and participation when claiming their rights, and has given them an understanding of the environmental problems they face, and how to solve them. It has given them the wherewithal to demand improvements in the petroleum companies’ performance in meeting the environmental standards required by law. With the support of FECONACO and the Racimos de Ungurahui, the Achuar, Quechua and Urarinas of the Río Corrientes communities are now well informed of their rights, and understand environmental quality. With a stronger and more informed leadership, FECONACO has been able to set up meetings with ministers, congressmen, health authorities and the national and international media. With the support of the communities, and armed with solid arguments based on both independent and government technical studies, in October 2006 FECONACO was able to implement an agreement with the Pluspetrol Oil Company and the Peruvian government. The so-called “Acta de Dorissa” (RM 381-2006-PCM) demanded that Pluspetrol reinject 100% of its produced waters from Blocks 8 and 1AB as from the middle of 2008: a victory for the health of the Achuar people and the streams, rivers and fluvial lakes of the region. FECONACO also arranged for the development and implementation of a 10-year health plan (PEPISCO) by the Regional Health Office of Loreto (DIRESA), to be financed entirely by Pluspetrol. It has approved a development plan, to be financed by the Regional Government of
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Loreto, which will benefit the communities of the Río Corrientes and includes the creation of higher education colleges. This historic milestone resulted in FECONACO being given the CAMBIE award in 2007; the most prestigious award for environmental conservation in Peru. FECONACO is the first indigenous organization to win an environmental award of this sort. The Fisheries Management Program for Lake Rimachi was approved in April 2007. It is the first management plan presented by an indigenous organization, and the first that is not for a state protected area. Through this mechanism, the government empowered the Kandozi fishermen, represented by the Yungani Artisanal Fishing Association, to protect and manage the fisheries of the lake for four species of commercially important fish: boquichico, tucunaré, gamitana and maparate (Hypopthalmus edentatus, Pimelodidae). In this way, the Kandozi not only continue controlling the lake, but do so with the legal acknowledgement of those who previously prevented them from fishing. Also, the management plan ensures sustainability of the lake’s fishery, thus promising economic benefits for the communities.

Conclusions
The relationship between the conservation NGOs and the indigenous organizations began with mistrust and mutual misunderstanding. The Indigenous peoples were suspicious of outsiders with presumed hidden agendas, who could violate their rights and take their territories. And even though WWF wanted to work with the indigenous communities, the demands of the projects, the financial constraints, and the administrative requirements made it difficult to work as a team. Gradually, formal and informal conversations, the planning and development of joint activities, and discussions about critical issues, generated confidence and a trust that set the basis for understanding and mutual respect. The critical elements for the good understanding between WWF and indigenous organizations have been WWF’s competence and flexibility with its projects and funding, and its willingness to modify some of its administrative procedures. The will of both parties to negotiate was also a very important factor in building up the relationship. The achievements show that biodiversity conservation can generate social benefits directly related to the well-being of indigenous people. They also show that there are common issues on both agendas that lend themselves to synergy and working together to reach common goals. New global threats require mutual support and effective coordination. In the Amazon, the Peru program office works through an agreement that is reviewed periodically with national and regional governments, indigenous organizations and communities. WWF has developed a declaration of principles that acknowledges the contributions of indigenous peoples in ecosystem conservation. They are seen as strategic allies, and the office is committed to acknowledging, respecting, protecting and following traditional and collective human rights. The alliance between WWF and indigenous organizations has facilitated their capacity to have more influence in different hierarchical levels of both the government and private sectors. For many years, the Peruvian government showed indifference to the environmental degradation of the ríos Corrientes, Pastaza, and Tigre. No efforts were made to control the activities of the petroleum companies or demand that they follow the minimum social or environmental standards required of them, allowing instead operations with obsolete infrastructure and practices banned in most other countries, resulting in their irresponsible procedure of dumping produced waters into the nearest rivers and streams, besides frequent oil spills. The monitoring of the petroleum companies’ operations by competent indigenous organizations with an understanding of the corresponding legal framework drew the government’s attention to the situation, and the need for its own agencies to assume responsibility. Providing information, training indigenous leaders and strengthening indigenous organizations created changes thought to be impossible some years ago. The commitment of the new leaders who refused to accept individual benefits offered by the oil companies, the constant meetings and the willingness of the community chiefs (Apus) and the
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communities to analyze, discuss and make joint decisions, and the assistance of legal advisors like Racimos de Ungurahui, allowed indigenous federations to negotiate with oil companies at their level, without compromise, and looking to benefit only their people. It has been important that WWF has limited its role as a facilitator, not undertaking actions that should be legally executed by the indigenous organizations themselves. This has significantly strengthened the organizations, and has also resulted in a greater commitment by the government to the well-being of these indigenous peoples and to the environment where they live. There are still many challenges, not least that of ensuring that the fishery remains sustainable once WWF leaves the area, and that it continues to generate economic, social and cultural benefits for the Kandozi. The re-injection rather than the dumping of produced water must be enforced in other regions of the Abanico del Pastaza, in the basins of the ríos Tigre and Pastaza, and the roles of community groups that monitor water quality and the activities of the oil companies must be given official acknowledgment by the government. Finally, one of the main challenges is for conservation organizations and indigenous groups to continue finding objectives and agendas to consolidate alliances that benefit both biodiversity and communities. Both institutions must continue to learn how to work together, negotiating their differences, respecting technical-scientific and traditional knowledge, and showing the world that nature conservation ensures the survival and development of humankind.

Acknowledgments
The work described in this article was made possible thanks to the financial support of the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation, the Netherlands Directorate-General of Development Cooperation (DGIS), the US Agency for International Development (USAID), the Department for International Development (DFID) of the UK government, the Swiss Agency for Development and Cooperation (SDC), and WWF Switzerland. Technical studies were enabled through the Global Water for Sustainability Program (GLOWS), the Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS), FundAmazonia, and E-Tech International. Many activities were implemented jointly with Racimos de Ungurahui, Shinai, the Regional Coordinator of Indigenous Peoples (CORPI), and FECONACO. Special thanks to the Kandozi, Achuar and Quechua communities, FECONACADIP, FECONACO, the Federation of Quechua Indigenous People of the Pastaza (FEDIQUEP), DIREPRO Loreto, and the WWF-Peru Program Office.

Literature Cited
Berkes, F. 2007. Community-based conservation in a globalized world. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 104(39): 15188–15193. García Hierro, P. and Surrallés, A. 2004. Introducción. In: Tierra Adentro: Territorio Indígena y Percepción del Entorno, A. Surrallés and P. García Hierro (eds.), pp.1–20. Documento No. 39, International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs (IWGIA), Copenhagen. Website: . Accessed: 20 May 2009. In English. DIGESA. 2006. Evaluación de resultados del monitoreo del río Corrientes y toma de muestras biológicas en la intervención realizada del 29 de junio al 15 de julio del 2005. Informe No-2006/DEPA-APRHI/DIGESA Dirección General de Salud Ambiental (DIGESA), Ministerio de Salud. Lima.
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Ghimire, K.B. and Pimbert, M.P. 1997. Social change and conservation: an overview of issues and concepts. In: Social Change and Conservation: Environmental Politics and Impacts of National Parks and Protected Areas, K.B. Ghimire and M.P. Pimbert (eds.), pp.1–45. Earthscan Publications, London. Goldman, E.S., López, L. la T. and Ramos, M.L. 2007. Legacy of Harm: Occidental Petroleum in Indigenous Territory in the Peruvian Amazon. EarthRights International (ERI), Washington, DC, Racimos de Ungurahui, Lima, and Amazon Watch, Washington, DC. 60pp. Website: . Accessed: 10 March 2009. MINSA and DGE. 2006. Análisis de la Situación de Salud del Pueblo Achuar. Serie Análisis de Situación de Salud y Tendencias Nº06/018. Ministerio de Salud, Dirección General de Epidemiología, Lima. 308pp. Ramsar. 2006. Abanico del Pastaza Ramsar Site. The Ramsar Convention on Wetlands, Secretariat, Gland, Switzerland. Website: . Accessed: 10 May 2009. Rodríguez, L. (ed.) 1996. Diversidad Biológica del Perú. Zonas Prioritarias para su Conservación. FANPE GTZ-INRENA, Lima. 191pp. Surrallés, A. 2007. Candoshi. In: Guia Etnografica de la Alta Amazonia, F. Santos and F. Barclay (eds.), pp.243–280. Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute (STRI), Panama, and Instituto Francés de Estudios Andinos (IFEA), Lima. UNICEF. 2006. Kandozi y Shapra. Frente a la Hepatitis B: El Retorno de lo visible. Fondo de las Naciones Unidas para la Infancia (UNICEF), Lima. Willink, P.W., Chernoff, B. and McCullough, J. (eds.). 2004. A Rapid Biological Assessment of the Aquatic Ecosystems of the Pastaza River Basin, Ecuador and Perú. RAP Bulletin of Biological Assessment 33. Conservation International, Washington, DC. WWF. 2003. Safeguarding the Amazon: Making Conservation History. World Wildlife Fund – US, Washington, DC. Web site: . Accessed: 10 May 2009. WWF. 2005. Biodiversity Vision for the Amazon River and Floodplain Ecoregion. Technical report. World Wildlife Fund – US, Washington, DC. 86pp. WWF. 2009. Linea de base socio sanitaria aplicada a familias y comunidades Kandozi de la zona Rimachi para la elaboración de un plan integral de salud. Informe de consultoría, World Wildlife Fund – US, Washington, DC. WWF-OPP. 2002. Evaluación Ecológica Rápida del Abanico del Pastaza, Loreto-Perú. Centro de Datos de la Conservación (CDC) – Universidad Nacional Agraria La Molina (UNALM), World Wildlife Fund (WWF) – Oficina del Programa Abanico de Pastaza (OPP) – Loreto, Lima, Peru. 71pp.

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Beekahncheekahmeeng Ahneesheenahbay Ohtahkeem (Pikangikum Cultural Landscape):
Challenging the Traditional Concept of Cultural Landscape from an Aboriginal Perspective

Iain Davidson-Hunt, Paddy Peters and Catie Burlando

Quick Facts
Country: Canada Geographic Focus: Canadian boreal forest in northwestern Ontario. Indigenous Peoples: Pikangikum First Nation is a remote Anishinaabe (northern Ojibway) community with a population of more than 2,200. They speak almost 100% Pikangikum Anishinaabe.

Introduction
In 1996, the Elders of Pikangikum First Nation (PFN) in northwestern Ontario, Canada, used the concept of a “cultural landscape” to develop the Whitefeather Forest Initiative (WFI). This initiative explored land-based opportunities for economic renewal among the Pikangikum Anishinaabeg in partnership with the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources (OMNR). Key principles of the WFI have been for the community to be “in the driver’s seat” as they pursue economic and cultural renewal, and for the Whitefeather Forest to be planned and managed as a whole, and as a cultural landscape. The concept of cultural landscapes has been used to indicate ways in which landscapes are fashioned over time through social, cultural and ecological interactions. It has been increasingly used by provincial (Ontario Ministry of Culture 2007), national (Parks Canada 2007) and international agencies (UNESCO World Heritage Centre 2003) interested in conserving both natural and cultural diversity. More pointedly, many First Nations in Canada have used it as a counternarrative to descriptions of their traditional territories as a wilderness, or a terra nullius, that were promoted during the period of colonization. For Pikangikum Elders, their traditional territories are a place richly peopled and storied and known intimately by the Anishinaabeg. Our objective in this chapter is to communicate what the Pikangikum Elders express when they use the term cultural landscape and the challenges inherent in adopting a term that now has firm roots in heritage policies and legislation. We conclude by suggesting that the cultural landscape of a State will often subsume Aboriginal Cultural Landscapes unless shared decision-making platforms have been established in which Aboriginal Peoples define their own approaches to heritage and conservation.

Author Information
Iain Davidson-Hunt is an assistant professor at the Natural Resources Institute, University of Manitoba and affiliated with the Centre for Community-based Resource Management. He is an ethnobotanist and ethnoecologist who has worked with Pikangikum First Nation since 1995. E-mail: Davidso4@cc.umanitoba.ca Paddy Peters is the land use coordinator for the Whitefeather Forest Management Corporation. He has worked for many years with students and Elders to document Anishinaabe teachings, and to bring Elders and community youth together. He has also served in many capacities within the community, including as Chief and council member. E-mail: birchstick@whitefeatherforest.com Catie Burlando is a doctoral candidate in Natural Resources and Environmental Management at the Natural Resources Institute, University of Manitoba, and affiliated with the Centre for Communitybased Resource Management. She undertook fieldwork for her PhD in partnership with the Whitefeather Forest Management Corporation and Pikangikum First Nation between 2007 and 2009. E-mail: umburlac@cc.umanitoba.ca

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Pikangikum First Nation and the Whitefeather Forest

Pikangikum First Nation1 is a remote Anishinaabe community located in northwestern Ontario in the heart of the Canadian boreal forest (Fig. 1). In this region, the boreal forest comprises coniferous, deciduous and mixed stands of trees structured as large patches due to the fire driven nature of the ecosystem. The forest is interspersed with numerous lakes, rivers and wetlands, and the topography is a gently rolling landscape defined by the Precambrian Shield. It is also notable for its sub-arctic climate that is dry and cold with mean annual temperatures around 0°C and annual precipitation ranging from 600 to 800 mm. The Whitefeather Forest has abundant populations of terrestrial and aquatic mammals: Woodland caribou (Rangifer tarandus caribou), Moose (Alces alces), Black Figure 1. Location of Pikangikum First Nation and the Whitefeather bears (Ursus americanus), Wolverine (Gulo gulo), Wolves Forest. Pikangikum First Nation is working with the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources to develop new land-based economic opportunities (Canis lupus), Otter (Lontra canadensis), Beaver (Castor in the Whitefeather Forest, which they refer to as a Pikangikum Cultural Landscape. They challenge the traditional notion of a cultural landscape canadensis), and Marten (Martes americana); birds such as a type of heritage, however, and stress the need for shared decisionas hawks, eagles and migratory songbirds; fish, such making, including developing their own approach for identifying, documenting, describing, and interpreting their cultural landscape, so that as Sturgeon (Acipenser fulvescens), Pickerel (Sander vitit remains a viable source of livelihood for future generations. Map © reus), Northern pike (Esox lucius), Trout (Salvelinus Whitefeather Forest Management Corporation. namaycush), Sucker (Catostomus commersonii) and Whitefish (Coregonus clupeaformis); and plants, such as Wild rice (Zizania aquatica), and berries. Others mammals such as Yellow-tear caribou and pahngwahshahshk, along with a bird called the Oh-Oh, are mentioned in teachings but no longer found in the area. As the Elders consistently emphasize, the Creator has provided everything that Pikangikum people need to survive and prosper on their lands through commercial and subsistence harvesting. There is, then, a sense of reciprocity between Pikangikum people and the Whitefeather Forest in which their ideas of a cultural landscape are rooted.
The Whitefeather Forest Initiative

Today many of the economic opportunities that supported a livelihood that was based on the land have greatly diminished due to a steep decline in the commercialization of furs and fish in the 1970s and ‘80s. In this changing social and economic context, the Elders in the community are seeking ways in which their youth can continue to derive sustainable land-based livelihoods, while at the same time maintaining the integrity of their cultural relationship with the land. In 1996, having witnessed the northern expansion of forestry into part of their lands, the Elders began a dialogue with the OMNR to develop new economic opportunities for their youth, including forestry, mining, tourism and

1 Anishinaabe is an oral language and as such has no standard orthography. In Pikangikum, syllabics are generally used for written texts. In this document we use italics to indicate how the syllabics are translated into Roman orthography by the translator for direct translations of research interviews. When italics are not used this indicates that we are using the double vowel system developed by the Anishinaabe linguist Patricia Ningewance (2004), and others, based on Roman orthography. For example, Ahneesheenahbay is a transliteration from syllabics to Roman orthography whereas Anishinaabe is in the double vowel system.

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protected areas, which would be led by Pikangikum people. The Whitefeather Forest Management Corporation was established in 1998 under the Elders’ guidance to develop these opportunities, encompassing an area of 1.2 million ha of their traditional territories. In 2000, the government of Ontario launched the Northern Boreal Initiative, a policy that supported land use planning among Aboriginal communities in areas north of the 51st parallel (OMNR 2001). Between 2003 and 2006, Pikangikum Elders, land stewards, and OMNR staff worked to develop the “Cheekahnahwaydahmungk Keetahkeemeenaan - Keeping the Land: A Land Use Strategy for the Whitefeather Forest and Adjacent Areas” (PFN and OMNR 2006). This strategy is based on three pillars — stewardship, customary activities, and economic development — and identifies the areas where different opportunities will be developed. The Land Use Strategy was signed by the Chief of Pikangikum and the Ontario Minister of Natural Resources in June of 2006, and represents the new land-use policy for the Whitefeather Forest, recognized in this document as a cultural landscape of the Pikangikum Anishinaabeg.

Beekahncheekahmeeng Ahneesheenahbay Ohtahkeem (Pikangikum Cultural Landscape)
A Pikangikum definition of cultural landscape

Although the term Beekahncheekahmeeng Ahneesheenahbay Ohtahkeem has been translated as the “Pikangikum Cultural Landscape” in the Land Use Strategy document, it is important to consider what the Pikangikum Elders were expressing with these Ojibway words. Beekahncheekahmeeng (Pikangikum) is the collective identity of a People or, as the Assembly of First Nations indicates, a First Nation recognized through the signing of a Treaty with the Crown.2 Each person within Pikangikum society also has an identity as a member of a family group that confers upon them a doohdahm, a totem or clan identity, and a link with a family territory. Pikangikum is more than just a place. It is a Nation made up of family heads that settled at Pikangikum Lake. Its traditional territory is the collective territory of those families. As a member of this Nation, a person holds both rights and responsibilities regarding their use of the land. Ahneesheenahbay communicates the concept that the Pikangikum Nation is part of a larger society that shares a system of natural law, doohdahm, values, language and practices. While this cultural and social system is often a mystery to outsiders, it is familiar to those who identify themselves as part of that society. Ohtahkeem is translated as ancestral lands, making it clear that the territory in question is not arbitrarily chosen, but is based upon the family territories where current family heads can trace their lineage, and the way by which authority over those lands was conferred upon them by leaders of other families. Pikangikum Elders were trying to communicate that, for them, the Pikangikum Cultural Landscape is not a thing, nor a collection of things, but a process that is rooted in, and emerges out of, their Anishinaabe system of customs, values, language and practices (Box 1). By following the Anishinaabe system, Pikangikum people live on the lands for which they have been conferred authority by the Creator, and that have been recognized by other Anishinaabe. Practices on the land are the direct means by which a uniquely Pikangikum cultural landscape has been, and will continue to be, shaped because these practices are guided by the teachings of the Elders.

2 Historical and modern treaties are formal agreements between the Crown as representative of the Canadian State and First Nations. While the Crown has often taken treaties as the process by which authority is transferred to the State, First Nations consider them documents that indicate how the land and resources are to be shared. This understanding continues to evolve through negotiations and legal processes. Pikangikum is included in Treaty 5 signed in 1875.

Beekahncheekahmeeng Ahneesheenahbay Ohtahkeem (Pikangikum Cultural Landscape)

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Cultural landscapes as teachings Box 1. The idea of the land as a gift from the Beekahncheekahmeeng Ahneesheenahbay Ohtahkeem Creator confers upon Pikangikum “The Whitefeather Forest Planning Area is a holistic network of natural and people the reciprocal duty to keep cultural features that results from the relationship between Pikangikum peothe land according to their ancestral ple and our ancestral lands (Ahneesheenahbay ohtahkeem). This relationship teachings. It is for this reason that (kahsheemeenoweecheetahnahnk) expresses a closeness that comes from our Pikangikum Elders have stressed the knowledge of the land, but also from a spiritual and emotional connection need to manage the Whitefeather to the land. We refer to our ancestral lands as Ahneesheenahbay ohtahkeem with the Forest as a whole. To keep the land understanding that the landscape has been physically modified and given culmeans to pass on the teachings from tural meaning by Beekahncheekahmeeng paymahteeseewahch. Pikangikum the Elders to their youth regardpeople have cleared and maintained waterway channels and portages, planted ing how an Anishinaabe person mahnohmin (“wild rice”) throughout our traditional lands, and have used indigenous pyrotechnology to enhance the abundance of waterway and wetshould behave in relation to the land, land vegetation that supports ducks and muskrats. whether hunting a moose or planning Pikangikum people have also been formed by this land. Elder Whitehead for forestry. Moose has put it this way: ‘Everything that you see in me, it is the land that Teachings are like sign posts that has moulded me. The fish have moulded me. The animals and everything guide a person as they undertake that I have eaten from the land has moulded me, it has shaped me. I believe every Aboriginal person has been moulded in this way.’ practices on the land. In fact, many Our Ahneesheenahbay ohtahkeem is not merely a landscape modified by teachings can only be taught in carryhuman activity but a way of relating to the land, a way of being (on the land).” ing out a practice under the tutelage (PFN and OMNR 2006; p.24) of an Elder. While it is good to hear a teaching, at some point the teaching must be embodied through action on the land. This is why hunting and forestry are both seen as contemporary means by which an individual may remain active on the land. Both make teachings relevant to people’s contemporary livelihoods and maintain the Creator’s gift as expressed through the reciprocal relationship between the land and the survival of Pikangikum people. Through the Whitefeather Forest Initiative, the Elders are working to revalidate this gift for the youth and refashion the cultural landscape for the future. By following the Anishinaabe system of keeping the land, the outcome will be Cheemeenootootauhkooyaun, which can be understood as, “we know it will do us good, and be beneficial in every way […] it is the right path to keeping the land.” (Elder George B. Strang 2006, trans. P. Peters). Elder Oliver Hill discusses how objects and sites can hold the memories of a cultural landscape, and through these tangibles, remind people of the teachings that should guide their actions towards the land. Aakeechee’eenaycheekuhdahg, the term he uses, means that people recognize the importance of a place (Box 2). The Elders have also suggested that it is equally important that people beyond the community hear and respect their teaching. As Pikangikum people are not the only people who now fashion the cultural landscape, it is important for others to respect the teachings that guide Pikangikum people, as well as recognize the objects and sites that hold the memories of such teachings in place. Geemoshgenatagwuk is a term for this process. Elder Oliver Hill presents a story that describes his understanding of how such a process will occur (Box 3).

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Box 2. Aakeechee’eenaycheekuhdahg
Aakeechee’eenaycheekuhdahg, that is the term that Elder Oliver Hill uses, means that the people recognize just how important a place is, that it has significance to people, since there will be a place there that they make an offering. He gives three examples: “East of the community there is a set of rapids, the first rapids are called manitoopawitig. I remember traveling with an Elder one time. When they got near the rapids, down below the rapids, the Elder took some tobacco and put it in the water, acknowledging that place, and asking for a safe passage too. Another practice is when you were eating a food, in order to acknowledge the animal, to acknowledge the portion you are eating, acknowledge you are giving your thanks, you would throw some of the meat, some of that food, into the fire. The other example is acknowledging a certain object, such as the Grandfather rock. A Grandfather is often in view along a water route and every time people would pass it they would have to offer a gift. These teachings that people want to practice, these traditional processes, they have to follow the way it was done”. (Interview of Elder Oliver Hill by I. Davidson-Hunt and P. Peters in 2006. Translation by P. Peters)

Cultural landscapes as the practice of authority

Box 3. Geemoshgenatagwuk
This term that Elder Oliver Hill uses geemoshgenatagwuk means that people are willing to hear, people are willing to listen. This is the story he wanted to tell: “You know that they have outpost camps in Pikangikum? This one summer there was this party that came there so I would go over and spend time with them. We would sit around the campfire. I guess their leader there wanted his group to sit around the fire with me. So I would tell them certain things or stories in my broken English but I guess I got through to them. One time the leader would tell his group, ‘I don’t want anyone joking around, I don’t want anyone laughing, I want you to pay attention to Oliver.’ One time I went over in the morning, and it was raining, eh, mists, it was cloudy, and I saw the leader before they went out on the lake. I asked, ‘does anyone have a pipe here so I can offer my smoke so the weather clears up?’ So right away he went to get a pipe put some tobacco in there and lit up my pipe. So I held up my pipe to the four directions, north, east, south and west, and after I smoked the pipe I told them it was going to clear up later. So I went back over the lake. I remember it was before lunch when it became clear, the clouds blew away and the rain stopped. You could hear them across the lake, they were happy that the weather cleared up. I guess that experience that happened there got around because John went to another camp and told the story there about how Oliver had smoked a pipe for the weather to clear. Another person went to another camp and told that story there too, so that is how it spreads, people spread the word to other areas.” (Interview of Elder Oliver Hill by I. Davidson-Hunt and P. Peters in 2006. Translation by P. Peters)

State agencies have often claimed cultural landscapes as the patrimony of the Nation, and stepped in to conserve them through policies and legislation, as if the objects and sites were detached from the lifestyles of its inhabitants. However, in the case of Pikangikum, the continuity between the teachings that guide practices in the cultural landscape and the objects and sites that bring forth the memories of the teachings is still intact. The Pikangikum cultural landscape is not just a collection of objects and sites to be conserved in situ, but a way of life that continues to shape a place. This implies that an integral part of defining cultural landscapes rests in the ability to make decisions regarding the landscape. In the Land Use Strategy, it was important for the Elders that the OMNR recognize the Anishinaabe system in which authority is spatially distributed and recognized by other Anishinaabe. At the same time, they saw the signing of the Treaty as a recognition that the OMNR and the Pikangikum could work together to achieve a purpose, each following their own system. For them, maintaining the cultural landscape required being part of the contemporary institutions that would be developed for shared decision-making about the management of the Whitefeather Forest, and about how and who will tell the story of the objects and sites that hold the memories of their cultural landscape. International, national and provincial
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Figure 2. Elder George B. Strong teaching Pikangikum students about Woodland caribou winter habitat and food sources. In developing a management plan for their cultural landscape, Pikangikum Elders stressed the importance of having authority to live on the land according to their traditional ways, rather than as a museum not to be touched. Their management is based on knowledge and a profound respect for, and relationship with, the land that supports them. Photo © I. Davidson-Hunt.

policies and legislation that use the concept of cultural landscapes often do not clearly define the roles and responsibilities of Aboriginal people for defining, identifying and keeping the cultural landscape. When the Elders requested to remain “in the driver’s seat” of any decision concerning their traditional territory, they were stressing that their cultural landscape could not be kept unless its people had the authority to maintain it. As Pikangikum Elders were defining the Land Use Strategy, they had trouble with the idea of authority: OMNR did not like the word and wanted it removed from the Strategy. For the Pikangikum Anishinaabeg, authority goes with responsibility. The oohkeemuhwehch is the person in charge of a certain delegated area, like a trapline or family area. That person is head of the area, and carries with him, or her, authority on spiritual matters. That person also decides how to do things, when to go, when to leave, where to camp, and to which areas helpers should go. When you are walking, the oohkeemuhwehch always leads, gives advice and teaches. Before you have responsibility, you need authority, and only then you can make decisions.

Challenges and Threats
The concept of cultural landscape may be one of the few that brings together social, cultural and ecological processes into one management framework. It provides an alternative way to think about the mutuality between a society and the landscape it inhabits. It also allows for the recognition that such places are not a wilderness devoid of humans and human institutions, but landscapes that have emerged through the practices and institutions of a people in a place. However, the concept does not come without its challenges. One of the biggest challenges is for States to recognize that Aboriginal Cultural Landscapes are part of the present as well as the past. The concept of cultural landscapes has been linked to the idea of heritage — a collection of objects and sites scattered about the land — as opposed to a way of life that fashions the land to this day. This challenge leads to a greater threat. When an

Figure 3. Donna and her daughter Ronna Pascal taking fish from the net before ice break-up in early April. Donna is teaching her about appropriate behavior of women when winter fishing with nets. Photo © N. Deutsch.

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Aboriginal Cultural Landscape is reduced to heritage, the very existence of these objects and sites can easily lead to the imposition of laws to control them. As experts begin to define and interpret its material objects and sites, the cultural landscape becomes part of the State. This is a process with which Pikangikum people are well acquainted. The Elders still talk about the time they were assigned to a reservation and even though they lived there, there were areas where they could not go, nor decide what tree to cut. At the same time, when a cultural landscape becomes framed as heritage, it may be treated as “frozen” in time. The management plans become focused on maintaining objects and sites rather than enabling the teachings and practices to continue fashioning the landscape. Instead, as Elder Oliver Hill suggests, there is a process by which objects and sites can lead to the emergence of new knowledge that is important for the survival of Pikangikum people (Box 4). Retaining and creating knowledge is tied to the ability to continue carrying out practices on the land guided by Anishinaabe teachings. However, if the cultural landscape becomes something written down and put aside for people to visit, it may become irrelevant to the contemporary Pikangikum ways of life. While most people see changing land uses as a threat, the Elders point out that the main threat to the Pikangikum Cultural Landscape would be for the land to become detached from the survival of Pikangikum people. One of their biggest challenges will be to create contemporary land uses that retain the relevancy of the land to Pikangikum youth, and then to ensure that such land uses are undertaken following Anishinaabe teachings, whether they be commercial forestry or protected areas. It is important to find land-based commercial ventures that ensure that the youth can derive a livelihood from the land, allowing them to stay in Pikangikum rather than migrating to urban centers. In order to carry out their Land Use Strategy according to Anishinaabe teachings, the Elders have stressed the importance of a teaching center in which youth will learn to integrate Anishinaabe teachings with the new knowledge needed for new land uses. As Elder Lucy

Box 4. Kakeekayduhmuhwach
So another term that Elder Oliver Hill uses is kakeekayduhmuhwach, which means “speaking of people that have knowledge.” Keekayduhmuhwach, or knowledgeable. He asked the question: “where did the MNR get their knowledge to make parks?” He asked this because he knows where our people got their knowledge, keeminawach. Our people had a process, go on a dreamquest, to obtained certain knowledge. He says that youth were asked to go into the wilderness alone and spend long periods of time on their dreamquest if they want to obtain knowledge about a certain issue. He asks, “How would people today accept those kinds of teachings?” That is why we are very careful about speaking about these kinds of teachings publicly, some people would not take them seriously, they would think they are silly or some kind of joke. (Interview of Elder Oliver Hill by I. Davidson-Hunt and P. Peters in 2006. Translation by P. Peters)

Figure 4. Trapper Larry Pascal taking fish from the net with his daughter Ravendia and son-in-law McKendrie, while his grandson Revus watches. Larry is the head trapper, the person who is responsible and holds authority for his trapline in Keeper Lake. He is showing the areas in which he and his family set the net in different seasons. These areas are part of the Pikangikum cultural landscape through use and stories. Photo © C. Burlando.

Beekahncheekahmeeng Ahneesheenahbay Ohtahkeem (Pikangikum Cultural Landscape)

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Strang said, “I want to emphasize the teachings that our parents have taught us. This is a continuing knowledge passed down from one generation to the next. We are Elders now and continue to teach. This is what ‘keeping the land’ is all about. This is why we want to build the teaching center, “to continue teaching our youth at the center” (PFN and OMNR 2006, p.11). While the State often focuses on creating heritage centres to house artifacts and interpret the cultural landscape, Pikangikum Elders are consistent with their understanding of an Aboriginal Cultural Landscape when they stress the need for a teaching centre.

Figure 5. The late Jake Kejick on Nungessor Lake, Ontario. Jake is teaching about the links between ecological disturbances (fire, blowdowns), trapping and hunting. As part of declaring the Whitefeather Forest a cultural landscape, Pikangikum Elders insist on establishing a teaching center for their youth. Photo © I. Davidson-Hunt.

Current Status and Next Steps
After completing their Land Use Strategy in 2006, Pikangikum First Nation received Environmental Assessment Act coverage for the Whitefeather Forest in June 2009, and are now in the process of preparing a forest management plan. The next step is to begin negotiations with the Ontario government to discuss how they will share governance for the dedicated protected areas that were identified in the Land Use Strategy. Consistent with national and international definitions, legislation in Ontario has largely considered cultural landscapes as a type of heritage. In this chapter we have identified some of the challenges that this approach poses to the vision of a Pikangikum cultural landscape. Challenging this view of a cultural landscape has necessitated that the Pikangikum Anishinaabeg insist on shared decision-making, and develop their own approach for identifying, documenting, describing, and interpreting their cultural landscape. As the partnership with the OMNR continues to provide a forum for discussion, innovative ways will be sought together to ensure that Pikangikum people remain in the driver’s seat, and that the Whitefeather Forest, which includes both commercial forestry and protected areas, is managed as the Pikangikum Cultural Landscape.

Literature Cited
Ningewance, P. M. 2004. Talking Gookom’s Language: Learning Ojibwe. Mazinaate Press, Lac Seul, Ontario. Ontario Ministry of Culture. 2007. Cultural Landscapes in Ontario. Website: . Accessed: 25 February 2008. Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources. 2001. Northern Boreal Initiative — A Land Use Planning Approach. Website: . Accessed: 06 July 2009. Parks Canada. 2007. An Approach to Aboriginal Cultural Landscapes. Website: . Accessed: 25 February 2008. PFN and OMNR (eds.). 2006. Cheekahnahwaydahmungk Keetahkeemeenaan — Keeping the Land: A Land Use Strategy for the Whitefeather Forest and Adjacent Areas. Pikangikum First Nation (PFN) and Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources (OMNR). 183pp. Website: . Accessed: 25 February 2008. UNESCO World Heritage Centre. 2003. Cultural Landscapes: the Challenges of Conservation. World Heritage Series (7): 193pp. United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, Rome. Website: . Accessed: 25 February 2008.
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The Impact of Participatory Forest Management: The Experience from Lulanda Experience from Lulanda Village, Southern Tanzania Village, Southern Tanzania
Charles Meshack and Kerry A. Woodcock

Quick Facts
Country: Tanzania Geographic Focus: Lulanda Forest in the Udzungwa Mountain of Iringa region in southern Tanzania. Indigenous Peoples: Lulanda Village has a population of 2,100. The villagers speak a local language called “Hehe.”

Introduction
In the Udzungwa Mountains of Iringa in southern Tanzania, something exciting has been happening in Lulanda; the people of this remote village have been taking control of the forests on which they depend. Through the hard work and courage of a small group of people, the forests of Lulanda have been protected. This story is one of bravery, teamwork, commitment, and a love of the land from which they come. The story is part of a study conducted by the authors that focused on Participatory Forest Management facilitated by the Tanzania Forest Conservation Group (TFCG) in the Eastern Arc Mountains and coastal forests of Tanzania. A case-study approach was combined with techniques such as household Semi-Structured Interviews (SSIs) and livelihood mapping, and cross-checked with impact diagramming in a village meeting. This story presents the Lulanda history, their forestbased livelihoods and the impact of Participatory Forest Management on the villagers of Lulanda and Tanzania as a whole.

Author Information
Charles Meshack is the Executive Director for the Tanzania Forest Conservation Group. He has a Research Masters in Ecology and Environmental Management from the University of York, UK and BSc in Forestry from the University of Sokoine, Morogoro. Charles joined the Tanzania Forest Conservation Group (TFCG) in 1996, to work in Lulanda in Mufindi District. Since then he has been a dedicated advocate for forest conservation and greater rights for communities in natural resources management, and has been at the forefront of forest conservation in Tanzania. Mr. Meshack has 13 years experience in Tanzania Forest management. E-mail: cmeshack@tfcg.or.tz Kerry A. Woodcock has a doctorate in Environmental Management from the University of Northumbria at Newcastle and wrote the book Changing Roles in Natural Forest Management (2002) based on her research in Tanzania. She joined the Tanzania Forest Conservation Group in 1994 and spent four years working primarily in Kambai in the East Usambara Mountains, with visits to Lulanda in the Udzungwa Mountains. In 2004 and 2005 she returned as a consultant for TFCG to review the Participatory Forest Management projects they facilitated. Kerry currently resides in Calgary, Canada and is owner and director of Novalda, which provides coaching and participatory video for teams, groups, and individuals. She has 15 years of experience working with people to create awareness and intention in their relationship with self, others, and the world. E-mail:Kerry@novalda.com

Lulanda Forest History
Lulanda Forest is situated in the southern Udzungwa Mountains in Mufindi District, and is managed by Lulanda Village through a joint forest management agreement as a Mufindi District Local Authority Forest Reserve (LAFR). The forest covers 315.9 ha and consists of three forest patches: Ihili (35.2 ha), Fufu (82.6 ha) and Mgwilwa (89.3 ha), with a planted corridor of 108.8 ha connecting Fufu and Mgwilwa (Fig. 1). At the beginning of the 20th century these three patches were part of a single larger forest controled by the traditional Hehe leaders. The forest was used as a refuge during battles with the invading German colonialists, while, during peacetime, access to parts of the forest with spiritual significance was limited to the traditional chiefs (Woodcock 2002).

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During the British colonial period, the forest was demarcated as a reserve but was not officially gazetted (Lovett and Pócs 1992). Instead, in the 1950s the British began to promote coffee cultivation in the area, including on the, purportedly rich, forest soils. By 1955, the forest had been reduced to the three patches mentioned above (Fufu, Mgwilwa and Ihili) separated by small fields. In the 1970s, more forest was cleared during villagization to provide land for farmers moving into Lulanda village. There was much logging by pit sawyers in the 1980s, and there was a danger that even the last three patches would be whittled away by the beginning of the 1990s through a combination of agricultural clearance, fire, and timber harvesting. Although the forest was a Local Authority Forest Reserve (i.e., under the authority of the District Government), the District Forest Officer (DFO) did not visit the reserve, and the Ward forest attendant was implicated in selling illegal licenses to timber harvesters (Woodcock 2002). In the early 1990s, biologists Congdon, Lovett and Pócs visited the Lulanda forest patches and, despite their small size, recognized their value in terms of the rich fauna and flora they contained (Lovett and Pócs 1992). This includes at

North

Mgwilwa Forest Patch

Planted in 2001

Ihili Forest Patch

Lulanda Corridor

Lulanda
Planted pre-1995 Planted in 1996/1997 Planted in 1999

Ihili Corridor

Planted in 1998 Planted in 1997

Fufu Forest Patch

Corridor bo rder (unplanted areas) Approximate corridor border

200 m

Figure 1. Map showing Lulanda and Ihili corridors, three forest patches and the year each area was planted. Lulanda Forest is situated in the southern Udzungwa Mountains, in Mufindi District. The forest covers 315.9 ha and consists of three forest patches: Ihili (35.2 ha), Fufu (82.6 ha) and Mgwilwa (89.3 ha), with a planted corridor (108.8 ha) connecting Fufu and Mgwilwa patches. Source: Doody (2002).

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least 40 species of large trees and a number of Eastern Arc Mountain endemics. They also discovered a new species of coffee, Coffea mufindiensis, in the Lulanda forests (Lovett and Congdon 1990, Lovett and Pócs 1992). Once the biodiversity value and threats to Lulanda had been highlighted, a project was initiated by the Tanzania Forest Conservation Group (TFCG), a non-governmental organization working to promote the conservation of high biodiversity forests in Tanzania. In 1994, TFCG entered into discussions with the villagers of Lulanda and the District government to develop a strategy to ensure the continued existence of the forest. Different stakeholders pointed out different problems. The District government required resources to visit the forest patches and asked for assistance in increasing awareness amongst the people of Lulanda on the need to protect them. The villagers expressed their mistrust of the government representative and their powerlessness to halt forest clearance given the illegal licenses that were being issued. They requested help in preventing further logging and for developing wood lots. They also noted some of the village’s development priorities, such as a maize mill they needed so that women would no longer have to walk the 40-km round trip to the nearest mill. The TFCG identified priority steps to address some of the conservation issues, including the need to encourage the regeneration of forest between the Magwilwa and Fufu patches so as to mitigate the effects of fragmentation on the area’s biodiversity. The initial project plan sought to address the priorities identified by the different stakeholders, and the project began to implement both the conservation and the development plans. On the development side, the TFCG provided a women’s group with a maize mill and gave training in bookkeeping, setting up a bank account, and maintaining the machine. They offered loans to individuals and groups for incomegenerating activities. The TFCG focused particularly on income-generating activities with a ‘link’ to the forest, such as beekeeping, fish ponds (dependent on water from the forest), and tree nurseries (Fig. 2). It was the maize mill, however, that had the most significant economic impact, generating a reasonable income for the women’s group and providing a convenient maize-grinding service for all village households. The tree nurseries also improved people’s livelihoods, particularly given the tradition of timber production and woodwork among the Hehe. These activities have tended to benefit sections of society, particularly women, who were marginalized from the cultivation of maize and coffee, the village’s principle income generating activities. On the conservation side, the project negotiated a scheme with the village to allow the land between Fufu and Magwilwa patches to regenerate to forest. As pressure on land was not particularly high at the time, the village agreed and the area between Fufu and Magwilwa has been set aside as a ‘corridor.’ Seedlings from the neighboring forest have been planted throughout the corridor to speed up the regeneration process, and TFCG is monitoring the corridor’s progress (Doody 2002). Other conservation activities included environmental education, demarcation of the forest boundaries, and clearing a fire line to protect the forests and the corridor from fires from adjacent woodland. The presence of the project also helped the villagers’ efforts to prevent pit sawyers from taking any more timber.

Local Forest-based Livelihoods
Prior to the Participatory Forest Management project, Lulanda forest was de facto open access despite being a Local Area Forest Reserve. The villagers freely obtained forest products and services, while the DFO permitted outside contractors to log there. Since the Participatory Forest Management project was initiated in 1996, forest resources are more controlled. As of 2005, access is permitted only to specific groups for specific purposes, namely collection of medicinal plants, modern beekeeping, and minimal collection of firewood, sand and stones for poorer households. The development components of the project have been essential for generating support among the villagers for conservation activities. These projects generated four types of benefits that we will look at more closely here: for the forest, the villager’s livelihoods, the social structure and organization of the villages, and financial.
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The forest

We found that Participatory Forest Management increased access to certain natural resources in Lulanda. They included resources such as water, medicinal plants, and honey from modern beekeeping. The water level of ground springs and the water flow of the Ilondo River (which originates in the Fufu forest patch) both increased, this according to villager’s perspectives. Villagers attribute this to improved forest management. Regeneration of medicinal plants has also been noted in the forest. Shortly after the forest’s closure to all resourcecollection and activities in 1996, a group of medicinal herbalists requested that they be allowed to resume collection of medicinal plants for the benefit of the community. Their request was granted and to date there are approximately six medicinal herbalists who are permitted to collect medicinal plants in the forests. One of them, Kita Mduvike, commented that the rejuvenated forest had increased his access to this resource: “I am a herbalist for childhood fever cramp. Now, I collect medicine easier and quicker than before. The forest is less disturbed and I do not have to go so far into the forest to find the species I need.” (Kita Mduvike pers. comm. 2005). Medicinal plants are seen as an important priority to the villagers. As there are no dispensaries or other medical alternatives in the community, all households depend on these forest products. Since access to medicinal plants is now by permit only, some individuals in the community who formerly collected for their individual use are now unable to do so and must rely on medicinal herbalists with permits. Nevertheless, conserving the forest as a source of medicine has become the priority value for the community over other goods. As one woman notes: “Managing the forest for medicine is more important than being allowed access to firewood” (Betti Kigola pers. comm. 2005). The community has also benefited in the development of alternative forest products, such as farm forestry and brick making. In 1996, there were only two brick houses in the village; now approximately a third of all houses are built of sun-dried brick with corrugated iron roofs (C. Meshack unpubl. 2005). If this trend continues, the need for building poles will be reduced, although timber for roofing, hardware and carpentry will still be in demand. With the closure of the forests for the collection of timber and firewood, the TFCG has also helped individuals in the village develop farm forestry as an income-generating activity by distributing seeds and seedlings and offering expertise (Fig. 3). Typically, individuals involved in this enterprise are the wealthier members of the community who can spare the land, time, and resources to plant exotic and native trees in their fields as an alternative source of timber and firewood. For instance, Valence Masonda, a primary school teacher and manager of the Savings and Credit Scheme, was given seeds in 1998 by the TFCG and planted a one-and-a-half acre woodlot of pine near his home. The woodlot saves his household time in collecting firewood, as they can just tell their children to “run and get firewood.” He allows the poor and ill to collect firewood from his woodlot: “the priority is to the old,” he says. Reduced access to firewood and polewood in the forests has, however, made it difficult for the poorer houseFigure 2. Lulanda students taking seedlings of native trees from the holds since the start of the forest management project. project nursery to plant in their school compound of Lulanda. The tree nurseries have improved the people’s livelihoods, particularly given a They are unable to secure alternatives to forest prodtradition of timber production and wood work among the Hehe. Photo © Hamadiel Mgalla. ucts, and have to rely on the charity of others to collect
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firewood or polewood from their woodlots. In the case of Lulanda, this issue is starting to be addressed by permitting, on a trial basis, poorer households access to firewood once a month. Members of poorer households would prefer to have constant access to forest firewood, for ease of collection and quality. Despite this, there is general consensus, even among poorer households, that access to firewood is less important than access to medicinal herbs. Sikimbila Mduvike, for instance, is an elder widow who sells bananas and makes baskets and mats for a living. Prior to the Participatory Forest Management project, she collected firewood from Fufu forest patch, but now collects it from pine woodlots belonging to relatives. She has not profited directly from the forest since access to it was closed, but in her opinion, closing the forest is good as it is saving medicinal plants she needs. Despite a few incidents of illegal collection of firewood and polewood, it is evident just by walking along forest paths that this activity has largely stopped. The forest floor is littered with dry wood (Hamadiel Mgalla pers. obs. 2005) and there is a notable regeneration of the understorey. The villager Valence Masonda observed in 2005 that “Now, there are many more building poles.” Concerns voiced by women about allowing the collection of forest firewood are that regenerating saplings could be damaged and the disturbance and trampling would reduce the availability of medicinal herbs valued community-wide. They also worried that women who collect firewood could be unfairly blamed for any illegal activities or forest degradation occurring in the forest. The Village Natural Resource Committee (VNRC) is likewise apprehensive about opening up the forest to wild vegetable, mushroom and fruit collection as, “It would be difficult to monitor, and people would see where the timber trees are” (Castory Mdalingwa, Lulanda VNRC Secretary 2005). A few activities have been affected negatively by the Participatory Forest Management scheme. One is the traditional collection of wild honey; prohibited because it relies on fire, which is a threat to the forest. There were two honey collectors in the village. Pausoni Mlanka, who used to collect from the Fufu forest patch, is interested in modern beekeeping, one of the income-generating activities started by the project, but he lacks the money to buy the materials required and is not prepared to take on a financial risk, as there is no guarantee that the bees will take to the modern hives. Perhaps the main challenge presented by Participatory Forest Management is the loss of access to the forest and the fields adjacent to the forest previously available for agriculture. Access to new land is prohibited to all, and villagers acknowledge that without TFCG’s facilitation, the forest would have been degraded or even lost. “It is because of the project that Ihili and Fufu forests are here,” said Leonard Kavaya (2005). Many households were forced to stop farming fields that were inside the forest reserve boundary or the forest corridor. Many households with fields adjacent to the forest chose to leave their fields fallow, as clearing fields by fire is now forbidden. Others changed to growing perennial crops instead. Theo Msindila, for instance, changed her crops from maize to pine, bamboo, and bananas. The increase in abundance of wildlife has also caused some concern. Antelope, Bush pig, Baboon, and Blue monkey are considered pests as they attack crops, and crop damage has increased in fields near the forest, even Figure 3. Lulanda villagers getting ready to plant native tree seedlings in to the extent of them being abandoned. Pausoni Mlanka the corridor between the forest patches of Fufu and Mgwilwa. In 1994, TFCG entered into discussions with the villagers of Lulanda and with the has two wives. One has been forced to farm far away District government to develop a strategy to ensure the continued exisbecause she lost a field when the corridor boundaries tence of the forest. Photo © Hamadiel Mgalla.
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were demarcated. The other had two acres of maize near Fufu forest patch, but in recent years there were too many baboons attacking the crops and she no longer farms there (C. Meshack unpubl. 2005). Despite the problem of crop-raiding, villagers hope that in the future, the increased abundance of wildlife will entice tourists to visit the forest, bringing financial benefits to the community. Maintaining this trend in land-use change, with people abandoning fields adjacent to the forest, will allow for forest regeneration and the provision of corridors between the forest patches — entirely positive for biodiversity conservation. The effect on livelihoods is likely to be positive too, with permanent tree crops acting as security for times when cash is needed.
The villagers

Figure 4. The Lulanda native tree nursery. The seedlings are cultivated for afforestation of the corridor between the forest patches of Fufu and Mgwilwa. The person in the nursery is Mr. Hamadiel Mgalla, the Project Officer of TFCG based in Lulanda village. Photo © Adam Mgovano.

