“Sinjajevina’s rich ecology and outstanding landscapes is not only a product of nature. It is also the inherited and cumulated work of pastoralist activities over millennia. Indeed, this area represents an increasingly rare symbiosis between human societies and the environment, and it stands as a marvelous example of sustainable development and cultural resilience for Europe and the world as a whole.” – https://sinjajevina.org/38-2/
Sinjajevina is located in Montenegro’s UNESCO Tara River Basin Biosphere Reserve and is the summer grazing location for pastoralists’ cattle and sheep herds. This alpine landscape is unique because of the indigenous cultures that have shaped it throughout time with traditional practices of transhumance. However, despite it’s UNESCO, EMERALD and IPA (Important Plant Area) designations, the government plans to create a military training ground and weapons testing area. For obvious reasons, the locals who use this land are against this project, but they were never asked to be a part of the planning meetings and policy agreements.
If this sounds interesting to you, there is a current call for PhD’s to study the traditional transhumance practices in order to help inform policy and to document the cultural and biological importance of this area. DM me for the word document describing the PhD. Applications due by August 31st 2020.
“What do we hear in the bird voices of our homes? Every species has a sonic signature, and individuals within species have their own unique voices. In this diversity of acoustic expression are embedded many meanings. First, the particularities of species, each with its own cadence and tempo. House wren. Bald eagle. Song sparrow. Raven. By noticing and naming, we take the first step into friendship and understanding, crossing the gulf between species. Sound is a particularly powerful connector because it travels through and around barriers, finding us and calling us out of inattention. We walk across town and notice our avian cousins. Kinship and community are no longer just ideas, but are lived, sensual relationships.”
– David G. Haskell in essay, “The Voices of Birds and the Language of Belonging”
This quote, from a beautiful essay in Emergence Magazine, touches on what environmental anthropologists and other academics have called ‘sensory ecology.’ Steven Feld’s (2013) “A Rainforest Acoustemology” is probably one of the more famous examples of this type of anthropology, where Feld discusses the soundscapes and songlines in the rainforests of Papua New Guinea. In the quote above, David Haskell asks us to become aware of our own local soundscapes and how they not only inform us about the conditions of our environment, but also bond us more intimately to birds and their worlds. Glenn Shepard Jr. (2004) reminds us that sensory experiences are culturally based, and the way people see, feel, listen etc. varies across culture, age, sex, and personal experience. By embedding acts of naming and listening to nature into our cultures, Haskell claims, we nurture a sense of environmental belonging, creating multi-species communities in which animals, like birds, communicate their own stories through sound.
“We claim that, despite the general conception of a changing planet, the contemporary and local environment and biota too often is regarded as stable or as having a natural baseline. The world’s bestselling single of all time, Crosby’s ‘White Christmans’, is a good and visual example: ‘I’m dreaming of a White Christmas. Just like the ones I used to know.’ In other words, it refers to an assumed stable state of winters and how they really should be, irrespectively of the fact that it stems from a period in time during which global temperatures were low, compared to most other post-glacial periods” (Lennet & Berge 2019).
Authors Ann Lennet and Jorgen Berge look to Greenland’s Inuit populations to reevaluate conservation management practices. The Greenlandic word Pinngortitaq refers to “a place of becoming,” acknowledging how environments are dynamic and fluctuate across time. They discuss preservationist management strategies and how they are “as unnatural as it is impossible” (Lennet & Berge 2019). In fact, preservationist strategies aim to preserve natural worlds that we have already meddled with. No creature can exist in this world without affecting the environments they inhabit. The authors ask, “What is the actual baseline or natural state of an environment?”
In terms of managing environments in face of problems such as climate change and pollution, it is important to look to communities that have been closely studying their environments for generations, and those that understand the importance of flexibility in a life that can be full of surprises. The authors of this article propose three steps into bettering the conservation of our ecosystems: 1) we must bridge the gap between preservationist and subsistence worldviews; 2) we must view our environments as dynamic instead of static;. 3) we must acknowledge the role of people in their local environments and include an understanding of these relationships in our management strategies.
References:
Lennert, A. and Berge, J. 2019. “Pinngortitaq – A Place of Becoming.” Journal of Ecological Anthropology 20(1).
“Traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) represents experience acquired over thousands of years of direct human contact with the environment. Although the term TEK came into widespread use in the 1980s, the practice of TEK is as old as ancient hunter-gatherer cultures” (Berkes 1993: 1).
Traditional ecological knowledge, or TEK, is a common term used among anthropologists who study indigenous peoples. As Fikret Berkes has described, it is a system of human knowledge relating to the natural environment that has been passed down over many generations. This type of knowledge is gained through intimate experience and observation within the natural world, and is often strongest in places where people depend directly on natural resources. Hunters, fishers, gatherers, agriculturalists, pastoralists, all spend their lives outdoors in communion with the earth’s natural rhythms, and thus it is beneficial to their cultures and lineages to pass down knowledge learned about the environment from parent to child, grandparent to grandchild, aunt and uncle to niece and nephew, or even peer to peer.
Although TEK is essentially situated in time (all TEK is linked to the past), that does not mean it does not change. As Puri (2013) and Ingold (2011) note, knowledge is never copied directly from one person to another. Instead, it is dependent on the individual and how they understand it, experience it, and choose to pass it down.
TEK has important implications for biodiversity. Gagdil, Berkes and Folke (1993), among others, push for higher recognition of indigenous knowledge in fields such as ecology, biology and conservation. Indigenous peoples have been studying their environments for generations, and their observations of recent changes to the world provides vital information about how unpredictable forces such as climate change and pollution are affecting people and their natural environments. Thus, as these three scholars write, “Just as important as it is to conserve biodiversity for sustainability, it is as urgent to conserve the diversity of local cultures and the indigenous knowledge that they hold” (Gagdil, Berkes & Folke 1993: 156).
In Tanzania, as part of a biology class during my Study Abroad in 2013, a Maasai man guides us through the bush teaching us about animal tracks and the useful qualities of native plants.
References
Berkes, F. 1993. Traditional Ecological Knowledge In Perspective. In J.T. Inglis (ed.), Traditional Ecological Knowledge: Concepts and Cases (pp. 1-6). Ottowa, ON: International Program on Traditional Ecological Knowledge.
Gagdil, M., Berkes, F. & Folke, C. 1993. Indigenous Knowledge for Biodiversity Conservation. Ambio, 22(2/3) pp. 151-156.
Ingold, T. 2011. Stories against classification: transport, wayfaring and the integration of knowledge. In Being Alive: Essays on movement knowledge and description (pp. 156-179). London: Taylor and Francis.
Puri, Rajindra. 2013. “Transmitting Penan Basketry Knowledge and Practice.” In R. Ellen, S.J. Lycett, and S.E. Johns (eds), Understanding Cultural Transmission in Anthropology: A Critical Synthesis, pp. 266–99. New York, NY: Berghahn Books.
“Although it may seem counterintuitive that the foremost influences on the success of environmental policy could be social, conservation interventions are the product of human decision-making processes and require changes in human behavior to succeed” (Mascia et al 2003, p. 649)
Today more than ever the work of conservationists must rely on the expertise of social scientists like anthropologists. Too many failed conservation projects owe their demise to plans that, while well-intended, did not understand local cultural dynamics and institutions. Conservation often relies on human behavior change, and it is social scientists that are best equipped to guide these changes.
“Ultimately, if the social sciences were truly mainstreamed in conservation, the presence of an anthropologist or a political scientist on a project team would be as commonplace and unremarkable as that of a botanist or an ornithologist” (Mascia et al 2003, p. 650)
(If anybody knows of any conservation organizations looking to hire an anthropologist, I’m currently seeking employment, hint, hint…!)
References:
Mascia, Michael B., Brosius, Peter J., Dobson, Tracy A., Forbes, Bruce C., Horowitz, Leah, McKean, Margaret A., and Turner, Nancy J. 2003. “Conservation and the Social Sciences.” Conservation Biology, 17(3), pp. 649-650.