Participatory Forest Management in Lulanda has also resulted in benefits to the villagers, including access to health care, and the development of new skills and understanding, most particularly for village women. Since the initiation of the program, Lulanda forest has been viewed locally as a “forest of medicine.” A select group of medicinal herbalists have permits to collect herbs to treat members of the community. It is possible to suspect that this system will make medicinal plant collection elitist, and that it will shrink the knowledge base on the forest’s medicinal plants. However, general knowledge about forest medicines, vegetables, mushrooms and fruit seems minimal in Lulanda anyway, possibly because people only moved into the area in the 1950s, and they have a less intimate relation with the forest than is true of many other communities. Nonetheless, TFCG has facilitated educational programs in primary schools (including nature walks) to ensure that traditional knowledge of medicinal plants is not lost. The TFCG has also helped individuals in the community — from school children to women and elders — develop their knowledge and skills through practical, hands-on projects, seminars, training, exchange visits, and through the media. Practical hands-on experience includes tree planting along forest boundaries and corridors, developing and managing tree nurseries (Fig. 4), forming and managing Village Environmental Committees (VNRCs) and Local Area Conservation Networks (LACNs), and record keeping. Seminars have included topics concerning environmental awareness. Training has been offered in beekeeping, and the making and maintenance of improved stoves. Exchange visits to other PFM sites in Tanzania has motivated and inspired individuals to exchange ideas and keep momentum. The use of the Kiswahili newsletter Komba, along with radio broadcasts and video has also helped inspire action and develop knowledge. Women in particular have benefited from the development of the skills and experience they have gained through participating in forest management. The TFCG officers have been careful to encourage the involvement of women in meetings and committees. The improvement in the women’s participation in mixed meetings from 1996 to 2005 was particularly evident. The changes brought about by the Participatory Forest Management project have not all been positive, however. Already mentioned is the increase in crop raiding by Bush pig, antelope and monkey. Those who continue to cultivate fields adjacent to the forest now spend more time protecting their crops, and have less time as a result to pursue
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alternative livelihood strategies and activities. For instance, Castory Mdalingwa, VNRC Secretary, noted that “Farmers spend more time chasing baboons and are not coming to work on development days.” It is the poorer households with little alternative farmland that have to continue farming these fields, and the children who are usually responsible for guarding the crops and chasing the animals away. The children miss school to do this. Another issue, mentioned above, is that knowledge of the forest and its resources may become restricted to elite groups in the community, such as the licensed herbalists, or lost completely. Traditional beekeepers, for instance, can no longer collect honey from the forest, and it is noticeable that they are being alienated from modern beekeeping initiatives rather than being drawn upon for their skills.
Social aspects

Overall, the impact of the Participatory Forest Management approach has been positive for the community in developing and providing access to networks, in its group memberships, fostering relationships of trust, and in giving access to wider institutions of society. Participatory Forest Management as facilitated by TFCG has supported the development of Village Natural Resource Committees (VNRCs) and Incoming Generating Activity groups (IGA groups). It has enabled access to external institutions such as the Savings and Credit Scheme and District Natural Resource Office, and given the villagers the wherewithal to network with other communities that are engaged in Participatory Forest Management through exchange visits and network meetings. The development of VNRCs has increased the villagers’ awareness of their communal and individual rights and their responsibilities in managing the forest. This has empowered villagers to require more of the village government that represents them. For instance, in 2003 a villager set fire to the forest corridor and an area of forest because of negligence when burning his fields. He left the village in fear of the consequences, but returned a year later. Villagers complained when the village government took no further action. One person said, “You are asking us to replant trees in the corridor, when that man was the one who burnt the trees and he is sitting at home!” (Leonard Kavaya 2005). Villagers demanded that the village government force the man to plant trees to replace those he burnt. He was sick but his family took on the responsibility of repaying his debt to the community. In this way the village committees are listening and responding to the needs of the people they represent, and with this developing a trusting relationship with their people. Table 1 shows the range of Income Generating Activities (IGAs) in Lulanda village. Members of most households are involved in a variety of IGA groups. Working in groups is a risk-alleviating strategy, spreading financial and labour costs among its members. Poorer households, headed by elderly widows, tend not to be members of IGA groups, due to lack of time and money to invest in the group. There are some areas where more care is needed in fostering the relationship between the District and the villages. The TFCG must be careful not to take on too much of the work, and should make sure that both parties take on equal responsibility for developing the relationship. Another important measure will be to alleviate the reliance of poorer households on social networks for alternatives to forest products, either by offering them limited access to the forest products or in seeking alternative ways to ensure that they obtain these resources.
Financial aspects

The TFCG has helped individuals and self-formed groups within the community to develop both customary and innovative sources of income through a variety of Income Generating Activities (IGAs). The TFCG staff have provided advice and expertise directly or brought in outside specialists to extend the knowledge and skills of the community members. At the simplest level, the formation of a few initial IGA groups has provided the inspiration and impetus for other community members to form their own range of IGA groups.
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Of those IGAs that are innovative and directly linked to the local forest (Table 1), fish farming has considerable potential, and is proving lucrative for the few that have ponds. Modern beekeeping is still in the early stages, and little income has been generated so far. Medicinal herbalists have suggested the possibility of developing medicinal plant nurseries; an idea that the TFCG could investigate further. There are a number of innovative IGAs that offer alternatives to forest products. Farm forestry, in the form of woodlots and agroforestry, has been facilitated by the TFCG. For a few of the better-off households the trees are sold for timber, for furniture making, or for house building. The trees are also seen as a form of savings and security, to sell off when cash is needed. Brick making for house building has taken off in Lulanda. Currently, approximately one-third of houses are made of bricks, and many other households aim to improve their houses in the future. Improved stoves are also popular. Innovative IGAs that are indirectly linked to the local forest as transfer payments from the TFCG to the community are the maize milling machine and the Savings and Credit Scheme. These benefits are perceived as a reward to the community for protecting and managing the local forest: “If it wasn’t for that forest, we wouldn’t have had help starting the Savings and Credit Scheme or had the Maize Milling Machine. Why is it we have these? Because of the forest!” (Unorio Masonda 2005). A prerequisite of joining the Savings and Credit Scheme is that members who are physically able must work in the forest on a Saturday morning; planting trees on the boundary and in the forest corridor and clearing fire breaks. This makes a clear and tangible link between the forest and the benefit it brings. The Savings and Credit scheme started in 2004 with 20 members. Since then the number has increased to 129. The capital has also increased from TZS 2,000,000 (US$2,000) in 2004 to TZS 8,868,000 (US$8,868) in 2008. Alternatives have been introduced to substitute the traditional IGAs that ceased with the introduction of forest management. For example, the introduction of modern beehives replacing traditional honey collection in the forest and, replacing hunting, with an increased focus on providing alternative protein sources through fish farming and animal husbandry. It is not always the traditional experts who take up these alternatives, however, often due to the risk in investing in new technology. It would be wise for the TFCG to foster links with these traditional experts; to involve the traditional honey collector for example, in modern beekeeping as an advisor, making use of his skills and knowledge. In this way, conflicts may be reduced and the alternative activities can be more successful. The TFCG, in collaboration

Table 1. Range of Income Generating Activities noted in Lulanda (C. Meshack, field data, 2005).

Income generating activities

Customary

Innovative

Ceased since PFM

Directly linked to local forest

Collection of medicinal plants; Beekeeping (modern hives); forcollection of water for domestic est-based tourism; research fees use charged to researchers for access to forest; fish farming

Traditional honey collection; hunting and trapping of animals for wild meat; pit-sawing; crops using forest shade, including bananas, bamboo, and cardamom; forest clearance for farmland

Indirectly linked to local forest

Animal husbandry, including dairy cows, goats, pigs, poultry, guinea pigs; carpentry; food crop farming Basket and mat weaving; coffee farming; tea houses; shops; professional positions, including school teacher, nurse, tea picker

Farm forestry; brick-making and house building; improved stove making; maize milling; savings and credit scheme

Not linked to local forest

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with the District Beekeeping Officer, is providing training to villagers. Training focuses on the selection of beehive types, how to construct beehives and the selection of where to place them. The promotion of beekeeping is based on a good potential market for bee products and low capital and operational costs. Initially, beekeeping in Lulanda involved only men, but women have been involved since 2004. In 2008 beekeepers reported a revenue of about US$3,000, producing 1,170 liters of honey sold at an average of US$2.50 per liter. Since Participatory Forest Management began, income for the community coming directly from forest resources has been restricted, except for the specialist groups such as medicinal herbalists and modern beekeepers. Under the old system of the Local Authority Forest Reserve fines for illegal access were remitted to central government (URT 2005). Today in Lulanda there are no fines for illegal activities such as polewood collection and uncontrolled field fires. Instead penalties take the form of community service, in which the trespasser has to repay the debt to the community, through labor, such as replanting the forest corridor. Hopes for obtaining direct financial benefits from the forest rest on harvesting timber. According to the Lulanda Village Chairman (2005), “If the District decides to harvest timber in the far future, then a percentage of the money should be left for communal purposes.” There are others who hope to be able to collect polewood in the future. Whether these uses would be possible is debatable, since Lulanda is now primarily a fully protected Local Authority Forest Reserve (LAFR). Forest-based tourism is another possibility, with tentative networks already created between the TFCG, the District Tourism Office, and local tourist-based businesses. This activity is still incipient. Revenue from the forest is channelled to supporting children’s secondary education, to the construction of brick housing, and to paying for the start up and maintenance costs of IGAs. In Lulanda, there has already been an observable improvement in housing and an increasing number of children going to secondary school. Villagers have attributed these two improvements primarily to the introduction of the Savings and Credit Scheme, which has given them the means to initiate innovative IGAs and make and save more money.

Conclusions and Lessons Learned
Although positive steps were made in improving the management of the forest from 1994 to 1998, the villager’s right to manage and benefit from the forest was limited by the policy and legislation of this time that made no allowance for community management of a Local Authority Reserve. Since the change in the National Forest Policy in 1998 (United Republic of Tanzania 1998), the Lulanda Forest project has been helping the village become the designated managers of the reserve. Maps and boundaries were established, and the Village Assembly (all adult members of the village) elected a Village Natural Resource Committee with a remit to manage the forest. This group, with active participation from the Ward and District government, prepared a forest management plan and bylaws. After a long struggle, eventually the joint agreement between the Lulanda villagers and the Mufindi District was signed. The next challenge for the project is to strengthen further the Village Natural Resource Committee (VNRC) so that it can effectively manage the forest without the project’s assistance. One of the key issues to be resolved is the development of a financing mechanism for management costs. Activities such as maintaining forest boundaries, running patrols, clearing the fire breaks, keeping records, and holding meetings involve costs, and it is unrealistic to expect people to offer their labor without compensation. Lulanda is a small forest with few, if any, resources that can be harvested sustainably to generate funds to cover these costs. If the management is to be implemented, funds need to be found to cover them. Although Tanzania’s Forest Policy (United Republic of Tanzania 1998) and Forest Act (Tanzania, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism 2002) support the participation of communities in managing forest reserves, and although they talk about revenue sharing, the mechanisms and the details of “who gets what” have yet to be specified.
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There have been a number of lessons learned over the nine years of the development of this Participatory Forest Management initiative that can be applied to other sites. Achieving real changes in forest management and linking these changes with real improvements to people’s livelihoods takes time. Even after nine years, the project still has some way to go. It is particularly difficult to generate genuine participation from communities that have been alienated from the forest resource by former unfavorable policies. How a project deals with interactions between and within communities can also determine the success of a project. As with all communities, Lulanda is made up of individuals with their own interests and agendas. There is a tendency in some of the literature on sustainable forest management to portray communities as homogeneous, harmonious entities. Lulanda is not a harmonious, homogeneous community and there have been power plays within the village that have inevitably affected and been affected by the project. These have come out particularly when attempting to empower the VNRC and in the management of the maize mill. The project has addressed these issues with great sensitivity. Having a national forest policy that supports communities’ participation in managing the forest is the foundation for a long-term management strategy. Having the policy and legislative support for Participatory Forest Management has made a critical difference (Tanzania, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism 2001, 2002, 2003). Without this, it would have been difficult to develop a long-term solution for the area, and given the alienation of the community coupled with the lack of resources for direct management by the District, it is likely that the forest would gradually have disappeared.

Acknowledgment
We are most grateful to the Critical Ecosystem Partnership Fund (CEPF), Arlington, Virginia, that supported this study in 2005.

Literature Cited
Doody, K. 2002. An assessment of a reforestation programme in the southern Udzungwa Mountains, Tanzania. Tanzania Forest Conservation Group Technical Report 3. Tanzania Forest Conservation Group (TFCG), Dar es Salaam. 82pp. Lovett, J.C. and Congdon, T.C.E. 1990. Notes on Lulanda Forest, southern Udzungwa mountains. East Africa Natural History Society Bulletin 20: 21. Lovett, J.C. and Póocs, T. 1992. Catchment Forest Reserves of Iringa Region: A Botanical Appraisal. Catchment Forestry, Forest and Beekeeping Division, Dar es Salaam. Tanzania, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism. 2001. National Forest Programme 2001–2010. Forestry and Beekeeping Division, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism, Dar es Salaam. Tanzania, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism. 2002. The Forest Act, no. 7 of 7th June 2000, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism, Dar es Salaam. Tanzania, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism. 2003. Participatory Forest Management: A Report on Lessons Learned. Forestry and Beekeeping Division, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism, Dar es Salaam. Tanzania, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism. 2005. Legal Guidelines for PFM. Draft. Forestry and Beekeeping Division, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism, Dar es Salaam. United Republic of Tanzania. 1998. National Forest Policy. The United Republic of Tanzania (URT), Dar es Salaam. Woodcock, K. A. 2002. Changing Roles in Natural Forest Management: Stakeholders’ Roles in the Eastern Arc Mountains, Tanzania. Ashgate Studies in Environmental Policy and Practice, Aldershot, UK.
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GUYANA

Managing Traditional Lands for Conservation and Development:
The Wai Wai in Southern Guyana
Community Members of Masakenari, Susan Stone, Andrew Demetro, Margaret Gomes and Curtis Bernard

Quick Facts
Country: Guyana Geographic Focus: Forests of the Guayana Shield in southern Guyana Indigenous Peoples: Wai Wai Amerindians of the village of Masakenari in the Amerindian District of Kanashen, southern Guyana. The resident population is about 216.

Introduction
At the southernmost tip of Guyana, in the forests of the Guayana Shield, a small group of Wai Wai Amerindians are working to manage their ancestral lands by blending traditional governance and resource use with modern concepts of management and zoning in the protection of a 625,000 ha reserve. They live in the community of Masakenari, in Kanashen District on the banks of the Essequibo River. After acquiring absolute title to their land, the Wai Wai declared their lands a Community-Owned Conservation Area (C.O.C.A.), in order to preserve their forests and wildlife, and to guarantee their natural resources, their culture, and way of life for their future generations. The forests of the Guayana Shield, between the Orinoco and Amazon rivers in the northeast of South America, are largely intact. The Shield makes up part or all of six countries — French Guiana, Suriname and Guyana, about half of Venezuela, a considerable part of the Brazilian Amazon, and a small portion of Colombia. Despite being in the tropics, the region is one the most sparsely populated in the world, comparable to northern Canada and Siberia. French Guiana, Suriname and Guyana are the three top countries worldwide in terms of forest area per capita (FAO 2001). In Guyana, inland forests are primarily populated by members of nine indigenous tribes, or Amerindians as they are locally known; the Wapishana, Akawaio, Arekuna, Macushi, Carib, Warrow, Patamona, Arawak and the Wai Wai. All are working to accommodate their traditional way of life to the changes that the modern world is bringing and to maintain their stewardship of the lands and natural resources that they have inherited since man was first recorded in the region, some 9,500 years before present.

Author Information
Susan Stone is the Senior Technical Advisor for Policy and Practice in Conservation International’s Indigenous and Traditional Peoples Program. She works with CI–Guyana and the Wai Wai people of Kanashen on management planning for their Community-Owned Conservation Area (C.O.C.A.). E-mail: s.stone@conservation.org Andrew Demetro is the former Toshao (elected leader) of Nappi Village in the Rupununi Region of Guyana, and advises CI–Guyana on work with indigenous communities in southern Guyana, including the the collaboration with the Wai Wai of Kanashen. He has worked extensively in community mapping and resource use research. E-mail: toskanaima@hotmail.com Margaret Gomes advises CI–Guyana on community engagement and development planning. As a member of the Wapishana Village of Sand Creek, she has been active in community service for many years. She is a Wapishana interpreter and cultural advisor. E-mail: gomes734@hotmail.com Curtis Bernard is a Biodiversity Analyst at CI–Guyana. He is a biologist and expert in Geographic Information Systems. Over the years, he has developed a close working relationship with the people of Kanashen, and played a key role in the development of the C.O.C.A. E-mail: cbernard@conservation.org

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This article describes the Wai Wai community’s vision for their lands, and the structure and management plan1 they have created with the support of Conservation International to manage their lands for both the conservation of their forests and wildlife and the development of their community. As this is their story, the thoughts of community leaders and members are incorporated by including excerpts from interviews conducted in the community. Maripa Marawanuru, a village councilor and elder sets the stage: The time came to elect a new Toshao — then Paul [Chekema] was elected. It was during his position as a leader we had discussion concerning land title because there were no clear boundaries or title for our land, and so we ask government for land title which he gladly gave us. So we really thank Government for this. Now our area is known as C.O.C.A. Since this has been established things have improved. Now I can see the development in the community and now some persons are employed and with C.O.C.A. more of this kind of job will come in, which I am very happy about. That is why I say things are getting better than before. Excerpt from interview, October 2007 Paul Chekema, Toshao2 or Kayaritomo, the leader, of the Wai Wai village of Masakenari summarizes the groundwork leading to the realization of their C.O.C.A. That time [came] we were to move from here [from their previous village site, Akotopono, which flooded in 2002], but before [moving] we sat down together with the elders to discuss our situation […] I held a meeting with the community before having any meeting with any Minister. First, when I newly became Toshao in 1998, I was invited to a meeting and it was my first meeting in the savannahs […] After more meetings with the regional authorities and fortunately too with the Minister [of Amerindian Affairs], on more than one occasion we got our requests approved for the school building and the clinic because this was important for us. […] So we got the projects approved in 2003 and had all the structures up that year. Being invited to another conference at Lake Mainstay, I approached the Minister of Amerindian Affairs and I actually requested of her that I had one more request and I said “we want our land title.” Then she told me “Toshao, that is your land,” but holding a document in my hand to prove this was better for me and my community. Although we were confident and happy about what we were doing we were still uncertain about how really this was done. However, when I was out in Lethem I managed to get hold of a newsletter from Conservation International […] so I brought this home and passed this on to our Hinterland Affairs Worker and others. After reading the news they told me that what was reported in the newsletter sounded good. I had already contacted Brother Joe Singh3 about this before I requested land title. One year later they called me to tell me that my land title was ready on that day. I was so glad that I could

1 Management Plan of the Kanashen Community-Owned Conservation Area (C.O.C.A.). December 2006 2 Toshao is the title used for the elected leaders of Amerindian communities. The traditional Wai Wai title is Kayaritomo. 3 Major General (Retd.) Joseph Singh, formerly head of Guyana’s Defense Force, was the Executive Director of Conservation International Guyana at the time the Wai Wai of Kanashen were granted title to their lands. He was a young Lieutenant posted to the interior where he met Elka, Kayaritomo of the Wai Wai in 1969 .This began a 40-year friendship with the Wai Wai community and leadership during which Major General Singh was a continuous advocate for the community receiving title to their “space.”

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have actually felt my head grow with joy and pride. This happened through the support of my people and not only me. After I get land title I discuss with my people about conservation area and not really sure of what was about to happen, even before the title we were planning to go conservation. This title was granted in 2004 by the president of Guyana, telling me that this is now my land and nobody will take it away from me. We then started to really think seriously around deciding to go conservation, which path we had taken since long before but just in our thoughts. But we were not sure which organization to work with, but we prayed hard for guidance. We decided that we will partner with Conservation International and this is what we wrote to the Government. After three weeks we received an acknowledgment letter from the Office of the President advising the community to go ahead, but also needing an explanation on how the community intends to move forward […] My thoughts about deciding on conservation was not only looking at money but also for the future generation. I want this to continue Figure 1. Toshao Paul Chekema. Photo © Vitus Anall the time into the future even after I die. We have our tone, Conservation International. sons and daughters and the grandchildren coming after us, so this is for them too. So far I think this is happening very well, only to ensure that we keep our important way of life intact, meaning our language more importantly. We realize that we have been losing some important traditions which we will all work to get back through our older people. The best thing to do is to revive this for our own benefit. Coming also with this is that we are already seeing money although very small but so much better than trying to do things on our own. We are serious about developing our ability to manage our lands for the future generations through conservation. I think CI will not lie to us but will work with us to develop our capacity to manage. Already we are receiving a lot of help in the community today. In the community today we now have television sets, engines and so on. I feel that through conservation can come development that we can all be happy about and we are always praying for all that is happening and to work for the best with my people. Paul Chekema, Toshao (Kayaritomo) Excerpt from interview, October 2007 Absolute Title to the Amerindian District of Kanashen, a tract of approximately 625,000 ha in the southernmost part of Guyana, was granted to the Wai Wai people by the President of the Cooperative Republic of Guyana on 10 February 2004. After receiving title, the community, through their leadership, the Ministry of Amerindian Affairs (MoAA) and the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), made a request to Conservation International Foundation (Guyana) Incorporated (CIG), to assist them in developing a plan for the management of their lands as a Community-Owned Conservation Area (C.O.C.A.) in a way that would maintain their traditional relationship with the land and its resources while conserving forests, rivers and wildlife. The community also requested that their C.O.C.A. be recognized as part of a future national protected area system. Their request for assistance resulted in the signing of a Memorandum of
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Cooperation on 1 November, 2004 between the Wai Wai community, Conservation International, and the Government of Guyana, represented by the Ministry of Amerindian Affairs. The memorandum was followed by numerous engagements that paved the way for the development of a management plan for the Kanashen C.O.C.A.

The Wai Wai of Kanashen
The Kanashen Amerindian District that makes up the C.O.C.A. has one community, populated primarily by the Wai Wai people; Masakenari (“Mosquito Place” in the Wai Wai language), which was established in January 2000. In the past, the Wai Wai would periodically change the location of their villages, moving to new areas to farm (shifting cultivation). They have a rich cultural history with many traditions and customs still observed today, and have kept a close spiritual, cultural and social relationship with their environment and its resources. Their primary language is Wai Wai (a Carib language) but they also speak English as a second language for interaction outside the community — with government, partners, and in the educational system. The village of Masakenari has a resident population of approximately 216 in 36 households (August 2009, as reported by Toshao Chekema). The community is primarily Wai Wai but also has a few members of other Amerindian groups, including Wapishana from Guyana and Trio from Suriname. The Wai Wai of Kanashen have a close relationship with the Trio of southern Suriname and with the Wai Wai communities in Brazil, and many families from Kanashen have relatives in Brazil or Suriname. Masakenari, like most other Amerindian communities, has a subsistence economy; the primary activities are farming, hunting, and fishing. The practice of barter is widely used in the community, although the people are undergoing a gradual transition to a cash economy in order to buy clothing, certain foodstuffs, and household items such as cooking utensils. Aside from the few people with permanent employment, the majority of households have only occasional access to cash income. Some community members, mostly men, leave the village part of the year to work as laborers for cash in other parts of Guyana and in Brazil. Many households have family members who have moved permanently outside the community to find employment. Some young people attend secondary school or other educational/training programs. The community has solar powered electricity that provides limited lighting to homes and drives an electric water pump that provides water to several collection points in the community. There is an airstrip 9 km from the village which is useable during the dry season or at least when the ground is dry enough. Masakenari can also be reached by river from Erepoimo (also known as Parabara), the nearest village, by traveling down the Kuyuwini River and then up the Essequibo River. There is a trail connecting the village to Erepoimo. The journey can take up to two weeks when river and trail conditions are optimal. Low water in the dry season or flooded trails during the rainy season can prolong the trip, and at times can isolate the community completely.

Forests and Wildlife
The headwaters of Guyana’s largest river, the Essequibo, are in the Kanashen District, encompassing the southern portion of its watershed, drained by the Kassikaityu, Kamoa, Sipu and Chodikar rivers. The biology of the Kanashen district is relatively unstudied, with the flora being best known to date. The area is characterized by tall evergreen highland forest and tall/medium evergreen lower montane forest, with small areas of tall evergreen flooded riparian forest and lowland shrub savanna (Huber et al. 1995). Many plants are found only in the area (endemic). The wildlife there is typical of the Amazon, including game species important for the Wai Wai. such as tapir (Tapirus terrestris), peccaries (Tayassu and Pecari), forest deer (Mazama) and the larger primates of the Guiana Shield, such as the Guianan spider money (Ateles
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paniscus), the Red howler monkey (Alouatta macconnelli) the Guianan bearded saki (Chiropotes sagulatus) and Guianan capuchin monkey (Cebus apella) (de Thoisy and Dewynter undated; Mittermeier et al. 2008) along with threatened and rare species such as the Giant armadillo (Priodontes maximus), giant river otter (Pteronura brasiliensis) (see Eisenberg, 1989), Cock of the Rock (Rupicola rupicola), and harpy eagle (Harpia harpyja). Jaguar (Panthera onca) and other forest cats are notably abundant in this remote region. Sanderson et al. (2008) predicted the presence of at least 42 mammals in the area, and during a short survey in October 2006, recorded 21. The two sites surveyed by Sanderson et al. are used as hunting areas by the Wai Wai during two weeks of the year, but were otherwise found to be pristine and undisturbed and with the full complement of the large mammal species characteristic of the Guayana Shield. Results of community-based bird surveys at three sites recorded 117 species, approximately 14% of the total recorded for Guyana (see Braun et al. 2007; Robbins et al. 2007). A rapid biological assessment expedition to the region in 2006 increased the number to 319, including 27 Guayana Shield endemics (Alonso et al. 2008; O’Shea 2008a, 2008b). The survey was short (three weeks) and O’Shea considered that a more realistic species count would come to at least 400 species. The birds observed included the Large-headed Flatbill (Ramphotrigon megacephalum), a first for Guyana and a range extension of more than 900 km. O’Shea (2008) recorded 14 species of parrots, and indicated that populations

Figure 2. The Kanashen District in southern Guyana, showing the area comprising the Wai Wai titled lands and their C.O.C.A. Map © Conservation International.

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of parrots and macaws, Spix’s guan (Penelope jacquacu), and Black Curassow (Crax alector), all of which are important to the Wai Wai, seemed healthy. There is also high fish diversity — more than 100 species (in a short survey, they recorded 113, of six orders, and 27 families), many of which are found only in the Essequibo River (Lasso et al. 2008). The herpetofauna includes 26 species of amphibians and 34 reptiles (Señaris et al. 2008). Señaris et al. (2008) found an aquatic lizard, a snake (Helicops) and a caecilian which they believe to be undescribed species, and found the area they surveyed to be “intact and in pristine condition.” Populations of caiman and turtles (part of the Wai Wai diet) in the Essequibo River near to the villages of Masakenari and Akutopono were found to be reduced, but populations of other reptiles were healthy (Señaris et al. 2008).

Figure 3. The village of Masakenari on the upper Essequibo River, southern Guyana. Photo © Vitus Antone, Conservation International.

Opportunities and Challenges in the Management of the C.O.C.A.
The near-pristine condition and large size of the area presents a tremendous opportunity for biological research and wildlife studies and, with wise management by the Wai Wai, for the sustainable use of rich natural resources. The C.O.C.A. has the potential to play an important role in the protection of the upper reaches of the Essequibo Basin and to be an element for a network of connected protected areas in the Guayana Shield. Threats to the wildlife and forests of the area arise mostly from natural resource extraction and wildlife trade. The community is becoming increasingly aware of the potential effects of these practices on the health of their resources, and plans to manage them in a sustainable way through the C.O.C.A. Management Plan.

The Vision and Goals of the C.O.C.A.
The people of Masakenari developed a specific vision for the conservation and management of the C.O.C.A. and drew up a series of goals to achieve it. The vision they state as follows: “Our lands are managed in a way that preserves the biodiversity, our traditions and our way of life, while providing for both community and family development.” The community has long-established principles and traditions of stewardship of their lands, but also recognized that they needed to express their ideas and beliefs in ways that people outside their community, notably government and NGOs, could understand. They were supported in this process by the staff of Conservation International-Guyana, who over numerous engagements, helped the community to put their vision and goals into words and to define a structure that would connect the C.O.C.A. to national and international conservation tenets and mechanisms. Members of the community worked tirelessly to express these concepts in both Wai Wai and English. This was a communal effort, with many meetings held to discuss how best to define new concepts in a way that could be expressed meaningfully in both languages. The vision and goals of the C.O.C.A. are expressed here in both Wai Wai and English.

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The Vision Statement for the Kanashen C.O.C.A.
“Pasha rma-ewto poko kesehtînotopociitopo poko marha. On wara xa oyewton iixa wasi amne kacho.” “Our lands are managed in a way that preserves the biodiversity, our traditions and our way of life, while providing for both community and family development.”

The vision developed by the members of the Wai Wai community indicates that while conservation of biodiversity is an important goal of the C.O.C.A., preserving their way of life and building strong family and community development are also driving factors in their decision to form this conservation area. The community and family development components encompass sustaining livelihoods, promoting stability in population, income generation, and other non-monetary benefits such as improved access to health care and better education. The Wai Wai of Kanashen want to use their natural heritage to encourage their families to remain intact on the community’s land — to provide social and economic development for their young people through the management Figure 4. Toshao Paul Chekema works with community leaders to define of the C.O.C.A. so they do not have to leave the comgoals and objectives for the C.O.C.A. Photo © Vitus Antone, Conservation munity to seek these opportunities elsewhere. International. The community established six goals for the C.O.C.A. that will help them achieve their long-term vision for their lands — keeping their biodiversity, maintaining their traditions and ways of life, developing their community, and providing opportunities for benefits for families and individuals. In order to become part of a national legal framework and have access to necessary resources to support activities, the goals of the C.O.C.A. also include becoming part of a future national protected area system and the attainment of long-term financial sustainability. The following paragraphs describe the objectives and approaches for achieving the goals of the Management Plan.
Keeping Biodiversity (Chemyapore cîîtopo Kiwyaso Ahnoro Roowo Pono Komo)

The Wai Wai community is a highly organized group, keen on developing opportunities to manage their lands well and in a way that maintains their natural resources and provides opportunities for the development of their community. The community recognizes that their lands contain unique ecosystems and biodiversity that are not only important for maintaining their way of life, but also as part of Guyana’s national patrimony and the world’s biodiversity. Since the headwaters of the mighty Essequibo River lie within the Kanashen C.O.C.A., the care of this region is of major importance to all of Guyana. For the conservation of the natural resources of the C.O.C.A., it will be important to understand how they are currently used, the types and levels of future use that will contribute to the long-term vision of the C.O.C.A., and to establish guidelines for management and monitoring.
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Preservation of Traditions and Ways of Life (Pahsa kehtoponho komo kirwanhe ciitopo kiwyaso miroro)

The Wai Wai of Kanashen seek to manage their lands in a way that maintains their natural heritage, which includes important traditions and ways of living that are bound up with the health of their natural resources. They wish to develop and progress while maintaining the essential spirit of their way of life. Two areas Figure 5. Left: Preparing a traditional beverage from the fruit of the turu are described by the community as important to palm. Right: Recording names, uses and materials for traditional ornaments. Photos © Vitus Antone, Conservation International. strengthen the knowledge of their language, their history, and traditions. The first is the preservation of traditional ways of life, including indigenous knowledge and practice, taking in the following aspects: • continuation of the communal way of hunting, fishing, and gathering for special community occasions, and the maintenance of the traditional ways of farming, working, playing and sharing of food, songs and stories together; passing on knowledge about the use of sustainable harvesting practices to preserve resources for the future; ensuring that the community preserves its knowledge on how to make and use the bow and arrow and to build traditional houses, boats, and paddles, and also safeguards its expertise in other crafts such as weaving and the confection of graters, stools and combs; the need for elders to teach the younger generation regarding the names of plants and animals, the use of medicinal plants, and the traditional ways that they use and manage their natural resources; integrating traditional methods with modern scientific knowledge for natural resource management, with full respect for intellectual property rights pertaining to indigenous knowledge.

• •





Kaiweh Shu Shu, a village elder, relates memories of villages life, culture, and traditional implements used in hunting, fishing and farming: Years ago my parents and I used to live in Brazil. That is where my grandparents lived. There my parents did not have any tools to do their agriculture, no fishing line and hooks to catch fish. They used hog teeth and sometimes agouti or labba teeth for the knives to sharpen their arrow points, neither any axe for felling trees for their farm. They only had stone axes to chop down a tree and it takes time to cut down one tree. Where they lived they had a big benab house, the whole family lived there together, and inside the building they used to have feasting and dancing. Next to it they had a smaller building that was especially for men only. Every morning at three o’clock in the morning they would go over to the house to play their flute and play their drums. Kaiweh Shu Shu, Village Elder Excerpt from interview, October 2007
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Table 1. An excerpt from the glossary of terms developed to express terminology related to the C.O.C.A. management planning process in Wai Wai.

English word or phrase

Meaning in English

Wai Wai Word or phrase

Meaning in Wai Wai

Capacity Building

Making sure the people have the knowledge, skills and understanding to manage the C.O.C.A. Persons working together to do something

Tooto Panatanmacho

Kirwautaw, yaronomexa tooto komo Yîhtinotome ahce na cîîtopo poko takîhso ewto cîîtome Tooto komo ñetapichkexe îîtore ahce na cîîtome Ewto newyumar makî tan roowo yînenîrî matha. Mîk hakî komo Ehcamnopura ehtome, kehtopo kom echamnopura ehtome marha.

Collaborators Community Conserved Area

A community conserved area Ewto Newyumar Roowo is a kind of protected area Pokono that is owned by local communities and voluntarily conserved to protect biodiversity and cultural values, through traditional or local laws

The second area identified by the community was the importance of improving literacy in the Wai Wai language. The community members recognized the need to preserve Wai Wai as a living language by increasing its use and the overall literacy of the community in the language through a training program for community members. The preservation of the Wai Wai language has been an integral part of all of CI–Guyana’s collaboration with the community of Masakenari. Table 1 is an excerpt from the glossary of terms developed to express terminology related to the C.O.C.A. management planning process in Wai Wai.
Community development (Ewto yakir wamati kacho)

Through the C.O.C.A., the community will manage its natural resources in a sustainable way that will generate benefits for the community as a whole. Several areas of priority action were identified to improve the overall health and well being of the village, mainly in improving essential services such as healthcare and education, communication, and transportation. Ayaw Kuyuma, a church Elder in the community describes his thoughts on community development brought through the C.O.C.A.: I must say how happy I am when conservation was the way taken by the community and since this has started I can see a lot of improvement in the community. Today members of this community have started to feel better and everyone is seeing the things we have never seen before. Puranta (money) is coming and so I feel that conservation has been a good path taken by us the people of this community. Ayaw Kuyume, Church Elder Excerpt from interview, October 2007

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Family development (Ahnoro mîîmo yawno yakirwamacho)

The people of Kanashen seek to provide livelihood opportunities for families and individuals that help people to stay in their community rather than being forced to leave for seasonal or permanent employment to meet their cash needs. They want to be sure that income-generating activities are managed in a sustainable way, so that resources will remain available to the community for the long term. Both the resources and the management of the C.O.C.A. itself can provide opportunities to generate employment and income opportunities for the families and individuals living within it. As Salome Shu Shu, one of the teachers in the village school describes: “… the community is developing through C.O.C.A., through CI there are opportunities in the community, the people are happy and are willing to work for money. [There is] training in the community — example the women learning to sew, the rangers are trained. CI is also assisting the school club and the children are willing to work and learn along with the rangers. A change that is taking place in the community is development but the people are happy to go for development.” Salome Shu Shu, Teacher Excerpt from interview, October 2007 A group of six community members completed training in late 2006 and became the first Community Ranger team employed by the C.O.C.A. Community Ranger candidates are selected by the C.O.C.A. Management Team and complete an extensive training program in natural resource use, science, legislation and social issues related to environmental management. They are leading the community research and monitoring activities defined in the management plan, and will enforce regulations established by the C.O.C.A. Management Team. They are working to monitor both water quality and weather patterns in the C.O.C.A., and are gathering data on fish populations. They will also assist visiting scientists as para-biologists, and contribute to environmental awareness activities. Kaiweh Shu Shu, village elder, comments on the ranger training program:

Figure 6. Community Rangers monitoring fish stocks. Photo © Vitus Antone, Conservation International.

We also ask for conservation area for our large area which I am proud about. We have asked CI–Guyana to train rangers so that they can do patrolling in the area in case any intruders come in. Since this has started I can see more development in the community than before but our culture is the same which we will continue. Kaiweh Shu Shu, Village Elder Excerpt from interview, October 2007

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Participation in a future national protected area system (Roowo yewyomane komo yakro kehtopo komo iitore miyaroro)

The Wai Wai community wishes their C.O.C.A. to be recognized as part of, and to be supported by, a national protected area system in Guyana. The C.O.C.A., which will be managed and formulated in accordance with and in the spirit of IUCN guidelines for Community Conserved Areas, will serve as a model for other communities that are interested in establishing their own community conservation areas.
Financial sustainability (Puranta)

Access to long-term financial resources is essential to the success of the C.O.C.A. A protected areas trust fund or similar long-term and sustainable financial mechanism will be needed to provide secure financing for the C.O.C.A. Discussions concerning this are ongoing. In addition, a long-term fundraising strategy will be designed and implemented to procure the resources needed to fulfill the goals and objectives of the C.O.C.A. For the present, CI–Guyana has assisted the community in obtaining other grant commitments to provide initial funding for the management of the C.O.C.A.

Management Structure (Takhîso cîîtopo) of the C.O.C.A.
Governance

For centuries the Wai Wai have been effective environmental stewards of their lands. The intact condition of the C.O.C.A. provides a living testimony to this stewardship. The Village Council headed by the Toshao manages all community affairs. However, management of natural resources for biodiversity conservation and sustainable development in collaboration

Figure 7. Kanashen C.O.C.A. Governance Structure (Management Plan of the Kanashen C.O.C.A., December 2006).

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with national and global processes calls for innovations and new skills. The official Guyanese system of village governance, strengthened by continued ties to traditional community leadership and participation will serve as the basis of the C.O.C.A. management system, with additional governing components added to address specific management needs related to the goals and objectives of the C.O.C.A. Figure 7 shows the governance of the Kanashen C.O.C.A. The official governing structure (shown in green) is composed of the Toshao and Council and community as a whole. Other village leaders and elders (idenFigure 8. Former Toshao Cemce Suse working in the C.O.C.A. office. tified in yellow) provide additional support to the village Photo © Curtis Bernard, Conservation International. council. Government agencies providing support from outside the community are shown in mauve. Elements added to the existing community governance structure to fill new needs for managing the C.O.C.A. are shown in orange. The community has integrated new needs for the C.O.C.A. management into their existing system of community governance. This creates a seamless integration of the new management elements and maintains the existing lines of authority and community participation. But traditional governance has also embraced modern technology where it can contribute to effective management and to achieving the goals of the C.O.C.A. The community has expanded its system of financial management, creating a full time position to manage the C.O.C.A.’s record keeping and finances. In September 2008, the community also completed the construction of a C.O.C.A. Management office, with a satellite internet connection and computer technology that establishes access to information and more effective communication with the rest of Guyana and the world.
Rules and regulations

Building on existing community rules and regulations, and applicable provisions of the Amerindian Act of 2006, the C.O.C.A. Management Team has developed an appropriate set of rules regarding the use of resources in specific areas and regulating access to the C.O.C.A. area by people from outside the community. The Rules and Regulations were submitted to the Guyana Parliament and were the first set of village rules to be gazetted into law on 26 September 2007. The regulations will be implemented and enforced by the C.O.C.A. Management Team, within the powers of the Toshao and Council, and according to the laws of Guyana and the community’s rights as landowners. Former Toshao, Cemce Suse, described the community decision-making process in a paper submitted to the 8th Wilderness Congress held in Anchorage, Alaska, in 2005, as follows: “Permission has to be given to visit the area; we make a plan with the villagers and consult with them [asking] ‘What do you decide?’.” Some will agree and some will ask what are they coming to do? After all agree, we will make another plan on how to deal with them [visitors] when they arrive. The village council will keep meeting about what they are coming to do and make a plan, if we have accommodation and so on, we will set out the charges. When they decide that the visitors can come we will choose the guide leader… All decisions are made at a council.” James Cemce Suse, October 2005
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Capacity-building

Capacity-building is a critical supporting activity, necessary to ensure that the goals and objectives of the management plan are achieved. The C.O.C.A. Management Team, in collaboration with the relevant agencies of the Government of Guyana as well as existing Guyanan non-governmental partners, will conduct training needs assessments on an ongoing basis in order to develop a program that will refine and develop the relevant skill areas required for the effective implementation of the management plan. Due to the remoteness of the community and difficult access and communication, it is imperative that training equip the community and C.O.C.A. leadership for independent management and action. The components of this long-term capacity-building approach are: environmental awareness, technical-skill building, and exchanges of learning and experience. Ensuring that training opportunities will be made available throughout the community to interested parties is a key part of the approach to capacity building. Men, women, youths, and community elders will have access to training programs. The exchange of skills, especially between elders and youths, Figure 9. Community environmental education class in bird observation and identification. Photo © Vitus Antone, Conservation International. will be encouraged in the community.
Environmental awareness

An environmental education program will increase the community’s awareness of the value of environmental services provided by the C.O.C.A. so that they can incorporate best practices into their socio-economic plans and identify any emerging threats to the area. The youths of the community (future guardians of the area) will be involved in conservation-related activities — youths often function as the medium of new information flow to the other members of their families, particularly the elders. Relevant awareness tools will be developed for the entire community, and over the long term the environmental awareness program will target not just residents of the C.O.C.A. but also the visitors.
Development of technical skills

In addition to building upon the set of skills required to manage the C.O.C.A., a technical skills development program is essential to support each of the C.O.C.A. management plan goals and objectives. Community members have already been trained in financial management, computer skills, and income generation activities.
Exchange of learning and experience

A program of national and international exchange visits will provide opportunities for members of the C.O.C.A. Community and Management Team and External Partners to share their experience and learning as well as to learn from other communities’ successes and challenges in formulating and implementing management plans and processes. In October 2007, Cemce Suse, the Toshao at that time, attended the IUCN Latin American Parks Congress in Bariloche, Argentina, where he gave a presentation on establishing the C.O.C.A. He also attended the 2008 World
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Conservation Congress in Barcelona, Spain. These interactions connect the Wai Wai C.O.C.A. to conservation initiatives around the world and provide the opportunity to connect with indigenous leaders from other countries to discuss issues related to conservation and development and to share approaches and learning.

Conclusion
The Kanashen C.O.C.A. is the first entity of its kind in Guyana. Understanding how well the management process and plan perform toward achieving the goals and objectives of the C.O.C.A. will help the Management Team and the community to learn from experience and adapt their Management Plan when necessary to improve performance or meet new challenges and opportunities. The experience of the C.O.C.A. will provide valuable learning to other community conservation initiatives in Guyana, as well as for other indigenous communities seeking to manage their lands for both conservation and development while seeking to preserve their cultural traditions and ways of life. This work has not only been about the conservation values of the Wai Wai of Kanashen, but also about recognition of their rights to their lands and for themselves as a people with an important role in Guyanese society. They are not only guardians of a unique culture, language and way of life, they are guardians of an important tract of forest with habitats for much of Guyana’s biodiversity. The Wai Wai of Kanashen have been able to maintain many traditional values — and to transfer those values to new ways of living. They have embraced a new expression of their spiritualism and many modern ways while maintaining their value and respect for the land, their elders, and their community traditions. The Wai Wai of Kanashen are pleased to share with others the story of how they have achieved ownership of their lands, recognition for their traditions and culture, and effective management of their lands for current and future generations. The words of Yowkaru Mawasha, an advisor to the Village council, testify to the continuing commitment to stewardship passed from the elders of the past to the forward thinking community of today:

Conservation in this area has not been a new one. Our way of life was conservation. Even before thinking about title to land our closeness with the environment has a spiritual connection. Our elders lived and died thinking that what they did to the environment would be left for their sons and daughters and their sons and daughters. This was surely spoken of by our great leader Elka when he was our leader decades ago. Yowkaru Mawasha, Advisor to the Village Council Excerpt from interview, October 2007

Acknowledgments
This article is a collaborative effort by members of the Wai Wai community of Masakenari, staff of CI–Guyana, and the Indigenous and Traditional Peoples Program of Conservation International in Arlington, Virginia, USA. It is based entirely on the collective inputs of the members of the community of Masakenari into their management planning process. Several individuals shared their insights into this process through personal interviews conducted by CI–Guyana staff in October 2007, including: Paul Chekema (Toshao [Kayaritomo]), Maripa Marawanaru (a village councilor and elder), Yowkaru Mawasha (advisor to the Village Council), James Cemce Suse (former Toshao
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and member of the C.O.C.A. management team), Kaiweh Shu Shu (village elder), Salome Shu Shu (teacher), Ayaw Kuyume (Church Elder), Kimikiu Marawanaru (Village Elder) and Chawa Shu Suh (Village Elder). Several current and former CI–Guyana staff members have worked extensively with the Wai Wai community both in the management planning process and in capacity building activities: Eustace Alexander (Manager of Conservation Science), Vitus Antone (Photographer and Field Programme Assistant), Natalie Victoriano (Field Programme Assistant), Gillian Alfred (Community Development Officer), and Patricia Fredericks (Education and Awareness Officer). Also advising on the organization of the management plan and defining of community development goals was Dianna Darsney, a participant in the USAID Emerging Markets Development Advisor Program working with CI–Guyana.

Literature Cited
Alonso. L., McCullough, J., Naskrecki, P., Alexander, P.E. and Wright, H.E. (eds.). 2008. A Rapid Biological Assessment of the Konashen Community-Owned Conservation Area, Southern Guyana. RAP Bulletin of Biological Assessment (51): 90pp. Rapid Assessment Program, Center for Applied Biodiversity Science, Conservation International, Arlington, VA. Braun, M.J., Finch, D.W., Robbins, M.B. and Schmidt, B.K. 2007. A Field Checklist of the Birds of Guyana. 2nd edition. Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Website: . Accessed: 20 August 2008. de Thoisy, B. and Dewynter, M. Undated. Les Primates de Guyane. Collection Nature Guyanaise, Société d’Etude, de Protection et d’Aménagement de la Nature en Guyane (Sepanguy), Cayenne. Eisenberg, J.F. 1989. Mammals of the Neotropics. The Northern Neotropics. Volume 1. Panama, Colombia, Venezuela, Guyana, Suriname, French Guiana. The Chicago University Press, Chicago. FAO. 2001. Global Forest Resources Assessment 2000. FAO Forestry Paper 140. Food and Agriculture Organisation (FAO), Rome. Hammond, D.S. 2005. Ancient land in a modern world. In: Tropical Forests of the Guiana Shield: Ancient Forests in a Modern World, D.S. Hammond (ed.), pp.1–14. CABI Publishing, Wallingford, UK. Huber, O., Gharbarran, G. and Funk, V. 1995. Vegetation Map of Guyana. Preliminary version. Center for the Study of Biological Diversity, University of Guyana, Georgetown. Mittermeier, R.A., Rylands, A.B., Van Roosmalen, M.G.M., Norconk, M.A., Konstant, W.R. and Famolare, L. 2008. Monkeys of the Guianas: Guyana, Suriname, French Guiana. Pocket Identification Guide. Conservation International Tropical Pocket Guide Series, Conservation International, Arlington, VA. Robbins, M.B., Braun, M.J., Milensky, C.M., Schmidt, B.K., Prince, W., Rice, N.H., Finch, D.W. and O’Shea, B.J. 2007. Avifauna of the Upper Essequibo River and Acary Mountains, southern Guyana. Ornitologia Neotropical 18: 339–368. O’Shea, B.J. 2008a. Birds of the Konashen C.O.C.A., southern Guyana. In: A Rapid Biological Assessment of the Konashen Community Owned Conservation Area, Southern Guyana, L. E. Alonso, J. McCullough, P. Naskrecki, E. Alexander and H.E. Wright (eds.), RAP Bulletin of Biological Assessment 51: 63–68. Conservation International, Arlington, VA. O’Shea, B.J. 2008b. Preliminary bird species checklist of the Konashen C.O.C.A., southern Guyana. In: A Rapid Biological Assessment of the Konashen Community Owned Conservation Area, Southern Guyana, L.E. Alonso, J. McCullough, P. Naskrecki, E. Alexander and H.E. Wright (eds.), RAP Bulletin of Biological Assessment 51: 78–86. Conservation International, Arlington, VA.

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Lasso, C.A., Hernández-Acevedo, J., Alexander, E., Señaris, J.C., Mesa, L., Samudio, H., Mora-Day, J., Magalhães, C., Shushu, A., Mauruwanaru, E. and Shoni, R. 2008. Aquatic biota: fishes, decapod crustaceans and mollusks of the upper Essequibo Basin (Konashen C.O.C.A.), southern Guyana. In: A Rapid Biological Assessment of the Konashen Community Owned Conservation Area, Southern Guyana, L.E. Alonso, J. McCullough, P. Naskrecki, E. Alexander and H. E. Wright (eds.), RAP Bulletin of Biological Assessment 51: 43–54. Conservation International, Arlington, VA. Señaris, J.C., Lasso, C.A., Rivas, G., Kalamandeen M. and Marawanuru, E. 2008. Amphibians and reptiles of the Acarai Mountains, and Sipu, Kamopa, and Essequibo rivers in the Konashen C.O.C.A., Guyana. In: A Rapid Biological Assessment of the Konashen Community Owned Conservation Area, Southern Guyana, L.E. Alonso, J. McCullough, P. Naskrecki, E. Alexander and H.E. Wright (eds.), RAP Bulletin of Biological Assessment 51: 55–62. Conservation International, Arlington, VA.

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NEW CALEDONIA

Biodiversity Management in New Caledonia: The Co-management Conservation The Co-management Project in the Mount Panié Reserve Conservation Project in the Mount Panié Reserve
Henri Blaffart †, Djaek Folger and François Tron

Quick Facts
Country: New Caledonia Geographic Focus: The Mount Panié Reserve, in the Hyehen district in the northeast of the island of Grande-Terre Indigenous Peoples: The Kanak live in clans and are descendants from Austronesians who have lived in New Caledonia for 3,500 years.

“The land is first, it is us. Without the returns of our land, we remain a people without roots and without our identity.” Rock Pidjot 1

Introduction
Since 2002, the Mount Panié Wilderness Reserve Co-management Conservation Project, a pilot conservation program, has received support from the government of the Northern Province of New Caledonia and from Conservation International’s offices in New Caledonia and Samoa. The project’s objective is to preserve the region’s biodiversity with the full participation of, and emphasis on the benefits to, the area’s indigenous Kanak communities. The Mount Panié Reserve is in the Hyehen district in the northeast of the island of Grande Terre. At 1,629 m, Panié is the highest point in the country. The mountain slopes are very steep and the range plunges directly into the lagoon: the New Caledonia Lagoons World Heritage Site, inscribed in 2008 (UNESCO 2008). The reserve is in a 35,000-ha rainforest; the largest in the country. Here we report on the management of this reserve and the participation of the local population.

Author Information
Henri Blaffart (1965–2008) was a Belgian conservationist and environmentalist. He graduated from the Faculty of Agronomic Science of Gembloux in Belgium in 1990 with a degree in agronomy, and subsequently worked on various conservation projects in Ethiopia, Cambodia, Samoa and Papua New Guinea. In 2002, with the support of Province Nord, the Maruia Trust and Conservation International, Blaffart began working with the Kanak communities living around the Mt Panié Wilderness Reserve, supporting the creation of the Dayu Biik association in 2004. Henri Blaffart drowned while trying to cross the Tiendanite River in Province nord on 21 March 2008. See McKenna et al. (2009; p.184). Djaek Folger is a young Kanak from a local tribe who followed Henri Blaffart in the forest for several years. Djaek went to New Zealand for training in ecotourism business and pest control in protected areas by indigenous Maoris and scientists from the Department of Conservation. Djaek is now a full time staff member of Dayu Biik. E-mail : djaekvaltieda@gmail.com François Tron is an Agricultural Engineer, He is currently working as Team leader for Province Nord for Conservation International’s New Caledonia regional program in Hyehen. E-mail: f.tron@conservation.org

Background
At 17,000 km², the island of New Caledonia, in the south-west Pacific, is the smallest of the 34 biodiversity hotspots; 3,700 plant species have been documented on the islands, 80% of them endemic (Lowry et al. 2004). The North-East New Caledonian Corridor (Fig. 1) includes coastal and montane rainforest, degraded savannah and lagoons. The

1 Rock Pidjot (1907–1990) was an important political leader promoting New Caledonia independence, and member of the Parliament in France from 1964 to 1986. See http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rock_Pidjot

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Mount Panié massif has a remarkable degree of microendemism. Traditional low-density and culturally rich Melanesian communities have maintained a close relationship with the ecosystems and wildlife of this region; they have depended on them for thousands of years. Conservation International’s strategy for conserving the New Caledonia “islandscape” was developed after a multisite terrestrial RAP in 1996, when Province Nord public authorities invited Conservation International to initiate a field conservation project in the Mount Panié Reserve (Lees 1998). In 2002, the first permanent field staff, the late Henri Blaffart, settled in Tiendanite tribe to initiate consultations and operations. Conservation Figure 1. World Heritage Site zoning and terrestrial buffer zones, integrating the 40-miles-long Mount Panié massif, including coastal and International’s strategy included the development of a montane rainforest, degraded savannah, mangroves and lagoons. Proridge-to-reef conservation approach, at the same time tection of the integrity and continuity of this “islandscape” has been a major focus of Conservation International’s program since 1996 for conencouraging the development of sustainable economies, serving the remarkable degree of terrestrial micro-endemism and worldecotourism and ecological agriculture. This strategy fits class reefs of this North-East New Caledonian Corridor (Lees 1998). well with the political agenda of the region in promoting the maintenance of rich, lively and adaptive local communities and their unique culture through conservation and ecotourism. Co-management means the active involvement of all local communities, led by their customary chiefs, public authorities endowing environmental stewardship, and NGOs. Austronesians from Asia were the first humans to walk on New Caledonian soil 3,500 years ago. The population developed its own culture, characterized by the production of Lapita pottery. The Lapita civilization subsequently spread from New Caledonia to Pacific islands further to the east. Until the arrival of Europeans, the people were organized in clans that each had their own lands. Clans were headed by chiefs who reigned over various territories. There was no global organization, which is reflected in the 28 different Melanesian languages that are still spoken in New Caledonia. Melanesians united only when faced with European colonization, and the term “Kanak” was born, from the Hawaiian word “Kanaka” which means “black man.” European navigators applied it to the indigenous populations of Melanesia. From the 1960s, New Caledonian indigenous peoples appropriated the name, and today it has become one of the symbols of their cultural and political claims. The Kanak call their country “Kanaky.”

Making Contact with the Kanak Peoples
The strategy adopted in the Mount Panié conservation and co-management pilot project is still relevant today, and continues to influence other conservation projects in the country, especially in its involvement of local communities in the management processes. Meeting community authorities and making contact with the local populations is mandatory. It allows for an assessment and understanding of their interests and knowledge, and also provides vital insights to their nature and ways, particularly as they relate to the natural world and conservation. A Kanak strongly identifies himself with the land, and his secret Kanak name is linked to a well-defined area of land. On the death of the landowner, the land returns to the clan. No other authority has any property rights, and the clan alone decides how land is used. Based

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on this understanding, Conservation International’s first step for the conservation project in the Mount Panié Reserve was to contact the clan chiefs who lived there. Beginning in 2002, Conservation International was careful to identify all of the clans in the four tribes living around and in the Mount Panié reserve, and conducted a series of environmental surveys with each. The surveys made it possible to make contact with all of the inhabitants, to assess their environmental knowledge, to explore the interactions between individuals, the community and the wider environment, and to explain the objectives of the conservation project. Over the following year, while compiling and analyzing the survey material, efforts were made to raise awareness, explore the social context, and conduct field surveys prior to the drafting of a co-management project. This work was only possible by living with the Kanak population.

Figure 2. The mountain range includes New Caledonia’s highest point, Mount Panié, elevation 5,341 feet (1,629 m). The Mount Panié Reserve, protecting also part of the best remaining forest block on the island, is outlined in blue.

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The Local Management Association “Dayu Biik”
Conservation International and the community leaders determined the appropriate structure for a co-management plan after a reconnaissance trip to New Zealand and the Province Nord. This led to the creation, in April 2004, of the Dayu Biik Association. Dayu Biik is the local name for the Kaori tree (Agathis montana, Araucariaceae), a conifer endemic to Mount Panié. Of the 41 species of conifers on New Caledonia (7% of all conifers) — the Kaori trees are the kings of the New Caledonian forest, with some reaching a trunk circumference of 10 m. The principal objective of the Association was defined as follows: “In the designated area, and based on the decisions of the Provincial Assembly, of the Council of the district of Hyehen, and of the Council of Elders of each tribe, the Association has the objective to create and implement a management plan for environmental protection in general and for the conservation of defined ecosystems and biological species in particular.” Since then, the Province Nord public authority has regularly increased its funding; in 2010, three permanent staff and many temporary employees are implementing pilot actions in various fields. Two of the staff members are young Kanak from the local tribes who were trained in the early years of the project. Since its inception, the Association has benefited from technical and financial support from Conservation International. The late Henri Blaffart, a key figure in the Association from 2002 to 2008, was drowned in a flood; his life in the tribe and with the people led to the vital trust now held between local Kanak and white people, only 15 years after a civil war between these two communities (see McKenna et al. 2009, p.184)

Mount Panié Wilderness Reserve Co-management Conservation Project
First steps

Based on the results of the surveys mentioned above and following a number of meetings of the Dayu Biik Association, conservation and ecotourism were identified as the two main initial components. They are linked. With its beautiful landscapes, Hyehen was an obvious ‘must-see’ on any visitor’s itinerary, and since the district has only 2,400 inhabitants, small-scale ecotourism could well sustain the livelihoods of many of the households. Delighted tourists would then communicate a strong conservation awareness message to the tribes. Ecotourism is impossible, however, without the appropriate infrastructure and logistic facilities for nature exploration. Reserve managers would need to maintain nature trails and refuges, and ecotourism guides need to be trained. Local people were trained in dealing with tourists and in the sorts of information which the tourists would expect to receive. The conservation component includes the control of invasive species (for example introduced deer, pigs, rats, cats, pines, and fire ants), fire management, and forest restoration. The initial demonstrative projects on the control of rats and pigs and on particular ecotourism initiatives allowed Dayu Biik to recruit many local staff and foster their trust. This practical side of the work in the early years, responding very pragmatically to the perceptions and needs of local people, has been crucial to initiate a sense of a shared and practical stewardship, governance and co-management of the local exceptional biodiversity.
Ecotourism

From 2005 to 2007, four themes were developed for the Ecotourism component of the Co-management Conservation Project in Mount Panié. They were: 1) creating a system of hikes and refuges, with informative signage along the trails; 2) establishing accommodation with local people; 3) training guides; and 4) improving conservation awareness. The Association has made significant progress in developing an infrastructure for hiking: 12 trails were set up totaling about 150 km, two refuges and picnic facilities were built, informative signs were prepared and placed, and cost estimates
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prepared for three campgrounds and a forest welcome center. Six youths were trained as hiking guides. An important part of the Association’s work is to organize the tourists’ visits; work that capitalizes on the infrastructure and the guides’ knowledge, and generates significant income for the local people. In 2006, following a preliminary survey with substantial involvement of the Association, the Province Nord and the town of Hyehen started a concerted development operation focusing on sustainable activities (notably ecotourism) and the conservation of the biological, cultural and historical heritage through the creation of a natural park — a major contribution to biodiversity conservation in the region. Dayu Biik consulted with the team in charge of the ecotourism operation to develop the following goals for the project: improve the organization of ecotourism visits; train the staff of the tourist center; help create a transportation network for tourists and locals; and support the installation of a telephone network. Conservation International and Dayu Biik provided the project with a list of 60 suggested ecotourism microprojects, which included a nature center in the middle of the village. The construction of a nature center is now underway and is projected to open in 2013. To develop a successful tourism industry, it is crucial to train young Kanaks. Most young people leave school too early, and subsequently find it difficult to realize their ambitions of obtaining qualifications and getting ahead in the increasingly modern society of New Caledonia. Some young Kanaks underwent short training sessions as guides, but would have benefited from receiving some sort of formal certification. The Association is now collaborating with the Province Nord to develop training courses that lead to certification, a reciprocally beneficial process. Local students who get a higher education and have the capacity to manage a project are very rare. Furthermore, it is important to trust all people, young and old, with new responsibilities so that they can increasingly participate in project management.
Conservation science

Since the creation of the Dayu Biik Association, many scientific expeditions have been led in the reserve, with systematic participation of the local guides. This benefits both parties; the local population learns from the researchers, and the Kanak people, with their local environmental knowledge, contribute significantly to the success of these expeditions. Since its inception, Dayu Biik and the local Kanak population have contributed to studies on the inventory of rainforest birds and seabirds of the Province Nord carried out by the New Caledonian Society of Ornithology (Société Calédonienne d’Ornithologie – SCO), to studies on bats with the New Caledonia Agronomic Institute (Institut Agronomique Néo-Calédonien – IAC), to research on hunting by the IAC, and to various botanical and entomological surveys undertaken by the French Development Research Institute (Institut de Recherche pour le Développement – IRD). Local collaborators in these studies were trained and are now able to work in the field independently. Many of them are regularly employed by the same researchers for missions all over the country. Schools have also become involved in these activities and produce exhibits, signs, and brochures. The new infrastructure facilitated the work of researchers and improved their exploration. Dozens of insects and plants were discovered during these surveys, many of them new to science. Many local people also participated in a Marine Rapid Assessment (RAP) of the reef biodiversity around Mt. Panié, conducted by Conservation International in 2004 (McKenna et al. 2006). Supported by the results of this RAP, the Lagoons of New Caledonia and Associated Ecosystems (1,574,300 ha), comprising six clusters of coral reefs and one of the three most extensive reef systems in the world, was decreed a UNESCO Marine World Heritage site in 2008. The RAP expedition and the creation of the World Heritage site inspired the province to begin creating protected marine areas. Since then, two other marine RAPs have been conducted in Province Nord (McKenna et al. 2009) and, being such a vital asset to conservation planning, several others (both on land and sea) are now planned. Eight years of involvement in these surveys by Conservation International and Dayu Biik have led to excellent relations with numerous researchers. Most of them are willing to participate in future studies, including more detailed ecological research on the rainforest,
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biological inventories to search for new species, and research to gain a better understanding of the spread of alien invasive species and their effects on the native fauna and flora. At the end of 2006, Conservation International organized a workshop on the Mount Panié Conservation Project. On the southern side of Mount Panié, La Guen is the largest waterfall in New Caledonia and its large watershed under the summit of Mount Panié has never been explored. The aim is to establish a long-term research project on the ecology of the rain forest there. Many researchers agreed to participate. The initial baseline survey for birds was carried out in 2009, and a terrestrial RAP will be carried out in 2010. The refuge facilities can host up to 25 people — researchers, locals and tourists — and will be key to bringing together all the components of the Mount Panié project; ecotourism, integration of the Kanak populations, training and employment opportunities, restoration, research, and conservation.

Conservation in Practice
Four factors pose serious threats to the biodiversity of New Caledonia and were identified as priorities in our co-management conservation plan: mines, commercial hunting and fishing, fires, and invasive species.
Mining

Nickel mines are present in half of the Caledonian territory but not in the north-east. Thanks to this, public authorities have been keen to get involved in the less challenging project of Mount Panié. While demonstrating the many benefits of conservation action, politicians and industrial businessmen are now keen to mitigate their environmental impacts by engaging with Conservation International on carbon and biodiversity offsets; at the same time alleviating poverty in less favored communities, protecting and restoring ecosystem services, and sustaining traditional culture and institutions.
Commercial hunting and fishing

Hunting and fishing are common activities, mostly for daily family subsistence but also for traditional ceremonies. Both native (pigeons and fruitbats), and alien-invasive (deer and pigs) species are hunted. Hunting for native species must be rigorously managed to avoid excessive offtake and population declines. Deer and pigs also require management so as to maintain a sustainable harvest, which would, one hopes, diminish pressure on the native species. While the elders used to hunt from day-to-day with bamboo sticks, local people today hunt with guns, 4 × 4 offroad vehicles, and highintensity headlamps. Notous (the New Caledonian Imperial-Pigeon, Ducula goliath; reputedly the largest arboreal pigeon in the world) and bats are hunted by some for trade to provide for supplementary income. Figure 3. Back from a successful pig-hunt with experts from New Zealand. Photo © H. Blaffart. Efforts are underway to reduce the
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hunting on this particularly vulnerable endemic by involving the hunters in demographic studies of the species and by carrying out awareness campaigns. Initial surveys carried out by Conservation International, Dayu Biik and other partners have shown that a widespread decline has occurred over the last 30 years. This has led to a new regulation on hunting, and the creation of nature police who are now very active in the field.
Fires

Fires are an ever present threat in New Caledonia. For centuries, people have set fires for a number of reasons: clearing fields for cultivation, deer hunting, opening up trails, burning trash, signaling presence, conflicts, chasing pigs away, or just for show. Since 2006, Hyehen firefighters have benefited from the support of a helicopter-tanker to extinguish fires in areas which were previously inaccessible. In 2006, the Association participated in the Koôhné workshop on fires, and supported the main proposals arising, which included creating new firefighting centers, upgrading equipment, and training more firefighters. Discussions with authorities are also underway to provide firefighter training for volunteers. The Association trustees appreciate and deplore the catastrophic damage caused by fires, and while local people showed indifference to this question five years ago, most people now will call in the firefighters when a fire starts. Several tribes have requested that areas damaged by fires be replanted. Conservation International and Dayu Biik make every effort to fulfill these requests knowing that those who plant a tree will not allow it to burn. A local music band produced a CD Figure 4. Participative bushfire monitoring and mapping. Photo © F. Tron. and songs on this theme.
Invasive species

Invasive animal and plant species are another serious threat to New Caledonia’s endemic biodiversity. Introduced mammals (rats, cats, dogs, pigs, and deer) are severely depleting the populations of numerous species and degrading New Caledonia’s terrestrial habitats. Invasive species can be found everywhere, and fighting against them is a constant and highly technical task. Beyond the control of mining, the control of invasive species is the single most important measure for the conservation of the rich biodiversity of New Caledonia and its islands. The situation is extremely serious, especially as the authorities are slow to take on this long, expensive and complicated battle. Since 2003, Conservation International has worked with the New Zealand Department of Conservation (NZ DOC) and the Pacific Invasive Initiative (PII) to look at strategies and solutions for this problem. In 2006, a collegial task force on invasive species produced an expertise that has led to a permanent collegial body that facilitates the exchange of relevant experiences in their control and elimination. In 2004 and 2005, with the NZ DOC experts and in collaboration with the members of the Tiendanite tribe, the Co-management Conservation Project marked out 100 ha in the rainforest and began an intensive campaign to catch all of the cats and rats. Over 40 days, we caught 1,400 rats and nine cats. Shortly after this operation, local people witnessed significant bird and seedling recovery. Meanwhile, our Kanak colleagues asked us why we were concerned with cats and rats in the forest, while no one was helping them fight against pigs that destroy their gardens. They light fires to keep the pigs away, and pigs were seen as
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the greatest threat not merely to the forest but also to their livelihoods. We set up snares to catch pigs, and brought in two Maori hunters from New Zealand who, with three dogs, caught 23 pigs over two weeks. The only native mammals in New Caledonia are bats, and the snares proved to be very efficient. Well-trained and healthy dogs can help the local people to keep the numbers of pigs down, but the dogs living with the tribes are not well-fed and are in poor health. They breed often, are numerous, and are themselves pestilential in scavenging for food in the forest. We initiated a veterinary study that demonstrated not only the poor health of the tribes’ dogs but also that they carry diseases contagious to humans. Using leaflets, we informed the tribes of the importance of simple and inexpensive veterinary care, of the need to have healthier dogs that can keep pigs away to protect their gardens, and of the advantages of reducing the incidence of fires. The 2006 workshop on the problem of deer and the damage they cause to both natural habitats and crops resulted in two proposals: 1) to capture breeding deer; and 2) for members of the Hunting Federation to hunt them. The latter option was taken up.

Towards the Restoration of the Island’s Ecosystems
The rapid and widespread decline in biodiversity and the accompanying biosimplification and loss of resilience and functioning in New Caledonia’s ecosystems demand proactive measures beyond just protecting set asides and the elimination of invasive species. Major restoration programs for degraded habitats are needed. Populations of slow-growing species such as the several-hundred-yearold kaori trees will not recover spontaneously even if seedling predators such as deer and pigs are eliminated unless they are also provided with favorable soils and appropriate microclimates. Trees, habitats and vegetation types are being lost at a rate faster than they can recover naturally. In New Caledonia, vast areas of forest have been lost through fires and mining, and even larger areas are severely affected by invasive species. Success achieved by the Mount Panié pilot and demonstrative project is leading towards the involvement of public authorities and mining industries in forest restoration programs that provide many benefits for the local communities. Reforestation with native species is educational, and combines with numerous other activities that will promote the well-being of the native New Caledonians. Dayu Biik has therefore helped to establish three tree nurseries for native trees and shrubs, giving local employment and generating income, and providing the wherewithal for ecosystem-based management through agroforestry, beneficial for the livelihoods of the New Caledonians and the region’s fauna and flora, as well as providing for Figure 5. A monospecific orchid genus; Eriaxis rigida (Vanilloideae) enresilience in the face of climate change. demic to the savannas of New Caledonia. Photo © F. Tron.
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Next Steps
After the tragic loss of Henri Blaffart, it was possible to imagine that Dayu Biik could falter and lose its momentum. The Province Nord authorities and Conservation International acted quickly, however, promptly recruiting a technical director, whose experience allowed him to combine technical support for Dayu Biik and institutional advice for Province Nord. Dayu Biik was subsequently invited to submit a formal management plan for the Mount Panié Wilderness Reserve, and a new series of consultations of the tribes was organized. At this time the hiking trail network was completely Figure 6. Elders teach younger guides to census birds. Photo © F. Tron. renovated, and the Bird survey baseline was set up at La Guen. Mixing planning and practice for the new team has been a success, and Province Nord has significantly increased its funding to Dayu Biik and to Conservation International. A Marine Protected Area is being planned, with an active role being taken by Dayu Biik, which is within the spirit of Conservation International’s initial Ridge to Reef Islandscape strategy. In 2010, the proposed Hyehen Natural Park is under discussion, and it is Conservation International’s vision to set it up so as to incorporate biogeographical criteria encompassing a very large area. The Mount Panié project will now incorporate pilot operations for a major Multibenefits Forest Project, involving carbon offset and poverty alleviation, and providing for the conservation of terrestrial, freshwater and marine biodiversity and ecosystem services, as well as social peace and the preservation of native culture. During this transition, Dayu Biik trustees and supporters have shown their commitment to the initial vision, and governance has increased to the level that it is now one of the most successful and trusted Kanak NGOs in New Caledonia, even to the extent of having a seat on the government advisory board for the environment. From its beginnings the Mount Panié Project, accompanied by the creation of the Dayu Biik Association, has provided resolutions to many of the major environmental issues on New Caledonia, and has demonstrated above all that conservation is a critical consideration for the success of larger development goals. Conservation International and its partners are translating these pilot actions into more extensive plans to effectively slow down and reverse the current degradation of New Caledonia’s ecosystems, to conserve the islands’ remarkable wildlife, and most importantly to provide for the well-being of the Kanak people.

Literature Cited
Lees, A. (ed.). 1998. Conserving Biodiversity in Province Nord, New Caledonia. Volume I: Main report. Volume II: Appendices. Report, Conservation International, Washington, DC, and Maruia Society, New Zealand in association with Province Nord Provincial Government, New Caledonia.
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Lowry II, P.P., Munzinger, J., Bouchet, P., Géraux, H., Bauer, A., Langrand, O. and Mittermeier, R. A. 2004. New Caledonia. In: Hotspots Revisited, R.A. Mittermeier, P. Robles Gil, M. Hoffmann, J. Pilgrim, T. Brooks, C.G. Mittermeier, J. Lamoreux and G.A.B. da Fonseca (eds.), pp.193–197. Cemex, Mexico. McKenna, S.A., Baillon, N., Blaffart, H. and Abrusci, G. (eds.). 2006. Une evaluation rapide de la biodiversité marine des récifs coralliens du Mont Panié, Province Nord, Nouvelle Calédonie. RAP Bulletin, PER d’évaluation biologique 42: 126pp. Conservation International, Washington, DC. McKenna, S.A., Baillon, N. and Sapaggiari, J. (eds.). 2009. Evaluation rapide de la biodiversité marine des récifs coralliens du lagon Nord-ouest entre Kopumanc et Yandé, Province Nord, Nouvelle-Caledonie. RAP Bulletin, PER d’évaluation biologique 53: 184pp. Conservation International, Arlington, VA. UNESCO. 2008. Lagoons of New Caledonia: Reef Diversity and Associated Ecosystems. United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO), Paris. Website: . Accessed: 29 May 2009.

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Indigenous and Local Community Based Conservation in India:
Current Status and Future Prospects1
Ashish Kothari and Neema Pathak

Quick Facts
Country: India Geographic Focus: Country-wide Indigenous Peoples: Communities that can broadly be termed to be the original human inhabitants of the Indian subcontinent are known as adivasis. About 7% of the total population is classified as ‘scheduled tribes’, which are listed in the Indian Constitution as such on account of their unique cultural, political, and economic characteristics. India, however, does not officially accept the term ‘indigenous peoples’.

Introduction
This paper examines the current status and future prospects of conservation initiatives that are inclusive of the needs and livelihoods of indigenous peoples and local communities in India. The world over, as a series of international agreements has shown, there has been an increasing understanding that biodiversity conservation requires the involvement of the rural communities that live in natural ecosystems. In India, there have been a number of policy processes and pronouncements that have stressed the need for broad-based conservation efforts which encompass also the well-being of local communities who depend on natural resources. The key question is: how much has this intent been translated into action at the legal/policy level and on the ground? And, where measures have been taken, how successful have they been as what we refer to as “Community based Conservation (CBC)” initiatives; benefitting biodiversity and involving and benefitting the local communities? 2 There are three broad aspects of CBC; 1) initiatives by indigenous peoples and other traditional local communities to conserve wildlife and biodiversity, 2) involvement of indigenous peoples and communities in formal, government-managed protected areas, and 3) indigenous peoples and community involvement in NGO-led conservation initiatives. This last is rather limited in India and we will discuss it no further. There has been much debate and much has been written with regard to the involvement of indigenous and local communities in

Author Information
Ashish Kothari is a member of Kalpavriksh – Environmental Action Group, India. He has been co-chair of the IUCN Strategic Direction on Governance, Equity, and Livelihoods in Relation to Protected Areas (TILCEPA), and on the steering committees of two of IUCN’s commissions. For over two decades he has advocated a model of conservation that takes into account social issues, and has worked to bring the voices of indigenous peoples and local communities into conservation policy at national and international levels. E-mail: ashishkothari@vsnl.com Neema Pathak is a member of Kalpavriksh – Environmental Action Group. She is a member of two of IUCN’s commissions, and has been working on community conserved areas for many years. She has carried out a detailed study of an indigenous CCA in central India, and continues to actively support communities through documentation, legal and policy advice, and outreach. E-mail: neema.pb@gmail.com

1 This paper in its original version was prepared for the Workshop on “Role of Civil Society in Forestry Sector in India”, Indian Council of Forestry Research and Education, Dehra Dun, India, 10–11th October, 2007. It also builds on an earlier article on the subject, published in Insight Guides: Indian Wildlife (Lord and Bell, eds., APA Publications, Hong Kong, 2007). This paper was not written from an academic perspective, so we have not put in detailed referencing. However, references are available for all the information contained here, and can be provided at request. 2 We use the term communities generically here, to include both indigenous peoples and/or other traditional local communities. It should be noted that the term ‘indigenous peoples’ is not used officially in India, it is replaced by the term adivasis (‘original inhabitants’) or ‘tribal communities.’ However the communities themselves often use the term ‘indigenous’.

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government protected areas, so we will discuss this only briefly here, pointing mainly to key constraints and future steps. We deal with the first aspect in more detail because it remains a seriously neglected aspect in India’s formal conservation and forest/ecosystem management strategies.

Community Conserved Areas and Species
India’s first wildlife protected areas and forest reserves were not set up by the government, or by kings and sultans. They were created by ordinary people, by adivasi (indigenous, tribal) communities who set aside parts of the landscape for cultural, ethical, or economic reasons. Community conserved areas (CCAs) are not only a historical fact, however, they are a reality of present times. Perhaps the original CCAs were sacred sites. Patches of forest, water bodies, or grasslands that were considered to be inhabited by gods, ancestors, or totems, and therefore strictly protected from any resource extraction. Many of these, still existing, may be several thousand years old. Among the youngest of the CCAs are those where communities, having faced scarcity of water, fuel or fodder, or becoming alarmed by the rapid decimation of wildlife, have declared natural ecosystems as sites for protection and/or conservation with restricted use.
The range of CCAs

There are literally thousands of such areas in India and other countries. We here provide a few examples, and more detailed case studies on these and other CCAs are available in Pathak (2009). Sacred sites were once extremely widespread across India, covering perhaps about 10% of many regions. These included forest groves, village tanks, and Himalayan grasslands. Although now considerably less in number and coverage, there may still be between 100,000 and 150,000. Many groves have preserved remnant populations of rare and endemic species that have been wiped out elsewhere. In general such areas are quite small (sometimes only a handful of trees), but they can also be as large as 400 ha, as in Meghayala. Interestingly, in some parts of India such as Uttarakhand, communities have designated new forest areas as sacred in order to protect them. Dozens of heronries are being protected by communities that live around them. Trees in or near village ponds are often the favorite nesting and roosting sites for waterbirds. Well-known examples include Kokkare Bellur in Karnataka; Nellapattu, Vedurapattu, and Veerapuram in Andhra Pradesh; Chittarangudi and Vedanthangal in Tamil Nadu, and many others (some of which have become officially protected sanctuaries). Many of these harbor rare or threatened species such as the Spot-billed Pelican (Pelecanus philippensis) ranked as “Near Threatened” by the IUCN (2008). Wintering water bird populations also find a safe haven in many wetlands in or adjacent to villages. Mangalajodi village in Orissa, on the edge of the Chilika lagoon, harbors several hundred thousand migratory ducks and waders. Even though this is a village full of one-time bird catchers (with substantial income coming from selling them), the residents now offer complete Figure 1. Kokkare Bellur village, Karnataka, co-inhabited by people and protection against hunting and other disturbances. Patna waterbirds. Photo © Ashish Kothari.
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Lake in Etah District of Uttar Pradesh can support up to 100,000 water birds in a favorable season. The lake was declared a wildlife sanctuary in 1991 but has been protected for centuries by the locals as a sacred pond. A number of species of plants and animals are protected across the landscape because of their spiritual, religious, cultural, or economic value. The Blue bull or Nilgai (Boselaphus tragocamelus), Rhesus macaque (Macaca mulatta), and Blackbuck (Antilope cervicapra) are the most common. Examples of plants include numerous figs (Ficus, Moraceae) such as Banyan (F. benghalensis) and Peepal (F. religiosa), both of which are protected throughout India for their religious and spiritual significance, and also have several medicinal and other uses. In central India, the Mahua or butter tree (Madhuca indica, Sapotaceae), valued for its flowers and fruits, is almost never cut, even while clearing land for cultivation. In Rajasthan, the Khejdi (Prosopis cineraria, Mimosoideae) is considered a kalpavriksh (tree that grants all wishes) and zealously protected by many communities; its flowers, bark leaves, and fruits have medicinal properties, the foliage provides high quality fodder, and its pods are made into various foods. In some communities, elephants or tigers are considered sacred and left strictly alone. In Orissa, Andhra Pradesh, and other states, tens of thousands of hectares have been regenerated and/or protected by village communities on their own initiative (including by all-women forest protection teams such as at Dengejheri village in Orissa), or occasionally through government-supported programs involving joint forest management. The biodiversity value of these forests is considerable, providing habitat to a number of threatened mammals and birds. In Orissa alone, there are more than 10,000 village forest-protection committees, and in some parts of the state, elephants are reported to be frequenting the community conserved forests, having moved there from previously occupied ranges that have been disrupted by highways, railway lines or industry. In the Ranpur block near Bhubaneshwar, 180 conserving villages (many of them adivasi settlements) have created a federation to combine their initiatives at a landscape level to maximize cooperation, reduce conflicts and provide a unified organization for dialogue with the government or outsiders. In Nagaland, several dozen villages have over the last decade or two, conserved natural ecosystems as forest or wildlife reserves. One of the biggest is the Khonoma Tragopan and Wildlife Sanctuary, spread over 20 km², where hunting and resource extraction is completely prohibited; in another 50 km² or so, very minimal resource use, for domestic purposes only, is allowed. Amongst the earliest initiatives were the forest and wildlife reserves set up by Luzophuhu village in Phek district, and the Ghoshu Bird Sanctuary declared by Gikhiye village in Zonheboto district, both in the 1980s. Given the indiscriminate hunting that this state has witnessed in the last three decades, these efforts are crucial in giving Nagaland’s unique biodiversity a renewed lease of life. In Uttarakhand, some of the state’s best forests are under the management of Van Panchayats (‘forest councils’ established by legislation and based on traditional village institutions prevalent in the area). There are dozens of these Van Panchayats in the area of Kumaon, although by no means are all such areas well conserved. Of the 2,240 km² stretch of the Gori Ganga River Basin, 1,439 km² is under the management of the village Van Panchayats. This area forms an important corridor between, Nandadevi Biosphere Reserve and Askot Wildlife Sanctuary, which is critically important for the montane wildlife of the region. Together with Nandadevi Figure 2. Community-protected forests of Kakoijana, Assam, harboring and Askot, the total area under protection in this ecologthe threatened Golden langur (Trachypithecus geei). Photo © Ashish Kothari. ically sensitive area comes to about 88% of the entire
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river basin. In addition, some villages in the Tehri Garhwal district, influenced by the Chipko movement, have regenerated and protected hundreds of hectares of forests and helped renew populations of leopard, bear, and other species. In western Assam, several clusters of villagers are protecting forests containing, amongst other things, groups of the endangered Golden langur (Trachypithecus geei); this includes 28 villages conserving 17.24 km² of the Kakoijana hill range, Shankar Ghola settlement protecting a few hundred hectares, and Chakrashila Sanctuary, declared an official protected area after several villages began protecting its forests. With help from the NGO Tarun Bharat Sangh (TBS), several dozen villages in the Alwar district (Rajasthan) have restored the water regime, regenerated forests, and helped revive populations of wild herbivores, birds, and other wildlife. Bhaonta-Kolyala villages have even declared a “public wildlife sanctuary” over 1,200 ha. In 1,800 ha of deciduous forest, Gond adivasis of Mendha (Lekha), Gadchiroli district (Maharashtra), warded off the threat of the construction of a paper mill which would have destroyed the bamboo stocks, and also stopped the practice of lighting forest fires, and have made progress towards the sustainable extraction of non-timber forest produce. Despite some continued hunting, the area harbors considerable wildlife including the endangered central race of the Giant squirrel (Ratufa indica). The initiative has spread to several neighboring villages. Many traditional practices of sustainable use have helped in wildlife conservation. For instance, pastoral communities in Ladakh, Rajasthan, Gujarat and many other states have strict rules about the amount and frequency of grazing on specified grasslands. Ornithologists have recorded that these helped (and in some cases continue) to maintain viable habitats for threatened species such as bustards (Ardeotis nigriceps and Chlamydotis undulata) and floricans (Sypheotides indicus and Houbaropsis bengalensis). At Khichan village (Rajasthan), villagers provide safety and food to the wintering Demoiselle cranes (Grus virgo) that flock there in huge numbers of up to 10,000. Several hundred thousand rupees are spent annually by the residents on this without a grudge or grumble. The Bishnoi, a community in Rajasthan and Punjab famous for its self-sacrificing defense of wildlife and trees, continues its strong tradition of conservation. Blackbuck, in particular, are plentiful. Blackbuck conservation is also taking place as a traditional practice in other parts of India; for example, the Buguda village of Ganjam district in Orissa has even left fallow a considerable part of its agricultural land for Blackbuck to roam and graze. In Goa, Kerala, and Orissa, important nesting sites for sea turtles such as the beaches of Galjibag and Rushikulya have been protected through the actions of local fisher people, with help from NGOs and the Forest Department. In 2006, over 100,000 Olive Ridley turtles (Lepidochelys olivacea) were reported to have nested at Rushikulya, on the Orissa coast, where the Rushikulya Sea Turtle Protection Committee formed by youth of Puranabandha village and a youth committee of Gokharkuda village in 1998, zealously protect the nesting beach. There are also very many instances of natural ecosystems and wildlife populations having been saved by local communities from certain destruction. As examples, several big dams that would have submerged huge areas of forest or other ecosystems have been stopped by people’s movements. This includes proposed dams such as the Bhopalpatnam-Ichhampalli in Maharashtra and Chhattisgarh, which would have submerged a major part Figure 3. The threatened Golden langur (Trachypithecus geei) in the community-protected forests of Kakoijana, Assam. Photo © Raju Das. of the Indravati Tiger Reserve. In addition, the National
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Fishworkers’ Forum has staved off destructive trawling over hundreds of kilometers of India’s coastline and the adjoining marine waters, fought for the implementation of the Coastal Regulation Zone, and assisted in movements against industrial aquaculture — all leading to the protection of marine wildlife. Many such movements have saved areas that are equal in size, if not sometimes bigger, than official protected areas.
Ecological benefits of CCAs

A number of sites conserved by communities have been recognized to be of such wildlife value that they have been declared wildlife sanctuaries or national parks by state governments. In Punjab, lands belonging to the Bishnoi with considerable blackbuck and Indian gazelle or Chinkara (Gazella bennettii) populations, have been declared the Abohar Sanctuary. Several heronries in southern India, such as Nellapattu, Vedanthangal, and Chittarangudi, are now wildlife sanctuaries. In some cases this has helped to stave off outside threats, but in several cases, it has transferred the responsibility of conservation away from villagers to government agencies who do not always have the resources or the zeal to carry out their obligations. As a result, the areas have suffered neglect and decline. In some cases such as the Karera Great Indian Bustard Sanctuary, the declaration of the protected area led to a significant increase in the Blackbuck population, which devastated local people’s crops; they in turn became hostile to the sanctuary, resulting in the elimination of the entire population of bustards (Ardeotis nigriceps), one of India’s most endangered birds. Many CCAs provide corridors for animal and gene flux, including between officially protected areas. The example of Van Panchayats in the Gori River basin of Uttarakhand given above, as studied by the Foundation for Ecological Security (FES), is exemplary (FES 2004-2005). These CCAs along with the officially protected areas of Nanda Devi and Askot, could comprise one of India’s biggest protected areas if the village forests were recognized as equivalent to PAs. CCAs can thus be a powerful tool for enhancing the formal protected area (PA) network of a country. In addition, they provide a host of ecological benefits, such as secure watersheds, and protection against natural or human-caused disasters, and crucial livelihood and cultural benefits.
Institutional dynamics of CCAs

The range of mechanisms used by communities in CCAs is fascinating. At virtually all sites, the community has formed rules and regulations with penalties for anyone violating them. At some places the penalties differ depending on the nature of the violation, or even on the class of the offender, with poorer people being fined less. Usually also, there is an institutional mechanism set up to protect the area, such as forest protection committees, youth groups, wildlife protection groups, women’s committees, or even full gram sabhas (village assemblies). Another critical aspect of many CCAs is the availability of knowledge with the community. Not only their own traditional and local knowledge, but also input from outsiders with a scientific background, have greatly helped to empower and support people in their resource and wildlife conservation initiatives. In some cases, local mobilization in other arenas (for example, development or community empowerment) has helped in conservation; in others, local mobilization in conservation has helped improve livelihoods and work toward more sustainable developmental practices and procedures. Security of tenure of the land or resources being conserved, or at least the confidence that the community could continue with its initiative irrespective of the legal ownership of the land, is key to a successful initiative. Where ownership or control is clearly established (for example, in Nagaland’s CCAs), conservation appears more secure; in turn, community efforts to conserve resources have at times increased the tenurial security over the area or resources being conserved. Where questions of land tenure are uncertain, conservation is on a more tenuous footing. Of course, sometimes where strong incentives or traditions for conservation do not exist and strong commercial interests do, mere ownership of a resource has also opened it up for over-exploitation.
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Finally, we have found that strong leadership from within the community, and often a catalytic or supporting outside person or institution, is crucial to successful conservation. This can also make the initiative vulnerable, however, once the leaders are no longer on the scene, unless the effort has become institutionalized so that other members can continue it.
Threats and challenges to CCAs

CCAs continue to face a host of problems. One of the most serious is that India does not have a fully supportive policy environment. A number of legal provisions are now available to back CCAs, but all of them have serious limitations, or are not yet fully in force (for a full discussion, see Pathak [2009]). For instance, in 2003 a category of “community reserves” was added to the Wild Life (Protection) Act 1972 (India, Ministry of Environment and Forests 2003b) and could have provided much-needed legal backing to CCAs. Unfortunately, it is very restrictive, as it allows community reserves only on “community or private” lands. It appears that this does not include government land (though clarity is needed on this point) where most of the CCAs are located. The new Biological Diversity Act 2002 (India, Ministry of Environment and Forests 2003a) could provide some support, if its category of “Biodiversity Heritage Sites” is appropriately defined. Additionally, the Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act 2006 (India, Ministry of Law and Justice 2007) could provide powerful legal backing to forest CCAs as it gives a right to people to protect forests as ‘community forests’ (more on this below). Administrative programs such as Joint Forest Management (JFM) schemes or Ecodevelopment Schemes (see “The government response: Ecodevelopment” below) are usually the only avenues available that can provide for governmental support to CCAs. However, these schemes have severe limitations; they may not be applicable to many CCAs (for example, until recently, standing forests were not eligible for JFM in most states, and many wetland/coastal/grassland areas are not covered), or they involve greater government control, so the conserving communities may not wish to bring their areas under these schemes. In several instances the imposition of these schemes has resulted in the breakdown of previously well-functioning community initiatives. For instance at Kailadevi Sanctuary in Rajasthan, self-initiated forest conservation institutions (kulhadi-band panchayats or ‘no-axe councils’) were undermined by officially-imposed ecodevelopment institutions set up under a World Bank funded project in the late 1990s. Many CCAs are threatened by mining, hydro-electricity and irrigation projects, urban expansion, industrialization, Special Economic Zones, and other ‘development’ projects. The locally sustained economies of CCAs are not seen as contributing to the economic well-being of the country. For example, the proposed Utkal Coal Project for open-cast mining at Raijharan in Orissa is in an area densely covered with Sal (Shorea robusta, Dipterocarpaceae) forests. Four villages have been conserving these forests for over 15 years. Also in Orissa, Sterlite Group’s Vedanta Alumina proposes to blast the Niyamgiri hilltop for bauxite ore. This hill is sacred for the Dongaria Kondh tribe and is rich in biodiversity. The Blackbuck habitat in the Bishnoi land in Punjab has been divided into two by a canal that was constructed ignoring villagers’ protests. Despite a widespread community forestry movement in states such as Orissa, there is still no state-level policy to facilitate or support these initiatives, except through straitjacketed and top-down schemes such as JFM (or its clone, Community Forest Management [CFM]). These forests are either reserved forests under the Forest Department’s control, or disputed forests that can be claimed by the government at any time. Wider market forces and modern’ lifestyles are changing aspirations and rendering traditional value systems ineffective amongst the youth. The modern system of education does not inculcate a respect for local values, and denigrates the

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knowledge systems that formed the basis for traditional conservation. The youth are becoming more and more isolated from local realities and drifting away, threatening the human and institutional base of many CCAs. Often considerable effort and time is spent by the villagers in protecting and patrolling the forests. This is at the cost of wages that could be earned. Because many areas are remote, there are not many employment opportunities. In some cases, because of appropriate support, the livelihoods of local people have been improved and strengthened, but in many cases the communities are still struggling, and the youth in particular face serious employment challenges. At sites such as Mangalajodi and Rushikuliya in Orissa, or many CCAs in Nagaland, communities are very keen on initiating ecotourism. In areas where non-timber forests products (NTFP) are easily available and exploitable, communities would like to start sustainable, organic forest-based enterprises, but the resources, know-how, and appropriate policy conditions for such livelihoods are lacking. Many NTFP, such as Tendu (Diospyros melanoxylon, Ebenaceae), whose leaves are used in the the making of bidis (Indian cigarettes), and Mahua (Madhuca indica), the fruits, bark, seeds and leaves of which have numerous uses, have been nationalized by the government and cannot be sold in the open market. This makes collectors dependent on government-approved contractors or government-run purchasing centers, neither of which give the collectors their desired prices. A relatively recent threat comes from increasing human-wildlife conflicts. Ironically, in many places the regeneration of ecosystems in CCAs has increased wildlife populations (or attracted them from nearby degraded areas), some of which may be spilling out and causing damage to crops, livestock, or even threatening human life. Communities have been seeking help to resolve these conflicts, which in some places are weakening their resolve to continue their conservation efforts.
What is the way forward?

CCAs need a number of supportive measures to overcome the above constraints. Some policy level support has come in the form of recommendations in the National Wildlife Action Plan (NWAP) 2002–2016 (see India, Ministry of Environment and Forests 2002), the Final Technical Report of the National Biodiversity Strategy and Action Plan (NBSAP) 2004, (Technical and Policy Core Group and Kalpavriksh 2005) and the National Environment Policy 2006 (India, Ministry of Environment and Forests 2006b). Additionally, a scheme in the country’s Eleventh 5-Year Plan (2007–12) (India, Planning Commission 2008), on conservation outside protected areas, aims to fund CCAs; its guidelines are under finalization. However, these plans or schemes are mostly still on paper, and need to be translated into action. CCAs also now have a strong footing in international policy. The Program of Work on Protected Areas of the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), explicitly recognizes CCAs as equivalent to PAs, and recommends various measures for governments to take in this regard (see CBD 2007). The International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) has recently revised its guidelines on protected area categorization, to include various forms of governance; this encourages countries to explore all kinds of protected areas (from strictly protected ones to managed resource areas) under indigenous or community governance (Dudley 2008). But while a number of national and international pronouncements encourage CCAs, actual measures on the ground are few. The fact that they exist, often in large numbers, is increasingly being recognized as researchers and field practitioners document them (for several national reviews and case studies, see IUCN/ICCA [2009a]). However, they are not given this recognition, in most countries (for a survey of legal regimes relevant to CCAs in several countries, see IUCN/ICCA [2009b]). In India, the following steps, amongst others, are needed to put CCAs on a secure footing (from Pathak 2009).

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Steps towards Greater Recognition and Support for CCAs

• • •

• • • • •





Document and publicize more examples and the role of CCAs in conservation, including through participatory mapping. Lobby for effective legal, administrative and political support of CCAs, including clear tenurial security and rights. Create national, state or sub-state level systems and institutions for continuous support, guidance and monitoring of CCAs. This could include support for regional cooperation and the building of coalitions and federations among CCAs. Help communities resolve conflicts with powerful people who violate their rules, particularly from outside the community. Support local institutions, systems, rules and regulations and give these the status of statutory provisions. Strengthen local institutions and facilitate greater equity and transparency in their decision-making processes, where required. Facilitate the formulation of management plans for the CCAs, where the need is expressed by the community. Assist in obtaining and adapting appropriate ecologically friendly technologies and practices for enhancing livelihoods and, where appropriate, fostering links with consumers and sensitive markets that do not undermine local interests. Help in tackling key threats, including those emanating from the communities themselves, such as inequities in decision-making and benefit-sharing, as well as those emanating from external forces such as those involving unsustainable ‘development’ projects and commercialization. Give social recognition and awards to exemplary CCAs.

Required Technical Support for Ecological, Social, and Economic Issues



• • • •



Conduct detailed and locally participatory studies on ecological and other aspects of CCAs to help establish their role in conservation. These studies should also help communities resolve issues related to particular species and their management, and impacts of resource extraction on biodiversity. Train community members in appropriate resource and wildlife management and monitoring. Train community members in basic accounting, marketing, management, and leadership skills. Address the problem of wildlife-related damage to crops, livestock, and property, using both traditional and new methods. Provide awareness and training on the importance of biodiversity conservation in the regional, national, and global context, on issues of gender and social equity linked to conservation, on local governance issues, and on legal and policy measures relevant to conservation and livelihoods. Provide support for youth (leadership) programs.

Needed Legal and Policy Measures





Optimize the use of existing provisions, including the Forest Act of 1927, the Wild Life Act of 1972 (as amended in 2002), the Biological Diversity Act of 2003, the Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act of 2006, and panchayat related laws of 1993 and 1996. Move towards amendments in laws, bringing in provisions that fully enable community based approaches. This includes amending the Community Reserves provision of the Wild Life Act to encompass community conserved government lands and to empower a range of community institutions. The critical changes and strengthening needed concern tenurial rights and responsibilities of local communities.

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• • •

Incorporate community based approaches into relevant conservation schemes and programs, including the orientation of staff who implement these programs. Develop, with ample consultation, guidelines for supporting existing CCAs in legal and other ways without undermining the uniqueness of each CCA and without disrupting community control. Facilitate the initiation of CCAs in other areas.

Government Protected Areas
India has much to be proud of regarding its ambitious program of setting up wildlife protected areas (PAs). Nearly 5% of the landmass is now covered by about 600 national parks and sanctuaries, notified under the Wild Life (Protection) Act.3 This network has been instrumental in retrieving many species from the verge of extinction and conserving representative samples of some of India’s last remaining natural ecosystems. Without their current legal status these areas may by now have been gobbled up by the rapacious industrial growth seen over the rest of India’s landscape, or slowly whittled down by various biotic and other pressures.
Protected areas in trouble

Yet it is clear that the PA system is in trouble. The crisis of a Sariska Tiger Reserve without tigers and a Karera Great Indian Bustard Sanctuary without bustards is a complex one. Various problems plague almost every PA, some serious enough to create Sariskas and Kareras, some currently latent but with the potential to happen at any moment. Much has been written about the managerial, staff capacity, financial, and other constraints of PAs, so we will not dwell on them here, except to stress that they are all serious and need urgent action. Our focus here is on the interface between PAs and local people, which to our minds is the single biggest challenge that the PAs face. Most PAs in India cover areas which communities have used for generations or even centuries. Estimates in the late 1980s and again in the early 2000s indicate that there are anywhere from three to four million people living in PAs, and several million more outside that are dependent on their natural resources. A majority of these millions (but by no means all) comprises people who are economically and socially marginalized. Unfortunately, PA policies and programmes have been largely insensitive to the rights and needs of these people, and have in many cases further impoverished them (see Wani and Kothari [2007] for further details). These policies and programmes have almost never involved local people in the conceptualization, planning, and management of PAs. These twin failures — of meeting people’s needs and of involving them — are not only causing widespread human suffering but also backfiring on conservation itself. These were the leading factors for the fiascoes of Sariska and Karera. The recent report of the Tiger Task Force set up by the Prime Minister also clearly highlighted these issues as being as much at the core of the tiger crisis as the problems of weak anti-poaching measures, inadequate management planning, poor staff capacities, and lack of financial resources (India, Ministry of Environment and Forests. 2005a). Linked to these failures is the increasing threat facing PAs across India, similar to their CCA counterparts, from ‘development’ projects. A Kalpavriksh report some years back listed over 60 PAs where mining was present or proposed inside or in adjacent areas (Vagholikar et al. 2003). PAs also face threats from dams and canals (for example, one

3 Three other categories of PAs are now recognized under this Act: community reserves, conservation reserves (since 2003), and tiger reserves (since 2006). As of mid-2009, only four community reserves have been declared, since the provisions in the Act are too restrictive for community liking. Forty-three conservation reserves have been declared, but 41 of these are former game reserves, and the change in status does not indicate any further participation of the people. Most existing tiger reserves have been formally notified. See also section on Future challenges and prospects for PAs.

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threatening the only habitat of the critically endangered Jerdon’s courser, Rhinoptilus bitorquatus, in Andhra Pradesh), expressways, ports, Special Economic Zones, commercial fisheries, industries, and so on. In the last few years, under pressure from a government intent on reaching an economic growth rate of 10%, both state and central environment agencies have rubber stamped hundreds of mega-projects with enormous destructive potential. Local populations, who otherwise could have been major allies in resisting such ‘development’ projects, are not particularly cooperative because they have mostly only suffered at the hands of PA authorities. Additionally, often huge amounts of money are being poured into ‘buying off’ people from within communities, enticing them with promises of jobs and untold riches.
The government response: Ecodevelopment

Having realized the problem of local community alienation from PAs, the government has responded with ambitious ecodevelopment programmes. In these, people’s needs are sought to be met through ecologically sensitive developmental inputs. Since 1990 this has been a central-government aided scheme for state governments use in villages around PAs. By and large these have not been used for villages inside PAs, the assumption being that such villages must be resettled. From 1997 to 2002, the Government of India also received substantial assistance from the GEF/World Bank for ecodevelopment in seven prominent PAs. Independent evaluations have suggested that this project met with mixed success. In some PAs such as Periyar Tiger Reserve (Kerala), it was successful in turning a conflict situation around into one of positive cooperation, providing improved livelihoods and reduced poverty in several villages on the periphery of the reserve (though it seems clear that this was more because of “out-of-the-box” initiatives of the forest department team that were handling the project than to project design), whereas in many others such as Nagarahole National Park (Karnataka) and Pench National Park (Maharashtra) it either failed or created new tensions. One key conceptual problem with ‘ecodevelopment’ is that it still treats local communities and conservation as being incompatible. In most cases, the projects are very much mainstream rural ‘development’ projects, with no clear connection to conservation or the improvement of livelihoods. In almost no known case (exceptions could include Periyar Tiger Reserve), has ‘ecodevelopment’ created a greater involvement of local people in the management planning and decisionmaking of the PA. The model of ‘ecodevelopment’ prevalent in India is not one which takes people’s access to natural resources as a matter of customary right, nor is it one which moves the country towards a new paradigm of conservation. Such new paradigms are now being accepted worldwide (see section “What is the way ahead?”), but India is very far from adopting them in official policy and practice. One strong move towards this was, however, taken in the making of the National Wildlife Action Plan (NWAP) 2002 (India, Ministry of Environment and Forests 2002), and in the process of formulating a National Biodiversity Strategy and Action Plan (NBSAP) (Technical and Policy Core Group [TPCG] and Kalpavriksh 2005). The NWAP explicitly recognizes the need to involve local people in conservation, including PA management, and suggests some steps towards this, such as the PA level committees including local community representatives. The final technical report of the NBSAP (an official document the Government of India brought out in 2004, but not, unfortunately, Figure 4. Trans-Himalayan landscape of Changthang Sanctuary, Ladakh. the basis of the final National Biodiversity Action Plan Photo © Ashish Kothari.
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of 2008 [India, Ministry of Environment and Forests 2008]) goes further, advocating a central role for communities in management of conservation sites, respect of their customary rights, integration of livelihood security and poverty eradication with conservation, recognition of their own conservation practices and community-protected sites, building on traditional knowledge relevant for conservation, and so on. The National Environment Policy (NEP) states, “Conservation of wildlife, accordingly, involves the protection of entire ecosystems. However, in several cases, delineation of and restricting access to such Protected Areas (PAs), as well as disturbances by humans in these areas have led to man-animal conflicts. While physical barriers and better policing may temporarily reduce such conflict, it is also necessary to address their underlying causes. These may largely arise from the non-involvement of relevant stakeholders in identification and delineation of PAs, as well as the loss of traditional entitlements of local people, especially tribals, over the PAs.” (India, Ministry of Environment and Forests 2006b, p.31) In its goals, it therefore talks about “participation of local communities”, and the need to “harmonize ecological and physical features with needs of socio-economic development”. The NWAP and the NEP remain toothless without the corresponding legislative measures. There are therefore very few signs of actual changes on the ground.
Judicial pronouncements and their aftermath

Judicial bodies, and in particular the Supreme Court, have become quite active in conservation issues in the last few years. In a number of cases, potentially destructive activities have been stopped, thereby protecting both wildlife and communities. In general, though, the Court seems reluctant to stop major ‘development’ projects, though quite happy to curb local community activities. A number of recent orders have exacerbated conflicts between conservation and local people in protected areas rather than resolving them. In 2000, the Indian Supreme Court passed an order restraining all state governments from ordering the removal of timber (fallen or standing), grasses, and other such resources from protected areas. This order was made in the context of a disguised move by one state government to re-open logging activities inside PAs, and was probably never intended to affect the use of the resource by local communities. However, in 2003 and 2004, it was more widely interpreted by the Ministry of Environment and Forests (MoEF), and by the Centrally Empowered Committee (CEC), in asking state governments to halt all exercise of rights inside PAs, This extremely ‘generous’ interpretation of the Court’s direction, was even beyond the spirit and letter of the Wild Life Act, since it negates Section 24(2)(c) which clearly allows continuation of resource use rights if the relevant authorities allow it. Due to this, some 3.5 to 4 million people are being affected, and many livelihood-related activities that are dependent on forest or other natural products have been curtailed. Without explicitly ordering this, India’s central judicial and executive bodies have set into motion a process that will first dispossess, and then forcibly displace millions of people. Already the impacts are being felt in many states. In Orissa, for instance, the government has implemented a prohibition on non-timber forest produce collection. This has affected several thousand adivasi (indigenous/tribal) people, taking away their sole or main means of livelihood, and forcing many to migrate Figure 5. Forest officials, villagers and civil society organizations in a diain search of employment and income. It is also backfiring logue at Periyar Tiger Reserves, Kerala. Photo © Ashish Kothari.
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on conservation itself, as people are turning to illegal activities, or not cooperating in reporting poaching, and putting out forest fires, for example (Kalpavriksh 2007; Pathak 2009). These recent orders have created a situation of enormous tension and escalation of conflicts across India. Some NGOs have legally challenged the orders in 2005, but the Supreme Court has yet to hear their arguments.
Future challenges and prospects for PAs

In late 2006, two pieces of legislation created the potential of democratizing forest and conservation management and providing greater benefits to local communities, but also some concerns about their effects on conservation itself. The passage of the Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act 2006 (India, Ministry of Law and Justice. 2007) is being looked upon by social action and human rights groups as an important and welcome step towards reversing historical marginalization of the tribal (indigenous) and other forest-dwelling people of India. The Act (in short called Forest Rights Act or FRA) mandates the vesting of 14 kinds of rights over forest land and forest produce on two categories of communities: 1) scheduled tribes (i.e., indigenous people who are listed in a schedule of the Indian constitution), and 2) “other traditional forest-dwellers” defined as those living in forests for at least three generations. The provisions of the FRA relevant to protected areas are of special interest. The FRA specifies that all rights need to be identified and established regardless of the status of the forest, including also those residing in the PAs. Furthermore, it mandates a process for determining “critical wildlife habitats” inside PAs, and assessment of whether people’s activities within such habitats can be in consonance with conservation (thereby promoting ‘co-existence’). If “irreversible damage” is established, communities can be relocated with their informed consent and after ensuring the readiness of relocation and rehabilitation. Communities can also claim the right to manage and protect forests. Gram sabhas (village assemblies) have also been empowered to protect wildlife and biodiversity, and to keep destructive activities out of the forests in which they are given rights. The FRA’s provisions regarding community rights to manage and protect forests, coupled with its mandate to gram sabhas to set up committees for conservation, could provide a powerful backing to CCAs in forest areas. Indeed, in this sense the FRA has the potential to considerably democratize forest and wildlife governance. However, thus far, implementation of the FRA has focused largely on individual land rights, and considerably more attention needs to be given to community rights. While the FRA has certainly taken a significant step in democratizing conservation practice and extending longdenied rights to livelihood of communities dwelling inside forests, it has also caused serious concern about its potential impact on conservation itself. In the context of PAs, for instance, it is not clear if the rights could over-ride the steps necessary to achieve conservation. The fact that adivasis can claim land rights to lands ‘encroached’ upon to December 2005 could lead to fresh encroachments that people can try to claim as being pre-2005. The precise relationship with the Wild Life (Protection) Act (WLPA) of 1972 (which governs PAs) is unclear, leading to possible confusion on the ground on what action can be taken if a right granted under the FRA violates a provision of the WLPA. Fears of this kind are justified, but have been exaggerated by a handful of conservationists who adhere to the exclusionary model of wildlife protection. Some of them have filed a constitutional challenge to the FRA in India’s Supreme Court. Interestingly, the second legislative measure of note is within the WLPA itself. In late 2006, the Wild Life (Protection) Amendment Act was passed, setting up a National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA) (India, Ministry of Environment and Forests 2006a). This was in response to a long-standing demand from conservation groups, and made urgent by the disappearance of tigers from Sariska (Rajasthan); one of India’s well-known tiger reserves. The Amendment brought in processes for notification and management of Tiger Reserves (which makes them a 5th category
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of PA under the WLPA), and the setting up of a Wildlife Crime Bureau. It has specified (similar to the Forest Rights Act mentioned above) that “inviolate” areas need to be determined in a participatory manner and that relocation from such areas needs to happen only with the informed consent of communities. Areas of concern pointed out by conservationists include the dropping of a number of provisions of the WLPA from being operative inside Tiger Reserves (although the NTCA clarified that this is not so and all provisions still apply), and the somewhat loose language used (for example, “local people”) with regard to forest rights. As of late 2006, a legal challenge to such provisions has been mounted in the Supreme Court by some conservation organizations (including some of the same who later filed petitions against the FRA). These national legislative developments must also be seen in the light of international conventions, treaties and agreements that have given a firm push to participatory and inclusive conservation processes, and India is, at least on paper, committed to implementing them.

Conclusion
National laws and international treaties notwithstanding, the crucial test of whether India is going to move towards a more participatory, inclusive, and effective form of conservation, is on the ground. At a number of sites such as Periyar Tiger Reserve in Kerala and Chilika Lagoon (including Nalaban Sanctuary) in Orissa, where forest and other government officials have worked with communities to enhance the effectiveness of conservation and improve livelihoods, this is just about beginning to happen. At other sites, NGOs and community organizations have taken a lead in collaborative forms of conservation. But such efforts with the necessary foresight, dedication, and democratic spirit, are still few and far between. On the other hand, the thousands of communities that have taken up conservation initiatives on their own or with outside help, such as the CCA examples given above, have yet to receive adequate recognition and support. Meanwhile, concerned by the increasing polarization between advocates of wildlife protection on the one hand and human rights or adivasi rights activists on the other, several organizations that take a more middle-path approach (the integration of conservation and livelihood rights), have formed a Future of Conservation Network (FoC). The FoC has produced two sets of guidelines on how to use the critical wildlife habitat and critical tiger habitat provisions of FRA and the WLPA (respectively), to achieve effective conservation and also secure the livelihoods and involvement of local communities (www.atree.org/cth_cwh.html). Such attempts to promote new conservation models are as yet marginal, but likely to get stronger as the common threat to both wildlife and local communities becomes clearer. India needs to take a number of key actions to meet its challenges to wildlife and biodiversity conservation, increasing the number of participatory initiatives in official protected areas by government agencies, NGOs, and communities, and recognizing and supporting community conserved areas. Such steps would help resolve the constraints and limitations such sites face, scaling them up into larger landscape level initiatives, staving off the threats posed by destructive forms of ‘development’, and evolving truly sensitive models of human welfare. Only an enlightened partnership amongst all sectors of society will help achieve this.

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Literature Cited
CBD. 2007. Protected Areas. Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), Montreal, Canada. Website: . Accessed 8 August 2009). Dudley, N. (ed.). 2008. Guidelines for Applying Protected Area Management Categories. International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), World Commission on Protected Areas (WCPA), Gland, Switzerland. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. FES. 2004-2005. Foundation for Ecological Security: Annual Report 2004–2005. Foundation for Ecological Security (FES), Gujarat, India. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. India, Ministry of Environment and Forests. 1972. The Indian Wild Life (Protection) Act, 1972, amended 1993. Legislations on Environment, Forests, and Wildlife: Wildlife. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. India, Ministry of Environment and Forests. 2002. National Wildlife Action Plan. Government of India, Ministry of Environment and Forests, New Delhi. Website: . Accessed: 21 October 2009. India, Ministry of Environment and Forests. 2003a. Biological Diversity Act 2002 (No.18 of 2003). National Biodiversity Authority India (NBA), New Delhi. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. India, Ministry of Environment and Forests. 2003b. No. 16 of 2003, [17/1/2003] – The Wild Life (Protection) Amendment Act, 2002. Legislations on Environment, Forests, and Wildlife: Wildlife. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. India, Ministry of Environment and Forests. 2005. Joining the Dots: Report of the Tiger Task Force. Project Tiger, Union Ministry of Environment and Forests, New Delhi. 206pp. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. India, Ministry of Environment and Forests. 2006a. The Wild Life (Protection) Amendment Act 2006. Government of India, Ministry of Environment and Forests, New Delhi. Website: . Accessed: 21 October 2009. India, Ministry of Environment and Forests. 2006b. National Environment Policy 2006. Approved by the Union Cabinet on 18th May, 2006. Government of India, Ministry of Environment and Forests, New Delhi. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. India, Ministry of Environment and Forests. 2008. National Biodiversity Action Plan. Approved by the Union Cabinet on 6th November, 2008. Government of India, Ministry of Environment and Forests, New Delhi. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. India, Ministry of Law and Justice. 2007. Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act, 2006. The Gazette of India Part II — Section 1. New Dehli, Tuesday, 2 January 2007, Pausa 12, 1928 (Saka). Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. India, Planning Commission. 2008. Eleventh 5-Year Plan (2007–12), Vol. 1: Inclusive Growth. Government of India, Planning Commission, New Delhi. Website: . Accessed 8 August 2009. IUCN. 2008. 2008 Red List of Threatened Species. International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), Species Survival Commission (SSC), Gland, Switzerland, and Cambridge, UK. Website: .
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IUCN/ICCA. 2009a. Indigenous and Community Conserved Areas (ICCA), International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), Gland, Switzerland. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. IUCN/ICCA. 2009b. Indigenous and Community Conserved Areas and National Legislation: Support or Hindrance? Indigenous and Community Conserved Areas (ICCA), International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), Gland, Switzerland. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. Kalpavriksh – Environmental Action Group. 2007. Forest Fires and the Ban on NTFP collection in Biligiri Rangaswamy Temple Sanctuary, Karnataka. Report of a Field Investigation and Recommendations for Action. Kalpavriksh, Pune, Delhi. 27pp. 25 June 2007 Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. Lord, M. and Bell, B. (eds.). 2007. Insight Guides: Indian Wildlife. Apa Publications, Hong Kong. Pathak, N. (ed.). 2009. Community Conserved Areas in India: A Directory. Kalpavriksh, Pune, Delhi. Technical and Policy Core Group (TPCG) and Kalpavriksh. 2005. Securing India’s Future: Final Technical Report of the National Biodiversity Strategy and Action Plan (NBSAP). Kalpavriksh, Pune, Delhi. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. Vagholikar, N., Moghe, K. and Dutta, R. 2003. Undermining India: Impacts of Mining on Ecologically Sensitive Areas. Kalpavriksh, Pune, Delhi. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009. Wani, M. and Kothari, A. 2007. Conservation and People’s Livelihood Rights in India. Final Report of a Research Project Conducted Under the UNESCO Small Grants Programme. Kalpavriksh, Pune, Delhi. 146pp. Website: . Accessed: 8 August 2009.

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Traditional Knowledge raditional Knowledge, the wisdom and know-how of millennia, is the most essential possession of indigenous groups — it constitutes their relationship with their land, nature, and their natural resources. Traditional knowledge, its practice and application, is learned through experience and passed from generation to generation. It is used in various ways within and among communities, family units and across gender roles to address health and nutrition, customary law and the use and management of biodiversity for their benefit and maintenance, and is central to decision-making and planning, most especially in how territories are used and how community “life plans”1 are developed. It is part of the worldview or “cosmovision” of indigenous peoples, and is a critical aspect of life in subsistence communities. It allows for high resilience in times of natural disaster and most particularly when faced with the demands and challenges of government, business, and conservation interests in their lands. The traditional knowledge of many communities is under threat, undergoing gradual erosion due to influences from western society, from youth moving to large cities in search of economic benefits, and from bio-prospecting, and most particularly when communities are forced to move away from their lands, or are restricted in their use of them. This loss has generated a movement among indigenous peoples to revive traditional knowledge in their communities, focusing especially on the younger generations. The issues of bioprospecting — the commercialization of traditional medicine and practices — has also forced indigenous peoples to engage in policy arenas focused on issues of access and benefit sharing, the means for indigenous peoples to secure and assert their rights and appropriate compensation for the benefits that their traditional knowledge provides to broader humankind. This section of the book looks at these issues through various lenses, contexts and realities. In Botswana, we see how San work through oral history projects that bring youth and elders together to emphasize the importance of traditional knowledge (White). The Tlingit in Alaska focus on sustaining relationships with nature through their traditional ecological knowledge (Thornton and Kitka). In New Zealand, certain Maori populations exploit specific marine food sources in ways that have guaranteed long-term sustainability, and the article of Moller and Lyver focuses on their Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK) and partnerships with science to raise awareness and develop a more holistic picture to solve wildlife management issues and

T

1 “Life plans” refer to community development strategies. This term is often used by indigenous peoples in Latin America in relation to discussions of territorial management.

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food security in modern times. Canadian researchers addressing Caribou conservation challenges in north Canada are discovering the extraordinary wisdom and understanding concerning Caribou migration, feeding and demography in the traditional knowledge possessed by the Dene, Inuit, Metis and Cree peoples (Kendrick and Manseau). And in Fiji, we see how Fijian traditional knowledge and practice is being used to address climate change and sea level rise (Veitayaki and Sivo). The experiences of these indigenous peoples demonstrate above all how traditional knowledge respects nature, empowers communities, provides insights from traditional management and monitoring systems to improve contemporary approaches, and positions indigenous peoples more securely to address climate change through their own adaptive management practices.

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The Bugakhwe and the ||Anikhwe San of the Okavango Panhandle:

Traditional Knowledge, Conservation and Empowerment
Alison White and the || Anikhwe and the Bugakhwe San of the Okavango Panhandle

Quick Facts
Country: Botswana and Nabibia Geographic Focus: The Okavango Delta and Panhandle on the northern fringes of the Kalahari Desert Indigenous Peoples: The Bugakhwe and the || Anikhwe San also known to others as Basarwa or Bushmen, and the || Anikhwe, as Banoka or River Bushmen.

The Biological Significance of the Okavango Panhandle
The Okavango Delta on the northern fringes of the Kalahari Desert in the Ngamiland district of northwestern Botswana is an internationally renowned inland delta, also known as “the jewel of the Kalahari” (Ross 2003). It is a seasonal floodplain that fans out over a vast area, estimates of the extent of which vary from author to author depending on their boundary delimitation. The area under flood depends on annual rainfall and ranges from about 7,000 km² to 28,000 km² (Ross 2003; Ramberg et al. 2006; Hitchcock 2008b; McCarthy 2008). The Delta is a maze of lagoons, islands, papyrus beds and channels that are ever shifting. It is the largest Ramsar Site in the world, having been designated as a Wetland of International Importance under the Ramsar Convention in 1997 (Botswana, DEA 2008). The Okavango River flows approximately 700 km through Angola and Namibia before entering Botswana as the Okavango Panhandle and then on to the Delta (total length is 1,600 km). It is a river that never meets the sea, but simply evaporates into the skies above and seeps into the sands of the Kalahari. The Panhandle is an area of floodplain approximately 15 km wide and 100 km long, a geological fault that constricts the path of the river until it reaches the Delta proper (Warne 2004). It is the lifeline of the Okavango Delta, carrying the floodwaters of the Okavango Basin, and sees an average annual variation in water level of between 1 and 2 m depending on local and regional rainfall. The Panhandle contains the deepest and most diverse underwater habitats found in the Delta, with the same channels, papyrus-choked lagoons, islands and reed beds as the Delta itself, through which the mainstream winds its way.

Author Information
Alison White is a friend, supporter and former colleague of the San and Kuru Family of Organizations. Letloa Trust’s Lands, Livelihoods and Heritage Resource Centre (LLHRC) and TOCaDI (Trust for Okavango Cultural and Development Initiatives) were responsible for collecting the voices of the San. E-mail: alisonrtwhite@hotmail.com Onkabetse Kerazemona is is the Coordinator of the LLHRC. E-mail: dikgwebo@gmail.com

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The Okavango Delta and Panhandle are of great significance for their geomorphology and hydrology and their biological diversity. In this semi-arid region, the Delta accounts for 95% of Botswana’s surface water. It provides a home to over 1,300 species of plants, 70 species of fish, 30 species of amphibians, 60 species of reptiles, 400 species of birds, and 120 species of mammals (Ramberg et al. 2006), including some rare species, such as the sitatunga (Tragelaphus spekii), a splay-hoofed swamp antelope, and the Wattled Crane (Bugeranus carunculatus). There is archaeological evidence, backed up by historical records and oral testimony that indicates the long-standing presence of humans and their use of this rich ‘land’ (Campbell 1976 cited by Hitchcock 2008a).

Indigenous Community
There are approximately 50,000 San living in Botswana, making up approximately 3% of the total population. The Bugakhwe and the ||Anikhwe San people living in the Panhandle region of the Okavango in Ngamiland are also known to others as Basarwa or Bushmen, and the ||Anikhwe, as Banoka or River Bushmen. The San are often described as ‘nomadic’, but it has been revealed that they are not truly nomadic but have always lived in well-defined territories belonging to different clans and families who guarded and protected their natural resources: In the past we had policemen with bows and arrows [...] for patrolling our lands and checking our traditional borders. One day these policemen met Thogoyankwe […] they beat him, asking him why he had left his place and come to hunt in our land. […] After beating him, they took his things […] to Lobilo [their chief ]. When they got there, Lobilo asked them, “Where did you meet him?” They answered that they found him at Kyengoâ; hunting without permission […] Lobilo said that he was wrong to do so, but that they should let him go this once. Mokobe Geyetu, Badiba 2 Because the San were inaccurately perceived by the incoming Bantu tribes and white colonists as nomadic huntergatherers with no formal land-use structures, they were extremely marginalized. They are not mentioned in Botswana’s Constitution, and thus, are not represented in the country’s Tribal Land Act of 1969, which divided Botswana into territories, but only among tribes recognized in its constitution. This dispossession has continued through the Tribal Grazing Lands Policy (TGLP) White Paper of 1975 and the Fencing Component of the 1991 National Agricultural Development Policy (Taylor 2004). The San no longer have any territory they can call their own — a fundamental issue not only with regard to their ability to develop economically, but also for the continuation of their identity. Even today, the Botswana government has not embraced multiculturalism, as have Figure 1. Papyrus channel in the Okavanga Delta. The Okavanga Delta in South Africa and Namibia (Mazonde 2004). The San are Botswana is the largest Ramsar Site in the world, denoting a Wetland of not recognized as the indigenous people of their counInternational Importance. It provides 95% of Botswana’s surface water and is home to over 1,300 species of plants, 70 species of fish, 60 species try; there is no provision of mother-tongue education of reptiles, 400 species of birds, and 120 species of mammals. Photograph © Alison White. in their first few years of schooling (Geingos 2004),
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Figure 2. Map of Ngamiland, Botswana and surrounding areas including the distribution of the Khwe in Botswana, Namibia, Angola and Zambia. Adapted from Voices of the San, Kwela Books, 2004. Maps © Conservation International.

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which contributes to high drop-out rates. The over-riding philosophy is to integrate them into the cultures of the main Botswana tribes. These issues of land, integration, education and language, alongside their lack of representation within political structures, have resulted in the San feeling dispossessed; victims without the knowledge or understanding of how to “fight back”: In the present life, it looks as if the Khwe community is under the other tribes and this we do not like, because it means that we are under the representatives of the other tribes. Today the Government of Botswana denies all the Khwe communities’ chiefdoms, lands, wildlife and natural resources. In the past, the Khwe communities used their own chiefdoms and rules about control of the earth, the land and environmental survival. The other tribes and the government fenced these lands and created boundary lines and the Khwe communities are confused by this because these lands were all part of the life of our tribe. ‡Geru Mananyana, Tobere But the winds of change have been blowing for a number of years now. The San groups have come together and shared their experiences; support organizations have been created; San-owned projects have been developed, and the San are standing up with pride. For the Bugakhwe and ||Anikhwe this started with an Oral Testimony Project.

Oral Testimony Project
One way to turn the tide and help the San reconnect with their elders and understand the importance of their traditional knowledge, especially regarding the conservation of their land and natural resources, has been through an oral history project that was started in 1998 among the elders of communities along the Panhandle. It was executed by young San themselves. Michael Baise and Jesi Segole were two ||Anikhwe visionaries who began gathering oral histories of their elders in the same year the Kuru Development Trust1 opened an office in Shakawe, the Trust for Okavango Cultural and Development Initiatives (TOCaDI). Through their efforts, TOCaDI was able to help the Khwe groups form their own trust, Teemacane (Teemacane Trust – Khwe Oral History/Testimony Programme 2003). At the same time, the Panos Institute in London2 was looking for partners to undertake an oral testimony

Figure 3. Dindo Pove drinking yica from a |qom tree, through a ‡ami straw. Through an oral history project first started in 1998, young San are collecting the words of their elders: their traditional knowledge, history, way of life and pride. This information is archived and has led to the accumulation of a wealth of knowledge that was almost lost. Photograph © LLHRC.

1 KDT, now Kuru Family of Organisations, is a network of San self-help organizations, initially established in D’Kar in the Ghanzi District of Botswana in 1986, including TOCaDI and Letloa based in Ngamiland. 2 Panos is an information and advocacy organization aiming to inspire informed and inclusive debate around key development issues to facilitate sustainable development.

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project on the issue of resettlement in southern Africa. Connections were made which resulted in the creation of the regional oral testimony project in collaboration with the Working Group of Indigenous Minorities in Southern Africa (WIMSA). This initiative was based on Panos Institute’s philosophy of “amplifying the voices of the unheard” (Panos Institute 2000) and was designed to give the San a forum where they could express their thoughts about development and its influence, using research that would at last have a clear and concrete meaning for their current situation. The way we started was to tell our communities at a meeting what the project was about and what the tape recorders meant. I went to interview in the mornings, before it was too hot, or in the late afternoon, when the work was finished. I asked permission to ask some questions. I made sure that not too many people were present, so that we could talk more easily. If the wind was too strong or there was too much noise, I apologized and came back later. Many people thought I was working for some white people and I had to explain very well that this information was for ourselves, and that I, as a young person, did not know enough about my culture, that was why I was asking. I told them too that if they did not speak, things might never change in our lives. Then I started to enjoy this work very much. I worked hard and it was difficult, but I learned such a lot that now I feel I am a professor of my culture. After that I was also trained in land-mapping and how to use the GPS, and I do not want this work to stop; I want us to continue till we have covered all the Khwe lands and history. Sefako Chumbo, original OT Project interviewer and Researcher for the Letloa Trust’s Lands, Livelihoods and Heritage Resource Centre (LLHRC) Although the focus of the Panos Institute project was on resettlement and the initial training was built around that, it was impossible to prevent the “stream of consciousness” style that developed once the interviewers were inspired and the project took off. The open-ended style and lack of focus resulted in repetition and loss of valuable chances for information, but at the same time the open approach allowed for a spontaneous accumulation of knowledge and for genuine surprises (Le Roux and Chumbo 2002): Our grandparents taught us the four directions of moving about according to the sun and the moon. We know that the sun rises in the east and then sets in the direction of west, and they were the most important tools for directions used by our grandparents in the past. The east and west directions show us the length of the world and the north and south directions show us the width of the world. This is how my grandparents taught me, and these directions are very important in our lives. Moronga Ntemang, Tobere A very broad base of knowledge has been and continues to be accumulated. Hidden in those hundreds of pages of what might be considered by many professional researchers as worthless rambling, lies the voice of the San people of today. The most prominent themes weaving through the interviews have been land and origin, traditional lifestyle, effects of modern life, folklore, hunting and gathering, health and healing, religious practice, contact with other San and non-San groups, and leadership. Although it has been challenging for editors, the voices of the San are being ‘heard’ in

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well-structured publications, and many years of discovery of the various layers of their culture awaits San researchers who will hopefully return to these interviews. We used to think that our people were just from the bush and knew nothing […] But today we are the ones who know nothing, for we do not know our families […] because the governments have put these fences that divide us, this has brought problems for the San people. These fences separated us from our families, bisecting our traditional territories and our movements were restricted by force. Kotsi Mmaba, original OT Project interviewer & LLHRC Researcher

Figure 4. Land mapping exercise with the Shaikarawe community (OK RIVER = Okavango River and BD = Namibian border). The oral history project reinstilled pride and awakened the youth to value their culture and empowered them to not only document the information they gather, but use it to work towards such things as claiming their land’s resources, developing community-based tourism, and advocating for mother-tongue literacy training. Photograph © LLHRC.

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The Bugakhwe and ||Anikhwe Tell It Themselves
The Oral Testimony Project highlighted the Bugakhwe and ||Anikhwe San’s incredible knowledge and understanding of their natural environment: In the past the men hunted with their sons to show them how to hunt, how to be brave in the hunt, how to climb trees and collect wild fruit, and also to show them the different wildlife footprints, and which were dangerous for tracking, like lion and elephant. They were also taught which trees had edible fruit and which were used for medicine. They showed the sons how the bow and arrow were used, and how to make the point of an arrow and how to poison it. To poison an arrow, which worms should be used and explained to him how long it would take to kill an animal. The young girls were taken to the bush by their mothers; who showed them the different kinds of plants and how to collect wild fruit. They were also taught to know the difference between edible and inedible plants and medicinal plants of the bush. The mothers also told them about seasonal plant collection, like that in autumn they collected wild orange fruit and how to know when it got ripe. The age of the children that were being taught was only about 4–5 years of age, but today we depend on reading and writing, and that is why our children know nothing about our past. Peter Goro, Tobere One of the plant resources that we gathered in the past was Kyara [Peeling-bark ochna or Peeling plane]. Kyara produced cooking oil for us in the past. After the fruit was gathered the Khwe people used to stamp the Kyara with water, while boiling, and when they stamped this mixture they used to sing its songs. This was done by the older women only. The oil that they produced could be as much as 20 liters within two days. Moronga Ntemang, Tobere There’s the stinging bee that nests in trees and another that is found underground, which doesn’t sting. There is a little bird called “the guiding bird”. The people have observed the behavior of the bird and can read its signals. If the bee’s nest is far, the little bird will disappear for a minute or so before coming back again. If it stays close to the person, it means the bee’s nest is near. It then goes straight to the tree and sits on the top without making any sounds. If the little bird starts performing its guiding rituals in places where there are no trees, only bushes and undergrowth, it is probably indicating the presence of a snake, lion, or buffalo, something other than a bee’s nest. People know if there are no big trees around where there is likely to be honey, the bird is warning them to be careful. This little bird is known in English as the Honeyguide. It is so much respected by the people who treat it “like a son or daughter.” They know that if they find this little bird they have found food. Kotsi Mmaba, Sekondomboro We used to get water from the pans during the rainy season, and also in the hollow of a tree and from the river. Water from the tree hollows was the Khwe community storage place for water in the past. This was rainwater. This water we used to remove using a monkey orange shell, and we
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also drank the water with a tube, a kind of grass called ‘‡ami’, if there was not a wide enough hollow in the tree. When tracking in the rainy season you collected this grass and carried it with you, and when the hunter got thirsty he was able to use this tube for drinking. You had to carry it, because in other places there were not many of these tube-like grasses. This tree hollow water, called ‘yica’ in Khwe language, was in many places in the past, but today we do not use this yica, because of the present lifestyle. Mashika Maraka, Shaikarawe The interviews also revealed the San’s view that the livelihood strategies of the more dominant groups have been legitimized and supported by the government, while their management techniques and use of the land have never even been acknowledged. The result of this has been that the other groups’ unsustainable hunting methods, slash-and-burn agriculture and cattle rearing have become the predominant land-use methods in Botswana, which has significant implications for environmental sustainability, in contrast to the San’s natural “farming” methods, which worked in harmony with the land, flora and fauna: In the olden days, the Khwe community were known as hunters and gatherers. […] The Khwe people hunted with bows and arrows, because this was the best method of killing animals and was known as the “silent killing” of animals, and the other animals did not even know that people were killing them. […] The older ones were being killed, not the young ones. This was how we controlled and grazed our animals in the past. Chumbo Maraka, Kaputura When the main groups came onto our land, they found plenty of wildlife living with us. The main groups were used to hunting game with horses, and this is why the land is no longer decorated with game in the present. The main groups also used guns to hunt with, and this also chased away our wildlife. The main disadvantage of using horses when hunting is that once the hunter is riding on his horse he does not select the game he is going to hunt, he just rides into the group of game and chases them from behind […] and this caused the wildlife to move from where we live today. [...] This is why our wildlife is not with us here today. Once the hunter was on his horse, he chased the game until he had killed one of the group of animals, then the rest of the animals would see that their friend is dead and would run as far as Maun village. […] Here in our environment now, we only see a few elephant sometimes, but no game. Moronga Ntemang, Tobere Conserving the natural resources was not only our traditional leader’s duty, but every grown up peoples’ task. […] We have people from far away places, I am talking about Hambukushu, Bayei, Basubiya and the rest, all of these peoples don’t know how to collect, how to catch fish, what size can be caught, when to burn the land and how to burn. These problems are coming because the government gave migrators the power and freedom of living everywhere and not recognizing the rightful citizens of the land and their traditions. […]
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Jackalberry is a type of fruit tree, “tcukx’om” in our language. I understand these trees are being chopped down, and the number of trees is becoming smaller. The people who do this are Hambukushu, because they don’t know about these things, as they are farmers. This is the best type of our fruit trees in the floodplains. The Bugakhwe and ||Anikhwe are living on collection and hunting. Their staple foods were wild fruits and animal meat, so they cannot collect food by chopping down trees. Kgarango Monye, Xakao I was hunting but I did not destroy my wildlife in the past. I took care of my animals everyday, because they would reproduce for me and my family and we knew that we would have food for the future and for the next generation. Today we find that the lands used by our animals are now used as fields for crop planting and the animals are now fearful of open areas; which makes them stay far away from us. In the past we did not remove the bushes in the areas that the animals lived, therefore these animals were kept as tame animals for the future generations. Peter Goro, Tobere The Khwe knew to kill only the male animal in a herd. Females were not killed and only one male was taken. Inside the females were the seeds of those to be born, which would increase the animals for us to feed on them. Animals and veld foods were known as the Khwe farm, to live on for the time ahead. David Jamo, Ngarange

Current Status
A whole range of local, national and regional materials have already been generated from this project, providing a rich resource for policy makers and people trying to implement sustainable solutions for conservation, particularly in the Okavango Panhandle. There is a description of the Khwe people’s past life (Chumbo and Kotsi 2002), a booklet about the community’s natural resources (Teemacane Trust – Khwe Oral History/Testimony Programme 2003), a large coffee table book that brings together all the San oral testimony projects in Botswana, Namibia and South Africa (Le Roux and White 2004). Finally, there is a resource on the Khwe’s traditional knowledge of veld plants (LLHRC 2007). A database of information gathered by the communities is kept by the Letloa Trust’s Lands, Livelihoods and Heritage Resource Centre (LLHRC) for community and other use, and for developing more products as required. Today the oral history project is continued by Kuru through the LLHRC, funded by Open Channels (UK). The LLHRC continues to support Teemacane Trust, and all interviews are still conducted in the local San language — in this case Khwedam or ||Anikhwedam — recorded on tape or digital recorders and translated into English, so that other people can also get to know and understand the San groups and because so few Bugakhwe and ||Anikhwe can read or write their own languages at this time. Ultimately, however, the information will also be translated into Khwedam as part of the ongoing literacy project. Alongside the oral testimony project, TOCaDI and Letloa have assisted the communities with two land-mapping projects, one in the Khudicgao area and the other with the Shaikarawe community. In Khudicgao, seven maps were produced by community members assisted by a consultant. This resulted in the formation of the ‡Heku Trust and the development of a management plan for the area, which includes cultural tourism projects. TOCaDI continues supporting the
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Teemacane and ‡Heku Trusts to lay a claim for community use of the area’s resources, which is under consideration by the Land Board. The Shaikarawe maps will be used in negotiations with government to establish a community-managed forest around the settlement. As can be seen, these Kuru organizations assist the San communities not only to document the information they have gathered, but to take it a step further and use it to work towards land acquisition, community-based tourism, Community Based Natural Resource Management (CBNRM) projects, enterprise development, and mother-tongue literacy training, etc. If the Government could give us the right to use our natural resources, we could take care of them and ourselves. Tourists could come and pay to see our natural resources […] and the money would help us. Makumbo Mangasha, Sekondomboro

Next Steps
The San (Bushmen) of southern Africa are involved in a battle of endurance, a race to not only survive, but to take their place proudly and assuredly in this “modern world.” If they can be assisted to achieve this, modern cultures will have a chance to be bolstered by the knowledge and understanding of how they lived. The San have a mix of rich, complex and enviable cultures. They were the first custodians of this land and, unlike the peoples of today, they lived in harmony with nature. To use modern phrases that we in the west now promote, theirs was a “carbon neutral” existence; their footprints did not destroy, they were erased by sand carried on the breeze. That life has all but ended; it remains only in the romanticized productions of the media. The San, and many other cultures, have been catapulted into today. Most still live without electricity or running water, although mobile phones are everywhere. For many, the only accessible mode of transport, aside from their feet, is the humble donkey, but a car is the dream; the sand, or a fallen tree, is their furniture, but the chip board and velour sofa set, available on HP (hire purchase) is their ambition. The principle tribes, the government, and the ‘west’ have made their mark; they have not guided the San into this life, enabled them to fully understand it, work in it, and grow with it. It has taken a number of years, a lot of hard work and many failed attempts for the San to realize that only by knowing and having pride in themselves, their knowledge and their cultures can they take their rightful place in this imposed world. By so doing, the Figure 5. Even in the dry season, the San can identify their plants: ThiSan will actually be in a stronger position than those in renga Dirawa shows Nyamxoexoere, a medicinal plant. Photograph the west, where our natural resources have already been © Alison White.
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significantly depleted and where many people have reached that point in development at which, they have “everything” but have lost themselves, their history, their identity and their connection to the land. The San have been working for 10 years now to prevent this from happening to their children, by collecting their oral testimonies, the histories of their knowledge, cultures and traditions, as well as the challenges they face, and by incorporating this information in projects, proposals and plans. The ultimate goal of the Oral Testimony Project has been to help the San towards self-representation, to stop their dispossession and resource loss, and change the power relations. The project has to continue, to build on what has already been achieved and follow the steps laid down by similar projects, such as the Cultural Resources Auditing and Management (CRAM) Project with the ‡Khomani people in South Africa, who had some of their land returned to them and were given limited rights to use the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Game Reserve. The Bugakhwe and ||Anikhwe have collected much information, but there is more to gather. As well as acquiring their land and the control and protection of their natural resources, they want to produce school materials, community history books, local village exhibitions, etc. so their people, their children and their children’s children can stand proud. Others can help, but the challenge of managing these cultural resources and using them practically and to heal their society by reestablishing their identity down through the generations — this is a process that needs to remain in the hands of the San themselves. As they say, “it is our work, for our future.” And if the environmental sustainability of the Okavango Panhandle, and the Delta itself is to be assured, it is work that should be encouraged, supported and used to collaborate with the government, conservation organizations and other stakeholders to inform policy and project development.

Guide to the Pronunciation of the Click Symbols, International Phonetic Alphabet
ǀ ‡ ǃ ǁ dental click: tip of the tongue is pressed against the front teeth and quickly withdrawn alveolar-palatal click: tip of tongue is pressed against the alveolar ridge and adjacent palate, then released sharply downwards palatal click: tongue is pressed against the upper palate and released sharply downwards, something like when a cork is pulled from a bottle lateral click: click sound produced at the side of the tongue when tongue is held pressed against the palate

||Xom Kyakyare Khwe: ‡Am Kuri Kx’ûî â – The Khwe of the Okavango Panhandle: The Past Life. Teemacane Trust, Gaborone, Botswana. 2002. Khwete Kx’ûîkarahî xudji Khyanimn||gèhîxodji kx’ei|am n|im Butcoanacim||Xomki – Community Natural Resources of Bugakhwe and ||Anikhwe in the Okavango Panhandle in Botswana. Booklet, Teemacane Trust, Botswana’s CommunityBased Natural Resource Management (CBNRM) Support Programme, IUCN – The World Conservation Union, Gland, Switzerland, and SNV – Netherlands Development Organisation. 2003. Voices of the San – Living in Southern Africa Today. W. Le Roux and A. White (eds.). Kwela Books, Cape Town, South Africa. 2004. ||Xom Kyakyare Khwe: Tc’ao Yidji Djaoka||oe Kx’ea ‡’Ûî ||oe Yidji nu Tcokae||oe Yidji – The Khwe of the Okavango Panhandle: The Use of Veld Plants for Food and Medicine (Part 1), booklet, Letloa Trust’s Lands, Livelihoods and Heritage Resource Centre (LLHRC), Shakawe, Botswana. 2007.
The Bugakhwe and the || Anikhwe San of the Okavango Panhandle: Traditional Knowledge, Conservation and Empowerment

Bibliography of San Oral History Project

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Literature Cited
Botswana, DEA. 2008. The Convention on Wetlands of International Importance (Ramsar Convention) – 1971. Government of Botswana, Department of Environmental Affairs (DEA), Gaborone. Website: . Accessed: March 2008. Campbell, A.C. 1976. Traditional utilization of the Kavango Delta. In: Proceedings of the Symposium on the Kavango Delta and Its Future Utilization, Botswana Society (ed.), pp.163–173. Botswana Society, Gaborone. Chumbo, S. and Kotsi, M. 2002. ||Xom Kyakyare Khwe: ‡ Am Kuri Kx’ûî – The Khwe of the Okavango Panhandle: The Past Life. The Teemacane Trust and the Trust for Okavango Cultural and Development Initiatives (TOCaDI), Shakawe, Botswana. Geingos, S. 2004. Hai||om Youth League and Working Group of Indigenous Minorities in Southern Africa (WIMSA). Presentation for the Youth Development and Peace Conference, Sarajevo, Bosnia, 5–7 September 2004. Hitchcock, R.K. 2008a. The Kavango Basin: A Case Study. The Water Page, Water Policy International Ltd., Pretoria. Website: . Accessed: 1 March 2009. Hitchcock, R.K. 2008b. Water resource use and management in the Okavango system of southern Africa: the political economy of state, community and private resource control. The Water Page, Water Policy International Ltd., Pretoria. Website: . Accessed: 1 March 2009. Le Roux, W. and Chumbo, S. 2002. When it is about the process, not the product — oral testimony collection among the San of Southern Africa. Paper presented to the XIIth International Oral History Conference, Pietermaritzburg, South Africa. June 2002. Le Roux, W. and White, A. (eds.). 2004. Voices of the San: Living in Southern Africa Today. Kwela Books, Cape Town. LLHRC. 2007. ||Xom Kyakyare Khwe: Tc’ao Yidji Djaoka||oe Kx’ea ‡’Ûî ||oe Yidji nu Tcokae||oe Yidji – The Khwe of the Okavango Panhandle: The Use of Veld Plants for Food and Medicine. Letloa Trust, Lands, Livelihoods and Heritage Resource Centre (LLHRC), Shakawe, Botswana. Mazonde, I. 2004. Equality and ethnicity: how equal are San in Botswana? In: Indigenous Peoples’ Rights in Southern Africa, R.K. Hitchcock and D. Vinding (eds.), pp.134–151. International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs (IWGIA), Copenhagen. McCarthy T. 2008. Kalahari Wetlands. The Okavango Research Group, University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg. Website: . Accessed: 1 March 2008. Panos Institute. 2000. Giving Voice: Practical Guidelines for Implementing Oral Testimony Projects. Panos Institute, London. Ramberg, L., Hancock, P., Lindholm, M., Meyer, T., Ringrose, S., Sliva, J., Van As, J. and VanderPost, C. 2006. Species diversity of the Okavango Delta, Botswana. Aquatic Sciences 68: 310–337. Ross, K. 2003. Okavango: Jewel of the Kalahari. Struik, Cape Town. Taylor, M. 2004. The past and future of San land rights in Botswana. In: Indigenous Peoples’ Rights in Southern Africa, R.K. Hitchcock and D. Vinding (eds.), pp.152–165. International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs (IWGIA), Copenhagen. Teemacane Trust – Khwe Oral History/Testimony Programme. 2003. Khwete Kx’ûîkarahî xudji Khyanimn||gèhîxodji kx’ei|am n|im Butcoanacim||Xomki – Community Natural Resources of Bugakhwe and ||Anikhwe in the Okavango Panhandle in Botswana. IUCN – The World Conservation Union, Gaborone, Botswana. Warne, K. 2004. Africa’s miracle delta. National Geographic Magazine. December, 2004. Website: . Accessed: 1 March 2008.

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The Tlingit Way of Conservation:
A Matter of Respect
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Thomas F. Thornton and Herman Kitka Sr.†

Quick Facts
Country: United States of America, Alaska Geographic Focus: Alaska’s southeastern panhandle. Indigenous Peoples: The Tlingit population is today around 20,000.

Introduction
Conservation is inherently about building relationships: the term ecology is derived from the Greek word for house, and successful conservation schemes must be concerned with structuring sustainable relations between beings and their homes. For the Tlingit people of Alaska — one of the most complex, highly developed, and densely settled groups of hunter-gatherers in the world — the relationships between them and their habitat are built on the principle of respect (at yáa awuné), which governs all relations among beings in the cosmos. To them, respect is not maintained by “managing resources” from outside nature’s “house,” but by “sustaining relationships” within it through proper cultivation, interaction, and stewardship. To go “against nature” is the Tlingit definition of “taboo” (ligáas). Tlingit conservation practices, thus, flow from this premise of respect. And, like most peoples who have successfully adapted to their habitats over long periods of time, the Tlingit practice conservation as the product of ecological knowledge and relationships developed in a dynamic kwáan (habitat, dwelling place, or ecosystem) over time. Although the establishment of national parks in their territory initially limited the traditional hunting and fishing practices of the Tlingit, a closer look at their practices reveals that their traditions are based on sound ecological knowledge derived over generations and on inherently sustainable principles of conservation based on respect.

Author Information
Thomas F. Thornton is a Senior Research Fellow and Director of the Master of Science Program in Environmental Change and Mangement at Oxford University. He lived in Áak’w Kwáan (centered in Juneau) from 1989–2000 and has conducted ethnographic research throughout southeast Alaska for the past 20 years. E-mail: thomas.thornton@eci.ox.ac.uk Herman Kitka Sr. was a Tribal Elder and Leader of the Sitka Tlingit Kaagwaantaan Clan. He was a lifelong fisherman, hunter, and trapper, and maintained a remote subsistence camp in Deep Bay, where his family has dwelled for hundreds of years. See page 217.

Tlingit Principles of Conservation
For thousands of years, Tlingits have inhabited around a dozen separate kwáan stretching across the bountiful, verdant archipelago and marine waters of Alaska’s southeastern panhandle. Today they are 20,000 strong and still control about 10% of their original lands through claims settlements that gave them corporate ownership rights. The rest of Tlingit country is dominated by the Tongass National
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Forest, Glacier Bay National Park, and the Admiralty National Monument; all federally protected lands to which Tlingits have limited access and hunting, fishing, and gathering rights, depending on government regulations. Tlingits share their kwáan or dwelling places with hundreds of fishes, wildlife, and plant species important to them. They have learned, over time and through intergenerational experience, which populations are important to sustain human life, their interrelations, habits, needs, and vulnerabilities. These relations are not always readily apparent and must sometimes be learned the hard way — through experience and failure. Failure may lead to adaptation or “social learning” (Berkes 1999), which results in new conservation practices that allow resilient species to rebound, and that are based on more successful and respectful relationships between these species and humans. According to the Tlingit, intelligent non-human beings learn the same lessons over time or else risk extinction or marginalization. This point came up during a conversation between the Tlingit and the well-known conservationist John Muir and his missionary friend S. Hall Young, who journeyed with the Tlingit to what is now Glacier Bay National Park in the late nineteenth century. They were among the first Americans to engage Tlingits in discussions about conservation. Interestingly, the discussion was interrupted by the howling of a wolf, upon which the Tlingit posed a metaphysical question to Reverend Young: When our talk was interrupted by the howling of a wolf [...][the Tlingit leader] Kadachan puzzled the minister with the question, “Have wolves souls?” The Indians believe that they have [spirits or yéik], giving as foundation for their belief that they are wise creatures who know how to catch seals and salmon by swimming slyly upon them with their heads hidden in a mouthful of grass, hunt deer in company, and always bring forth their young at the same and most favorable time of the year. I inquired how it was that with enemies so wise and powerful the deer were not all killed. Kadachan replied that wolves knew better than to kill them all and thus cut off their most important food-supply. […] Wolves, not bears, Indians regard as masters of the woods, for they sometimes attack and kill bears.” (Muir 2007). As this example suggests, wolves developed a sense of balance, if not conservation, and knew that their important deer supply could be compromised by over-hunting. In fact, there are stories of Tlingit hunters admonishing wolves for taking too much game and not leaving enough for humans. Interestingly, many Alaskans now look to the government to cull soulless wolf herds through “wolf control” or “wolf management” (sometimes done by machine gun and helicopter), so that more caribou and deer will be available for human harvest. Traditionally, Tlingits appealed to the wolves themselves to leave a supply of game for human populations, and generally they obliged. If the wolves did not abide, there were conflicts; Tlingits would hunt more wolves. This brings us to another key principle of conservation: the need to control those who use critical resources. Conservation is useless if one cannot ensure that those within or outside of your group conform to hunting, fishing, or gathering limits. Effective in-group control can be achieved through education (prescriptions) and restrictions (proscriptions or taboos), whereas control of those outside your group may only be possible through maintaining territorial boundaries to limit access to critical species and/or habitats. Tlingits practiced all of these strategies with great success. Some anthropological literature (Dyson-Hudson and Smith 1978) holds that to be economically defensible, the benefits of maintaining a territory must outweigh the costs of doing so; this is likely only when territorial resources are dense and predictable (but not superabundant, since then there would be more than enough for everyone and no need for defense). Much of the new literature on the “ecological Indian” (cf. Harkin and Lewis 2007) neglects the issue of control. It finds that Indians often failed to conserve resources
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in the post-contact era, precisely the time when their territorial boundaries and other regulatory controls were being systematically undermined and violated by whites and their surrogates competing for the very same resources. Under such circumstances, the incentive to conserve is low, for what you do not take, your competitor will, resulting in a phenomenon known as the “tragedy of the commons” (Hardin 1968).

Salmon: Avoiding a Tragedy of the Commons
Tlingits avoided a “tragedy of the commons” scenario through effective communal territories that structured human interactions with non-human species in caring, respectful ways. Most of the productive salmon streams were owned, defended, and cared for by Tlingit matrilineal house groups or clans. When commercial salmon canning and fishing interests arrived in the late 19th century, they broke the Tlingit system of communal property in order to gain access to the lucrative salmon stocks. Despite Tlingit pleas for conservation and respect for their territorial boundaries, commercial salmon boats fished right up and into the stream mouths, often completely blocking them with their nets, so that the salmon had no escape back to their spawning grounds. Offshore, plunderous floating fish traps were set up on marine pathways, indiscriminately enveloping all that passed by. This relentless extraction and the existing common property regime (in which anyone could fish almost anywhere), brought the southeast Alaska salmon fisheries to a “tragedy of the commons”: by the mid twentieth century, it was declared a disaster by the federal government (Langdon 1989). Ultimately, the government’s solution was to re-regulate the salmon fisheries by “limited entry,” restricting participation to a fixed number of individual permit holders. While the overall conservation of salmon has become more stable under this regime, the system has served to further alienate Tlingits from their fisheries and from watershed management. This is unfortunate because in Tlingit communities salmon streams have always been the backbone of the community’s livelihood, status, and wellbeing, the most prized possessions of local matrilineal clans. Tlingit clan leaders refer to their relationship over salmon streams as “taking care of it” (at daat kuyawusitaak), or one of stewardship. Taking care of a stream involves conscious, deliberate actions to maintain healthy salmon runs: In Tlingit communities salmon streams have always been “streamscaping” to create better habitat; the backbone of the community’s livelihood, status, and limiting harvests to ensure sufficient escapewellbeing, the most prized possessions of local matrilineal ment of salmon to spawn; culling predators; and honoring salmon through respectful clans. Tlingit clan leaders refer to their relationship over conduct and gifts (Langdon 2006, 2007). salmon streams as “taking care of it” (at daat kuyawusitaak), The Tlingit “master of the [salmon] stream” or one of stewardship. (héen s’aatí) is analogous to the master of a lineage house (hít s’aatí); he ensures the sustainability of the resources by managing the relations between the various inhabitants (fish and human) of the dwelling place (Thornton 2008, p.170). So for the Tlingit, managing salmon is similar to managing their own families. Failure to maintain healthy relations could bring deleterious ecological consequences. One example of this is blocking a salmon stream with a fish weir. “A salmon knows its river,” Tlingits say, and will find its way back to its natal stream to spawn. When a salmon’s way is blocked by a weir or other man-made objects for a significant period of time, it may become insulted and abandon the stream altogether. Tlingits, who have possessed weir technology for thousands of years, sometimes learned this lesson the hard way. One oral history tells of the little sockeye (red) salmon, or dagák’, which today is found only at Necker Bay, south of Sitka. These little sockeye used to be present in other streams
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around Sitka, but when these watersheds became blocked or disturbed by human activity, the dagák’ abandoned them, insulted; today they inhabit just one place. Tlingits acknowledge the insult and tell the story to avoid further offending this fragile but cherished little salmon. “Those little sockeye get offended if you don’t leave them a hole in your [fish] weir; they won’t come back if it [the stream] is all blocked off,” says elder Herman Kitka Sr. “Sitka people have a saying about it,” he notes, “Tleil dagák’ ahawateeni yík.” Literally, it means, “Don’t stomp off [insulted] like those little sockeyes.” In human contexts, such as at a ceremonial potlatch or memorial party, it indicates that the hosts want the guests to return for the next gathering. This is the way Tlingits feel about salmon too. They want them back at the next gathering and know they must cultivate proper, respectful relations in order to ensure that the salmon do return (Thornton 2008). The covenant for respectful relations with salmon is related in the “Salmon Boy” story, versions of which can be found among indigenous people up and down the northwest coast of North America (for example, Swanton 1909; Boas 1916; de Laguna 1972). In the Tlingit version, set in a fishing camp, a hungry boy insults the salmon by derisively casting aside a piece of dried fish offered him by his mother because it is moldy on one end. The salmon respond to this insult by “kidnapping” the boy and taking him to their underwater world where he finds that the “salmon people” exist as tribes with a social structure and protocols resembling those of the Tlingit. The boy lives with the salmon tribe, learning their customs and learning to see the world from their perspective. Finally, the salmon chief calls his people to board their “canoes” and return to their natal spawning grounds. Upon reaching the Tlingit fishing camp, the boy “stands up” (i.e., jumps) to see the smokehouses and proceeds up the river to the eddy where his mother is processing fish. The mother admires the beautiful salmon and directs her husband to spear it. He does, but when the fish is presented to the mother for cleaning, she notices it possesses a copper necklace like the one her son wore when he disappeared. The parents consult a shaman, who directs them to place the salmon on a large plank at the top of the house near the smoke hole. By the next morning, the salmon boy has transformed back to his human form. He instructs his people in the ways of the salmon and how to treat them respectfully so that they will return each year. Eventually the boy becomes a powerful shaman himself. Some versions of this story also detail how the boy instructed the people in how to carry out the “first salmon ceremony” in which the bones of the first salmon caught are burned and/or returned to the water in a ritual of regeneration that perpetuates “relational sustainability” (Langdon 2007) between salmon and Tlingits. In this idealized cosmology, Tlingits not only play a role in protecting salmon stocks but literally help them regenerate on an annual basis. As this Tlingit story and their system of watershed management illustrate, respect is not only ideological but practical. Whether we call this respect “conservation” or “relational sustainability” is perhaps not as critical as recognizing that it is an ingenious and effective system of Figure 1. Tlingit country from a non-Tlingit perspective. Highlighted are “resource management” (as we call it today), which was major towns, protected lands, and southeastern Alaska’s international consistently misrecognized and undermined by nonborder with Canada (yellow dotted line). Today Tlingits are 20,000 strong and still control about 10% of their original lands in the region. The rest Natives. The Tlingit use conscious, deliberate cultivation of Tlingit country is dominated by the Tongass National Forest, Glacier of social relations and material conditions to sustain and Bay National Park, and Admiralty National Monument, all federally protected lands to which Tlingits have limited access and hunting, fishing, even enhance the salmon runs, upon which their liveliand gathering rights, depending on government regulations. Map courtesy of MapQuest . hoods depend. This requires intimate local knowledge
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and engagement with salmon and their habitats; it also requires controlling salmon fishing according to abundance or scarcity. The Tlingit even manage salmon through transplantation, a practice similarly found among indigenous peoples of the Northwest Coast and elsewhere to help plant cultivation (Thornton 1997; Deur and Turner 2006).

Bird Eggs: Sustainable Hunting Based on Ecological Knowledge
Environmentalists and natives do not always find themselves in agreement about how to best conserve biological species. Despite respect for native traditions of sustainability and adaptation, some environmental groups tend to view modern indigenous people as pretty much like the rest of human society — a potential threat to the conservation of non-human species. They also view traditional native means of conservation as impractical for protecting biodiversity in the face of modern industrial society and its high population, technology, and consumption levels. Environmentalists, or “Friends of the Animals” as Tlingits sometimes call them, have been held accountable for their failures to accommodate native livelihoods into conservation projects such as parks and wildlife refuges (Chapin 2004). A good example of this can be found in the management of Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve, a Biosphere Reserve and World Heritage site, where John Muir and the Tlingits first discussed conservation. Glacier Bay National Park has emerged as a premier wilderness site and location for research as a result of Muir’s vision that wild places be preserved for contemplation and the scientific study of nature’s processes. From the Park’s perspective, these values are best achieved when human interactions with the landscape are limited to “non-consumptive” uses, such as touring in kayaks or cruise ships, rather than more “contaminating” interactions such as hunting and fishing. But Tlingits have another view of Glacier Bay. To them it is their homeland and their “icebox” (where they store food). As Huna Tlingit elder Richard Dalton put it, “This is the place we were in love with […] because it provided, like an icebox.” Tlingits who trace their ancestry to Glacier Bay seek to continue traditional hunting, fishing, and gathering within the Park, so as to nourish their bodies and sustain relations with the spirits of their ancestors, who still inhabit the landscape. Glacier Bay foods are “special,” not only because the micro-climactic conditions actually produce tastier foods (Thornton 1997) but because, as is often said, “that’s our home.” While Tlingit harvests of resources such as bird eggs, fish, and seals were tolerated at some level in the early years of Glacier Bay National Monument (Catton 1997), by the time it became a park in 1980 such activities had been severely circumscribed or outlawed altogether. One resource about which Tlingits were extremely concerned was seagull eggs. For generations they had collected the eggs of the Glaucous-winged gull (Larus glaucescens) and Figure 2. Tlingit country from an indigenous perspective, emphasizing Tlingit kwáan, or dwelling areas. Each kwáan was inhabited by other birds in the Spring (late May and early June) at three or more matrilineal clans (naa), subdivided into house groups Glacier Bay. Though they comprised a small (1%) por(hít). Food production was organized along these lineages and ceremonial exchanges (such as potlatches) took place between two retion of the total food harvest, gull’s eggs were considered ciprocating “super lineages,” or moieties (halves), known as Raven very significant as “first fruits” of the subsistence season, and Eagle-Wolf. Through centuries of inhabitation, innovation, and social learning, Tlingits developed sustainable practices of hunting marking the end of winter encampment and the beginand fishing based on principles of respect and an in-depth knowledge ning of movement to remote fishing sites. The most of species and habitats. Map courtesy of Tlingit Readers.
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favored places for gull’s-egg harvesting were the islands in Glacier Bay, where the scouring effects of glacial recession left lightly vegetated, rocky islands for gulls to nest upon. North and South Marble Islands, not far from the mouth of Glacier Bay, were considered ideal. The Tlingits suggested that their egg harvests were sustainable because they had rules for limiting the harvest. The main rule was to pick from nests with only one or two eggs, and to leave alone nests with three or more eggs. They believed that, if there were already three or more eggs in the nest, then the eggs had already begun to develop embryos (less favored, except as a rare delicacy among elders). But if you pick from nests with only one or two eggs, the gulls will come back and lay more eggs. Scientific studies of gull reproductive ecology have found this to be true, as they are “indeterminate nesters” and will typically keep laying eggs serially until a full clutch of three to four eggs is reached. So the dominant Huna Tlingit strategy of picking from nests with one to two eggs would encourage the female gull to replenish the eggs in the nest. In sum, the Tlingit egg harvesters had devised a practical conservation scheme transmitted from elders Figure 3. Herman Kitka Sr. preparing strips of salmon for drying at his to youth during the harvest and enforced by public smokehouse at Deep Bay, 1994. Tlingit smokehouses are ingenious techopinion to ensure that this vulnerable resource, the gull nologies that render salmon useable throughout the year by drying it. Fueled by carefully-tended central wood fires, the smoke is distributed egg, would remain sustainable from year to year. We throughout the smokehouse to dry the fish. As it dries the salmon is reported our findings to the Park Service (Hunn et al. rotated to the outer reaches of the smokehouse so it does not overcook. Finally, it is packed away for later use or trade. Salmon fishing was 2003, 2005), which initially agreed to support a harpracticed sustainably through communal management of key salmon vest, but only outside the boundaries of the Park due to streams. Photo © T. Thornton. concerns among conservationists within the Park ranks about the effects of gull egg harvesting on the wildlife and scientific value of the Park. Other venues outside of the park were tried but with limited success and Huna Tlingits longed to return legally to their favored Marble Island egging grounds. The Park is now considering this option through legislation. If successful, it will be an inspiring example of how the government learned to appreciate and respect Tlingit traditional knowledge and conservation practices enough to allow their continued use of a culturally significant wildlife resource. Children might return again to Marble Island, learn from their elders about how to properly gather gull eggs, and perhaps even rub their first-found egg to their eyes — an age-old technique reputed to help them see more of the mottled brown treasures that lay camouflaged among the rocks.

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Conclusion: Conservation through Cultural Practice
Indigenous communities such as the Tlingit have responded to multiple threats to their environment, from the destruction of their salmon fisheries to the cordoning off of their most sacred homelands and “iceboxes” as parks, by insisting on sustainable livelihoods through their traditional rights to the renewable resources of southeastern Alaska’s bountiful forest, riparian, and marine ecosystems. The above examples illustrate just how richly detailed Tlingit environmental knowledge is, and how practical and effective their conservation measures have been in sustaining relationships with the critical species upon which their lives depend. Their salmon stream and gull’s egg conservation systems are supreme examples of adaptive management, developed and tested over generations. The key to success in adaptive management from a Tlingit perspective is continued respectful engagement with nonhuman species. Alaska’s fish and game regulations provide for some level of engagement, but local tribes and clans typically do not have a meaningful role in managing critical species or their habitats. Tlingits maintain that these species, as well as their own communities, would be better off if they did. Why not train and appoint Tlingit héen saat’í to help manage salmon fisheries and watersheds? Why not engage Tlingit hunters, fishers, and gatherers to help better understand sea mammal ecology or bird reproductive biology? The knowledge is there, yet scientists too often insist that it is “anecdotal” or embedded in non-rational “belief ” systems. But is it truly scientific to ignore such data simply because they do not fit neatly with existing paradigms, or because they are the product of different conservation philosophies? The least rational system of all may be the one that insists that animate “resources” can be “managed” according to human principles of maximum yield without teaching respect for the relationships that comprise their foundation. As Herman Kitka Sr. has put it elsewhere: This teaching was what made each Tlingit a good citizen in each community. The young people learned to respect the land they live on. They also learned to take only what each family needed to make it throughout the year. We need to keep on teaching our children our subsistence lifestyle and our culture and religion. Without this teaching our Tlingit cultures will be lost forever. (in Thornton 2008, p.126) As these words suggest, the health of human beings and their cultural and ecological systems are inextricably intertwined. The rich biodiversity of the Pacific Northwest bioregion today is in part a result of the stewardship of its indigenous inhabitants, who have cultivated sustainable, respectful relationships with the region’s plants, animals, and fish over millennia. This teaching is still relevant today, and may help improve conservation where non-Native efforts have failed. Biological conservation can best be served through cultural conservation in which Tlingits continue to maintain ecological knowledge and respectful relations with the species and habitats that sustain them through the practice of living on the land.
† Herman Kitka Sr.

Herman Kitka Sr. walked into the forest on December 27, 2009. A lifelong member of Alaska Native Brotherhood, boat-builder, contractor, trapper, hunter, and fisherman, Herman was also a founding director of Shee Atika (Native) Corporation, which he named in Tlingit for his community of Sitka. He was recognized with numerous honors for his achievements and service, including the distinguished Kaagwaantaan name, Kusataan (referring to the signal splash of a killer whale leading its pod), and an honorary doctorate from the University of Alaska. Kusataan will be remembered for the path he made for his people as a clan, as a cultural and organizational leader, and a tireless advocate for subsistence, land, and cultural rights.
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Acknowledgments
The authors thank Nels Lawson for his assistance in preparing this essay, and also Mike Turek for reminding us of the passage from John Muir.

Literature Cited
Berkes, F. 1999. Sacred Ecology: Traditional Ecological Knowledge and Resource Management. Taylor & Francis, Philadelphia. Boas, F. 1916. Tsimshian Mythology. Thirty-first Annual Report of the Bureau of American Anthropology 1909–1910. Government Printing Office, Washington, DC. Catton, T. 2007. Inhabited Wilderness: Indians, Eskimos, and National Parks in Alaska. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque. Chapin, M. 2004. A challenge to conservationists. World Watch November/December: 17–31. De Laguna, F. 1972. Under Mount Saint Elias: The History and Culture of the Yakutat Tlingit. 3 vols. Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, DC. Deur, D. and Turner, N.J. (eds.). 2006. Keeping It Living: Traditions of Plant Use and Cultivation on the Northwest Coast of North America. University of Washington Press, Seattle. Dyson-Hudson, R. and Smith, E.A. 1978. Human territoriality: an ecological reassessment. American Anthropologist 80: 21–41. Hardin, G. 1968. The tragedy of the commons. Science 162:1243–1248. Harkin, M.E. and Lewis, D.R. (eds.). 2007. Native Americans and the Environment: Perspectives on the Ecological Indian. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln, NE. Hunn, E.S., Johnson, D.R., Russell, P.N. and Thornton, T.F. 2003. Huna Tlingit traditional environmental knowledge, conservation, and the management of a ‘Wilderness’ Park.’ Current Anthropology 44 (suppl.): S79–103. Hunn, E.S., D.R. Johnson, P.N. Russell and T.F. Thornton. 2005. Huna Tlingit Gull egg harvests in Glacier Bay National Park. Practicing Anthropology 27(1): 6–10. Langdon, S.J. 1989. From communal property to common property to limited entry: historical ironies in the management of southeast Alaska salmon. In: A Sea of Small Boats, J. Cordell (ed.), pp.304–32. Cultural Survival, Cambridge, MA. Langdon, S.J. 2006. Tidal pulse fishing: selective traditional Tlingit salmon fishing techniques on the west coast of Prince of Wales Archipelago. In: Traditional Ecological Knowledge and Natural Resource Management, C. Menzies (ed.), pp.21–46. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln, NE. Langdon, S.J. 2007. Sustaining a relationship: inquiry into the emergence of a logic of engagement with salmon among the Southern Tlingits. In: Native Americans and the Environment: Perspectives on the Ecological Indian, M.E. Harkin and D.R. Lewis (eds.), pp.233–273. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln, NE. Muir, J. 2007. Travels in Alaska. NuVision Publications, Sioux Falls, SD. Swanton, J.R. 1909. Tlingit Myths and Texts. Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin 39. Government Printing Office, Washington, DC. Thornton, T.F. 1997. Tléikw Aaní, the ‘Berried’ Landscape: the structure of Tlingit edible fruit resources at Glacier Bay, Alaska.” Journal of Ethnobiology 19(1): 27–48. Thornton, T.F. 2008. Being and Place among the Tlingit. University of Washington Press, Seattle.

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Traditional Ecological Knowledge for Improved Sustainability:
NEW ZEALAND

Customary Wildlife Harvests by Māori in New Zealand
Henrik Moller and Phil O’B. Lyver

Quick Facts
Country: New Zealand/Aotearoa Geographic Focus: Four different regions in New Zealand: Oreti Beach/Te Waewae Bay, Rakiura Titi (Muttonbird) Islands, Te Urewera Ranges, Ruamaahua (Aldermen) Islands. Indigenous Peoples: Three Māori tribes: Ngāi Tahu’s Rakiura Tītī and Murihiku Toheroa harvesting communities, Hauraki, and Ngāi Tūhoe. Māori are New Zealand’s indigenous people and currently make up around 17% of New Zealand’s 4.5 million people.

Introduction: A Need for the Meeting of Different Knowledge Traditions
Traditional management systems offer insights into how contemporary harvests of wild foods might be managed more sustainably. Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK)1 can give long-term perspectives on trends in wildlife populations, past and current distributions, and associations between different species.2 Knowledge about significant conditions and perturbations in the past can help identify threats and actions to ensure sustainable harvesting. However, although globalization and the technological revolution have greatly expanded the threats to customary harvests of wild foods3, and despite considerable opportunities for using TEK to sustainably manage wild food harvests, many governments of the colonized New World nations seem to struggle to adequately incorporate it into contemporary wildlife management regimes. There are a number of reasons why the two cultural knowledge traditions — TEK and science — so rarely meet. Simple unawareness of what is included in traditional management systems is undoubtedly one of them, and in this essay we will outline some lessons emerging from four studies of customary harvesting by Māori, the indigenous people of New Zealand. We are both wildlife ecologists working with Māori communities on TEK-science partnerships. The knowledge we present is not ours; rather it was shared by people from four Māori communities. We hope that our contribution can build their

Author Information
Henrik Moller is an Associate Professor and Co-Director of the Centre for Study of Agriculture, Food and Environment (Kā Rakahau o te Ao Tūroa) at the University of Otago (Te Whare Wānanga o Otago). He is an ecologist by training and has been working with the Māori for the past 15 years to forge cross-cultural models for environmental research and management. E-mail: henrik.moller@otago.ac.nz Phil O’B. Lyver is a Māori (Ngāti Toarangatira) research scientist

for the Manaaki Whenua (Landcare Research, Ltd.). He is an ecologist by training and has been working with Canadian First Nations and Māori over the past 15 years.
E-mail: LyverP@landcareresearch.co.nz

1 We define traditional knowledge as “a cumulative body of knowledge, practice and belief, evolving by adaptive processes and handed down through generations by cultural transmission” (Berkes 2008). 2 See Lyver et al. (1999) for one example from the Tītī population case study. Since that publication the research team has been given seven other sets of harvest records, in one case stretching back to 1938. More generalized examples are provided by Usher (2000) and Moller et al. (2004). 3 Modern technology does not always increase harvest rate. For example, motorized plucking machines have a minimal impact on the time required to harvest Tītī chicks (Lyver and Moller 1999). On the other hand the advent of the helicopter has greatly reduced the refuge areas of Tītī breeding colonies that are not harvested (Moller et al. 2009c).

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knowledge into a bigger picture, raise awareness of the need for scientists and wildlife managers to listen more attentively to indigenous peoples, and involve them more in joint problem-solving. All ethnicities share a quest to find sustainable ways of living; we just have not yet learned how to effectively apply cross-cultural partnerships.

An Overview from New Zealand
The use of TEK (Māori call it mātauranga) to guide wildlife management in New Zealand is gradually gaining momentum, and has been supported by New Zealand’s ratification of international agreements such as the Convention on Biological Diversity 19934 and through the Treaty of Waitangi settlement process.5 TEK has also taken a more prominent role in guiding and directing domestic science and research.6 New Zealand Māori acknowledge that their TEK has undergone a period of erosion over the last 200 years since the arrival of Europeans in the early 1800s. Reasons for this breakdown are related partly to assimilation with European culture7, but also because the Māori were separated from their natural resources by government land confiscation and harvest prohibitions. Even so, many tribes assert that their TEK can still reliably inform wildlife management and conservation in New Zealand.8
Gathering mātauranga Māori: four case studies

Figure 1a. Tītī are chicks of the Sooty Shearwater (Puffinus griseus) that are harvested close to fledging time by Rakiura Māori from 35 islands in southern New Zealand. Photo © Josh Newman.

The TEK of the tribes of Ngāi Tahu9, Hauraki, and Ngāi Tūhoe forms the basis of their relationships with several culturally significant taonga (treasured) or rangatira (chiefly) food species. In this essay we discuss harvests of two burrowing seabird species (Tītī, Sooty Shearwater, Puffinus griseus, Figs. 1a and 1b) and Oi (Grey-faced Petrel, Pterodroma macroptera gouldi, Fig. 2)10, the New

Figure 1b. Adult Sooty Shearwaters (Puffinus griseus) can continue producing Tītī (chicks) for up to 40 years. Traditional lore amongst Rakiura Māori is to never harvest the adults and to minimize disturbance to their breeding so as to promote sustainable harvesting of their chicks. Photo © Henrik Mouritson.

4 The CBD (UNEP 2007) bound New Zealand to create a biodiversity strategy that includes Māori environmental management principles. 5 For example, the Ngāi Tahu Settlement Act (1998) instigated several new ways that Ngāi Tahu, New Zealand’s most southerly tribe, can influence wildlife management (see Moller et al. 2000 for a review). 6 See Moller (1996), Taiepa et al. (1997), and a new national network of Māori communities that have joined forces in a project called Te Tiaki Mahinga Kai (). Te Tiaki Mahinga Kai means the guarding of food gathering, but mahinga kai can also refer more generally to environmental management as a whole. 7 See Tau (2001) for a discussion of loss of knowledge and its relative efficacy for more globalized knowledge systems such as science. 8 Lyver (2002) showed how the knowledge does much more than simply maximize harvest. It also indicated trends in numbers and changing ecological conditions that potentially threaten harvest sustainability. Newman and Moller (2004) and Moller et al. (2009a) outline ways that TEK complements scientific approaches and leads to altered study design and different research priorities. 9 Rakiura Māori do not constitute a separate iwi, but we have referred to them from Ngāi Tahu, Ngāti Mamoe and Waitaha peoples of southern New Zealand to distinguish the Rakiura Tītī harvest as a case study. Rakiura Māori are made up mainly from those iwi, but are actually defined on the basis of their rights to harvest Tītī from the Tītī Islands (Stevens 2006). 10 Detailed descriptions of the traditional harvests and TEK are provided by Kitson and Moller (2008) and Moller et al. (2009a, 2000c) for Tītī and by Lyver et al. (2008a) for Oi.

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Zealand Pigeon (Kererū, Hemiphaga novaseelandiae novaseelandiae; Fig. 3)11 and Toheroa (Paphies ventricosa; Fig. 4) a shellfish (surf clam) that is gathered from exposed sandy beaches.12 The locations of our study areas are shown in Figure 5. In all case studies, researchers were invited by the tribal governing authorities to present a proposal for matauranga-based studies, which were then presented to and sanctioned by each community at hui (tribal gatherings). We selected interviewees from each tribe who were recognized by the community as having reliable knowledge and up-to-date experiences about the resources and their harvest. Prior to beginning an interview, we discussed the project description with the interviewee as well as an oral history agreement governing information use and confidentiality. The interviews were semi-structured, with questions presented in the context of discussion to allow for a more “natural” conversation and for unanticipated insights to emerge.13
Sensing changes in wildlife populations

Figure 2. Grey-faced Petrels (Pterodroma macroptera gouldi) range in offshore waters (>1000 m depth) across the southwestern Pacific Ocean and Tasman Sea. Use of the Australian Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ), New Zealand EEZ and High Seas means that multiple nations are responsible for managing potential impacts resulting from fisheries bycatch and resource competition. Photo © Brian Karl.

Just as ecological science often approaches wildlife management through estimations of population abundance, so too did conversations with the kaitiaki (Māori environmental guardians) naturally turn to fluctuations and trends in the abundance of the target species. Ngāi Tūhoe, Rakiura and Hauraki interviewees used a range of subjective (for example, visual, auditory, and social) and objective (for example, harvest success) indicators to monitor changes in the abundance of their bird populations (Table 1). In all cases, the changes observed in these indicators were associated with declines in the populations. Visual assessment mostly involved looking at flock size, although some would assess tracks used by Tītī, observing footprint densities or vegetation trampling caused by birds departing the islands. Auditory cues were also linked to flock size; noting diminishing noise as the density of birds aggregating at focal points (for example, islands, and groves of Toromiro, Prumnopitys ferruginea trees) declined. Harvest-based indicators were typically characterized by declines in total annual harvests. In all three bird casestudies, these declines could be measured as a reduction in catch per unit effort, such as chicks/hour or chicks/burrow entrance.14 These measures were supported by more subjective harvest-based indicators such as (i) a decline in burrow densities; (ii) an increase in time spent moving between burrows; (iii) decline in occasions where a large number of birds were caught; and (iv) fewer tribal members participating in the harvest each year. Our studies have confirmed that there is a reasonably robust relationship between harvest rate and Tītī chick abundance during the rama (last) phase of

11 See Lyver et al. (2008b) for detailed results from the Kererū study. 12 See Futter and Moller (2009) and Moller et al. (in press b) for the detailed Toheroa findings. 13 See Huntington (2000) and Telfer and Garde (2006). Reyes-Garcia et al. (2006) show some of the problems that can arise if researchers try to describe TEK by questionnaires and multiple-choice styled approaches instead of in-depth interviews such as those we conducted. 14 Lyver et al. (2008a, 2000b); Moller et al. (2009b)

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the harvest (Fig. 6), though not necessarily at the nanao (first) phase of the harvest.15 Rakiura interviewees also associated changes observed in harvest patterns to declines in Tītī abundance. Rakiura TEK predicts that years with larger and fatter chicks will have greater chick abundance; however, over the last 15 years, birders reported years in which chicks were fat, but there were less of them in the burrows. It indicated to them that local food supply for Tītī was not limiting the population because the chicks remained fat. In two instances, interviewees perceived the scale of population decline based on the people’s lack of contact with the resource and the subsequent erosion of knowledge and tikanga (traditional customs and rituals) related to the birds and the harvest.

Figure 3. The Kererū is an endemic forest-dwelling frugivore in New Zealand forests. Its numbers are greatly depleted in many areas, mainly because introduced rats (Rattus rattus) and stoats (Mustela erminea) destroy eggs and chicks. Kererū were an important food of Māori in the past and their feathers are used in clothing and ornaments. Photo © Jamie Newman.

Table 1. Methods used by Ngāi Tūhoe, Rakiura, and Hauraki interviewees to monitor changes in the abundance of bird species (Kererū, Tītī and Oi) respectively.

Sensing mechanism

Population monitoring indicators

Species

Visual

Change in numbers of birds in flocks Change in frequency of branches broken under weight of flocks alighting in toromiro Change in wear of tracks used by birds to depart island

Kererū, Tītī Kererū Tītī Kererū Kererū, Tītī Tītī Kererū, Tītī, Oi Kererū, Tītī, Oi Tītī, Oi Tītī Tītī Tītī Kererū, Oi Tītī Kererū, Oi Kererū Kererū, Oi Kererū, Oi Kererū, Oi

Auditory Smell Harvest

Change in sound of flocks flying overhead Change in sound of birds vocalizing and moving within forest canopy and islands Change in the intensity of guano smell associated with islands Change in total annual harvest tallies Change in harvest rates (chicks/hour) Change in strike rate (chicks/burrow entrance) Change in number and density of burrow entrances Change in time spent between moving between burrow entrances Change in number of “tally” nights per season Change in number of birders harvesting Change in harvest pattern

Social

Change in harvest from community to individual activity Change in feather utilisation Change in when birds are eaten Change in depth of traditional knowledge base Change in tikanga (customs and rituals) and level of respect accorded to bird

15 Kitson (2004) compared harvest rates with Lyver (2000) to infer that hunters become saturated at relatively higher density so their harvest rate no longer reliably indicates population abundance.

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For Toheroa, the harvesters mainly observed the density of feeding holes while harvesting in the lower intertidal zone. Catch rate was also used as an immediate indicator that the abundance of Toheroa had remained high in areas where the beach has remained sandy. However, interviewees were unanimous that accumulation of gravels and/or erosion of sand cause the Toheroa to “move away” or “die-out.” All but one informant considered that this habitat deterioration at Te Waewae Bay (Fig. 5) had been happening since the late 1960s when the Waiau River was dammed and most of its water diverted for the Figure 4. Toheroa (Paphies ventricosa) is an endemic surf clam found on Manapouri electric power generation project. 16 exposed sandy beaches of New Zealand. It can grow to 155 mm. Photo © Julie Futter. Integrated ecosystem health indices have been developed recently by Māori to monitor the state of their environment in aspects which are culturally important.17 These indicators are now being applied regularly to 18 streams , are under development for lakes and coastal habitats,19 and are planned for other habitats in New Zealand.20 The recurring theme of these investigations is that the opportunity to harvest healthy food from an abundant wildlife population is the most common way that Māori evaluate ecosystem health.
Traditional management of wild food harvests: The importance of knowledge

Interviewees said that authority for making decisions about the resource and its harvest generally came from their kaumātua (respected male and female elders) who had experience and held the diachronic information about tribal custom and natural history related to the species and its habitat (Table 2). More recently, however, with the advent of European-style tribal governorship (for example, trusts, boards, and administering bodies) much of this power was devolved to a mix of older and younger generations. Interviewees acknowledged that without this system of internal governorship and control there would always be the very real potential that someone, either from within or outside the iwi, would use unsustainable practices and endanger the resource. Rakiura, for example, moved rapidly in the early 1900s to petition government to instigate a set of Tītī harvest regulations that reflected their own tikanga and kaitiakitanga (environmental guardianship). This protected the resource from outsiders — a rare example of where law and lore were made congruent to protect a wildlife harvest successfully.21 Some of the Toheroa interviewees were concerned that kaitiaki did not hold sufficient TEK or did not actively harvest enough themselves to hold up-to-date and reliable knowledge about the resource levels. One interviewee in the Toheroa project emphasized that by going to a kaumātua or tohunga (expert) before harvesting, one could learn the best

16 See Futter and Moller (2009) for details. 17 The process of developing the “Cultural Health Index” is described by Townsend et al. (2004) and Tipa (2006). 18 See Te Rūnanga o Ngāi Tau (2005) for their own tribe’s ‘State of the Takiwā’ environmental assessments. These complement similar State of Environment assessments undertaken by Regional Councils and the New Zealand Ministry for Environment. 19 Addition of Cultural Health Indices for lakes and coastal areas will complete a ‘Ki Uta, ki Tai’ (“Mountains to the sea”) landscape management approach by Ngāi Tahu. Design considerations are discussed by Schweikert et al. (2008 and in press). 20 These are reviewed by Schweikert et al. (2008). 21 Incorporation of law to reflect lore is an example of “Adaptive co-management” of indigenous communities that reach for new social institutions to secure sustainable resource management and conservation goals (Kitson and Moller 2008; Moller et al. 2009a, 2009c).

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places to gather the food. They were also required to report back harvest success to the kaumātua, so that their experience could assist the next expeditions. Food gifts are a way to maintain the information network as well as family and community bonds and the collective responsibility for resource management. Toheroa harvesters unanimously agreed that the current permission system of kaitiaki that authorizes harvesting for significant cultural events is much better than the occasional ‘open days’, where New Zealand’s Ministry of Fisheries allowed anyone to harvest Toheroa22. Interviewees were distressed by the habitat disruption, the driving of cars onto the beaches (which kills Toheroa), the waste and general disrespect for the kai, and ignorance of appropriate gathering methods. There was a general concern that people were ignorant of traditional rules and customs and even the basic ecology of the species (for example, identification, distribution on the beach, behavior). The prolonged prohibition of Toheroa harvesting by the Ministry of Fisheries, and the media hype before the open weekend, created a rush to the beaches and considerable damage to the resource; in stark contrast to the moderate and steady harvesting for culturally significant events by skilled harvesters within the Māori community.
Selective harvesting to reduce demographic impacts

Both Rakiura and Hauraki recognize the value and contribution of adult birds in the Tītī and Oi population; to harm or interfere with this life stage is considered a serious transgression. Only chicks should be harvested. Our mathematical models predict that this teaching alone reduces harvest impact by around five times.23 Hauraki also do not harvest Oi chicks that are large and well developed because these are considered to be the ones most likely to survive and recruit into the breeding population (Table 2). In contrast, Rakiura harvesters prefer the larger and more developed Tītī chicks24, which have been shown in studies to have a higher survival and probability of recruitment.25 Similarly, one Toheroa informant had been taught to leave the “black stripers” while harvesting because these were considered to be the

Figure 5. Map of New Zealand with the locations of traditional tribal harvest areas under the guardianship of Hauraki (Oi), Ngāi Tūhoe (Kererū), Ngāi Tahu (Toheroa) and Rakiura (Tītī). During interviews, it became apparent that all tribes had restrictions and principles that guided the use and treatment of these areas to ensure sustainability.

22 Futter and Moller (2009) and Moller et al. (in press b). 23 Population ecologists use a calculation called the ‘reproductive value’ to estimate the effect of removing a single individual of a given age on the next generation’s population. For Tītī the calculated reproductive value for harvesting an adult was more than five times that of a chick. 24 These larger chicks are fatter and are considered better eating (Hunter et al. 2000). 25 Only the larger and fatter chicks have the resources to undertake the lengthy transequatorial migration immediately after fledging (Sagar and Horning 1998).

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breeding stock.26 All other Toheroa informants were unaware, however, of this teaching, and took all the large Toheroa whatever their color. Interviewees from all our case studies asserted that setting maximum size (or age) limits for allowable harvest would lead to more sustainable and elevated harvest levels than current strategies of western fisheries science that set minimum size (or age) limits.

Table 2. Concepts and kaitiakitanga (environmental guardianship) strategies used by Ngāi Tūhoe, Ngāi Tahu, Rakiura and Hauraki to safeguard bird (Kererū, Tītī and Oi) and clam (Toheroa) populations.

Concept

Kaitiakitanga strategy

Species

Respect for species and its habitat

Teachings and directorship of harvest should come from kaumātua (respected elders). You do not prepare or eat your food where you catch it. Vital life history stages (for example, adults) are not harvested. Harvest at the appropriate development stages. To protect your future breeding population do not harvest well-developed chicks. Timing of harvest important to minimize disturbance interference and desertion of adults. Rāhui (temporary access ban) and tapu (sacred rulings) used to protect specific times of breeding cycle. Use the appropriate harvest techniques to avoid capture of non-target life stages.

Kererū, Tītī, Oi Kererū, Toheroa Oi Toheroa, Tītī, Oi Oi Toheroa, Oi Kererū, Tītī Toheroa, Tītī Kererū Oi Oi Tītī, Toheroa Kererū, Tītī, Oi Toheroa, Tītī, Oi Tītī Kererū Tītī, Oi Toheroa Tītī, Oi Toheroa Kererū, Toheroa, Tītī, Oi

Reducing the demographic impact

Allowing for escapement

Harvest only occurs during a designated period. Rotation or resting of islands harvested each season. Tohu (environmental indicators) are used to determine whether harvest should proceed or not. Use of the appropriate harvest techniques to avoid excess capture.

Protection of habitat

Access to populations controlled or limited to specific iwi or individuals within an iwi. Digging should be minimized to avoid damage to breeding habitat. Cutting of live trees for firewood is prohibited. Tohu (signs) are used to show ownership of harvesting grounds.

Enhancement of habitat

The splitting of burrows can maximize and create breeding space which is advantageous to bird population. Burying seaweed in sand to promote Toheroa numbers and growth. Tapu (sacred rules) used to restrict access or harvest to specific areas or islands. Establishment of populations in new unharvested areas. Do not harvest more of the resource than you can process effectively.

Provision of refugia

Minimisation of waste

26 Metzger (2007) records some of the traditional teachings about Toheroa harvesting.

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Timing of harvest to minimize disturbance and maximize availability

The timing of the harvest was also found to be important for Kererū, Tītī and Oi. Kererū are only harvested while feeding on Toromiro fruit because this is when the bird’s flavor and condition are best and there is a mix of adult and juvenile birds in the population. At other times of the year they are protected. Hauraki believed that if Oi chicks are removed from the burrow too early, before the adult bird has finished providing for them, those adults would comprehend their loss and relocate to another breeding colony. Strict adherence to the appropriate harvest times in early November is, therefore, critical. For Rakiura, there are strict prohibitions or rāhui (access ban) to visiting the breeding islands before 15 March (the late chick rearing stage), and harvest itself must not begin until 1 April. The harvesters must leave the islands again by the end of May. These prohibitions are designed to reduce disturbance to habitats and breeding habitats. Toheroa are harvested all year round, but careful attention to moon and tide is necessary to access the lowest stretches of the intertidal zone where most of the animals are concentrated.
Desecration of food gathering areas

Both Ngāi Tūhoe and Hauraki interviewees reported that leaving remains (feathers, viscera or expelled proventricular oils) of dead birds on the harvesting grounds in view of other birds deters them from using those areas; it is deemed a show of disrespect to which the birds would respond by making themselves unavailable (Table 2). They explained that these protocols are also commonly applied to other shellfish resources such as Pipi (Paphies australis) and Greenlipped mussel (Perna canaliculus). Shellfish are never opened or eaten by harvesters still working in the inter-tidal zone. Similarly, Toheroa harvesters were adamant that the Toheroa should never be opened on the intertidal area where they are gathered, even though some harvesters consider them a delicacy when eaten raw. One Hauraki interviewee stated “You don’t eat kai [food] in the cupboard,” while a Toheroa informant said “You don’t live in a graveyard.” The prediction that the target species would not offer itself to be harvested or would move away if disrespected are examples of how Māori personify plants and animals and some inanimate entities (for example, mountains and rivers) in their environment. This whakapapa (genealogy) linking humans to plants, animals and ‘the environment’ (a western cultural construct in itself ) has considerable potential to engender environmental care over and above what specific rules or knowledge specify as appropriate. These metaphysical Figure 6. Relationship between Tītī density and harvest rate during the rama (the second phase of the seasonal harvesting). Each point is for a aspects of TEK are as real to their holders as are biophysidifferent manu (family birding territory). See McKechnie et al. (in press) 27 cal mechanisms to ecologists. for detailed methods for this research.

27 Lyver and Moller (in press) emphasize the alternative reality of some of the indigenous customary users of the resource and the way these metaphysical connections build social-ecological resilience of resource management. They are generally ignored by scientists that admit only biophysical and ecological explanations and mechanisms for observed patterns.

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Habitat protection

Birders from the Rakiura and Hauraki iwi have several perspectives about digging up the breeding burrows to gain access to the chicks. Some Hauraki interviewees expressed the opinion that digging is a transgression that should be avoided at all costs because mending the burrow in the friable substrates of the Ruamaahua Islands is extremely difficult, and opening the burrow deters the adult birds from returning and using it the following season (Table 2). The alternative view was to not try to mend the hole in the burrow roof, but to remodel it as the entrance to the back section. This essentially creates two burrows and increases the breeding space available to the birds. For the majority of Rakiura, it was acceptable to dig in breeding burrows, however tikanga stated that holes must be resealed so that no water can enter the burrow. Even so, some birders indicated that they only reseal the holes once burrows around the manu (birding ground) have been shortened. Like Hauraki, some Rakiura shorten and split burrows to allow Tītī to maximize the space available to breed. Rakiura also use habitat protection rules to govern actions on the islands. Birders are discouraged from cutting down live trees, as their root systems secure the substrate and protect the burrows beneath28. Only dead wood is used for fires. Over the last 30–40 years, this has become less of an issue as improved transportation methods have allowed birders to take coal and gas to the islands. The cutting of tracks is also necessary to access the manu, transport harvested chicks, aid navigation, and demarcate manu boundaries. Birders only clear enough vegetation to allow safe passage and use old established tracks rather than cutting new routes. Using tracks keeps much of the walking traffic confined to narrow strips and avoids the unnecessary trampling of breeding burrows. The practice of clearing fallen wood and debris around the manu is done to assist the movement of adults to their burrows, and chicks to the edges of the islands when they fledged. The traditional method of harvesting Toheroa in the Ngāi Tahu region is to walk backwards near the water edge at low tide to spot the feeding holes. The harvester then places a foot over the hole and gently agitates it, while the flow of water erodes the sand from around the foot and Toheroa. The shellfish is then grabbed before it has a chance to dig itself down into the sand. As Toheroa feeding activity is erratic, and it is impossible to detect a high proportion of the population at any one time by this method, a degree of escapement is naturally built into this harvesting technique. This method of capture avoids the use of a spade, and eliminates habitat disruption and the risk of damaging the shells of undersized individuals (which die and desecrate the breeding colony) and waste (damaged individuals are difficult to process and normally discarded). Ngāi Tahu kaitiaki vehemently opposed government regulations that initially allowed the use of spades to harvest Toheroa. Some also oppose scientists who dig quadrats to estimate Toheroa density every 3–4 years.29
Minimizing wildlife disturbance

All the iwi control access to the resource to avoid disturbance to breeding birds and damage to habitat and over-harvesting (Table 2). Within the tribal region of Ngāi Tūhoe, family groups hold specific groves of Toromiro for harvesting kereru. Transgressing these boundaries often meets with retribution from the kaitiaki. Rakiura and Hauraki use a similar strategy to control access to the birding islands. By law, only persons of Rakiura and Hauraki descent (beneficial owners) can access the islands and harvest Tītī or Oi. But even within the Rakiura islands there are territorial systems. These range from an “open manu” system, which allows any beneficial owner with rights to that particular island to harvest

28 Kitson and Moller (2009) and Moller et al. (2009c). 29 Futter and Moller (2009) and Moller et al. (in press b).

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anywhere, to “closed manu” system where individual families manage the ground and harvest within set boundaries. The Hauraki use a strategy of temporarily suspending the harvest until the Oi population recovers (Table 2). In the past, they have also rotated and rested islands from harvest, ensuring that adult Oi from each colony were left undisturbed in some years to breed and to give the chicks the opportunity to fledge. Under Ngāi Tūhoe lore, absolute protection of the Kererū breeding phase is based on the belief that the Kererū nest is tapu (sacred) and that inadvertently finding a nest is a bad omen. The Kererū is referred to as “the hidden bird” of Tane Mahuta (God of the Forest); so to disturb a Kererū nest is deemed a violation against the forest deity, which would bring repercussions. It is also the food of rangatira (high ranking male persons), so it was considered a societal offence to disturb the species outside the harvest period. Tapu is also used by Rakiura to protect physically and culturally sensitive areas of the islands (for example, fragile ground; burial sites) by preventing access. Birders respect tapu and do not enter these areas to harvest or collect firewood.
Seeding new populations

A Ngāi Tahu man who was appointed as Honorary Fisheries Officer at Te Waewae Bay attempted to establish at least seven new populations of Toheroa in the 1950s and 1960s. Another informant presumed that active moving of the Toheroa is a traditional practice because all sorts of other foods and materials were moved around in traditional times.30 Whether recent or traditional, the transfers are undertaken to spread the harvest opportunity for people (and presumably lessen harvest pressure on existing populations) and to build demographic resilience into the metapopulation. The transfers are coupled with supplementary “feeding” of the Toheroa, where an unknown material is added to the sand. This is done in the strictest secrecy to allow new populations to grow strong before being noticed by harvesters. The basic principles of these translocations are those used by wildlife managers for threatened species today, including concepts such as “soft release” to support founder populations when they are small and vulnerable31.
Minimizing waste

Both Rakiura and Hauraki birders minimize waste when harvesting Tītī and Oi. Harvesting more chicks than can be processed, or allowing birds to spoil and become inedible are considered serious transgressions, as is the use of non-selective methods to harvest chicks (Table 2). Some islands have banned clubbing as a means to kill Tītī fledglings because of the risk it poses to adult birds or small chicks.32 All 17 Toheroa informants were shocked by the evident waste from open-day events, citing examples of having found unopened and discarded shellfish in nearby ditches and rubbish dumps. The consistent teaching is never to take more than is needed for your own family meal or to share with extended family or friends.

30 McAllum (2006) used a combination of provenance and ecological sampling models to demonstrate this for harakeke (flax) in the North Island, and Williams (2004) makes a more general case for translocation as part of vigorous and active management of the environment in South Island. 31 Transferred animals are given shelter and supplementary foods in the new release site and held in captivity, then semi-captivity, to allow a period of acclimatization (Brown and Day 2002). A similar soft release strategy was employed by Māori to translocate Pāua (abalone) — the animals were placed inside kelp bags called pōhā at the receiving site (Bird et al. 2009). 32 Unless a bird is handled it is sometimes difficult to identify whether it is an adult (many chicks look like adults by this stage) or a small chick not of appropriate harvest condition or size.

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Discussion: Opportunities Lost and Gained
Building ecological resilience from a TEK and science partnership

Our informants did not frame TEK and their management customs in terms of sustainability, or use the words and typologies common to western wildlife managers to describe their strategies for sustainable harvesting. Nevertheless, we were able to categorize most of the elements of lore into sustainable harvesting strategies recognized by ecologists (Table 2): habitat protection; guaranteed escapement; the establishment of refugia; the minimization of disturbance to breeders; the harvesting of ages or life cycle stages that have the least impact on the next generation; and the minimization of waste so as to reduce required harvest pressure. Equally, our experience was that customary harvesters readily understand ecological science principles in terms of TEK when presented simply and without jargon; and that scientists could understand the constructs of TEK in terms of science if explained in English and non-metaphorical terms. Kaitiaki and scientists use different words and methods to order and test knowledge; however, both groups often agree on what is happening and what can be done to change it. Mutually beneficial peer review of each others’ knowledge systems has been particularly evident As Traditional Ecological Knowledge throughout the 14-year Tītī research partnership between Rakiura and 33 the University of Otago. and science are increasingly Some anthropologists hold that wildlife management practices of combined to confront conservation indigenous people cannot be categorized as true conservation strategies issues, the common ground will if they have not been designed specifically for conservation.34 We believe that this is a circular and semantic argument that undermines collabora- enhance the effectiveness and tion and partnership from pooling knowledge and action for improved resilience of conservation actions. environmental outcomes. People’s customs are naturally determined by several factors, a quest for sustainable livelihoods being just one of them. In many cases, the issues remain of who sets policy, who determines the state of a resource, and who ultimately decides the appropriate management action. Current wildlife management systems in countries with colonial histories (for example, New Zealand, Australia, and Canada) are largely based around Eurocentric scientific principles, making it difficult for ecologists to accept and include spiritual-based explanations of patterns observed in wildlife populations without hypothesis testing or plausible ecological mechanisms based on biophysical processes. So far, the common practice has been for scientists or environmental resource managers to select aspects of traditional knowledge that fit with scientific concepts and data requirements and procedures.35 As TEK and science are increasingly combined to confront conservation issues, the common ground will enhance the effectiveness and resilience of conservation actions. Trust is needed to ensure that both knowledge systems are given equal opportunity to deliver what are considered by scientists and Māori to be the most appropriate strategies and management goals. History shows us that misinterpretation and/ or disregard for TEK will occur unless indigenous communities have autonomy guaranteed under co-management agreements. One of the greatest strengths of TEK is its fine-grain tuning of management to local ecological conditions. The knowledge shared with us by the kaitiaki was often intricate, detailed and subtle — a product of decades of experience

33 The development of mechanisms for adequate peer review of each others’ knowledge is outlined in detail by Moller et al. (2009d, in press). 34 See Smith and Wishne (2000). 35 See Ellis (2005) and Stevenson (2006). Our point is that these constructs are not necessarily wrong — indeed they allow a measure of meeting of knowledge systems — but just that they are an incomplete description of the multiple dimensions of TEK.

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in one place (diachronic knowledge). Our scientific efforts to support the sustainability of harvesting have been relatively short-term but gain power from systematic investigation into many different places and many life cycle or seasonal stages not confronted by the harvesters (synchronic knowledge). Having both TEK and science available puts kaitiaki in a strengthened position to respond to changes in wildlife populations and the environment, and adapt harvest practices and/or management strategies appropriately. This in itself adds to the resilience of the “Social-Ecological System”.36 Ecological resilience can also be developed through adaptive co-management that easily incorporates knowledge from both systems.37 In this way, indigenous cultures can continue to harvest, maintain their cultural and TEK links with the environment, and monitor and predict the well-being of wildlife populations. Rakiura and Hauraki will use the knowledge that has emerged from their concomitant studies to predict trends in their seabird populations and harvests well into the future.
Building cultural resilience for sustainability

The continuation of harvesting is crucial for maintaining knowledge, identity and sense of place. These are fundamental to the commitment and confidence that a group needs to exercise sustainable environmental management. Sustainability, in turn, delivers cultural and individual well-being. Māori express this as ahi kā roa — keeping the fires burning for a long time. Severing customary use allows the fire to go out. Our informants also expressed their need to nourish others in their community as well as visitors (Manaakitanga). Providing food is proof of commitment to the community and competency as local environmental guardians. It is considered by many Māori to be whakamā (shameful) to receive visitors and not serve them food from the local area.38 This practice is fundamental in defining the iwi and/or individual as a kaitiaki for the resource. Provisioning builds cultural cohesion and reciprocity within and between social groups that in turn helps ensure better collaboration for wise environmental management and protection. Indeed, a recurring theme in the conversations with the kaitiaki was that managing mahinga kai (food gathering areas) used to be much more of a communal activity that bound groups together. Several interviewees lamented the loss of the detailed traditional knowledge that came with harvest prohibitions and contemporary lifestyles. In the western world, people have become distanced from the acquisition of food, and desensitized. Most have little comprehension of where their food comes from or their connection and responsibilities to the land. Our studies are just some of many around New Zealand over the past decade that are dedicated to finding and recording TEK from key practitioners before they pass on. Much knowledge has been lost over a century as TEK has been acculturated by science; however, systematic efforts have emerged to rebuild this traditional management and knowledge. Equitable and respectful partnerships of TEK and science are one tool to build co-management and better meet global and local threats.
Joining indigenous communities together: a new challenge

Indigenous communities are undoubtedly important local sites for improving cultural-ecological resilience and natural resource management. There is fierce defense of local governance and identity, and the application of TEK to

36 Social-Ecological Resilience thinking provides a new way of managing for sustainability that resonates particularly strongly with TEK and Indigenous People’s world views — see Berkes et al. (2003) for several indigenous and local community case studies. 37 Adaptive co-management principles emphasize ‘learning by doing’ and learning from resource depletion as the basis of TEK developed by indigenous communities over centuries (Berkes and Turner 2006; Turner and Berkes 2006). We see learning from science partnerships as just one further step in the evolution of new tools for indigenous people to manage their natural resources, just as dialogue with TEK adapts and strengthens scientific research and science-based management for social-ecological resilience. 38 See Moller (1996), Lyver et al. (2008a, 2000b).

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strengthen the groups’ commitment and effectiveness in restoring and protecting resources. Isolation, small size, and lack of resources, however, make local indigenous communities vulnerable to fragmentation and domination by centralized resource management agencies of the western government which seek to apply western models and research. The application of a ‘one size fits all’ approach to legislation and resource allocation further weakens cultural-ecological resilience, particularly when funds for local and indigenous management are severely limited. Te Tiaki Mahinga Kai is a group of kaitiaki and scientists seeking to restore and protect customary fishing along New Zealand’s coasts and rivers by creating a network for information-sharing and coordination of research and training. Building a cohesive and national network requires important rules of thumb: (i) never undercut local sovereignty, (ii) promote clearly transparent systems for guiding research partnerships between TEK and science research teams to ensure cultural safety 39, (iii) ensure bottom-up, “grass roots” power sharing to guide national level advocacy of TEK and Māori-led research, (iv) assert a long-term vision and find the patience and strength to not waiver from it, and (v) plan to invest much more time and resources in communication and participatory processes than you at first might think as being adequate. Building cultural-ecological resilience through new networks also requires considerable risks and brings antagonism from existing power structures within indigenous communities, national fisheries and environmental agencies, research circles, politicians and other parties with vested interests. Courage and vision is therefore required to redesign traditional and contemporary resource management institutions that build on national and local strengths. We predict that readers of this volume of conservation stories from around the world will be more struck by the similarities than differences between the struggles of our respective communities and their enthusiasm to apply TEK for improved environmental and cultural well-being. Conservation International is one of several organizations giving strength to local communities by linking them internationally. This is one example of globalization that can be truly good for the environment.

Acknowledgments
The authors thank the interviewees who participated in the four studies, and the Rakiura Tītī Islands Administering Body, Ruamaahua Islands Trust, and Tūhoe Tuawhenua Trust for their directorship. We are grateful to Moehau Kutia, June Tihi, Te Motoi Taputu, Bettina Yockney and Damien Waitai for translating and transcribing the interviews, and Ellen Cieraad for designing Figure 5. The Ngāi Tūhoe and Hauraki studies were funded by Ngā Pae o te Māramatanga (RF-14-04) and the Foundation for Research, Science and Technology (FRST – C09X0509; C09X0308) grants. The main Kia Mau Te Tītī Mo Ake Tōnu Atu (Keep the Tītī forever) research program was funded by successive grants from FRST, and most latterly by a Te Hononga o Ngā Ao (Linking the worlds) FRST contract (UOOX0609). Network building for Te Tiaki Mahinga Kai (Looking after food resources) is also funded by FRST (UOOX0608) and Te Rūnanga o Ngāi Tahu. Toheroa research was funded by a New Zealand Ministry of Fisheries customary fisheries grant (CUS2007-06).

39 See Moller et al. (2009d, in press) for some examples of partnership mechanisms that keep both local communities and the scientific teams safe and able to trust and respect one another.

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Using Traditional Knowledge to Address Climate Change:
The Fiji Scenario

Joeli Veitayaki and Loraini Sivo

Quick Facts
Country: Fiji Geographic Focus: Gau Island, one of over 300 Fijian Islands. Indigenous Peoples: Indigenous Fijians

Introduction
The effects of global climate change and sea level rise are already being felt. Worldwide, however, preparation is stalled by the high numbers of people involved, the scarce and limited resources, the lack of proven approaches, and the uncertainty about the nature of the threat in the face of other more pressing issues. In the small island states and territories in the Pacific, the scenario is bleak because these islands will be the first, and amongst the worst, victims of climate change even though they have done little to cause the problem and can do little to address it. However, Pacific Islanders have extensive traditional knowledge and experience in living in their small islands and can offer worthwhile lessons on how to prepare for climate change and sea level rise. Because of this, and in spite of their weak economic conditions and the disruptive and widespread changes, the Small Island Developing States (SIDS) such as Fiji are expected to fare better in addressing climate change if they take advantage of the traditional knowledge they still have and use. This traditional knowledge and wisdom has been tried and tested by people who have lived in these small and harsh island environments for thousands of years, and can help prepare their contemporary societies to mitigate and adapt to climate change and the associated sea level rise. In this paper, we examine how some of the Fijian traditional knowledge and practices can be used to address climate change and sea level rise in the Pacific Islands and around the world. By addressing the issues of climate change and sea level rise in Fiji we see that appropriate solutions can be found in the country itself. Changes can be easily implemented in the development of appropriate coastal protection, in the adoption of mitigation measures and adaptive land use and living practices, and the promotion of sustainable living and environmental management that integrates corresponding traditional knowledge and practices.

Author Information
Joeli Veitayaki is an Associate Professor at the Division of Marine Studies, School of Islands and Oceans, Faculty of Science, Technology and Environment at the University of the South Pacific (USP). Joeli is also the Director of the International Ocean Institute-Pacific Islands. He is from Fiji. E-mail: veitayaki_j@usp.ac.fj Loraini Sivo is Coordinator of the MMA study for Conservation International. She is from Fiji and has worked in many of the study sites. E-mail: lsivo@conservation.org

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Background: Climate Change and Sea Level Rise Issues
The recently released Fourth Assessment report of the IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change) outlines what is to be expected as a result of climate change by 2100; the only uncertainty being the timing and magnitude of the changes, not their occurrence (IPCC 2007). In Fiji and other Pacific Islands, these changes are already evident in the form of coastal flooding, erosion, saltwater intrusion, increased storms and associated damage. In addition, these countries are under pressure from their rapidly increasing populations. It is critical that small islands devote more concerted effort to address these eventualities. Fiji and other Pacific Islands will be required to commit resources they do not even have to address climate change and sea level rise because they are likely to be the worst affected. Unfortunately, many people today pursue the short-term goals of attaining economic benefits from their exploitation of environmental resources without concern for long-term costs and benefits for the sustainability of life in the islands (Nunn 2007). The climate change situation presents serious difficulties that demand a different approach. In 2007, for instance, the European Union provided US$20 million to improve the disaster risk management plans for eight Pacific Islands (Anon. 2007). Such assistance can be better used if traditional knowledge and practices prepare people for climate change. This is why it is logical that these countries incorporate the knowledge and practices of those who have lived in these small islands for generations and have traditional wisdom that can be the basis of policies, strategies and actions to address climate change and sea level rise (Veitayaki 2002; Veitayaki et al. 2005a, 2005b). Small Island Developing States (SIDS) are vulnerable to the effects of climate change, sea level rise, extreme natural events, and disasters, and are already facing many of the challenges that others in the world just talk about. Given their small size, short-term susceptibility to the effects of climate change and natural disasters, and their limited adaptive environmental capacity, small islands are critical indicators of the changes that will affect life in coastal communities in the future. Many coral atolls and coastal areas in the Pacific Islands are less than 5 m above sea level and will be rapidly inundated due to changes in rainfall patterns, prevailing winds and short-term variations in sea levels and wave patterns. Moreover, saltwater intrusion will affect agriculture, water supply and life in these islands long before they are inundated. Coral bleaching caused by warming seawater temperatures is expected to intensify and increase in regularity, damaging the health of the coral reefs, as well as the health and distribution of mangroves and sea grass beds, which will also change drastically given their interrelationship with coral reefs. For these reasons, small coastal nations such as Fiji must address climate change at both local and national levels. Increasing human populations and coastal development contribute to serious problems that now threaten many coastal villages. Infrastructure development, farms and settlements have resulted in erosion and increased sedimentation that directly and indirectly affect island ecosystems. The blasting and dredging of coral reefs and mining of coral aggregate are causing serious harm to coral reefs and coastal areas and must be reduced. Likewise, the loss of wetlands and the exploitation of marine fisheries must be reduced in order to enhance the effects of the mitigation and adaptation efforts. The lessons of the past must be taken seriously. For example, the advice of a colonial administrator that mangroves in the village fronts in Moturiki be cleared to ensure fresher air (Nunn et al. 1999), when acted upon, resulted in serious coastal erosion. Coastal development must take into account the need to ensure that when climate and sea level change the small islands can support the increasing populations that result. The pressures on coastal environments have worsened in urban areas; their primary effects being manifested in the overexploitation of marine resources. In addition, ports such as Suva, Lautoka, Labasa and Savusavu have had their coral reefs, mangrove forests and sea grass beds destroyed from the construction of coastal infrastructure, land and marine-based pollution, fishing and other uses, natural disasters and poor development planning. This worrisome scenario, where environmental conditions deteriorate as development proceeds, suggests the need for a better development
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Figure 1. Fiji and Gau Island including the villages where the people are using traditional knowledge to address climate change and sea level rise.

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strategy, one that will avoid such problems as well as mitigate and adapt to the effects of climate and sea level changes. A new strategy emphasizes the involvement of local communities in the care of their environmental resources using their traditional knowledge and practices. The people of Fiji have lived for centuries in their island world and must now use their traditional knowledge and practices learned from prior experience to ensure their survival in the future. This adaptation will not be financially demanding and will guarantee survival. People must respect their environment and not act as if they are independent of it. Many mistakes have been committed in the past because developers failed to consider or consult the local resource owners. Food production, for example, can continue to be guaranteed with the use of traditional methods and schedules. They must not be abandoned in favor of contemporary methods which need to be adequately tested. Social relations and institutions must be strengthened to enhance their contribution and discourage their abuse for short-term personal gain. Traditional resource management practices must be recognized and used to maintain the healthy natural environments needed for the ecological services they provide. Indigenous Fijians are familiar with their traditional knowledge and practices and are unlikely to use contemporary and little understood legislation and policies.

Background: Traditional Knowledge
Traditional knowledge and practice are practical and learned through experience. They are appropriate for local surroundings, and incorporate knowledge of the area accumulated through the generations. Renowned anthropologist Vishvajit Pandya in a conference presentation on Traditional Knowledge in Cairns in 2007, explained that indigenous knowledge is embedded within the worldview of these groups that react to extreme events according to the people’s empirical observations of change in their environment. Unfortunately, traditional knowledge has been eroded amongst indigenous peoples, particularly as a result of the younger generations living outside their communities, or due to those whose western education has taken them away from their local areas and their elders who are the sources of this knowledge. Traditional knowledge is a critical part of life in subsistence communities such as those in the Pacific Islands where the people are self-sufficient and independent in times of disasters. Nunn (2007) highlighted how the great vulnerability in these islands was matched by the equally high resilience that allowed people to quickly recover from disasters. People relied on their own resources to recover from calamities and only partially depended on the external assistance that is increasingly available today. The experience of the Ongees of Little Andaman Island during the 2005 tsunami demonstrates how these poor and illiterate indigenous settlers used their own beliefs to accurately interpret the signs in Traditional knowledge is a critical part of life their environment and survive the calamity (Pandya 2009). in subsistence communities such as those These people knew that the exceptionally low tide early that day was a sign that the water would return with equal in the Pacific Islands where the people are or greater force and that they needed to head for higher self-sufficient and independent in times of grounds immediately. The Ongees retreated to the hills and disasters. did not lose a single life despite the catastrophe around them. Similarly in Fiji, Cyclone Daman on 8 December 2007, brought widespread destruction to Cikobia Island but there was no loss of life during the storm nor during the subsequent three days before outside relief finally arrived on the island (Rina 2007). The knowledge and independence of these communities which allowed the people to survive should be used by the SIDS to be better prepared for climate change. This would be better than having the people depend solely on the modern and costly systems borrowed from
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developed countries. Traditional knowledge of food sources, agricultural systems, medicine, social relations and resource management provide relief in times of disasters and allow people to overcome the effects of climate change and sea level rise. Much of this knowledge is still used in rural areas and amongst indigenous Fijians and can be the basis of mitigation measures and adaptive approaches associated with changing climate conditions.
Food sources

In rural communities food is predominantly found and cultivated locally, and the people need to protect this traditional source which is supplemented by imported food from stores and supermarkets. Food exchanges and arrangements practiced in coastal and island communities offer welcome sources of relief when required. People periodically rely on the collection of native, wild food sources, which they supplement with subsistence crops. Fruit such as breadfruit is the staple diet when in season. These hardy and salt tolerant trees also provide shelter in the villages as well as timber for buildings and logs for dugout canoes. Empirical Fijian knowledge of the environment is illustrated by the people’s wide range of ingenious fishing and hunting techniques (Veitayaki 1995). Different fishing methods using different materials allow people to catch different species of fish. They can interpret signs in their environment that offer useful hints for planning. When bees nest close to the ground rather than high up on the tree branches, and turtles nest inland rather than on the beaches, for example, these are widely known signs of impending storms. The traditional calendar lists conditions and available sources of food at different times, and guides people’s farming and fishing activities throughout the year. The calendar can be used to monitor change associated with climate change and sea level rise. January is when spinefoot (Siganus) and Vermiculated rabbitfish (nuqa) Siganus vermiculatus, shellfish and bivalves (kaikoso) (arcid cockles Anadara cornea) and trochus snails (vivili) (Marine topshell Trochus niloticus) mature. This is also the time when land crabs (lairo) (Brown land crab Cardisoma carnifex) spawn in the sea, and Breadfruit (Schizaea dichotoma) trees bear fruit. In February, the yam (Winged yam Dioscorea alata) gardens mature and offerings of first produce (sevu) are made to the church, landowners and chiefs. In March, mud crabs (qari) (Scylla paramamosain) mature and breed, while the harvesting of yam commences in the gardens. In April, the native reeds (gasau) (Pacific Island silvergrass Miscanthus floridulus) flower, breadfruits ripen, and Bigeye scad (tugadra) (Selar crumenophthalmus) are plentiful. In May, yams mature and are harvested, while at sea there is an abundance of Chub mackerel (salala) (Rastrellinger kanagurta). In June, the clearing of the new yam gardens begins on land, while the Silver biddy (matu) (Kuhlia marginata) and Goldspot herring (daniva) (Herklotsichthys quadrimaculatus) are bountiful. July and August are associated with abundant octopus (kuita) (Octopus sp.), Rock cod (kerakera) (Epinephelus microdon), and the continuation of work on the yam gardens. This is also the period for the Little priest (vaya) (a sardine Thryssa encrasicholoides [also called Thrissina baelama]) fishery. In September, yams sprout and the sticks are put in place to support the plant off the ground. This is when the Rock cod (kawakawa) (Anyperadon leucogrammicus) spawns and mango trees flower. In October, breadfruit matures and the local sea-worm delicacy (balolo) (Eunice viridis) can be collected. The fishing of balolo continues into November, which is also when crabs mature and there is an abundance of Spanish mackerel (walu) (Scomberomorus commerson). Many local fruits mature at this time. In December, the cycle rounds off with the spawning of spinefoot, rabbitfish (nuqa) and Giant trevally (saqa) (Caranx ignobilis). Wild food sources prevent starvation in times of disasters and famine, and offer immediate relief in times of need, but their use requires skills and knowledge. People need to know what to look for and where, how to harvest these foods, as well as how to prepare them. In many cases, people in hurricane and famine ravaged areas are able to consume the normally poisonous giant taro species (Alocasia, Araceae) and know how to look for wild yams (Dioscorea nummularia) in bushlands (Thaman and Clarke 1987). During drought, people resort to known but unused freshwater sources, while
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fruits of vines (Entada phaseoloides [Fabaceae], walai), sugar cane (Saccharum officinarum) and coconut (Cocos nucifera) provide back up supply. People also produce syrup from certain plants as a replacement for sugar. People are cautious of potential food shortages and practice different ways to conserve food surpluses. Breadfruit and cassava are buried in specially prepared holes to save them for when supplementary supply is required (Aalbersberg 1988). Yams are stored in specially built houses providing supply for up to a year. Fish and other protein sources are smoked to preserve and store. Fijians also have social networks that tie people together; people freely borrow and share supplies with their relations who are, in due course, obliged to reciprocate.
Farming

The agricultural systems are appropriate and suitable for the local environment. With the crude tools that people use, land clearing through slash-and-burn is restricted, limiting people’s impact on their environment. Shifting cultivation gives the land time to replenish naturally, a practice that renders unnecessary the use of fertilizers that are an integral part of contemporary farming and a threat to the water and coral reefs. Multi-cropping ensures that a variety of crops are simultaneously grown at any one time to allow continuous food availability. Different crops have different requirements, mature at different times and are affected differently by given climatic conditions. The fires, hurricanes, floods and droughts that are part of the island conditions affect crops such as yams and sweet potatoes (kumala) (Ipomoea batatas) differently. Moreover, coconut, plantain (Musa balbisiana), banana (Musa nana), breadfruit, and mango (Mangifera indica) trees in the old garden sites provide additional food to the owners while intensive and semi-permanent systems of irrigated taro (Colocasia esculenta) and Giant swamp taro (Cyrtosperma chamissonis) ensure continuous supplies of food that are less affected by drought and are easier to keep free of weeds. This practice of relying on a variety of food sources reduces vulnerability and improves the chances of having food available at all times.
Medicine

Medicinal plants in indigenous communities provide health relief in times of need. The roots, bark, leaves, and shoots of certain plants are used to cure or alleviate numerous ailments. For example, cuts and sores are treated with Mikania micrantha (Asteraceae) (wa bosucu), Centella asiatica (Apiaceae) (totodro) and coconut (Weiner 1976; Wainimate 1997). Traditional medicine is easily available and is used until the people can get to a medical center, which is often far away. Traditional medicine curbs the increasing cost of medical service and ensures that people are not helpless even though they are far from medical posts and hospitals.
Social relations

Indigenous Fijians live in villages in well-defined social units that are the basis of all social grouping and activity. The village economy is characterized by “subsistence affluence” rather than the abject poverty that is prevalent in many other developing countries (Fisk 1970; Knapman 1987). People are self-sufficient and have intricate exchange arrangements, which ensure that the resources are efficiently used and that people look after one another in times of need. Hoarding is neither practical nor necessary because people’s basic requirements are supplied through their kin-based networks (Narayan 1984). Kerekere, “a system of gaining things by begging for them from a member of one’s own group” (Capell 1991), ensures that surpluses are shared, thereby preventing the accumulation of wealth (Nayacakalou 1978), which in any case may not work. Property is communally owned while people use goods such as sperm whale teeth (tabua), mats, other artifacts and food to obtain and return favors (Nayacakalou 1978). This social kinship system is the safety net that enables local people to meet their needs in their small island environment.
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People throughout the country are “related” in an intricate web of social networks. Relations of mataqali (respectful relation among the people from Kubuna Confederacy), tovata (respectful relation among people from the Tovata Confederacy), tau (jovial and close ties between people who are closely related because of their traditional gods), naita (close relation between people from the Confederacies of Kubuna and Burebasaga), takolavo (relation between two districts in Viti Levu) and dreu (close relations between people from Tovata Confederacy and those from some parts of Viti Levu) guarantee that people assist each other and provide a social safety net to look out for each others’ interests in times of need. The inspiration to work in an indigenous Fijian community is based on the principle of reciprocity rather than monetary reward. It is related to the knowledge that one day one will require the assistance of others. Public opinion is therefore a powerful sanction for culturally acceptable practices. There is keen competition between groups that all use the exchange system and reciprocity to establish their social standing. People in these communities put in unlimited hours when a situation demands it. At such time, there is no “clock-in”, and the reward is not gauged by the length of time put in by the individuals, but rather by the effort made to complete the tasks. Production is fundamentally an act of social service, not an economic one in exchange for one’s labor, land or equipment. This is the way people, led by their traditional leaders, mobilize to recover from disasters and times of need. People in authority in the communities are thus respected and obeyed because of their greater knowledge and experience of the local context (Nayacakalou 1978).
Resource management

The main feature of resource management among traditional Fijian societies is the communal ownership of the land and its resources, extending to the outer reef slope and to some outlying submerged reefs. Social groups (such as yavusa and vanua) own the resources and regulate their use. People seeking to use customary grounds belonging to others must get permission from the owners. The social groups periodically declare a portion of their areas out of bounds to preserve the resources for an intended purpose (Ravuvu 1983). The social structure and close-knit units demand that people follow protocol and respect each other. The traditional system of retribution is an effective deterrent in the community (Siwatibau 1984). Sacred grounds are prominent in Fijian societies. At such sites, fishing is conducted only when the special conditions and requirements are met. These sanctuaries where resource use is greatly reduced are exploited only when good catches are needed. The association of people with the supernatural ensures that natural resources are respected and protected at all times — not only when enforcement officers are watching. Retribution by the ever-vigilant gods is a continuous reminder to the people of the need to treat their resources properly. In these societies, the environment is “an integral part of one’s self, providing the physical manifestation of the vital link between the living and the dead” (Siwatibau 1984).

Climate Change Mitigation and Adaptation: the Gau Island experience
The community-based resource management strategy being tried in Gau Island (Fig. 2) offers an alternative to the resource-strapped SIDS, and may even place them in a better position than most developed nations in mitigating and adapting to the effects of climate change and sea level rise. The initiative in Gau Island, called Lomani Gau, which means “caring for the place, its resources and inhabitants”, is important for people’s livelihoods. It promotes the management of local natural resources and services based on traditional knowledge, practices and uses, in order to move towards sustainable development for the villagers and their children (Veitayaki 2002, 2006; Veitayaki et al. 2005a, 2005b). The people

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are working together and are using their social systems to organize their activities. Existing village institutions such as the chiefdom, kinship and religious beliefs are used to start their community-based resource management activities. Preliminary results indicate that the villagers are satisfying their basic needs of food, clean air and water, are achieving protection from the damaging effects of extreme events, and are managing the sustainable management of their natural resources, and their developmental aspirations. Through regular workshops, training and follow-up activities organized by the development partners, these communities understand that their basic needs, as well as protection from climate change and associated sea level rise, can be supported only by a healthy environment. The villages in Gau Island are periodically vulnerable to extreme natural events such as cyclones, tsunami and flooding that are prominent features of their natural environment. The villages are strategically located on the banks of river mouths where excess water is quickly discharged during flooding and sprawl on to adjoining hills that provide refuge when needed. In addition, the villages have access to the best farming areas along the rivers. Two villages on the eastern side of the island, Malawai and Lamiti, illustrate the factors that were taken into account when people chose their village’s location. Malawai is exposed to southerly winds and is sheltered from the northerlies, while the exact opposite occurs in Lamiti only around 400 m away (Fig. 3). Both the villages are on the mouth of rivers, and they back up to adjoining hills. The villages of Vanuaso, Lekanai, Vione, Qarani and Navukailagi on the same side are located in the mangrove belt that shelter them from the sea and provide them with the best fishing areas of the island (Fig. 4). Community-based resource management initiatives undertaken on Gau Island include a number of measures: the declaration of locally managed marine areas in every village based on the people’s traditional practices; the rehabilitation of stone walls, mangrove forests and coastal vegetation; the promotion of sustainable fisheries; prevention of deforestation and wild fires; the protection of clean water supplies; the promotion of good drainage and the proper disposal of domestic waste; the treatment of waste water; the fencing of domesticated animals to allow for the cultivation of nearby lowland areas; and the protection of the island’s Cloud Mountain forest. These activities have been accomplished using the traditional methods of mobilizing people, which have made the local communities realize that many of their environmental problems can be resolved locally and without resources from outside their communities. Judging by the project feedback and the support received, the expeFigure 2. Inside a traditional bure in Naovuka settlement in Lamiti Village. Indigenous Fijians live in villages in well-defined social units. People are rience is considered fulfilling and enriching. self-sufficient and have intricate exchange arrangements, which ensure In many of the villages, the resource management that the resources are efficiently used and that people look after one another in times of need. Property is communally owned while people activities focus on the long-term welfare of the people. use goods such as whale teeth (tabua), mats, other artifacts and food to In Naovuka and Lamiti, for example, the villagers built obtain and return favors. Photo © Takeshi Murai.
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stone walls that now protect their beach front. The villages, which are periodically flooded by storm waves are now better protected by the breakwater and stone wall and the trees the people have planted to consolidate their widening coastline. Mangrove forests and seagrass beds are now protected and have been replanted in Lamiti, Malawai, Nacavanadi, Navukailagi, Nawaikama and Lovu because the villagers now understand that mangroves are important, not only as feeding and nursery areas for fish stocks, but also as a line of defense to safeguard their villages from erosion and salt water spray. Community regulations now protect mangrove forests, while new manFigure 3. Lekanai Village with a mixture of modern and traditional houses grove plantations have been established in some of the protected by mangrove forests. The villages on Gau Island are periodically vulnerable to extreme natural events such as cyclones, tsunami and villages. In Lekanai, Vanuaso, Malawai and Lamiti vilfloods that are prominent features of their natural environment. Villages in Fiji are strategically located on the banks of river mouths (where excess lages, the managed areas extend from the beaches and water is quickly discharged during flooding) and sprawl on to adjoining mangroves to the rocky and sandy shores, sea grass beds hills (where people can take refuge when necessary). The best farming areas are also along the rivers. Photo © Takeshi Murai. and out to the coral reefs. Damaging practices such as tree-felling, burning off vegetation on slopes, and setting bush fires that threaten coastal vegetation and coral reefs have now been addressed specifically to protect the natural conditions, to prevent erosion and for the protection of their wild food sources. Many of the villages now observe a protocol to control fires, which has improved bush lands on the island. Quick-growing and some native hardwood trees are planted in some of the villages to reduce soil erosion and promote the re-establishment of the natural vegetation that has been lost over the years. The villagers are encouraged to use smokeless stoves to reduce the cutting of coastal vegetation and make the burning of firewood more efficient. These stoves reduce the inhalation of smoke, which is healthier for the cooks (mostly women). Some villagers have even invested in plantation forests that they expect to be a source of income in the future. Environmental damage associated with the villages comes from domesticated animals and wastewater. The care of pigs and cattle has been discussed at the island level and continues to be a challenge in spite of the campaign underway to address it. Some of the villagers have received external assistance to care for their domesticated animals while some have constructed traditional structures, pens and barns, which are strategically located. It is hoped that the other villagers will follow their example. Pigs roaming near the villages are preventing the villagers from farming nearby lowland areas. Likewise, the villagers’ cows continue to graze in and degrade good farming areas along the rivers that are used by the villagers for bathing and washing. A number of the villages have established proper cattle farms, and their example is being shared with the rest of the villagers on the island who are working on ways to raise their domesticated animals to allow them to farm in nearby areas. Wastewater and sewage is now an issue because of the use of village taps and flush and water-sealed toilets. The use of flush toilets, which is desired by people and subsidized by the government, has concentrated the release of wastewater and causes nutrient-enriched water to pollute the coasts. This stimulates algal growth that is overwhelming the coral reefs near some of the villages. Composting toilets are promoted in the villages particularly where there are water shortages or where the water table is high. It is hoped that the composting toilet will be adopted by the villagers because of its ecological attraction, suitability, and its lower costs and maintenance requirements.
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The villagers are managing their environmental resources using their traditional system of governance; social pressure ensures compliance and decisions are made at the community level and taken to district meetings. Monitoring results and feedback from the people reinforce the resource management activities, and the ideas and practice are spreading to areas outside the villages, to other districts and islands (Veitayaki 2006;Veitayaki et al. 2005a, 2005b).

Lessons from Gau Island
The people of Gau Island are using their traditional knowledge and practices to look after their environment to ensure that it continues to provide ecological services even with the impending changes associated with climate change and sea level rise. Their possession of traditional knowledge, skills and practices provide local people with cheap alternatives that can be used in times of disasters or in preparing for climate change effects. Fijians and other Pacific Islanders lack the money and facilities available to those in developed and urbanized areas, but they have learned to survive and live in harsh environments. These people realize that if they look after their natural resources, which they own and depend on, they can enjoy the spoils of Westernization and yet be self-sufficient so as to be independent when the need arises. Traditional knowledge, wisdom and experience are valuable, appropriate and relevant for people in developing countries, and must be incorporated into sustainable development planning, contemporary development strategies, and resource management arrangements set up to mitigate and adapt to the effects of climate change and sea level rise. The recognition that they can do so much on their own to assist in their development will boost their self-esteem. This is significant because traditional small island communities often lack the personnel, finance, and political will to meet their international obligations. The approach adopted in Gau demonstrates the great deal that can be achieved by local communities with a little assistance and motivation. The Lomani Gau initiative is engaging local people in a meaningful partnership to use their tradition to better manage their environmental resources, and the feedback is encouraging. The villagers are committed to the initiatives and are engaged in mapping their own course of action for sustainable development. They are encouraged to determine their environmental management actions, use relevant traditional practices, and adopt flexible management skills and actions. The support from the villagers is indicative of the relevance of the project’s activities, which are being incorporated into the village work schedules. The promotion and use of traditional knowledge and practices has provided the people with the confidence and trust to take control of their resource management activities and has contributed strongly to successful collaboration with the partners. The people realized that they are in control of their well-being in spite of the changes that are now part of their lives. Regular follow-up visits by Lomani Gau help keep the focus on the project’s activities, while training workshops provide new ideas that are the basis for iterative decision-making. Again, tradition has been influential in this attempt to address the challenges in engineering and maintaining social change within local communities. The costs of regular follow-up activities are high but are critical to keeping the focus. The engagement has to be sustainable to ensure that the
Figure 4. River and rehabilitated mangrove in Malawai village (looking down from a hill behind the village). The Lamiti village is on the mouth of the next river, the mouth of which can be seen in the top end of the picture. In both the villages, community members are replanting mangrove forests and seagrass beds. These habitats are important feeding and nursery areas for fish and also as a line of defense to safeguard their villages from erosion and salt water sprays. Photo © Takeshi Murai.

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messages and practices that demonstrate the benefits of resource management are adopted and established. Experience has shown that people best embrace social change when this comes in actions that are linked to existing community strengths and builds towards their goals. This process requires leadership, enforcement, reinforcement and finance. Leadership, enforcement and reinforcement are based on the traditional system, which is more effective than contemporary methods that are financially supported. Villagers now appreciate the environmental costs of their decisions and are aware of the financial demands of attaining their overall goals. The future is bright if the small steps that have been taken in these rural communities can be adopted in other areas; once that momentum is attained, the social transformation can be widespread. The Gau Island villagers are convinced that a healthy environment is the best way of embracing modernity. Given what has been achieved in Gau over the last few years with limited financial resources, we can hope that similar initiatives and measures will be possible at regional and national levels that will engage community groups in a sustainable development based on the immense and rich traditional understanding of the natural world that has served Fijians well for thousands of years, and which they now need more than ever to face the impending changes from global warming and climate change.

Literature Cited
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Veitayaki, J. 2002. Taking advantage of indigenous knowledge: the Fiji case. International Social Science Journal (173): 395–402. Veitayaki, J. 2006. Caring for the environment and the mitigation of natural extreme events in Vanuaso Tikina, Gau Island, Fiji: a self-help community initiative. Island Studies Journal 1(2): 1–14. Veitayaki, J., Tawake, A., Bogiva, A., Meo, S., Vave, R., Radikedike, P., Ravula, N. and Fong, S.P. 2005a. Addressing human factors in fisheries development and regulatory processes in Fiji: the Mositi Vanuaso experience In: Ocean Yearbook, A. Chircop and M. McConnell (eds.) 21: 289–306. University of Chicago Press, Chicago. Veitayaki, J., Tawake, A., Bogiva, A., Meo, S., Vave, R., Radikedike, P., Ravula, N. and Fong, S.P. 2005b. Partnerships and the quest for effective community-based resource management: the Mositi Vanuaso Project, Gau, Fiji. Journal of Pacific Studies 28(2): 328–349. Wainimate, 1997. Nai Vola ni Wai Vakaviti. Institute of Pacific Studies, Canada Fund and World Health Organisation (WHO), Suva, Fiji. Weiner, M.A. 1976. Secrets of Fijian Medicine. University of California, Berkeley.

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Indigenous Wildlife Monitoring in Canada’ North: s
CANADA

A Community-Based Initiative on the Beverly-Qamanirjuaq Barren-Ground Caribou Range
Anne Kendrick and Micheline Manseau

Quick Facts
Country: Canada Geographic Focus: Beverly Qamanirjuaq caribou ranges in Canada’s northern territories, located between Great Slave Lake in the Northwest Territories and the western shores of Hudson Bay in Nunavut, extending more than 1,000 km from north to south and more than 500 km from east to west. Indigenous Peoples: The Dene, Inuit, Métis and Cree peoples live on the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq ranges. Population estimates state that approximately 21,000 people, mostly of indigenous heritages, live on or near the Beverly Qamanirjuaq caribou ranges.

Barren-Ground Caribou: A Conservation Challenge
The Barren-ground caribou (Rangifer tarandus groenlandicus) is the most abundant large mammal in the North American subarctic and arctic zones. While many populations are experiencing declines, the combined size estimates for the two herds (the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq) that we focus on in this essay were believed to be as high as three-quarters of a million animals as recently as 14 years ago (BQCMB 2008). The caribou is of special significance in the traditional economies of the indigenous peoples of the North. Through their frequent interaction with caribou, the Dene, Inuit, Métis and Cree peoples of the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq ranges are able to recognize changes in caribou behavior; their movements, distribution and physiology. This places these indigenous communities in a favorable position to determine whether population changes are related to natural variation or to the effects of industrial and other human activities. The knowledge of the subarctic and arctic indigenous peoples is traditionally communicated orally, but is gaining credence in wildlife management circles as it is documented by indigenous and non-indigenous researchers. The expense and logistical challenges of collecting the necessary information for caribou management in the remote and vast geography of their ranges cannot be underestimated. The two herds discussed in this essay range over an area of 918,330 km2, more than twice the size of Poland. Individual animals can migrate as far as 2,000 km a year (Wakelyn 1999) and most of the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq (BQ) ranges are currently inaccessible by road. The knowledge and the perspectives of these indigenous peoples have great potential to enrich the store of information that is vital if we are to meet caribou conservation challenges. This is especially important at a time when industrial activity on the BQ caribou ranges is increasing exponentially. This includes mining exploration, established mining, roads, transmission lines and hydroelectric generation

Author Information
Anne Kendrick Ph.D. is an independent consultant with more than 15 years experience working with arctic and subarctic indigenous communities on collaborative research efforts and in management settings. Dr. Kendrick has worked periodically with the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq Caribou Management Board over the course of her career in a number of roles, including acting as the Board’s community liaison in the early stages of the development of a communitybased caribou monitoring program. E-mail: anne_kendrick@rogers.com Micheline Manseau Ph.D. is Associate Professor at the Natural Resources Institute of the University of Manitoba, and Ecosystem Scientist with the Western and Northern Service Centre of Parks Canada. Dr. Manseau has more than 20 years experience in conducting research of northern ecosystems with a focus on Conservation Ecology, Animal and Landscape Ecology and Community-Based Resources Management. E-mail: micheline.manseau@pc.gc.ca

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facilities. Active prospecting and mining claims exist on the calving grounds of both caribou ranges. The cumulative effects of these industrial activities are worrisome to indigenous communities, caribou management bodies and conservation groups.1
Human-caribou relationships

The relationships between caribou and the Dene, Inuit, Métis and Cree peoples that live on the Beverly-Qamanirjuaq barren-ground caribou herd ranges are at least hundreds and more often thousands of years old. Archaeologists estimate that the Dene and their ancestors have co-existed with barren-ground caribou herds since before the time of Christ (Gordon 1996). The Caribou-Inuit relationship, characterized by heavy dependence on the caribou, is estimated to have existed for hundreds of years (McGhee 1996). Traditionally the Etthen-eldeli-dene (Dene, translates as The meat harvested from the Beverly and the “Caribou-Eaters”) followed the migratory movements of the barren-ground caribou year-round, as did the five Qamanirjuaq herds is estimated to provide the independent groups of Inuit, referred to as the “Caribou equivalent of over $20 million CDN of food a Inuit,” who live on the range of the Qamanirjuaq herd. year for the indigenous communities. A human-caribou figure is at the centre of ancient stories that Dene elders say are thousands of years old; these continue to be told by Denesoline [Chipewyan] elders in Canada’s Northwest Territories, as well as in the provinces of Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba. This human-caribou entity taught the Denesoline how to respect caribou (incidently the Saami of Eurasia have stories about a similar figure, MjanDash, or Reindeer Man, that teaches the Saami how to respect, hunt and care for reindeer). Approximately 21,000 people, most of indigenous heritage, live on or near the Beverly-Qamanirjuaq caribou ranges (Fig. 1). These numbers represent more than one-fifth of the total population of Canada’s three northern territories (Statistics Canada 2007). The meat harvested from the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq herds is estimated to provide the equivalent of over $20 million CDN of food a year for the indigenous communities that harvest them (BQCMB 2008). Three-quarters of this sum represents the value of the indigenous domestic harvest of caribou meat (cost of replacing caribou meat with store-bought beef ). The remaining amount represents the value of the commercial revenue from outfitting ventures and sale of caribou meat.

Community Monitoring: Messenger and Agent of Change on the Caribou Ranges
This essay outlines an initiative to develop community-based indicators of change on two barren-ground caribou ranges in Canada’s North. In a broader context, the initiative is part of the goals of northern indigenous communities to ensure that their traditional knowledge of one of the world’s most wide-ranging terrestrial wildlife species is included in a complicated multi-jurisdictional management setting. Moreover, the indigenous communities living on the caribou ranges have experienced a long history of colonialist policies toward indigenous peoples linked to wildlife management policies. In northern Canada, wildlife management regulations based on little, and sometimes no, scientific evidence led to significant hunting restrictions of barren-ground caribou herds by indigenous peoples in the late 1800s and early

1 See .

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20th century (Sandlos 2007). There were also other incidents of Canadian authorities administering control over indigenous communities. In the post Second World War era, indigenous communities were relocated from seasonal camps into sedentary communities (Usher 2004). Given this history, indigenous communities have a long-standing and vital stake in ensuring that their knowledge, values and ways of thinking are incorporated into the management of barrenground caribou herds.
Indigenous-led caribou management board

The Beverly and Qamanirjuaq Caribou Management Board (BQCMB) is a 27-year-old indigenous-led co-management organization. The Board was formed as an answer to an impasse between Canadian wildlife management authorities and traditional caribou-hunting communities in the late 1970s. At that time, government wildlife managers, biologists and indigenous hunters were divided over the existence and possible causes of a “crisis” in barren-ground caribou population sizes. In order to resolve the impasse, government authorities and representatives from indigenous communities on the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq caribou ranges agreed to establish a caribou co-management board with majority representation from indigenous communities in 1982. This arrangement was, and still is, relatively rare in Canada. Exceptions include the Porcupine Caribou Management Board and wildlife co-management organizations established as a result of land claim negotiations, although claims-based comanagement institutions do not often have multijurisdictional mandates, nor do they represent multiple indigenous groups as does the BQCMB. The Board’s primary mandate is to ensure the conservation of the herds while maintaining a subsistence hunt by the indigenous communities who have traditionally hunted them. The BQCMB is made up of representatives from 21 remote Dene, Inuit and Métis communities in Canada’s North; all located on the ranges of the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq herds. The Board also has government representatives from two provinces, two territories and the federal department of Indian and Northern Affairs. The ranges of the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq herds lie between Great Slave Lake in the Northwest Territories and the western shores of Hudson Bay, extending more than 1,000 km from north to south and more than 500 km from Figure 1. The caribou ranges of the Beverly and Qamanirijuaq herds cover an area of 918,330 km². Map courtesy of Jennifer Keeney and Sones Keobouasone. east to west (Fig. 1).
Beverly and Qamanirjuaq Caribou Management Board — Monitoring Program

In 2000, the BQCMB initiated the development and implementation of a system to monitor the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq caribou herds, their ranges, and human use of caribou. This monitoring system was to integrate scientific, local and traditional knowledge. In order to include local and traditional knowledge in a more in-depth and regularized manner, the BQCMB sponsored pilot projects (2001–2002) in two Inuit communities that documented the observations of barren-ground caribou hunters. These projects were modeled on the experiences of the Arctic Borderlands Ecological
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Knowledge Coop Society in the Yukon (Kofinas et al. 2002). Their goal was to design community-based ecological monitoring projects that collected and interpreted the observations of aboriginal caribou hunters by community hunters and elders. In 2004–2005, research efforts were expanded into other caribou range communities. Community workshops designed to define monitoring indicators were held in several range communities. The challenge of these workshops was to understand the different aspirations and information needs of all those involved and to develop common indicators to monitor change on the caribou ranges.
Why develop community-derived indicators?

If caribou populations are to be co-managed by government wildlife management agencies in conjunction with the communities that have traditionally harvested them, then it makes sense to develop community-derived indicators of change. Such indicators increase the general pool of knowledge about the changes occurring in caribou populations and their ranges and the scope of knowledge available at different scales (in time and space). The indigenous communities that are situated on the caribou ranges express and understand caribou population dynamics and the connections between people and caribou in different ways. It is important that, at a minimum, their knowledge and their ways of tracking changes over time be used in decisionmaking, to create or co-produce knowledge (Kofinas et al. 2002; In all four communities, there is a rich Huntington et al. 2002). The monitoring of community-derived indicators would also track knowledge of where, when and how understanding of variation in caribou communities interact with caribou and the caribou ranges. body condition that experienced Discussions during the 2004 community workshops revealed a hunters and elders are anxious to number of potential indicators, or signs of ecological change, that could feasibly be reported over time (Fig. 1). In the Nunavut com- see incorporated into the design munities of Baker Lake and Arviat much of the discussion focused of monitoring programs. Elders are on individual caribou body condition (mostly body fat levels), while changing weather patterns and temperature extremes were also dis- emphatic that this knowledge must be cussed as a major factor affecting body condition, movements and dis- simultaneously transmitted to youth. tribution, and range conditions. The communities of Lac Brochet (in northern Manitoba) and Fond-du-Lac (in northern Saskatchewan) focused their discussions on changing winter range conditions (availability of food) as major factors affecting movements and distribution, and on the effects of fire on the forage available to caribou in the winter months, and the subsequent changes in the distribution of caribou populations. In all four communities, there is a rich understanding of variation in caribou body condition that experienced hunters and elders are anxious to see incorporated into the design of monitoring programs. Elders are emphatic that this knowledge must be simultaneously transmitted to youth. Finally, the connection between the elders’ knowledge of past migratory routes and the influence of human activity on the use of these routes was discussed. Documenting community observations of change in caribou and their ranges will only help with management decisions if managers acknowledge that the ways indigenous hunters and elders observe and interpret change in caribou populations and their ranges are different but complementary to the data collected through conventional scientific surveys.

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The Challenges of Scale and Politics
Several major challenges face the development of community-based monitoring of barren-ground caribou populations. The development of a program that gives a big picture view of change over the vast landscape of the caribou ranges without masking local ways of collecting and interpreting knowledge is not a simple task. Community efforts may be seen to compete with the resources available to scientific monitoring programs rather than as a potential complement to existing work. The creation of a community-based monitoring program that does not become a time and financial burden on communities or wildlife management agencies is vital to the sustainability of any such program. Community members who participate in such programs will need assurance that their participation will not disrupt their traditional harvesting activities or stretch to the breaking point the resources and capacity of communities already facing great social and political challenges. Among Dene communities with outstanding treaty entitlement issues, knowledge of barren-ground caribou is tied to proprietary research documenting past and present land use to be used in political negotiations. Consequently, this research is often not publicly available. Both the communities and the biologists involved in creating and maintaining community-based monitoring programs are entering foreign territory. The documentation and monitoring of community knowledge is unrelated to traditional ways of learning and knowing for both Dene and Inuit hunters. At the same time, biologists are often unfamiliar with traditional knowledge systems.
Expanding community-based caribou monitoring across the ranges

The BQCMB’s community-based caribou monitoring project took shape over several years. The communities involved in the pilot phase of the project (Arviat and Baker Lake) provided positive feedback and recommended changes to secure the project’s viability in the future. Community workshops in 2004 revealed that the communities (Arviat, Baker Lake, Fond-du-Lac and Lac Brochet) would like to see the project adopted in other jurisdictions and that they appreciated the potential of the project in allowing a greater exchange of knowledge between communities and managers. Communities expressed their willingness to put resources (time, fund-raising efforts) into making community-based monitoring work. They emphasized the need to link community-based monitoring activities to youth. The monitoring program should not only bring community knowledge of the caribou range to the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq Board, but also create opportunities for caribou hunters and managers to learn from each other and create new knowledge about the range. Community and scientific indicators of environmental change should be linked through decentralized planning that acknowledges the role of elders in interpreting local observations. Elders involved in the 2004 indicator workshops commented on the power of sharing their knowledge and the need for a big picture view of the caribou ranges that can only be achieved through exchanges between the communities living on the ranges: I wanted to know […] what is the information in communities where they are close by, they have more information on the impacts on caribou, because of roads, and pipelines and different activities that’s happening. The impact it has on calving grounds and feeding, the activities. I know and hear about it, but I don’t really know about the kind of information that’s coming out, about the after-effects. What’s being done. More and more of this will be happening in the future. It’s happening now. And when that happens, will we be able to see caribou again in our area? I don’t know, I do not know the impact of the activities. Even the water, the environment, we have clean water right now, but maybe in the future because of industries and mining the water will not remain the same. Even that has an impact on our way of life and the caribou. My concern is with
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all these obstacles, with the North opening up, it will not be the same soon. But yet, information being shared should be coming to the communities. Right now the elders here are making comments that are for the future generations to utilize and they have to have the knowledge given to them too. (Pierre Denechezhe, Lac Brochet, 2004) If you a see caribou you feel good, and you feel happy. Even though you don’t see them, sometimes, like nowadays, we have better communication than we had before. When we hear somebody saying that there’s caribou in a certain area, it even lifts up our spirits, saying that we’ve got caribou in a certain area. (Marcel Tssessaze, Lac Brochet, 2004) In order for the program to succeed, communities must maintain ownership of the collected information so that it is interpreted in conjunction with them. Community researchers are in the best position to maintain links between the observations collected from active hunters and the traditional knowledge of the community. Traditional knowledge is not just a “baseline” of knowledge, but a means of interpreting past and current observations and connecting societal values to environmental observations and management decisions. There are difficult challenges involved not only in translating between languages, but in translating between the different ecological concepts used in scientific and traditional knowledge systems. Community-derived indicators are “new” tools for thinking about change on the caribou ranges. By considering the differences between community and scientific indicators and their notions of cause and effect, new understandings of environmental change can emerge. The monitoring and selection of indicators must be a participatory process (i.e., knowledge collected by local people, controlled by local people and interpreted and acted upon with local people). Elders emphasize that any land use research or planning must also be connected with local educational opportunities for youth.

Completing the Circle: Elders’ Challenge to Involve Youth
So for the elders […] to talk about caribou monitoring is kind of ridiculous for them […] but I noticed that for other people like the young people it might be beneficial, what they’re saying, because a lot of people want to use this information for their work. (Pierre Denechezhe, Lac Brochet) Elders in all the communities we spoke with emphasized that traditional knowledge research and community-based monitoring programs are meaningless without youth participation. Elders acknowledged the differences in the life experiences, knowledge base and knowledge needs of older people and youth and the evolving relationship of indigenous peoples to the caribou. The ultimate challenge of community-based monitoring programs will be their success at feeding into a “community cycle of knowledge” where information about caribou is observed, documented, interpreted and shared within and among indigenous caribou-hunting communities (Fig. 2).
Current monitoring activities — involving youth

The caribou-monitoring program described in this essay has not continued in its original form. The BQCMB relied on one-time financial contributions from universities, the federal department of Indian and Northern Affairs, and a mining company to fund efforts to-date. Ongoing and long-term funding support remains elusive. Nonetheless, there are localized
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efforts to collect and share community knowledge of caribou conditions and movements. The BQCMB has taken the measure of specifically setting aside annual funds for each caribou range jurisdiction focused on projects for school-aged children. Almost two dozen Lac Brochet hunters (a community in northern Manitoba) were interviewed by school children about their knowledge of caribou and the weather. A northern Saskatchewan community (Wollaston Lake) was awarded funding that allowed students to participate in community hunts and later to collect harvest data as well as hunters’ observations of caribou body condition. Similar initiatives in other communities are slated for the coming years (BQCMB 2008). Cree communities in Manitoba also harvest caribou from the Qamanirjuaq herd and are anxious to participate in the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq Caribou Management Board’s activities, especially its youth programs (R. Thompson pers. comm. 24 June 2009).

Community Land Use Planning Organization

Continuing the Knowledge Cycle

Active Caribou Hunters Community Researchers

Information Gathering

Information Interpretation
Elders

Information Verification and Dissemination
Active Caribou Hunters

Community Researchers

Information Organization

Figure 2. The community cycle of knowledge where information about caribou is observed, documented, interpreted and shared within and among indigenous caribou-hunting communities. (Adapted from Denesoline Cycle of Knowledge (Page 11 in Traditional Knowledge in the Kache Tué Study Region, phase III, Towards a Comprehensive Environmental Monitoring Program in the Kakinëne Region, May 2002 accessed May 22, 2005 at ).

From Data to Intergenerational Wisdom
Even though we have got together like this, to pass this information to the younger generation, to the youth, and find out that all this development is disturbing the animals. […] What are the young people going to do? In the past, the Dene people used to follow the caribou, wherever they go, to the tree-line, to the tundra, it depends […] on the caribou. Now we don’t know what’s going to happen to the caribou. With all this other development that is going to be going on in the territories [Northwest Territories]. What should we do? What kind of information are we going to give the young people to keep on going? Can we find more resources to keep this program going, what we’re doing here today? In the last couple of days, we’re passing on information so the young people have knowledge of what the elders are trying to do for them so that they can continue the program that we started for them. Everything that we do nowadays, it’s only for the future generation. And this can be passed on from generation to generation. If we can keep the program going. (Pierre Denechezhe, Lac Brochet) This essay described the challenges, successes and legacies of caribou monitoring initiatives in the diverse cultural and ecological settings that make up the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq caribou ranges. The BQCMB has heeded the elders’ requests that monitoring efforts be tied to educational opportunities for youth. Current efforts are focused on giving youth opportunities to collect traditional knowledge from hunters and elders and to document observations of individual caribou body condition while participating in hunting activities. Hunters and elders recognize that youth are facing exceptional challenges in their ability to maintain contact with caribou in the face of unprecedented mineral exploration. As of October 2007, over 600 mineral claims and prospecting
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permits are in place on the calving grounds of the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq ranges (BQCMB 2008). The indigenous community representatives to the BQCMB recently asked that the board make the protection of the calving grounds of the Beverly and Qamanirjuaq herds their primary mandate (BQCMB 2008). Indigenous communities located on the caribou ranges have harvested caribou for hundreds — and more often thousands — of years. These communities are the “eyes and ears,” providing early warnings of change on the ranges. The establishment of community-based monitoring programs builds increased community involvement in regional wildlife management. However, the local observations and traditional knowledge of these communities must be documented in a way that recognizes that such knowledge is dynamic and living; connected to people. In addition, communities have a great desire to contribute their knowledge to management discussions, but they must be able to see that their knowledge is actively employed in management decisions. They are willing to explore means to document their knowledge in ways other than in oral traditions so that it can be shared within their communities, but also with other indigenous communities, as well as with the Figure 3. Barren-ground caribou wintering near Lutsel K'e, Northwest scientific community (Legat 2007). As expressed by Territories in 2001. Photo © Anne Kendrick. Jerome Denechezhe, a former Chair of the BQCMB, “Over the past 25 years, one of the most important things that the Board members have done is try to see how other people see things. […] We have learned to cooperate and work together.” (Mr. Denechezhe is a Dene board member from Lac Brochet, Manitoba; BQCMB 2008). Indigenous communities repeatedly emphasize their wish for sound management decisions that ensure the protection of their subsistence activities and the caribou herds. With the recent and steep decline in the numbers of the Beverly herd2, traditional and communitybased knowledge of the caribou herds will be increasingly important for the assessment of the state of the herds. It is these indigenous communities that have the most at stake when management decisions are based on Figure 4. Caribou hides hung to “bleach” in the wind and sun in Qamanit’uaq (Baker Lake, Nunavut). Photo © Anne Kendrick. inadequate knowledge.

2 See http://www.arctic-caribou.com/PDF/Backgrounder_July_09.pdf for the Beverly Qamanirjuaq Caribou Management Board’s draft action plan to aid in the recovery of the Beverly herd. Recent reconnaissance surveys indicate this herd is experiencing a major decline in numbers.

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Acknowledgments
Our thanks to the staff of the Arviat Hunters and Trappers Organization (HTO), the Baker Lake HTO, the Fond-duLac Band Office and the Northlands (Lac Brochet) North of 60 Office for their aid in the facilitation of the community workshops this material is based on. Special thanks to the many elders and hunters of each of the aforementioned communities for sharing their perspectives and knowledge. Financial and in-kind support for this work came from the Canadian Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council, the Beverly Qamanirjuaq Caribou Management Board, the Canadian Department of Indian and Northern Affairs’ Environmental Capacity Development Initiative, the Nunavut Wildlife Management Board and the University of Manitoba.

Literature Cited
BQCMB. 2008. Beverly Qamanirjuaq Caribou Management Board. Website: . Accessed: 3 March, 2008. Denechezhe, P. 2004. Elder, Lac Brochet, Manitoba. Comments recorded during a workshop, transcripts and videorecordings in the possession of the North of 60 office, Lac Brochet, MB. and Anne Kendrick, post-doctoral research files. Gordon, B. 1996. People of Sunlight People of Starlight: Barrenland Archaeology in the Northwest Territories of Canada. Mercury Series, Paper 154, 332pp. Archaeological Survey of Canada, Canadian Museum of Civilization, Hull, Québec. Huntington, H.P., Brown-Schwalenberg, P.K., Frost, K.J., Fernandez-Giménez, M.E., Norton, D.W. and Rosenberg, D.H. 2002. Observations on the Workshop as a Means of Improving Communication between Holders of Traditional and Scientific Knowledge. Environmental Management 30(6):778–792. Kofinas, G.P. with the communities of Aklavik, Arctic Village, Old Crow, and Fort McPherson. 2002. Community contributions to ecological monitoring: knowledge co-production in the U.S.-Canada Arctic Borderlands. In: The Earth is Faster Now: Indigenous Observations of Arctic Environmental Change, I. Krupnik and D. Jolly (eds.), pp.54–91. Arctic Research Consortium of the United States, Fairbanks, Alaska. Legat, A. 2007. Walking the Land, Feeding the Fire: A TLICHO Ethnography on Becoming Knowledgeable. PhD thesis, University of Aberdeen, Aberdeen, Scotland. McGhee, R. 1996. Ancient People of the Arctic. University of British Columbia Press, Vancouver. Sandlos, J. 2007. Hunters at the Margin: Native People and Wildlife Conservation in the Northwest Territories. University of British Columbia Press, Vancouver. Statistics Canada. 2007. The Daily, Wednesday, 19 December 2007. Website: . Thompson, R. 2009. Secretary-Treasurer, Beverly-Qamanirjuaq Caribou Management Board. Website: . Usher, P.J. 2004. Caribou crisis or administrative crisis? Wildlife and aboriginal policies on the Barren Grounds of Canada, 1947–60. In: Cultivating Arctic Landscapes: Knowing and Managing Animals in the Circumpolar North, D.G. Anderson and M. Nuttall (eds.), pp.172–199. Berghahn Books, New York. Tssessaze, M. 2004. Dene Elder, Lac Brochet, Manitoba. Comments recorded during a workshop, transcripts and videorecordings in the possession of the North of 60 office, Lac Brochet, MB. and Anne Kendrick, post-doctoral research files. Wakelyn, L. 1999. The Beverly Caribou Herd – Continental Wilderness Travelers. Website: Accessed: 27 July, 2009.
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Innovative Innovative Approaches Approaches
Innovative Approaches t first glance, case studies in this chapter may seem unrelated: a butterfly farm project in Tanzania (Morgan-Brown), and ecotourism enterprises in Suriname (Tjon Sie Fat et al.) and Bolivia (Pastor) have little in common besides the most tenuous of conservation threads. In fact, many of the projects in this chapter are not new ideas per se — the tie that binds them all together is the strong human component, and how conservationists work in true partnerships with the communities to develop successful livelihoods that value their traditional way of life, while helping provide for benefits in terms of schools and clinics and access to goods available only through cash economies. The key to the success of each of these case studies is the recognition of the need for governments, conservation and development organizations and companies to respect, understand and learn from the social and cultural traditions of the partner community. Moving away from earlier models that simply protected large tracts of land has freed us to recognize and act on the fact that ecosystems are inextricably linked to the peoples that have lived there for generations. There are numerous case studies that show the correlation between high biodiversity and high cultural diversity. Projects such as the Forest Stewards Program in Papua New Guinea (Thomas), in which indigenous languages hold the key to traditional knowledge about local flora and fauna and are given the same regard as western science, demonstrate the innovative approaches that are possible when we recognize that for many indigenous communities, nature and people are one and the same. Working within local power structures, taking the time to gain acceptance from the community, and ensuring true community buy-in, such as the cases of the ecotourism projects in Bolivia (Saavedra) and Suriname (Tjon Sie Fat et al.) and most especially of the Bonobo Peace Forest in the DRC (Almquist et al.), are examples of how learning about and respecting social norms and traditions improve conservation outcomes. It is generally assumed that conservation projects are more likely to succeed when development and economic goals are integrated, but as one of the case studies in this chapter points out, it is necessary to deal with issues of poverty and development before conservation action can truly happen (Almquist et al.). This does not imply that one automatically follows the other. As in the ecotourism projects mentioned above, and in the case of the butterfly farm in Tanzania and the payment for ecosystem services model in Ecuador (Mora et al.), the link between conservation and economic benefits must be clear and measurable. In the case of Tanzania (Morgan-Brown), the farmers not only sell a forest by-product (the butterflies), they also

A

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depend upon forest resources such as native plants for their nectar and wild butterflies for new genes. In Ecuador, communities receive direct monetary payments for conserving their forests which translate directly into community employment and well-being (Mora et al.). In the case of Bolivia and Suriname, entire ecosystems as well as the traditional knowledge held by the community about them are vital for the development of economically viable projects. In the Democratic Republic of Congo conservation accords have been signed with local communities covering more than 50,000 km² of rainforest and in particular, in the case of the Bonobo Conservation Initiative, they have focused efforts to support local ideas and practices, and the use of local social capital to achieve conservation and sustainable development (Almquist et al.). The innovation in these projects comes not from a new project idea, but from recognizing that indigenous communities have as much knowledge to share as western science has, that the link between human well-being and nature must be clear, and that true partnerships are based on mutual respect, common goals, and shared learning.

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Chalalan — The Process and Impacts of an Indigenous Ecotourism Enterprise

Cándido Pastor Saavedra

Quick Facts
Country: Bolivia Geographic Focus: Madidi National Park, Department of La Paz Indigenous Peoples: Community of San Jose de Uchupiamonas has a population of 630, with Quechua and Tacana ethnicities.

Chalalan Ecolodge is an indigenous ecotourism enterprise created in 1999 by a visionary group of villagers of the rainforest community of San José de Uchupiamonas. It is an ecolodge that is entirely community-owned and managed. It was born of a dream to create a true model of ecotourism; one that provides employment opportunities through nature-based tourism for people and preserves a critical reservoir of biodiversity in the lowland rain forests of Bolivia, the Madidi National Park and Integrated Management Natural Area.

Madidi National Park and Madidi Integrated Management Natural Area
Established in September 19951, the Madidi Protected Area (PA) is 1,895,750 ha; 1,271,500 ha constituting the Madidi National Park, and 624,250 ha the Integrated Management Natural Area (IMNA). The altitude in the park ranges from 180 to 5,760 m above sea level, and the diversity of vegetation types and ecosystems is consequently enormous. Associated with this is a highly diverse fauna and flora. It is in the Tropical Andes hotspot, one of the most biologically diverse regions of the world and under considerable pressure from economic development (Mast et al. 1999; Rodríguez-Mahecha et al. 2004). The Madidi National Park is part of the Madidi-Apolo region that has been identified as a center for plant diversity and endemism, with the highest documented plant diversity in Bolivia, believed to be more than 5,000 species (Killeen 1997). According to Madidi´s Management Plan, vegetation types there include humid forest, with different communities on montane slopes, piedmont and river margins; cloud forest; dry forest and savanna in intermontane valleys; and

Author Information
Cándido Pastor Saavedra has worked for Conservation International – Bolivia since 1999. He served as Coordinator of the Sustainable Development and Ecotourism Project (Chalalan) and is currently Program Manager. E-mail: cpastor@conservation.org

1 Supreme Decree 24123, September, 1995.

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humid savanna and marshes on alluvial plains in the north-east. To date, 1,875 plant species have been identified in the Madidi Protected Area (with another 2,900 plant species expected to be discovered) and near 1,000 bird species have been recorded. Madidi is part of the Vilcabamba-Amboró Conservation Corridor (CCVA), which extends from the Vilcabamba Cordillera in Peru southeast to the Amboró Protected Area in Santa Cruz (Fig. 1). The Madidi PA overlaps Figure 1. Madidi National Park and Integrated Management Natural Area is part of the VilcabambaAmboró Conservation Corridor. Rich in wildlife, 27% of the plant species in Bolivia can be found three Native Community Lands there, 31 of them found only in the park. Map © Conservation International. (known in Spanish for its acronym as “TCO”), collectively owned by indigenous communities: the TCO Tacana, TCO Lecos Apolo, and TCO Uchupiamonas.2 About 3,714 people live in the Madidi PA, mostly indigenous peoples and settlers. The population is distributed among 31 communities of Tacana, Leco, Quechua, Aymara, and Araona origins. Health services and provisions for education and communication are rudimentary or nonexistent. Because of the overlap between national park and indigenous land, it is necessary for the indigenous peoples to integrate their activities with the protected area, to include indigenous thinking and needs as such into the protected area management. This is particularly challenging as the protected areas themselves are facing threats that include the building of unplanned roads, unregulated forest exploitation, and oil prospection. All of this results in an overlap of land-use rights, promoting disorder and conflicts among the different local actors. In this context, the ecotourism project Chalalan in the TCO Uchupiamonas is seen as a way to combine biodiversity conservation with the interests and knowledge of the indigenous peoples in the area. The initiative has become an example to other indigenous ecotourism initiatives due to its successful self-administration and full community ownership, and in the economic benefits provided not just for the community but for the region and the country.

The Native Community of San Jose de Uchupiamonas
The Native Community Land (TCO) of San Jose de Uchupiamonas has a population Quechua-Tacana of about 630 (100 families). In pre-colonial times there was commercial exchange between the Inca Empire and this lowland

2 In Bolivia, a TCO (Tierras Comunitarias de Origen) does not imply ownership of underground resources.

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Figure 2. The community of San Jose de Uchupiamonas overlaps with the Madidi Protected Area. The community has a population of about 630. Its proximity to the national park made it ideal for an ecotourism business, which began with a pilot project in 1995. Map © Conservation International.

community, as well as terrible wars. Jesuit registers tell us that the Concepción de Apolobamba Mission was established in 1690, with 600 indigenous peoples from the region (70% Quechuas and the rest Tacanas, Leco, Chama and Uchupiamona). In 1713, following repeated incursions by the Franciscan missionaries into Tacana territory, another mission — the Mission of Tumupasa (“white stone” in Tacana) — was founded by Fray Domingo de Valdez, with 137 families of both Sipiramona and Uchupiamona heritage. Three years later, following serious conflicts between these two Tacana groups, the Uchupiamonas abandoned the Mission and returned to their old territory on the banks of the Río Tuichi. Fray Domingo de Valdez followed them and founded the Mission of San Jose de Uchupiamonas in 1716, in a place known as Tullullani (“site with bones” in Quechua). Some years later, San Jose de Uchupiamonas suffered a new displacement and the people reestablished themselves in an area known as “Kuara” (“mother” in Tacana), where the current mission is located. The principal activities of the people are ecotourism, agriculture and hunting. As the community generates no significant production surpluses, marketing is practically nonexistent. In May 2004, the TCO of San Jose de Uchupiamonas received its official title with 210,000 ha.3

Sustainable Development and Ecotourism Program in San Jose de Uchupiamonas
The community of San Jose de Uchupiamonas first began looking for funding in 1993. In 1995, the Multilateral Investment Fund (MIF) (Fondo Multilateral de Inversiones – FOMIN) of the Inter-American Development Bank (IDB) provided US$1.25 million to finance the “Sustainable Development and Ecotourism Program in San Jose de Uchupiamonas and the establishment of a protected zone in the proposed Madidi Park (ATN/ME-4757-BO)”. As a counterpart, Conservation International (CI) contributed US$200,000 to the project and provided technical assistance. The aim of the project, which ran from March 1995 to June 2001, was to establish the Chalalan Ecolodge and offer financial resources and technical expertise to the people and organizations at San Jose and nearby communities, in order to establish and operate small, private, self-sustaining ecotourism companies, and to strengthen other areas of the local economy such as agriculture and handicrafts.

3 The TCO of San Jose de Uchupiamonas is the only indigenous organization in Latin America that financed the process of registering its land title with its own economic resources.

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The program’s specific objectives were as follows: 1) to improve the socioeconomic conditions of the San Jose community by setting up conservation-based enterprises; 2) to increase the local capacity for sustainable development with the integration of local institutions; and 3) to replicate positive aspects of the project in other communities adjoining the park. Initially, the idea was to set up a number of small conservation-based businesses associated with tourism, such as transportation, food provision, tour-guiding, restaurants, but after a series of discussions the team of consultants and community leaders decided to form just one Figure 3. Madidi National Park and its Integrated Management Natural company that combined all the direct services needed Area overlaps three Native Community Lands which are facing threats such as deforestation and oil prospection. The indigenous people must for the Chalalan Ecolodge into a single administrative develop the means to integrate into the protected area system, and to unit. They also decided not to develop formal productive include indigenous thinking and needs into protected area management. Photo © Haroldo Castro, Conservation International. units in the community (e.g., artisans or food providers), because the transport cost from and to the community was extremely high, making any other small community initiatives independent of Chalalan unfeasible. With regard to the second objective — increase the local capacity for sustainable development with the integration of local institutions — the project was unable to establish an institutional strengthening plan. However, the leaders of San Jose de Uchupiamonas showed a strong aptitude for management and a solid understanding of what they were trying to achieve. These skills were encouraged and developed through meetings, workshop, seminars, fairs and other events that sought to build strong relationships and management capabilities among local leaders. In replicating the positive aspects of the project in other communities adjoining the park, the most impressive result was the identification, design and implementation of the “San Miguel del Bala” ecotourism project that was based on research by the program’s technical team and incorporated the lessons learned at Chalalan. By August 2009, both ecolodge projects were proving successful in providing ecotourism services. The lessons learned from the Chalalan initiative have generated a movement towards ecotourism in Bolivia as a whole, with interested donors, private community businesses, private non-community businesses, nongovernmental organizations, municipalities and others. Currently there are 65 ecotourism projects in Bolivia and all acknowledge Chalalan as the pioneer in this area.

Chalalan — a Community Company
The Chalalan business is a joint stock company, with shares divided as follows: 50% for the 74 families4 of the community and the remaining 50% for the Territorial Base Organization (Organización Territorial de Base – known as OTB for its acronym in Spanish).5 Each year, the company presents its financial statements to its members; if earnings are

4 To date (August 2009), there are 100 families. 5 The Territorial Base Organization represents the set of community institutions and members, and is acknowledge by the State through its legal representation, within the framework of the 1551 Popular Participation Law.

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reported, these are distributed among the shareholders. As a member of the company, the OTB reinvests its earnings into community needs. The company offers a variety of services to tourists who want to visit the Madidi PA: lodging with 30 beds, local bilingual guides specialized in the interpretation of the Madidi National Park, transportation and food. It began its activities in 1997 as a pilot program. Project staff organized visits of test groups brought together by tourist agencies and others, to familiarize Josesanos with the final client. That same year, an operation office opened in Rurrenabaque. In 1998, Chalalan received Figure 4. The Chalalan Ecolodge is a now a sustainable, community-run 186 tourists. Until then, the project had financed part business that has improved the socioeconomic conditions of the community members, increased local capacity for sustainable development, and of the operation costs. Although this decision promoted served as a model for other community ecotourism projects in Bolivia. visits to the lodge, it was a necessary but hard subsidy to Photo © Haroldo Castro, Conservation International. eliminate. Chalalan operated as a project until December 1999, when it became a joint stock company. Community leaders and project technicians initiated a design for a company model that incorporated the community’s organizational structures. This structure included the following elements: a member assembly, a board of directors composed of local institutions, a person in charge, and an operations team. A lawyer was consulted to identify the Bolivian legal framework of incorporation that most closely matched this organizational structure. Unfortunately, the legal framework in Bolivia fails to provide for the characteristics of indigenous communities in general, and San Jose de Uchupiamonas in particular. Given this situation, the community was registered as a corporation, given that this business model involves a partners’ assembly for decision-making and a directory of representatives for strategic monitoring, in this case the community assembly and group leaders of the community. So far, however, this corporation business-model has proved to be not wholly satisfactory in meeting with the organizational characteristics of the community.

Restructuring the Ecotourism Project into an Independent Company
After the company was formed, Chalalan took complete charge of its direction and management, which included measures to ensure that Chalalan would become self-financing, and autonomous in, such as, a) price increases, b) improvements in the operative infrastructure, c) marketing, d) the transfer of assets and responsibility, e) full internal control, and f) the development of a business plan.
Increase in prices

During the pilot phase (1997–1999), the price of lodging in Chalalan averaged US$38 per night. The community managers realized that this amount did not cover operation costs. During this stage, with project support, it was believed that Chalalan was a healthy company, but it was in fact in trouble. After evaluating costs, community leaders and CI’s technical team decided to raise the price to an average of US$90 per night. This adjustment was not welcomed by the tourism agencies, which had to lower their profit margin and transfer a part of it to the Chalalan
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company. However, even though this measure was taken in the high season of 2000, the travel agents have maintained their commercial relations with Chalalan, even to the present. Without this price increase the Chalalan management would have failed.
Improvement of the Ecolodge

By the end of 1999, the Ecolodge offered 14 beds, no private toilets, a wastewater disposal system in collapse, very poor lodging conditions for employees, and a small dining room with a leaky roof. By the end of 2000, the company had built huts for 10 additional beds and a comfortable lodge for employees with the same quality as those for tourists. Currently, the employee facilities are used when the number of tourists exceeds the lodge’s capacity. The dining room and bar were also built. Today this is the enter- The company invests its profits in San Jose, and tainment center for the tourists. has brought other benefits to the communities. Community members also installed a new wastewaSan Jose now has a regular water supply thanks ter sanitation system for both solid and liquid waste. The to Chalalan which has also contributed to a health old system had collapsed because the technology used was not appropriate for tropical regions and it was too clinic, provided health loans, and facilitated the small for the growing company. The project also invested construction of a school. in improving transportation services with the purchase of three canoes with outboard motors to transport tourists. These investments for an improved infrastructure added financial resources to the community and also generated a feeling of ownership to the company, and compensated for the community’s contribution. During this time, the community created the motto “Everything with sweat, nothing with money,” which reflected their contribution to the company.
Marketing

The company defined the tourism agencies as their main clients; the tourism operators who attract foreign visitors or tourists from the city of La Paz. Chalalan began with two principal agencies: America Tours and GAP Adventures. The first worked as a representative in the city of La Paz, and the second organized pre-established annual groups. Early on, the Chalalan Company decided to extend the market to other intermediaries in the city of La Paz, but America Tours continues as the main vendor. The project and the company made great efforts to promote their tourist services internationally. They received a special boost from the 2000 March edition of the National Geographic magazine, which showed the Madidi Park on the cover; giving it a worldwide exposure that exceeded the sum of all previous promotion activities. Also in 2002, National Geographic Traveler placed Chalalan as one of the 20 most important tourist destinations in the world. The inclusion of Chalalan in the travel book Lonely Planet also provided a strong boost in marketing Chalalan’s tourism services.
Responsibility and the transfer of the assets

Early in the project, consultants managed operations and decisions for Chalalan. The positive aspect of this was a wellestablished operational system, but it generated a dependency of the staff on the project consultants. This was overcome by delegating decisions to a local General Manager, and by creating an administrative system to support the process, including such as an operating manual, a flowchart, and a staff salary structure.

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When Chalalan became a company, the assets generated by project investments were transferred to the company to become part of its capital. This generated real, fixed costs and reduced apparent earnings. Staff salaries originally paid by the project were also transferred to the company costs, but based on a gradual arrangement that did not put it at risk. The last position transferred was that of General Manager. In September 1999, 64% of adult women and men in the community had still not visited Chalalan in person, this was at least in part because San Jose de Uchupiamonas is three hours upstream by boat from Chalalan. Besides those who were involved in the various construction projects, community members were encouraged to see Chalalan through visits organized by the project.
Internal control

During the initial phase, the company worked with a manual accounting system that did not allow for sufficient monitoring and control of purchases, shipments, acquisitions and other minor operations; this resulted in unnecessary company expenses. To resolve this, the project hired an accountant who installed an internal control system and trained community members in its use and in handling purchasing processes. It has been quite successful, and the company took over the costs of the system when the project terminated. However, although it was able to identify areas of weakness in the company’s administration, it was not enough to overcome issues such as debts from brokers.
Business plan development

The Chalalan company worked without a busi- …the Chalalan Company of the community of San ness plan until January 2001. CI subsequently Jose de Uchupiamonas was able to continue operating provided a specialist technician, who worked under self-management by members of the community, with leaders and community members to create a business plan, resulting in a strategy docu- generating employment, promoting conservation of ment that was understood and used by the San the Madidi Protected Area, and strengthening the Jose de Uchupiamonas people. management capabilities of the community. With these measures in place, the Chalalan Company of the community of San Jose de Uchupiamonas was able to continue operating under self-management by members of the community, generating employment, promoting conservation of the Madidi Protected Area, and strengthening the management capabilities of the community. A study (“El efecto Chalalán: Un ejercicio de valoración económica para una empresa comunitaria”) was conducted that demonstrated the impacts of the company as follows (Harb Mallky et al. 2007). • The Chalalan Company passed a cost-benefit test and stimulates other economic activities in San Jose and Rurrenabaque. Company dividends, employee salaries and the local purchase of supplies and services all have a positive effect on the economy of the region. The company pays taxes to the Bolivian Treasury and brings business to travel agencies and airlines. • The company invests its profits in San Jose, and has brought other benefits to the communities. San Jose now has a regular water supply thanks to Chalalan, which has also contributed to a health clinic, provided health loans, facilitated the construction of the school, encouraged training in English, and catalyzed partnerships with a number of outside organizations. Chalalan’s social orientation has engendered a perception among the local population that the business has improved their living conditions.

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As a result, many families that had migrated to other towns in the 1980s have returned to San Jose in recent years. Chalalan plays an important role in the conservation of natural resources and the environment. Right at the beginning, the company took into account a comprehensive range of measures that would minimize the effect on the landscape and natural features of the lodge site; they included environmentally sound systems for water and solid waste management and energy supply. The analysis conducted suggests that the economic success of Chalalan is due to three key factors. The first was the availability of capital, which enabled the company to survive the project development period, to build local management capacity, and to establish itself in the tourism market. The second is the social integrity of San Jose, which allowed the community to create a shared a vision of a business without losing its local identity. The third is the extraordinary natural setting of Madidi National Park, upon which the entire business depends.

Threats and Challenges
The challenges currently faced by the Uchupiamonas TCO include the consolidation and natural resource management of the TCO and the maintenance of their traditions, culture and beliefs. One important issue that the San Jose communities in particular will eventually have to deal with is the fact that petroleum exploration concessions have been granted in the TCO Uchupiamonas. This will require an understanding of The dangers of being too dependant on revenues from a single their rights as well as strong negotiasource such as from ecotourism are evident … ecotourism alone tion skills. The Chalalan initiative has cannot be the solution for the livelihoods of all members of developed solid management skills in the community’s local leaders, but the community. Even with supply and support enterprises, it future generations have the challenge can generate only limited numbers of jobs, and the allocation of learning from the mistakes of their predecessors, and continually mod- of revenues to community benefits such as schools and health clinics does not solve all of the community’s needs. Diversified ernizing and improving the operations of the company, while not losing the and complementary projects, such as farming (diversified and culture and traditions. Biodiversity sustainable crops and farming practices), and handicrafts should conservation is and always will be an important premise for the develop- also be given priority. ment of the Uchupiamonas TCO, if only because the livelihoods of the communities depend on the desire of tourists to see and experience the wildlife and landscapes of the Madidi. Chalalan has shown that an indigenous community can efficiently manage a high-demand business such as top of the market tourism, as long as there is a constant investment training and innovation to maintain high business standards. A major challenge for Chalalan of course is that tourism is a competitive and volatile business. Market changes, competence, tourist opinions and trends, and other issues all can fluctuate so quickly that business and market management require a specialized support that some communities have yet to reach. In addition, social and political instability in the country can generate trip cancellations, which requires even more agility when generating products for local public and other potential markets. The dangers of being too dependant on revenues from a single source such as from ecotourism
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are evident, and besides, ecotourism alone cannot be the solution for the livelihoods of all members of the community. Even with supply and support enterprises, it can generate only limited numbers of jobs, and the allocation of revenues to community benefits such as schools and health clinics does not solve all of the community’s needs. Diversified and complementary projects, such as farming (diversified and sustainable crops and farming practices), and handicrafts should also be given priority.

Conclusions
Biodiversity conservation can be achieved with community participation if alternative mechanisms for generating revenues, such as tourism, meet the basic needs of the community. Tourism creates awareness within a community about the importance of the conservation of the wildlife and natural landscapes of Madidi; a valorization that would go beyond their immediate traditional use of the natural resources. The Chalalan community has set out a specific area for tourists and tourism activities and is conscious of the need to maintain an abundance and visibility of the wildlife in the forest and rivers to secure its reputation as a top tourism venue for an “Amazon experience.” Regular wildlife surveys and monitoring will be necessary. The introduction of a tourism industry is an intervention that involves sociocultural changes towards modernity, while at the same time allowing the people to maintain their rich cultures as a fundamental public asset. The changes arising from the constant invasion and contact with other cultures needs to be assimilated gradually in a way which does not damage their integrity and culture. For ecotourism to flourish as an enterprise in these communities, the technical team must always know the reality of the country, the regions and the communities. Business skills and criteria alone will not make for a successful company: social and cultural criteria must also be considered; taking into account power relations within a community is vital to prevent social conflicts. Just as in national or municipal governments, local communities also have economic and political interests. Power relations may create personal or group interests. Although obvious, these types of relationships must be understood and well-managed to achieve development and conservation which of necessity creates change and modernizes, but results in benefits and maintains traditions and harmony rather than damage.

Literature Cited
Beck, S.G., García, E. and Zenteno, F. 2003. Plan de Manejo Parque Nacional y Área Natural de Manejo Integrado Madidi: Documento Botánica. In: Madidi de Bolivia, Mágico, Único y Nuestro. CARE – Bolivia (ed.), 63pp. CD Rom. CARE – Bolivia. La Paz. Bolivia, SERNAP 2006. Parque Nacional y Área Natural de Manejo Integrado Madidi: Plan de Manejo. Servicio Nacional de Areas Protegidas (SERNAP), Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS), La Paz, Bolivia. Harb Mallky, A., Pastor, M., Saavedra, C.P., Navia, A.L., Capiona, G.M., Navia, Z.L. and Fleck, L.C. 2007. El Efecto Chalalan: Un Ejercico de Valoración Economica para una Empresa Comunitaria. Conservation Strategy Fund (CSF), Serie Técnica (13): 69pp. Website: . Accessed: 18 July 2009. Killeen, T.J. 1997. (Tropical) Andes: CPD Site SA36: Madidi-Apolo Region Bolivia. In: Centres of Plant Diversity: A Guide and Strategy for their Conservation. Volume 3. The Americas, S.D. Davis, V.H. Heywood, O. HerreraMacBryde, J. Villa-Lobos and A.C. Hamilton (eds.), pp.486–489. The World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF) and IUCN – The World Conservation Union, Gland, Switzerland.

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Mamani, G., Limaco, Z. and Limaco, A. 2006. Viaje al Centro de un Sueño: Una Experiencia Exitosa de Ecoturismo Comunitario en la Amazonía Boliviana. Fundación Praia, Corporación Andina de Fomento, Fondo Internacional de Desarrollo Agrícola, La Paz, Bolivia. Stronza, A. 2006. Madidi a través de nuestros ojos: la historia del Ecoalbergue Chalalan de Bolivia. Unpublished, San Jose de Uchupiamonas and Conservación Internacional – Bolivia, La Paz, Bolivia.

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PAPUA NEW GUINEA

The Forest Stewards: An Innovative Approach to An Innovative Approach Conserving Cultural and Biological to Conserving Cultural Guinea and Diversity in the Heart of New Biological Diversity in the
William Thomas

Quick Facts
Country: Papua New Guinea Geographic Focus: New Guinea's Great Rivers Heartland straddles the international boundary of Papua New Guinea (PNG) and the Indonesian province of West Papua , cutting through the heart of the island. Indigenous Peoples: The Hewa people live in the Southern Highlands province of Papua New Guinea and number fewer than 2,000. They speak Hewa and Neo-Melanesian Pidgin. In all, 1,200 distinct languages are spoken on the island of New Guinea.

Overview
The challenges presented by globalization and the increasing demands of a growing human population make it more important than ever that we develop innovative programs to conserve large tracts of wilderness. I have spent the last twenty years exploring the largest and most important wilderness in Melanesia — New Guinea’s Great Rivers Heartland. My guides on this journey have been from one of the cultures that have shaped this landscape, the Hewa people of the headwaters of the Strickland River. The Hewa have helped me travel here, explained how their actions shape this landscape and convinced me that they should be partners in its conservation. Armed with this knowledge, I approached my friend and colleague Bruce Beehler with a plan to conserve the Hewa territory. With Bruce’s guidance, my Hewa friends and I have developed a program called “The Forest Stewards” that we believe will help to conserve both the biological and cultural diversity of New Guinea’s wilderness core. New Guinea is a land of superlatives. It is the world’s largest tropical island and is one of the world’s most significant centers of biodiversity (Myers et al. 2000). Of the three great tropical forest wildernesses on earth — the Amazon, the Congo and New Guinea — New Guinea is the least explored. The island of New Guinea is home to over 700 species of birds, the world’s largest and smallest parrots, the largest pigeons and Queen Alexandra’s Birdwing butterfly, again the world’s largest. Although logging has ravaged most tropical forests, New Guinea is still covered with 75% of its original vegetation. These forests contain an estimated 9,000 species of plants, including 1,500 species of trees and 2,700 species of orchids. More importantly, this incredible biological diversity is matched by the island’s cultural diversity, with 1,200 distinct languages spoken on the island. In short, with both its biological and cultural diversity intact, New Guinea remains a global “Good News Area” (Myers et al. 2000).

Author Information
William (Bill) Thomas has worked with Hewa community in Papua New Guinea since 1988. He earned his Ph.D. in Anthropology from Arizona State University in 1999 and serves as the Director of the New Jersey School of Conservation at Montclair State University. In addition, Bill directs the Forest Stewards Program for the Indo-Pacific Conservation Alliance. E-mail: thomasw@mail.montclair.edu

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The Great Rivers Heartland straddles the international boundary of the independent nation of Papua New Guinea (PNG) and the Indonesian province of West Papua. Cutting through the heart of the island (Fig. 1), this region encompasses the headwaters of New Guinea’s four great rivers: the Digul, the Fly, the Sepik, and the Idenburg. All originate in the central uplands of this borderland. This vast natural area stretches for nearly 300 km and is virtually unexplored. Recent analyses have identified this rainy upland zone as the richest in biodiversity on the island, and it is home to some of New Guinea’s most remote societies (Beehler 1993). The Figure 1. The Great Rivers Heartland (green hatching), which stretches conservation of the Great Rivers Heartland is vital not for about 300 km, contains some of the richest biodiversity in Papua New Guinea. Its biological impact is felt all the way to the coasts and reefs of only to these societies but also to the continued viability the island, making its conservation a vital priority. It is also home to great cultural diversity and communities who have rich heritages and intimate of New Guinea’s coastal ecosystems and reefs — unique knowledge about the land and its species. marine ecosystems that rely on the pristine waters the Heartland delivers. In 1993, a team of scientists conducted a national “Conservation Needs Assessment” for Papua New Guinea. They declared this region a “major terrestrial unknown” and a national conservation priority (Swartzendruber 1993). The cultures there represent a treasure house of knowledge, and are potential partners in the conservation of a globally significant wilderness. We know that a conservation project of this magnitude can only succeed with the cooperation of the local people. Rather than squander this opportunity by creating a “paper park” (i.e., a park that exists on national maps but has no local support), we have chosen to pursue a more dynamic strategy by creating partnerships with the local people to conserve both the biological diversity of this region and the cultural diversity that has shaped it. In the case of the Great Rivers Heartland, we are implementing an innovative approach to conservation known as the Forest Stewards.

Strategy
The most valuable assets of any traditional community are its lands and its culture. The aim of the Forest Stewards initiative is to build environmental and cultural stewardship in traditional forest societies by marketing these assets. To this end, we are assisting interested communities in conserving their traditional culture, language, and rainforest environment in the heartland of New Guinea. The Forest Stewards model envisions a strong, focused, customary rural society that builds its future on the knowledge of its traditional past — its language, customs, and its relationship with the natural environment. Rather than chasing the western dream of extractive and import-driven materialism, participants in the Forest Stewards program are being helped to “market” their traditional assets and knowledge through special relationships with nonprofit research institutions. These “buyers” of indigenous knowledge would be natural history museums, universities and conservation organizations. Communities who participate in the Forest Stewards program agree to become partners with these institutions, who will then assist them in managing their traditional knowledge by making the community’s shared collections available to “buyers.” Ranging from the general public to researchers, these buyers will, in turn, pay for the opportunity to study the collections that the Forest Stewards communities are willing to make available. The buyers will not actually “own” anything; instead they will market and manage their collection for

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the benefit of the partnership — the institution and the local community. The intellectual property will belong to the community in perpetuity and, with the Forest Stewards approval, will be available for study by bona fide researchers. The Forest Stewards program will employ knowledge teams — local experts on traditional environmental knowledge, language, local history, traditional medicine, and arts — as liaisons and co-workers with partner museums and universities. This exchange will provide for a financial basis for development in the community that is culturally appropriate, sustainable, and conservation-oriented. NGOs developing community-based conservation programs in New Guinea have been most successful when their programs are built by committed individuals within the community. It is for this reason that we have launched the Forest Stewards program with the Hewa people living at the headwaters of the Strickland River.

Project
In 2005, the first stage of the Forest Stewards initiative began with the Hewa people in the Southern Highlands province of Papua New Guinea. The Hewa number fewer than 2,000, yet they are the only inhabitants of about 65,000 ha of hilly and submontane forest in the uppermost Strickland River, a region on the eastern verges of the Great Rivers Heartland. This area is extremely rugged. There are no roads, few airstrips, and none of the fertile valleys that are found in New Guinea’s highlands. Although the Hewa come into contact with their more affluent highland neighbors, they have no

Figure 2. The Forest Stewards Program is based on partnerships between locals who share their expert knowledge in language, culture, and biodiversity with research institutions.

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economic opportunities in their homeland, and remain semi-nomadic subsistence farmers. They see the Forest Stewards program as an opportunity to develop a school, an aid post and some small businesses that will make life better for all without sacrificing their land to logging or mining interests. As the sole speakers of their language, the Hewa are the gatekeepers to millennia of observations about the natural world embedded in their language and culture. The biggest difficulty in working with a population that speaks a unique language is obviously communication. In this case, the problem of cross-cultural communication was complicated by our desire to establish a common understanding between Hewa and western naturalists concerning the relationship between tradition and biodiversity that would become the basis for a local conservation plan. Ultimately, the Hewa understanding of birds has provided us with a way to use traditional knowledge to facilitate cross-cultural communication. Birds are an established indicator of biological diversity (Schodde 1973; Coates 1985; Beehler et al. 1986). By recording traditional knowledge of birds and the impact of human activity on them, we have established a common ground on which to build a conservation program for these forests. Since these techniques have been recognized by UNESCO as a “Best Practice” (http://www.unesco.org/shs/most), they have given both the Hewa and the program more credibility with funding agencies (Thomas 2002). The Hewa Forest Stewards project was launched in the following sequence. 1. Develop a team of mentors Before we could market the traditional knowledge of the Hewa, it was necessary to assemble a team of local experts. These would be the first Hewa to work with our partner institutions. Over the years of working with the Hewa, I have developed a reputation as a willing student who paid for the most knowledgeable mentors. This reputation made it easy to attract the finest Hewa teachers once we were ready to launch the Forest Stewards project. In this initial stage of the project, there were many more applicants for the Forest Stewards positions than we could accommodate. For the current Hewa project at Wanakipa station, I interviewed over 40 potential applicants for mentor positions with the Forest Stewards project. Fifteen — one from each of the clans that occupy the mountains around the confluence of the Strickland and the Laigaip — were chosen to participate in the natural history portion of the Forest Stewards. Positions are filled through competitive examinations. Although we are currently concentrating on the traditional ecological knowledge, we are committed to conserving all aspects of this culture, and I have already identified Knowledge Conservators for traditional songs and myths who are anxious to participate in the project. 2. Create “Living Classrooms” The most interesting outcome of this program to date has been the decision by the participants to create “Living Classrooms” along the streams and valleys that are the forest drainages and the local clan territorial boundaries. These natural boundaries act as wildlife corridors and have been dubbed “Roads of the Cassowary.” Each will be allowed to return to primary forest and used by the Forest Stewards as classrooms to instruct the next generation. No gardens will be cut there. They will in effect become game corridors that will extend from the river’s edge to the mountaintop (500–1500 m). These corridors will thread between the scattered gardens and stages of successional forest to link cassowary habitat across the valleys. Southern Cassowaries (Casuarius casuarius), the largest birds in New Guinea, will be protected in these areas. The cassowary is the most charismatic species of the local fauna and an excellent indicator of ecosystem diversity. Although they are plentiful above 800 m, my Hewa mentors understand that the habitat simplification that comes with gardening and the establishment of a station
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at Wanakipa have created habitat that cassowaries avoid. By allowing the drainages to return to climax forest, future Hewa generations should experience cassowaries at all elevations. For other game hunting, only traditional hunting with bows will be allowed along these boundaries. The Forest Stewards will monitor these areas using digital cameras, making monthly patrols for which they will receive a monthly compensation of US$30. Each patrol should take approximately four days per month or 48 days per year per mentor. 3. Choose the apprentice Forest Stewards Along with their role as guardians of these “Living Classrooms,” Forest Steward mentors will each be assigned an apprentice who will accompany them in their work on the monthly surveys of the corridors. Each apprentice will be tested on a yearly basis by the Advisory Committee to ascertain their progress as a student of traditional environmental knowledge. After successfully completing each of the five stages of the examination process, I anticipate that each apprentice will eventually inherit their mentor’s work.

Current Status and Next Steps
We estimate that it will take 10 years for each Forest Stewards project to become self-sustaining. Our initial Forest Stewards project with the Hewa is off to a good start. We are helping the Hewa to capture their traditions and have created a “business” based upon their environment, culture and knowledge that is unique to that site. To date, the project has attracted researchers from the Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, Harvard Museum, Massachusetts, and Montclair State University, New Jersey, Figure 3. Aislan, a young Hewa boy, imitates his as well as creating partnerships with the Bishop Museum in Honolulu, father and practices his hunting skills by stalking Hawai‘i, and the Indo-Pacific Conservation Alliance (IPCA) based there. butterflies. With the Forest Stewards program now in place in the Hewa community, traditional knowlWe have begun working with scientists from these institutions to build edge about the environment and Hewa language the collections of plants and creatures (the “product”), that will become and culture has become a valuable commodity that can be marketed to researchers through partner inthe foundation of our income generating/business activities. stitutions. Photograph ©William Thomas 1989. Meanwhile, other interested communities in the Great Rivers Heartland have expressed an interest in establishing a Forest Stewards program in their communities. During the next three years, I anticipate continuing the program with the Hewa, and beginning another Forest Stewards program with other societies in the Strickland drainage — the Sisimen on the north side of the Om River and the Ipili, Paiella and Kandep people at Mt. Kajende, the headwaters of the Laigaip River. If funding allows, the same process of conserving biodiversity and tradition will begin in the Asmat basin and the Star Mountains on the Indonesian side of New Guinea. While the Forest Stewards project is gaining momentum, there is much to do. We will need to spend much of the next decade creating the infrastructure that will allow the Forest Stewards project to be self-sustaining. Specifically, we will need to develop the knowledge collection and the knowledge-based enterprise projects and, with this, create a community endowment. 1. Develop the knowledge collection A more comprehensive biodiversity survey will need to be developed in order to document the local names of all the biota and to record the traditional uses of all local wildlife, plants, and the like. This
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will comprise the core of the local knowledge library. Local collectors will be trained to digitally photograph and preserve voucher specimens of all flora and fauna. These will be linked to information on local name, local use, and local lore. The community naturalists will contribute their knowledge of local species (behavior, ecology, etc.), all of which will go into a locally held library of knowledge managed by local experts and organized by key subjects. This will be, in essence, an ethnological/environmental/ linguistic field study center, where the information given by the elders will also be housed. So that the Hewa will have a copy of everything, we plan to create books of the myths, lore, language, etc. that will be housed at Wanakipa station. These books will be written in both English and the local language, and will also serve the pre-literate community through the use of pictures and symbols. I am in the process of developing a local language guide on birds based on traditional Hewan knowledge to be housed in our local library of knowledge. At the same time, partner institutions will serve as a permanent repository for all voucher material, and, in return, will cover the cost of the salaries for the local stewards to make and document these collections. For their efforts, the partner institution will receive a priceless and comprehensive collection of the flora/fauna/material culture of a unique New Guinea society, and the community will begin to see the value of its cultural and biological inheritance. 2. Develop knowledge-based enterprise projects It is our intent that self-sustaining activities will be established with funding support from the partner institutions. Therefore, the aforementioned knowledge library will also double as a field station for research. As the community completes its knowledge library, and as residents become more steeped in this knowledge, the library will attract more researchers and students, much the same way scientists are attracted to long-standing field stations. There, powerful and cutting-edge research can be conducted in partnership with a savvy, well-trained, and very knowledgeable local community. It is this that will bring economic opportunity. For example, an ornithologist going to this community to conduct bird surveys will find young field assistants who know the names, habits, and vocalizations of all the birds — a boon to the research. Visiting linguists can expect a welcome reception from the array of local language historians who have worked together to document the richness of the customary language. An ethnologist who works there will benefit from a widespread interest in all aspects of the society’s customs and traditional lifestyle. It is likely that partner institutions may want to establish their own field stations on the site and arrange for annual field scientist visits. This will provide employment opportunities for members of the Hewa community. Although the Hewa speak a smattering of Pidgin, the aim of the Forest Stewards is to conserve as much as possible of this unique culture in their own language, so that less will be lost in translation. So that knowledge team members can communicate with their research partners, an adult literacy program will be introduced in the participating community. The Hewa Forest Stewards program received commitments from partners to begin an adult literacy program in 2009. Some community participants must also learn English to make their knowledge more accessible to researchers and to ensure long-term employment opportunities for the community. At the same time, local knowledge schools will be created wherein the elders will convey their knowledge of language, nature, community history, stories/myths, skills, products/crafts, etc. to the next generation of knowledge stewards and researchers. This will establish the first steps toward capturing and conserving local knowledge.
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These knowledge-based enterprise projects will provide the community with an income stream and reduce the chances that someone will be granted extractive rights to the community’s lands. Currently, there are no women engaged in the program. However as the program evolves, I anticipate that our partner institutions will see the untapped potential of women’s knowledge and we will add female stewards to our program. 3. Create a community endowment It is my hope that this project will attract enough partners and funding to set up an endowment. This endowment would Figure 4. The Southern Cassowary (Casuarius casuhave two objectives. First, it should enable the community to arius) is one of the most charismatic species of the local fauna and an excellent indicator of ecosystem meet the yearly expenses of the mentors (ensuring, for example, diversity in New Guinea’s Great Rivers Heartland. The island of New Guinea is home to over 700 species of that Hewa get paid throughout the year to look after the corbirds. The Forest Stewards Program hopes to conridor areas) without touching the fund’s principle. Second, the serve New Guinea’s wilderness core and the cultures that have shaped it. Photo © Bruce Beehler. endowment should fund non-profit activities like community health care and literacy. At present, the community seems to be focused on enhancing the educational materials available at the school and supplying the aid post. We have six trained Hewan health workers (courtesy of the Lutheran hospital in Enga) currently living at Wanakipa station. Eventually, as the endowment grows and access fees replenish the principal, the Forest Stewards will be assured of long-term sustainability. This is why partners with a long-term stake in New Guinea, such as the Bishop Museum, are so important. Both the institution and the scientists that it links with the Forest Stewards can profit professionally from working with the knowledge library as well as working in person with the Forest Stewards. These scientists are accustomed to paying for the privilege, and the partner institution is willing to provide a conduit for the Hewa and other groups to receive these funds. By establishing an endowment and affordable pay rates for the participants in New Guinea, this project aims to provide a predictable level of income for the participants and avoid the pitfalls associated with inconsistent funding. In the long-term, the Forest Stewards model envisions: • developing traditional rural societies throughout the Great Rivers Heartland of the island of New Guinea that will build their future upon the conservation of their cultural and ecological resources; • creating a local sustainable knowledge-based economy through a conservation program that is supported by working partnerships with international, cultural and natural history institutions; and • expanding the current model based on traditional environmental knowledge to include the conservation and transmission of elements of local culture such as myths, language and traditional medicine.

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Conclusion
The Forest Stewards project represents a paradigm shift for conservation in the 21st century. Through local empowerment and capacity building, this approach offers an isolated forest society a pathway toward economic development that also fosters nature conservation. We believe the most valuable resources to be found in the Great Rivers Heartland are its people and remarkable biodiversity. This project turns culture, language and land rights — normally seen as barriers to development and conservation — into assets by placing a monetary value on them. Typically, traditional languages are jettisoned by smaller societies, because they pose a barrier to assimilation and the creation of wealth in the modern world. For the Forest Stewards partners, language will be an asset — the key to empowerment and income. These native languages hold the key to unlocking the natural world that Forest Stewards communities have managed for centuries. By fostering intergenerational and cross-cultural communication, the Forest Stewards program allows communities to use their traditions to participate more fully in decisions about resource conservation. In remote areas with no other source of income, I believe that this will be sufficient incentive for people who are already proud of their heritage to steward their language, tradition and forests into the next generation. The Forest Stewards concept offers the possibility to meet the aspirations of developing societies while conserving globally significant forests. We understand that the Forest Stewards program will influence the development trajectory of the Hewa community. However, because we have established a link between the biodiversity found in these forests and traditions as well as between the product and payment, we believe that we can avoid the development of a “cargo cult” mentality, wherein communities expect that foreigners will give the community goods and services unconditionally. We also understand that the Hewa will develop regardless of the program’s efforts, and that, given the PNG context of resource exploitation, the options bestowed by the program provide irrefutably more benefit than detriment. All involved understand that without the forests to keep their traditional environmental knowledge alive, there can be no Forest Stewards program. In the long run, the Forest Stewards concept presents the possibility of conserving cultural and ecological resources for future generations who, given the opportunity to understand the value of these resources, will take measures to protect them. By working with organizations such as Conservation International that have invested in some of the largest conservation programs in New Guinea and mobilized individuals who are dedicated to empowering other members of their community, we are confident that we will conserve Melanesia’s most important wilderness and the cultures that have shaped it.

Literature Cited
Beehler, B. (ed.). 1993. A Biodiversity Analysis for Papua New Guinea — With an Assessment for Conservation Needs. Vol. 2, Papua New Guinea Conservation Needs Assessment. Biodiversity Support Program, Washington, DC. 434pp. Beehler, B., Pratt, T. and Zimmerman, D. 1986. Birds of New Guinea. Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ. Coates, B. 1985. The Birds of Papua New Guinea. Vol. 1. Dove Publications, Alderley, Queensland, Australia. Myers, N., Mittermeier, R. A., Mittermeier, C. G., Fonseca, G. A. B. da and Kent, J. 2000. Biodiversity hotspots for conservation priorities. Nature, London 403: 853–858. Schodde, R. 1973. General problems of faunal conservation in relation to the conservation of vegetation in New Guinea. In: Nature Conservation in the Pacific, A. B. Costin and R. Groves (eds.), pp.123–144. Australia National University Press, Canberra. Swartzendruber, J. F. 1993. Conservation Needs Assessment. United States Agency for International Development (USAID), Biodiversity Support Program, Washington, DC. Thomas, W. H. 2002. Best Practices in the Use of Indigenous Knowledge. UNESCO, Management of Social Transformations (MOST) Programme, Paris.
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The Amani Butterfly Project:
Butterfly Farming and Forest Conservation in the East Usambara Mountains, Tanzania

Theron Morgan-Brown

Quick Facts
Country: Tanzania Geographic Focus: East Usambara Mountains Indigenous Peoples: Six local communities with a population of 2,500 comprising a mixture of different ethnic groups. The Sambaa ethnic group has been predominant among them since the 18th century.

Introduction
Reconciling rural economic development and conservation is one of the key challenges in conservation science. Some scientists believe this is a fool’s errand, and that conservation and development are fundamentally incompatible. The lack of success among many early integrated conservation and development projects would seem to support this conclusion. However, there is also a small but growing number of success stories that counter this narrative. The Amani Butterfly Project in Tanzania is one of them, and illustrates that, when properly organized, economic incentives can be strong drivers for conservation. Begun in 2002 by the Tanzania Forest Conservation Group (TFCG), the Amani Butterfly Project is the first butterfly farming initiative in Tanzania. The project helps communities adjacent to forests farm native butterflies and market butterfly pupae for butterfly exhibits in the US and Europe. The project’s goals are to reduce poverty in the East Usambara Mountains and create economic incentives for forest conservation. Butterfly farmers in the project depend on local forests to provide host plants for the butterflies and genetic diversity for their butterfly farms. While similar to the Kipepeo Butterfly Project in Kenya, the Amani Butterfly Project has some key differences. Most importantly, the project has trained the local community not only how to produce butterfly pupae, but also how to play a significant role in managing the project.

Author Information
Theron Morgan-Brown is the founder and technical advisor of the Amani Butterfly Project. He first started researching the idea of butterfly farming in Tanzania as a Fulbright Fellow in 2001. He is currently completing his PhD in Interdisciplinary Ecology at the University of Florida and helping the project to expand by developing new products and markets. E-mail: kimbiaje@ufl.edu

The East Usambara Mountains
The Amani Butterfly Project is based in the East Usambara Mountains of Tanzania, which are part of the world-recognized Eastern Arc Mountains Biodiversity Hotspot (Myers et al. 2000). The Eastern Arc Mountains are known as the Galapagos of Africa because each mountain is an island of forest isolated from other wet forests in the

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region. The Eastern Arc Mountains are the sole home for 96 vertebrate species, 68 trees, and at least 43 butterflies, and a large number of other invertebrates (Burgess et al. 2007). In the past century, clearing for small-scale agriculture, tea estates, and logging has taken its toll on these forests: today more than 76% of the Eastern Arc Mountain forests have been lost (Newmark 2002). Within the Eastern Arc Mountains, scientists consider the East Usambara Mountains home to 35 endemic vertebrates and 40 endemic trees, a priority area for conservation (Burgess et al. 2007). The East Usambara Mountains have about 263 km² of closed canopy forest, ranging in elevation from 300 to 1,500 m (Mbilinyi and Kashaigili 2005). The forests are broken into many fragments, the largest of which are in national forest reserves. In recognition of the forest’s fragile nature and importance for biodiversity protection, the Tanzania government banned logging in the East Usambara Mountains in 1989 and created the 8,000 ha Amani Nature Reserve, the countries first, in 1998 (Newmark 2002). More recently, international donors have helped the government purchase another 1,000 ha from local communities to create the Derema Forest Reserve, which will serve as a biological corridor linking the Amani Nature Reserve to other forest reserves. The Sambaa have been the predominant ethnic group in the area since the 18th century (Hamilton and BenstedSmith 1989), but many other groups moved into the mountains in the 20th century to take advantage of the high rainfall or to work in tea estates. Most people living in the East Usambara Mountains are farmers; growing corn, cassava, banana, beans, sugar cane, cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, black pepper, and small-holder tea (Reyes et al. 2005). Some households keep chickens, cows, and goats. About 20% of the households from six communities with a total population of 10,000 people also earn income from farming butterflies. According to income data collected by the Amani Butterfly Project in 2004, the average household of five in the project area makes about US$340 a year in cash income, mostly from the sale of cash crops or tea estate labor. Future agriculture earnings will likely be limited; the fertility of cultivated soils in the area is declining and there is little forest left outside of reserves to clear for new land (Reyes et al. 2005). The government’s efforts to protect forests in the East Usambara Mountains have had both negative and positive effects for local communities. The logging ban in particular caused a substantial loss of income for a few communities. Also, some communities feel that they were not properly compensated for land that was incorporated into forest reserves (Jambiya and Sosovele 2002). On the other hand, conservation actions have protected valuable resources for the communities, including drinking water, and firewood and medicinal plants, which villagers are still allowed to collect. Although any other uses of forest reserves are illegal, the forest is threatened by agricultural encroachment, illegal cutting, fire, and charcoal production (Newmark 2002). The Division of Forestry and Beekeeping, responsible for enforcing forest regulations, has limited resources. So the government has made an effort to ask village environmental committees for their help Figure 1. Tanzania, showing the East Usambara Mountains, Amani Nain enforcing forest regulations and maintaining forest ture Reserve and the six villages with butterfly projects.
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boundaries (Vihemäki 2005). Still, some observers say that the overall incentive for villages to participate in these programs is low since they are generally treated as “beneficiaries” rather than as full partners (Woodcock 2002).

The Beginning
The Amani Butterfly Project grew out of a 2002 feasibility study of butterfly farming in the Usambara Mountains funded by the US Fulbright Fellowship program. Based on the report, local district and forest officers agreed to allow the Tanzania Forest Conservation Group (TFCG) to pilot the project in four villages. However, forest officials, concerned about possible negative environmental impacts, directed the project away from the Amani Nature Reserve, which they had declared a “non-extractive” area. As a compromise, four villages around the proposed Derema Forest Reserve were invited to participate. Conservation officials had mistakenly cut the crops marking the boundary of the new forest reserve, only to realize that the government could not afford to compensate farmers for these crops due to a change in compensation laws. The affected communities were understandably upset and were thus offered the opportunity to be the first participants in the Amani Butterfly Project.1 The Tanzania Forest Conservation Group then presented the idea to the governments of the four pilot villages. After the villages agreed to participate, the TFCG asked each village to elect three representatives to serve as the initial executive committee for the project. These members were then asked to recruit participants and help form groups of 10 to 20 farmers. In total, the committee recruited about 270 farmers. Butterfly farming training began immediately in the fall of 2002. However, recruits were initially skeptical, based on their past experiences with development projects, and were reluctant to invest a lot of time. The project sought to reassure farmers by providing some free equipment and equipment on loan that would only be paid back from the sale of pupae. The TFCG also arranged for the 12 members of the executive committee to visit East Africa’s only other butterfly farming initiative, the Kipepeo project, in Kenya, so that they could share their findings with other community members. Pupae sales began in December of 2003 after the project received permission from the Division of Wildlife to export them. Sales for the first year were limited by production: participants had been encouraged to farm in groups of 10 or more people since there was a shortage of capital for equipment. This proved unrealistic, and lack of cooperation within groups severely hindered production for the first part of 2004. However, as communities developed more faith in the project, more farmers took equipment loans to farm as individuals, and production rapidly increased. Total sales for 2004 were just under US$20,000.

Butterfly Farming and the Forest Advantage
Butterfly farmers in the Amani Butterfly Project use a semi-domesticated approach to butterfly farming. Captive butterfly populations are held in netted enclosures to protect their developing larvae from predators and reduce the risk of disease and parasitism. Farmers save pupae from each generation to continue their captive populations without relying on wild populations. This system allows them to produce large, predictable quantities of butterfly pupae of a known age, which is essential for the live butterfly exhibit market.

1 The initial working capital for the project was provided by the Global Environment Facility’s Small Grants Program, which awarded the project US$28,000 in the fall of 2003.

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Natural forests also play an important role in the Amani Butterfly Project, however, as farmers periodically capture wild male butterflies to provide genetic diversity, as captive populations usually originate from only one or two females. Farmers also grow host plants from seeds or seedlings gathered on the forest edge to feed their larvae. These can only be obtained from mature trees in the forest. Furthermore, each species of butterfly uses a different host plant. Members of the Amani Butterfly Project farm more than 30 species of butterfly and consequently use more than 30 native trees, shrubs, herbs, and liana species in their operations. Some entrepreneurial community members have even started businesses germinating and potting host plants to sell to butterfly farmers. In other countries, butterfly farmers are less reliant on natural forests and farm in almost fully domesticated conditions. However, this kind of farming requires a large capital investment in netting, nursery supplies, seeds, and watering equipment that members of the Amani Butterfly Project could not afford. With the advantages of forest access, the typical farmer in the Amani Butterfly Project was able to start farming with about $10 in loan equipment, an amount that was easily repayable after just one month of pupae sales. The importance of forests for butterfly farming in Amani was demonstrated in the 2006 survey of the project. Seventy-six percent of butterfly farmers said that living near the forest made butterfly farming easier, and 82% said that butterfly farming would be impossible without access to forests. Butterfly farming is ecologically sustainable. The high reproductive rate of butterflies lowers the risk of overharvesting from the wild and reduces the need for wild harvesting, since a few butterflies can rapidly produce very large captive populations. One female butterfly can lay 200 to 500 eggs in captivity. Furthermore, since butterfly pupae are widely dispersed and cryptic in the wild, it is easier to farm pupae than harvest them. A study of butterfly farming in Kenya found no negative effects on wild butterfly populations (Gordon and

Figure 2. A typical butterfly farming enclosure. Butterfly farmers in the Amani Butterfly Project use a semi-domesticated approach to butterfly farming. Captive butterfly populations are held in netted enclosures to protect their developing larvae from predators and reduce the risk of disease and parasitism. Farmers save pupae from each generation to continue their captive populations without relying on wild populations. This system allows them to produce large, predictable quantities of butterfly pupae of a known age, which is essential for the live butterfly exhibit market.

Figure 3. Local women with flowers they collected from the roadside to feed butterflies. Butterfly farmers in the project depend on local forests to provide host plants for the butterflies and genetic diversity for their butterfly farms. However, natural forests also play an important role in the Amani Butterfly Project, as farmers periodically capture wild male butterflies because captive populations usually originate from only one or two females. Participating households have increased their annual income by more than 25% according to an income survey and sales data.

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Ayiemba 2003). The impact of harvesting host plants is also minimal, since they are primarily removed from the forest boundaries, which are frequently cleared as fire breaks.

The Market
The Amani Butterfly Project’s primary market is live butterfly houses in the US and Europe. It supplies pupae directly to these exhibits and also to pupae distributors. Given the climate, high labor costs, and lack of proper host plants in Europe and the US, butterfly houses rarely farm butterflies themselves. Additionally, tropical butterflies typically only live for a few weeks, so live butterfly exhibits require a constant supply of butterfly pupae. Most of the project’s customers order new pupae every 2 to 3 weeks. A typical shipment consists of 200 to 300 pupae at $1 to $2.50 each depending on the species. Typically, larger, more colorful and more active species fetch higher prices. Pupae are collected from the farmers the day before shipping and packed into boxes between layers of cotton. The boxes are airtight and insulated, but the pupae continue to develop into adult butterflies. The next morning, the pupae travel to Dar es Salaam and leave that night with a courier service. Within 3 to 5 days, the butterfly pupae arrive at a butterfly house where they are hung for a brief time before they emerge and are released as butterflies into flying enclosures. The live butterfly-exhibit market is seasonal with many butterfly exhibits closing down during the winter in the northern hemisphere. Therefore, the bulk of sales Figure 4. The Tanzanian Diadem, Hypolimnas antevorta, is endemic to occur between February and September each year. The the East Usambara Mountains, and is one of the 30 species farmed by project also ships dried specimens to dealers and collecmembers of the Amani Butterfly Project. The Amani Butterfly Project’s primary market is live butterfly houses in the U.S. and Europe. It supplies tors, though sales currently contribute less than 2% of pupae directly to these exhibits and also to pupae distributors. total project sales. The worldwide butterfly trade was estimated to be US$100 million in the early 1990s and is most likely much more now (Slone et al. 1997). Although the majority of the worldwide butterfly market is for dried specimens, there is a substantial and growing market for butterfly pupae. The Amani Butterfly Project’s database of live butterfly exhibits, which is incomplete, includes more than 200 exhibits, many of which spend more than $100,000 a year on pupae (Black et al. 2001).

Project Organization
Since the beginning of the project, the TFCG has sought to train the project’s participants to help manage the project. The goal was to create an organization that could evolve into something similar to a cooperative. However, the TFCG recognized that the participants would need considerable initial training and guidance to perform their duties. As described earlier, the project’s first executive committee was selected in village meetings. Now, butterfly farmers hold
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Figure 5. A group of butterfly farmers survey the boundary of a forest to research a proposal for a new community forest reserve. The project has measurably improved conservation in the East Usambara Mountains. A survey conducted in 2006 found that butterfly farmers were more supportive of local conservation efforts than people who did not farm butterflies. More importantly, the survey also revealed that butterfly farmers were nearly twice as likely to participate in activities that help forest conservation, including village environmental committees, tree planting, discouraging illegal cutting in forest reserves, and preserving forest on household land. Butterfly farmers have been the leading advocates in their communities for establishing or expanding village forest reserves, and have drawn attention to and stopped illegal cutting.

yearly elections for these posts. Farmers from each village select three of their fellow butterfly farmers to represent them on the committee. The project’s constitution stipulates that at least one of the three representatives from each village must be a woman. The executive committee is unpaid except for a small per diem for committee meetings. The committee meets about six times per year to set the project’s membership policies, resolve internal conflicts, review the project’s month-to-month cash flow statements, and distribute the project’s village development funds, which consist of 10% of each village’s total earnings from butterfly farming. To obtain access to the funds, villages must hold general meetings and decide how best to spend the money. They then present their plan to the executive committee for approval. Since 2004, the villages have spent most of their development funds on materials, such as iron roofing for school buildings. Project participants also control membership in the project. New members are only allowed to join if there is a need for more production. For example, the farmers recently agreed to add two villages and expand the number of farmers by 100. However, new farmers were instructed to only produce species that were not produced in sufficient supply prior to the expansion. Working with the project’s manager, the executive committee sets pupae prices that will guarantee that the project has enough money to operate, but with little or no profit. This ensures that the individual farmers receive the highest possible price for the pupae they sell. In general, butterfly farmers receive about 70% (less 10% for the village development fund) of the project’s sales revenue, while the other 30% covers the project’s staff salaries and operating costs. Since most of the project’s operating costs are fixed, future sales increases should increase the percentage of sales revenue paid to farmers. The Amani Butterfly Project operates on a skeleton staff. Only five people (all Tanzanian) are employed fulltime for the project by the TFCG — the manager, a research assistant, an office assistant, and two office guards. With the exception of the manager, who is university trained, the project staff were recruited locally.

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They are responsible for technical assistance on butterfly farming, marketing, collecting pupae, arranging sales, exporting pupae, collecting customer debts, paying farmers, and promoting conservation efforts. The TFCG staff members provide financial oversight.

Accomplishments
Today, the project is financially self-sufficient and has around 350 member farmers (55% women) from six communities in the East Usambara Mountains. Annual sales from the project have increased each year from US$20,000 in 2004 to more than US$92,000 in 2008. Although butterfly farming is not the primary income source for most of the participating households, participating households have increased their annual income by more than 25% according to an income survey and sales data. The project has also measurably improved conservation in the East Usambara Mountains. A survey conducted in 2006 found that butterfly farmers were more supportive of local conservation efforts than people who did not farm butterflies. More importantly, the survey also revealed that butterfly farmers were nearly twice as likely to participate in activities that help forest conservation, including village environmental committees, tree planting, discouraging illegal cutting in forest reserves, and preserving forest on household land. Butterfly farmers have been the leading advocates in their communities for establishing or expanding village forest reserves, and have drawn attention to and stopped illegal cutting. The results of the survey also suggested, however, that not every butterfly farmer was equally likely to participate in conservation activities. Only households that reported butterfly farming as their largest or second-largest source of cash income were significantly more active in conservation activities than households that did not farm butterflies. This finding strongly suggests that butterfly farming has created an economic incentive for participation in conservation activities.

Major Lessons
Although a number of factors have contributed to the success of the Amani Butterfly Project, perhaps most important is that staff were constantly striving to improve the project and willing to learn from mistakes. Here are the major lessons: • Improvements in conservation as a result of integrated conservation and development projects are more likely if the link between conservation and development is direct, as it is with butterfly farming and forest conservation. The 2006 project survey demonstrated that butterfly farmers see a strong connection between their ability to farm butterflies and the conservation of local forests, and that this connection has translated into measurable changes in conservation behavior. • Marketing research conducted during the US Fulbright-funded feasibility study laid a strong foundation for the project, identifying potential customers and interest in the market. Before butterfly farmer training began, the project already had nine butterfly exhibits waiting to purchase pupae, and a database with nearly 200 other potential buyers. • The project’s organizational structure and use of technology keep the administrative costs to a minimum, promote transparency, and ensure that farmers can capture the maximum value for the pupae they produce. Prior to the establishment of the project, a few community members captured butterflies and occasionally sold them to collectors. However, without the marketing infrastructure, expertise and organization provided by the project, the full value of the butterflies in the area would not have been

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recognized. The project’s website and satellite internet connection allow the project’s single manager to market to customers in any part of the world for a minimal cost. The project has always valued democracy, but also recognized from the beginning that new institutions do not work overnight. Yearly elections helped to ensure that only the best representatives were reelected to the executive committee. Furthermore, the project staff members attended all of the executive committee’s meetings to ensure that the committee operated in a democratic fashion and followed the project’s guidelines and constitution. Committee members were given increased responsibility as they became more skilled and committed. Individual farming works better than group farming. We saw this at the beginning of the project, when, due to limited resources, we encouraged farmers to share equipment and farm in groups of 10 to 20. This greatly inhibited production: fairness was so important to many farmers that they decided to forgo making any money from butterfly farming rather than share their earnings with someone who did not put in an equal amount of work. The project’s organizational structure has created a sense of ownership among its participants. Farmers control membership, prices, and distribution of development funds. Rather than being passive participants, farmers have taken the initiative to research new butterfly species on their own, start new captive populations, and trade pupae amongst themselves. Butterfly farmers led successful campaigns to establish two new village forest reserves and a village tree planting effort, without prompting or assistance from the project staff members. As evidence of their feeling of empowerment, in the 2006 survey, butterfly farmers were significantly more likely than other community members to believe that they personally had the ability to positively affect conservation. Excessive taxes and fees can undercut conservation and development projects. Earnings from butterfly farming are high in part because members of the Amani Butterfly Project only pay 10% of their earnings into the village development fund, a tax rate comparable to the village tax rate for cash crops. This pays off in conservation, as the 2006 survey showed that households that earn more money from butterfly farming participate in more forest conservation activities. However, governments often place special fees on nature-based products, even when produced on private or communal land, because they are misperceived as public goods. The Amani Butterfly Project may shortly be required to pay a $0.10 fee to the Division of Wildlife for every pupa it exports, doubling the tax rate of its member farmers. These tax revenues are not necessarily spent on conservation or protecting the resource, so in the Amani Butterfly Project, higher taxes may result in less participation in forest conservation activities. The project benefited from existing institutions even though it also created its own initiatives. The Tanzania Forest Conservation Group (TFCG) and the government created institutions such as the village environmental committees, built local capacity for managing tree nurseries, and built local capacity for managing community forests long before the creation of the butterfly project. Butterfly farming gave these communities increased economic incentive to use their existing capacity for forest conservation activities. The project has benefited from the extra efforts it made to involve women. More than half of the original recruits for the project were women. Butterfly farming requires small, consistent daily labor inputs and can be done near the home, making it an ideal income generating activity for women in the project area. Providing equipment as loans made it easier for women, who often lack cash income, to participate. Insisting on female leadership in the executive committee also facilitated the participation of women

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since women in the project area are less likely to communicate their problems to men. Project staff members provided extra assistance to uneducated women to ensure that they were fairly compensated, and some of these women have become top farmers in the project. Women famers have also had a positive effect on education. In the 2006 survey, 30% of female butterfly farmers used their butterfly income to pay for secondary school fees, whereas only 15% of male butterfly farmers reported doing the same. While the project has successfully involved women, it has had less success involving the poorest members of the communities. Though all of the project’s participants are poor by national standards, the 2006 survey showed that butterfly farmers owned a little more land than the average member of the communities. Butterfly farming does not require land and can be done in a backyard. However, land probably provided some people in the community with a little more security and free labor. It was easier for land owning households to take a risk on butterfly farming, knowing that if it did not pay off, they could still sell their crops for cash. Conversely, land-poor households were more likely to work in tea estates or as casual labors on other people’s farms, and therefore had less free labor to risk on butterfly farming and no other sources of income to fall back on.

The Future
The relatively small size of the live butterfly exhibit industry is the primary constraint on project expansion. The project has increased sales each year from US$20,000 to US$92,000 in 2008. However, based on the experience of similar projects, yearly pupae sales will probably top out at US$100,000. The project is, therefore, exploring the possibility of expanding into other markets in order to boost demand for farmed butterflies. The project is currently developing a new cooperative of women that will make framed butterfly souvenirs, butterfly wing artwork, and butterfly wing jewelry for the tourist and domestic souvenir market in Tanzania. In the long run, the cooperative will also market these items to gift shops and fair trade crafts retailers. The Amani Butterfly Project also plans to organize a domestic market for butterfly releases at weddings and other events. Once again, women will play a key role. The TFCG hopes to create a separate women’s cooperative that will create these products using butterflies from the Amani Butterfly Project. Before starting, however, the TFCG plans to conduct extensive market research to ensure that this next venture will be as successful as the Amani Butterfly Project.

References
Black, S.H., Shepard, M. and Allen, M.M. 2001. Endangered invertebrates: the case for greater attention to invertebrate conservation. Endangered Species Update 18: 41. Burgess, N.D., Butynski, T.M., Cordeiro, N.J., Doggart, N.H., Fjeldsa, J., Howell, K.M., Kilahama, F.B., Loader, S.P., Lovett, J.C., Mbilinyi, B., Menegon, M., Moyer, D.C., Nashanda, E., Perkin, A., Rovero, F., Stanley, W.T. and Stuart, S.N. 2007. The biological importance of the Eastern Arc Mountains of Tanzania and Kenya. Biological Conservation 134: 209–231. Gordon, I. and Ayiemba, W. 2003. Harnessing butterfly biodiversity for improving livelihoods and forest conservation: The Kipepeo Project. Journal of Environment Development 12: 82–98. Hamilton, A.C. and Bensted-Smith., R. (eds.). 1989. Forest Conservation in the East Usambara Mountains, Tanzania. IUCN – The World Conservation Union, Gland, Switzerland and Cambridge, UK.

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Jambiya, G. and Sosovele, H. 2002. Conservation and Poverty: The Case of Amani Nature Reserve. Mkuki na Nyota Publishers on behalf of Research on Poverty Alleviation, Dar es Salaam. Mbilinyi, B. and Kashaigili, J. 2005. A Forest Area Baseline for the Eastern Arc Mountains. Technical Report – Conservation and Management of the Eastern Arc Mountain Forests. Forestry and Beekeeping Division, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism. Available from: . Myers, N., Mittermeier, R.A., Mittermeier, C.G., Fonseca, G.A.B. da and Kent, J. 2000. Biodiversity hotspots for conservation priorities. Nature, London 403: 853–858. Newmark, W.D. 2002. Conserving Biodiversity in East African Forests: A Study of the Eastern Arc Mountains. Springer, Berlin. Reyes, T., Quiroz, R. and Msikula, S. 2005. Socio-economic comparison between traditional and improved cultivation methods in agroforestry systems, East Usambara Mountains, Tanzania. Environmental Management 36: 682–690. Slone, T.H., Orsak, L.J. and Malver, O. 1997. A comparison of price, rarity and cost of butterfly specimens: implications for the insect trade and for habitat conservation. Ecological Economics 21: 77–85. Vihemäki, H. 2005. Politics of participatory forest conservation: cases from the East Usambara Mountains, Tanzania. Journal of Transdisciplinary Environmental Studies 4: 1–16. Woodcock, K. 2002. Changing Roles in Natural Forest Management: Stakeholder’s Roles in the Eastern Arc Mountains, Tanzania. Ashgate, Burlington, USA.

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SURINAME

Establishing an Indigenous-Run Ecolodge and Protected Area in Southern Suriname
Annette Tjon Sie Fat, Stanley Power and Krisna Gajapersad

Quick Facts
Country: Suriname Geographic Focus: The tropical rain forests of the Guiana Shield in southern Suriname Indigenous Peoples: The Tareno people, a number of formerly nomadic indigenous tribes and sub-tribes that now live together in the village of Kwamalasamutu in the south and southwest of central Suriname.

Introduction
Suriname is a former Dutch colony, which became independent in 1975. It is just north of Brazil on the northeastern shoulder of South America. With just over half a million inhabitants in an area of about 164,000 km², the country is thinly populated. The majority of the people live in a narrow strip of land along the coast. Inland, the country is still forested, and is home to tribal Maroons (descendants of black slaves who escaped from plantations in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries) and Amerindians. The country has a long-standing conservation tradition; its nature protection act dates from 1954. Almost 15% of the country is currently under some form of protection. The largest protected area was created in 1998, the 1.6 million-ha Central Suriname Nature Reserve. In the past decade, Conservation International’s work in Suriname has focused on consolidating the protected areas system — creating new areas and improving the management of those already existing — and helping develop ecotourism as an important source of income and a strategy to protect biodiversity. Since the early 1990s, the Regional Office of Conservation International in Suriname (CI–Suriname) has been working with the Tareno people, a number of formerly nomadic indigenous tribes and sub-tribes, who now live together in the village of Kwamalasamutu in the south of the country. The focus was research on medicinal plants, an ethnobotany project of the International Cooperative Biodiversity Groups Program (ICBG) funded by the United States National Institutes of Health (USNIH), the National Cancer Institute and United States Agency for International Development (USAID) to search for new medicines and compounds from plants and to promote the documentation and maintenance of traditional knowledge of medicinal plants within the community. The project was completed in September 2002. In 2000, CI also became involved in the

Author Information
Annette Tjon Sie Fat is Executive Director of Conservation International’s regional program in Suriname (CI–Suriname). E-mail: atjonsiefat@conservation.org Stanley Power was CI–Suriname’s project coordinator in south Suriname. He led the first ecotourism project in Kwamalasamutu, which resulted in the construction of the Iwaana Saamu lodge. In December 2008, he left CI–Suriname and is now a private consultant for organizations that undertake community work in the interior. Krisna Gajapersad is Ecosystem Services Coordinator at CI–Suriname. He was responsible for the project that resulted in the creation of the indigenous protected area of Werehpai, and has helped the community to develop a management plan there. E-mail: kgajapersad@conservation.org

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development of a management plan for the Sipaliwini Nature Reserve nearby. We had built a good relationship with the Tareno community, and it was of course necessary to consult them concerning zoning and the appropriate procedures and management structures that we were developing. Stanley Malone, former Technical Director of CI–Suriname, had advocated that they should be co-managers, and was trying to convince government and donor organizations to invest in building their capacity to take on this role. The Tareno Paramount Chief, Ashongo Alalaparu, knew of this and, in January 2004, sent a letter to CI, asking for assistance in developing sustainable economic activities in the Tareno living area in south Suriname. The Chief wrote, using a metaphor, “you can give me a guitar, but if you don’t teach me how to play it, I will not be able use it because you did not teach me how.” On receiving the letter from the Chief, CI–Suriname recruited an anthropologist to initiate discussions with the Tareno about how CI could provide further support. After many, many hours of consultations between CI–Suriname and the Tareno leadership, experts, and community members, we set up a program consisting of two functionally interdependent projects. The first was the development of an indigenous protected area around the archeological site of Werehpai. This would protect the archeological site and function as a game sanctuary and, eventually, a tourist attraction. The second was the development of an eco-tourism enterprise at Iwaana Saamu near the village of Kwamalasamutu, which would generate income for community members and provide resources to maintain the protected area. Naturally, during these discussions the indigenous participants required little or no assistance to identify their own cultural assets, i.e., the facilities and resources which have a rich cultural value in terms of nature, history, art and science. In fact, without indigenous knowledge, the development of key program components such as site selection, architectural design, knowledge of building materials, identification of product development assets, and so on, would not have

Figure 1. The Tareno people, a number of formerly nomadic indigenous tribes and sub-tribes, live in the village of Kwamalasamutu on the upper Sipaliwini River, some 430 km from the capital, Paramaribo. Shown also are locations of the Sipaliwini Nature reserve on the Brazilian border, and the Werephai Indigenous protected area created by the Village Council of Kwamalasamutu.

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been feasible. Lengthy dialogues were required in developing the more ‘western’-oriented components, such as enterprise structure and financial management, to ensure that community leadership and community members fully understood the issues. The management of a tourism enterprise was even more complicated, and required more guidance from outside the community for a longer period of time for the enterprise to be sustainable and profitable. Here we describe the participatory process through which CI–Suriname and the people of Kwamalasamutu developed a small tourism business — an ecolodge — together with a protected area in southern Suriname from December 2004 to December 2007. We also summarize progress up to August 2009 and review the lessons learned by CI–Suriname’s staff throughout this endeavor. Working with tribal peoples in remote areas of Suriname is a long and winding road, which requires the building of trust between the communities and outsiders, flexibility and long-term commitment, and not only a willingness to learn about the community but also a willingness to learn with it, and apply the lessons learned as the process of participation and mutual learning unfolds. It was evident early on that CI and the donor agencies needed to be willing to invest a lot of time, energy and money in training, and that it was necessary to understand and deal with issues of general development, poverty eradication, and western-style management before addressing issues related directly to the conservation of the region’s wildlife.

Background
Socio-cultural context

Tareno is the collective name for a number of indigenous tribes and sub-tribes, who lived in small, nomadic families in southern Suriname, but who moved to live together in the late 1950s and early 1960s in what is now known as the village of Kwamalasamutu. The largest of the tribes is the Trio and the contact language is the Trio language — hence the people of Kwamalasamutu are often also called Trio. The Tareno live in the south and southwest of central Suriname. The village of Kwamalasamutu is a conglomerate with about 1,000 inhabitants from eight indigenous groups and sub-groups. The Sipaliwini Nature Reserve of 100,000 ha is 100 km upstream from the village, at the headwaters of the Sipaliwini River along the border with Brazil. The reserve consists for the most part of savanna and forest islands. It is rich in wildlife, and is home to a number of species endemic to the region, most notably the blue poison arrow frog (Dendrobates azureus). Kwamalasamutu was founded in the 1960s by missionaries who brought together members of semiFigure 2. Making a motete or backpack out of camina liana, Kwamala, nomadic bands that roamed southern Suriname.1 The Suriname, April 2009. Photo © Cristina Mittermeier.

1 The Indigenous people moved down the Sipaliwini River in the 1960s as the number of people being brought together grew, thus needing a larger permanent settlement area. The village of Kwamalasamutu was established in 1975. The community ecolodge was set up in the previous settlement area of Kwamalasamutu (Iwaana Saamu).

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sustainable semi-nomadic lifestyle was abandoned in favor of a permanent settlement. This radical transition had many advantages, including better healthcare, a substantial increase in life expectancy, and literacy and a western education. There have also been disadvantages, however. The sedentary communities overtax their traditional rainforest resources, and over the past 45 years the people have had to learn to participate in a cash economy, with social changes inherent in the concept of working to earn an income to purchase food and goods. Some villagers worked in government or government-subsidized jobs, mainly in the education and health sectors, while village leaders receive a government stipend. Early on, the wildlife trade became the most significant source of cash income as the community turned to their natural resources to earn money. In 1992, non-governmental organizations such as CI and the Amazon Conservation Team (ACT) developed projects that directly created jobs for people with these organizations. Today, the village economy continues to rely on income from government sources, donor-funded projects and unsustainable activities, such as the wildlife trade and gold mining.
Anthropological aspects

In 2003, CI–Suriname contracted anthropologist Christopher Healy 2 to initiate discussions and prepare a program of collaboration with the Tareno. He analyzed the community’s strengths and weaknesses, and found significant differences in the ability of the different community members to cope with the mixture of traditional and introduced cultural elements. Although, customary sharing and exchange, and traditional forms of education are prominent among the Tareno, individual ownership is also very strongly developed in the traditional subsistence economy. For example, somebody who clears a plot of land retains rights to the land even if they leave the village for years on end — upon return, the plot of land can still be claimed. Customary law is still in effect to manage resources and land, and to settle disputes and maintain harmony in the community. Customary governance works well even in the current acculturated political context. Western-style administrative structures and procedures have been introduced throughout the years to manage public goods, such as utilities, education and health care, and to manage local governance. The introduction of the cash economy has also had a significant effect: individual ownership of equipment (outboard engines, chainsaws, and other material resources) is now an important dimension of social and economic life and status. Community members possess a vast store of indigenous knowledge they use to exploit the rain forest for survival but have a limited understanding of the workings of the western money economy. There is little understanding of western political, legal, economic, and social systems. Religious teaching in the Trio language has left most community members literate in Trio, few people can speak or read in the official Dutch language due to the low-level of primary school education in Dutch.

Early Unsuccessful Efforts at Economic Development
In the 1990s, CI and a consortium of partners implemented an ethnobotanical project to seek cures for widespread diseases, such as malaria, cancer and HIV/AIDS. The project was designed to comply with the Convention on Biological Diversity, and much time was spent on achieving informed consent and an equitable royalty agreement for all stakeholders. The project ended after 10 years without achieving its aims, and without any visible economic development in

2 The anthropological aspects come primarily from Christopher Healy’s field notes, trip reports and formal reports (Healy 2004a, 2004b, 2005) when he was working as consultant for CI–Suriname and responsible for developing the project with the Tareno.

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Kwamalasamutu. The associated Forest People Fund, set up at the request of community members as a trust fund, is still available to the community, but it can only finance small initiatives, such as the acquisition of boat engines, outboards and boats. In the late 1990s, the UNDP Small Grants Programme provided direct funding to the local Trio organization, the Meu Foundation, to establish and manage an ecolodge in the Sipaliwini Nature Reserve. The project was unsuccessful since the local organization did not fully understand its concept and was unable to meet project management requirements. When large numbers of petroglyphs were discovered in the Werehpai rock formation near Kwamalasamutu in 2000, the Meu Foundation took the initiative to build three thatched shelters there because they were convinced that large numbers of tourists would visit the site. Naturally, tourists failed to materialize, because the mere construction of huts is not ecotourism development. These initiatives did not fail because of a lack of financing or a lack of willingness or enthusiasm on the part of local community members. They were ineffective because financing does not generally accommodate the funding of long-term processes, or because insufficient Figure 3. Making a bead apron or kiweyu on a wooden frame, Kwamala, Suriname, April 2009. Photo © Russell A. Mittermeier, Conservation attention was paid to training, guidance and monitoring International. for the local people who would implement the project. They were unsuccessful because they did not take into account that people who function well in their own customary setting do not automatically understand Western concepts of projects and project management. They were unproductive because the local people decided to embark on ecotourism as an income-generating activity without any idea of what to do — they had only heard of how much money people could earn from tourism activities. Finally, the initiatives failed because donor organizations often fail to understand or appreciate the significance and force of traditional social structures in these communities or the time it takes to actually get them up and running.

Developing the Program
To cope with the constraints described above, we designed a participatory process with the Trio to develop an ecotourism program and the associated Werehpai protected area (see Healy 2004a, 2004b, 2005). Our first task was to acquire a good understanding of traditional governance, customary law, and economic and social life, and to share knowledge of the western world with the Trio culture. We held lengthy dialogues with the village leadership and experts, which yielded good understanding of the historical processes that have led to the current subsistence crisis and poverty in the indigenous communities of southern Suriname.
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Subsequently, we held meetings and consulted with a wider group of people in Kwamalasamutu, in order to understand the qualitative differences between introduced and traditional cultures, so that they could be accounted for in the program. These insights were critical. It became clear that we could only develop projects to conserve biodiversity if we understood the immediate limitations that prevented community members from leading the sustainable lifestyles their ancestors had developed over thousands of years in the Amazon region, and only if we improved the quality of life of the residents of Kwamalasamutu and reduced poverty. The third phase of the process was to design the program. This was done with a core team of community members and the village leaders, followed by a village meeting to present the program to get approval prior to seeking funding. When the process started, we did not truly understand how the Tareno peoples interacted with one another, and we certainly did not understand the power structures in the community. We learned that the structure of the village council had been introduced when the different (sub-)groups came to live together, but that important decisions were still discussed and taken within the different tribal and family structures, from which we, as outsiders, were excluded. Thus, while official decisions are the authority of the village council, successful implementation is more often decided by who stands behind the idea, on his position and standing in his own tribe, and on whether or not he has informal authority in the village itself. Just one generation ago, people dealt with threats to their livelihoods (for example, the diminishing wildlife, depleted agricultural plots, or crops being attacked by fire ants) by packing up and moving to another site. We learned that the Tareno are still facing problems of adjusting to a sedentary life. Current challenges, for example, included how to ensure sufficient protein for an increasing population without over-hunting and over-fishing, and how to rotate crops or introduce (semi-)permanent agriculture instead of cutting the forest for new plots every year. As outsiders, we set out with the romanticized idea of the ‘noble savage,’ and we did not see or understand at first that the Tareno were at a crossroads; while they wanted to retain the lifestyle they had grown up with, they also wanted to earn enough money to ensure a good education and healthy life for their children, to be able to travel to the capital city, and to live the life of the city in their own village.

Core Values of a Participatory Process
As a conservation organization, CI–Suriname needed to determine whether and how it could best help the Tareno develop economic alternatives to mining and forestry — currently the livelihoods of choice in the more northern and eastern Maroon living areas — in accordance with their vision for their future. We needed a participatory process that would enable us to fully understand the Tareno’s concerns and would also allow us to teach them the principles of biodiversity conservation and basic management. We needed a process that would work through all stages of the project, from decision-making, to training, to project description and implementation, to monitoring and evaluation. To do this, the following values were central.
People-centered and holistic approach

Community members have to survive, first and foremost. The challenge was to develop sustainable livelihood strategies and only then start any training or interventions for a more active role in biodiversity conservation. This approach recognized multiple influences on people, multiple actors, multiple livelihood strategies, and multiple livelihood outcomes. The program design stressed the interrelationship of components: biodiversity conservation through the establishment of indigenous protected areas; cultural preservation through the study and management of archeological sites; and the development of sustainable livelihoods through eco-tourism. Western concepts such as the “environmental enterprise”
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were enlisted, but adapted to the local context. Every effort was made to discover and use as much indigenous terminology as possible.
Dynamic processes

Indigenous communities are not static, unchanging tribal societies but dynamic communities that adapt to ever-changing circumstances and outside influences. Social change in Kwamalasamutu is influenced by developments in the capital, Paramaribo, as increasing numbers of Tareno travel to the coast, settle in the city, and have children in schools there. The interaction of the Tareno leadership with the community and the CI–Suriname staff is also dynamic, as people come and go in the village, and as power relations within the community and with outsiders keep changing.
Sensitivity to ownership and land rights

Suriname law does not formally recognize traditional settlement areas of indigenous communities as communal or tribal lands. CI had to take utmost care to avoid any concession being given on the part of the Tareno that in future might jeopardize possible land rights claims. Special attention was also paid to the Tareno ownership customs and rules, and as program development advanced, the ownership model of the ecolodge was refined to ensure that, in addition to individual ownership regimes, community benefits could ensue from the activities.

The Phases of Program Development
Phase 1: Reciprocal learning and cultural information exchanges

As previously noted, the program could not be developed until CI–Suriname staff and the external consultant sufficiently understood the indigenous cultures of the Tareno of Kwamalasamutu. Conversely, the local community was not able to discuss the formation of an environmental enterprise without understanding the different organizational options available to them once a business was established. A critical aspect of this phase was the process of finding indigenous words and terms for key concepts. This phase was exploratory, as we learned about how CI staff approach projects versus how the Tareno interpreted their vision for the future. Key issues that emerged again and again were centered on the diverse alternatives for organizing and mobilizing action. How are things done in an indigenous community and how are things done in the western world? When are the different forms of organization used? What is a foundation, an enterprise, a cooperative? And in the indigenous communities, how is property held, how are resources managed and shared? What types of ownership are there, and who controls what, when and where? What are the advantages and disadvantages of the various systems?
Phase 2: Partnership building

During this phase, a context analysis and pre-feasibility study were developed. These included an economic analysis of livelihood activities in the area, a description of the social context, and a policy analysis that mapped the interests of the decision-makers, the natural and cultural assets and the strengths of the local institutions. The village leadership and the community development organization (Meu Foundation) undertook the planning, together with the consultant anthropologist Christopher Healy. Discussions were kept to small groups, which are better suited for in-depth information exchange. During planning sessions we discussed organizational options that would best suit the program and the community, and that would produce optimal management results. One of the major issues was how to ensure that community members employed in the ecolodge could still continue with their traditional lifestyle — they needed to hunt, fish
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and plant crops, which meant they would be away from the village and business activities for days on end throughout the year. Much time was spent on this reality of village life, and eventually the community members proposed that one position or function would be shared by several people, for example two or three site managers, who would organize their work and divide the time among themselves. This meant that any project devised would have to train a number of people for the same work. Building trust was a key component during this phase — because of earlier projects and activities that had failed, community members were wary of promises and tired of consultations. We wanted to be sure they themselves truly had a good understanding of all underlying issues before developing and implementing any projects.
Phase 3: Village meeting

This phase was conducted by the Paramount Chief and not by the consultant or by CI–Suriname’s staff. The consultant was an observer in the meeting. The results of the small planning sessions were presented to the community by the village leadership and the board of the Meu Foundation. The proposal to undertake tourism and to establish an ecolodge outside the village of Kwamalasamutu on the site where the village had originally been located was discussed in detail. There were two hours of explanations and exchanges, during which community members could intervene and ask questions; in the end, the idea and the site for the ecolodge were unanimously approved by the people present. Community members needed to understand that the program being discussed and developed was something they had to decide on among themselves and that the outcome of the discussions would not be a “CI project,” even if CI undertook to seek funding for it. The community members therefore needed to be able to question, change or even reject ideas that had been discussed by the village leadership and the Meu Foundation with CI–Suriname. And they had to use their own system and structure for this.
Phase 4: Proposal design

The projects were eventually written as two separate documents and submitted to two different donors. The creation of the indigenous protected area was submitted to the Global Conservation Fund (GCF), which approved the project in 2005. The development of a community ecolodge was submitted to the Japan Fund, administered by the Interamerican Development Bank (IDB). In April 2005, a joint IDB and CI–Suriname special mission traveled to Kwamalasamutu to review the proposal and discuss it with the village leadership. The donor approved the ecolodge project after more than a year of discussion and negotiation.

Project Implementation
The indigenous protected area project was begun in 2005. The first field activity was a survey of the Werehpai caves, conducted by archeologists from the Suriname Museum and the Smithsonian Institution, and facilitated by CI–Suriname. Archeological research was indispensable to establish the age of the site, and to record the petroglyphs before any tourism or other activities could be initiated. Three field trips were carried out for the archeologists to date the site, record all petroglyphs, study shards collected from sample pits in and around the caves, hold a public presentation of their results3, and make recommendations to protect the site if it were to be opened to tourists. All field trips included a local team of

3 In the May 2005 preliminary report of the archeological trip, Abelardo Sandoval of the Smithsonian Institution says that carbon dating of samples taken from the site show that Werehpai was occupied for at least 5000 years before the present (Sandoval 2005).

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Tareno people, and were carried out with full collaboration from the village leadership. Only one small earthenware pot was recovered whole from the site. It was returned to the Paramount Chief in Kwamalasamutu immediately after the archeologists had completed their studies in Paramaribo. The two small areas — one around the Werehpai petroglyph cave and the other the Iwaana Saamu site of the ecolodge — were identified and publicly announced by the Chief in the village as areas where no hunting, fishing and plot clearing were permitted. Krisna Gajapersad set up camera traps to monitor larger species in the areas, and trained a number of Tareno to handle the cameras and change films and batteries. A bird inventory was also done of this area, and of the savanna area of the Sipaliwini Nature Reserve, in partnership with Yale University students and the Nature Conservation Division of Suriname. As the archeological and biological surveys in the area proceeded, and the first activities to construct the ecolodge commenced, the village council decided to merge the two separate areas that had been decreed as areas where the tribal members were not allowed to hunt, fish and clear for agricultural plots, into one large indigenous protected area of around 18,000 ha, which they called the Werehpai protected area. The council appointed the Meu Foundation to manage it. This project also resulted in conservation awareness materials in the Trio language, as well as a draft manTraining was a crucial component in all projects. agement plan for the Werehpai protected area, with rules and regulations for use, and a simple zoning and man- Practical, basic training needed to be provided agement structure. A team of Tareno now carries out the continuously and repeatedly: in the operation camera trapping protocol, and in the coming months will and maintenance of outboard engines, in the be trained to analyze the photographs and input the data effective use and maintenance of motor saws, into a database being set up with the Meu Foundation in in safe and environmentally responsible timber Kwamalasamutu. CI–Suriname will continue to supervise the data collection and monitor the data analysis. cutting, and in basic accounting, organization The Tareno Paramount Chief requested the Nature and management. Conservation Division of the Ministry of Physical Planning, Land and Forest Management to train and appoint Tareno park guards for both the Sipaliwini Nature Reserve, which is owned and managed by the Nature Conservation Division, and the Werehpai protected area. The Tareno peoples’ level of formal education and their knowledge of Dutch, however, are a serious impediment for any of them to participate in the existing Government park-guard training programs in Paramaribo. The Amazon Conservation Team (ACT), which also works in Kwamalasamutu, meanwhile provided information on a park-guard training course for indigenous people organized in neighboring Brazil and was able to send some Tareno men to train there. This might be the best option for the Tareno instead of the official Dutch-language training offered by the government. In 2006, the ecolodge project was finally approved by the IDB/Japan Fund, but due to serious flooding in the interior of Suriname, preparations for implementation could not start until the end of that year. It took another year for construction and training to be completed, and the ecolodge was officially handed over to the community in April 2008. It uses solar energy and has a water filtration system, along with environmentally friendly sanitation facilities. Product development and marketing, as well as guide training were also crucial elements of this project, and were continued in

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a follow-up project between April 2008 and August 2009.4 Other aspects addressed during this time were site management skills, the production of interpretive materials together with community members, and the improvement of forest trails. Training was a crucial component in all projects. Practical, basic training needed to be provided continuously and repeatedly: in the operation and maintenance of outboard engines, in the effective use and maintenance of motor saws, in safe and environmentally responsible timber cutting, and in basic accounting, organization and management. In addition, we needed to provide basic training for a group of local guides, cooks and cleaners, to be employed on an as-needs basis by the Iwaana Saamu lodge, as well as basic management training for St. Meu, the officially appointed manager of the tourism site and protected area.

Lessons Learned
Figure 4. Tareno village of Kwamalasamutu, southwest Suriname. Photo Lengthy dialogues were devoted to the problems of deal© Russell A. Mittermeier, Conservation International. ing with introduced organizational patterns and systems, particularly the issue of ownership. It was clear from the beginning that some form of collective and individual ownership would be needed to accommodate the tradition of sharing as well as introduced ideas about individual ownership prevalent in today’s cash economy. Care was taken to avoid a prescriptive approach. It became evident that the sharing ideology was still strong, but that cash payment was expected with respect to introduced goods and services. Individual ownership of an outboard motor or chainsaw was the rule, whereas the sharing of game and fish is still practiced. However, the sale of goods and services to non-family members, and certainly to outsiders, has become widespread. The preparation phase of the program took into account the time necessary for the Trio to understand concepts and participate in project design. However, the long interval between the village meeting that gave final approval for the project and the actual implementation of the project caused the people of Kwamalasamutu to start to lose faith. As a consequence, community input was next to nothing when construction started. To the Trio, approval implied that activities should start immediately, and it was therefore difficult to get community members mobilized again. Working with indigenous tribal communities is complicated and slow. CI–Suriname first needed to build trust and to acquire a sufficient understanding of the indigenous cultures at Kwamalasamutu, the power structures among the village leadership, the local organizations, and the church and the community members. We needed to address all other issues that the Trio consider important. They included archeological research because the site was sacred for them and

4 Field activities of the ‘Sustainable Tourism Development Project’ ATN ME-8977-SU, funded by the Multi-lateral Investment Fund through the Interamerican Development Bank and co-financed by CI have ended, but the project itself has not yet officially been closed.

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they wanted to know more about it; the development of lists of local terminology, to show that we valued their language as much as ours; and help in transporting the sick, help for the village leadership, and help in providing fuel for outboard engines now used instead of paddles. The Trio’s concept of time was a great challenge in project implementation, which had a strict timeline with specific outputs. Even when we sat together to identify the best times of the year for work to commence, the best exact date for a certain activity to start, none of the dates we had agreed upon seemed to fit the lifestyle of the villagers once project implementation started. People who had promised to collect timber or roofing materials, or who would help to clear the site and construct the lodge, had traveled to other villages or to Brazil when CI–Suriname staff arrived to work. Even training was impacted by this, since the trainees often failed to appear. The Trio came to view the program and the consultant who led the process as inextricably bound. The actual project was coordinated by Stanley Power, a CI–Suriname staff member who had not been present during the project preparation phase. This caused a misunderstanding in that the community thought that the project was a different one from the one they had prepared with the consultant and approved two years previously. Moreover, they thought the project coordinator could not know what had been decided in those meetings, since he had not been physically present at the time. Western-style accounting and financial management are still difficult to grasp, in spite of constant training. Although the Board of the Meu Foundation says it understands how to keep a simple ledger, income and expenditures are not all booked, and the board usually does not know Capacity building of a tribal community such as whether they are over-spent. The women’s organization Naana, however, which followed the same training, man- the Tareno is an ongoing, long-term process, and ages to keep a meticulous ledger. A third organization the benefits and changes which result are often that followed the training keeps impeccable accounts and intangible or difficult to measure. It requires tracks all income and expenditures, not in a ledger but all an in-depth orientation of customs, systems, in the head of the treasurer. The concept of community input was misunderstood. traditions, relationships and culture, before any The Trio input regarding the construction of the ecolodge attempt can be made to intervene. had been discussed in our initial interactions with the village leadership, the Meu Foundation and community members. Community members had agreed to build the lodge, get paid for the work and become part owners in the process. However, once the project commenced, community members refused to work without receiving immediate payment as laborers. Subsequently, the village leadership and the Meu Foundation seemed withdraw their support for the concept of shareholders, or had failed to fully understand it in the first place. Capacity building of a tribal community such as the Tareno is an ongoing, long-term process, and the benefits and changes which result are often intangible or difficult to measure. It requires an in-depth orientation of customs, systems, traditions, relationships and culture, before any attempt can be made to intervene. We believe that one of the most important things we learned is that although it is difficult to monitor subtle changes in many aspects of the community’s behaviors and competencies, these are often more important than one-time results from one-time training interventions.

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The Way Forward
The short-term projects that were executed by CI–Suriname with the Tareno have now all been concluded. The Iwaana Saamu ecolodge was officially opened on 1 March 2008, but training, mentoring, guidance and monitoring are continuing. CI–Suriname is currently focusing on the business and operational management of the ecolodge and the Meu Foundation, while helping to further develop tourist products and interpretive materials. Improved management practices in the community will benefit all parties. Mastering project management is an easy way to take responsibility and account for resources received. More and more community members are learning to manage with increasing ease the use of financial resources. Gradually, the focus will shift to natural resource management, with a view to help the Tareno improve their management of the ecosystem services in their area. This may eventually lead to negotiations with the authorities and a system of payment for the ecosystem services they are helping to protect. The assumption behind this project has been that the establishment of the ecolodge and the protection of an area of cultural and natural importance for the Tareno is of value for the well-being of this once nomadic community, but issues concerning the conservation of the forest and its wildlife — also of importance for the Tareno — including wildlife trade, hunting, clearing plots for agriculture, and the introduction of alien species for consumption (for example, new agricultural crops and chicken farming) — have yet to be addressed.

Literature Cited
Healy, C. 2004a. Ecotourism In Kwamalasamutu: A Context Analysis and Pre-Feasibility Study for an Conservation Enterprise. Conservation International, Paramaribo. Healy, C. 2004b. Indigenous Knowledge & Cultural Heritage as Instruments for Conserving Biodiversity and Reducing Poverty in Southern Suriname. A Program Developed by the Iwana Samu Environmental Enterprise (Isee), the Meu Foundation of Kwamalasamutu and CI. Conservation International, Paramaribo. Healy, C. 2005. Southern-Suriname Program (SSP): Notes on the Participatory and Partnering Process Employed to Develop the Program. Conservation International, Paramaribo. Sandoval, A. 2005. Preliminary Report on Ancient Human Occupations at Werehpai, Southern Suriname. Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC.

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La Gran Reserva Chachi: Integrating Biodiversity Conservation Integrating Biodiversity and Indigenous Community Conservation and Development in Ecuador Indigenous Community
Margarita Mora, Aaron Bruner, Wilton Díaz, María Cristina Félix, Free de Koning, Marina Kosmus, Tannya Lozada, Alonso Moreno, Luis Suárez, Damian Villacrés and Patricia Zurita

Quick Facts
Country: Ecuador Geographic Focus: The Great Chachi Reserve consists of 7,200 ha in the province of Esmeraldas in northwestern Ecuador. Indigenous Peoples: The Chachi population numbers approximately 11,000 people, whose mother tongue is Chá palaa.

Introduction
Conservation Agreements are an innovative tool for reconciling the conservation of biodiversity with the development of local communities. They form a transparent, voluntary, and participatory alliance, in which the owners or administrators of a resource agree to protect the natural value of an area in exchange for direct, ongoing, and structured economic incentives to offset the costs of conservation. In particular, agreements specify a mutually agreed set of conservation actions, benefits, and criteria for monitoring to ensure transparent provision of benefits based on conservation performance (Conservation International 2007). In 2005, the Chachi centers of El Encanto, Corriente Grande, and Capulí, worked together with Conservation International (CI) and the Deutsche Gesellschaft für Technische Zusammenarbeit (GTZ) GmbH, to design and implement conservation agreements, and establish a community conservation area of 7,200 ha. Located in northwestern Ecuador, the conservation area — now known as the Gran Reserva Chachi — is in one of the most biologically diverse and threatened areas of the planet (Mittermeier et al. 2004). The conservation agreements ensure that the reserve also fo