“Newcomers see the abundance of Kaua’i, where tropical fruits dangle from trees, as idyllic. Kuleana–the hard work, relationships, and balance of giving more than one takes–on which such abundance is built goes unseen. In reality, bountiful lifestyles depend on a community of families who share the bounty of their varied skills and care for one another. Much of this work is unseen or not recognized as work, such as hours spent watching the movement of schools of fish. Yet, this work is nonetheless critical to community well-being, survival, and abundance” (Vaughan 2018, p. 78).
I myself am a newcommer to Hawai’i (I am currently volunteering on a local coffee farm on the Big Island), and I find myself struggling with my dual roles of tourist and anthropologist (or well-informed visitor). Just the other night ten or so boats floated in the nearshore waters of Keauhou, lights illuminating the dark sea. Manta rays swam below. The boats bring tourists to swim with the rays at night. The woman I work for, who grew up fishing, hunting and gathering in this same region on the Big Island of Hawai’i, remarked that the poor rays would not be able to feed properly because of all the commotion and attention. I was torn between two contradictory feelings – firstly that it would be amazing to dive with rays at night, and secondly, that the tourism industry here has altered the natural environment drastically and continues to do so.
As a tourist, I do see this land as idyllic. The lush mountainside and the never-ending blue expanse of the sea are so different from the flatness of Minnesota, where I grew up. We eat fresh avocado every day and the air is heavy with the smell of flowers. But it is important to realize that this land has indeed been managed and cultivated since the arrival of Polynesian explorers. And these fruit trees and flowers are mostly imported species in which people have worked hard to nurture. The ocean and its species have been cared for throughout time as well. The tourism industry benefits from the cultural obligations of responsibility, sharing and knowledge that have protected and nurtured these landscapes, but the industry does not necessarily reciprocate and follow the same ideals. The islands are marketed as untouched, raw beauty, and tourists are often ignorant of the generations of people who have cared for and sustained this “paradise.” Furthermore, the marketing of these islands as a paradise have caused many wealthy mainland Americans to flock to these lands, purchasing plots for exorbitant prices. Because of this, the taxes on surrounding properties rise, making it difficult for local families to keep their traditional lands.
Vaughan’s book is about community on the island of Kaua’i, which has some important differences to the Big Island and the Kona region where I am located, but the themes and messages of the book remain relevant. Vaughan speaks to the importance of respecting resources and sharing the abundances of the island. She also notes the importance of knowledge and understanding the natural world in order to properly protect and nourish it. She stresses the struggles that native Hawaiians have faced over the years. For any tourists on their way to Hawaii, I would recommend this book as it is easily enjoyed by both anthropologists and non-anthropologists and touches on some important issues that every tourist should be aware of.
The Big Island, Hawai’i, land and sea. At Kealakekua, 2019.
References:
Vaughan, Mehana B. 2018. Kaiāulu: Gathering Tides. Corvallis, OR: Oregon State Univ. Press.
“You see the plastic from the sea? It stocks up on the beach. It is full of it there. I think it’s because of this that fish do not come to our waters anymore, they look for places that are good. I say this often during political meetings – ‘we need to go pick up all this stuff there,’ but they don’t move. It’s not good for the environment. And it’s a beautiful beach. I lived in that valley. For about four years, I lived there when I was young, when I went hunting. It’s not good. You will find nets, plastic bags, bottles, it is full of them, there is everything. It’s just above Motopu – a small village above. You say to your [government] ‘give me money so that I can go pick it up’ you say this to your [government]. You have to say this. It’s best. Because like this, soon the Marquesas will be dead. It will die.” – Kiki, Vaitahu, Tahuata
Plastic pollution is a problem for many Pacific Islands. Ocean currents bring plastic from far away places, but also from local sources of pollution. Unfortunately, islands like Tahuata do not always have the resources to clean up these beaches, nor is everybody aware of this pollution. Kiki was one of few islanders who spoke to me directly about this plastic problem, possibly because of his personal connection with the beach in question. Kiki implores the government to do something about this issue, but he says, “They don’t listen to us.” Just cleaning up the beach will not bring an end to the problem, either. Behaviors must be changed as well, both locally and globally.
“But what about our children? When will they think about our children? They will no longer see the kahi [tuna]. It is a disappearing species. We should do something, we should stop this. I know this because I did a month of [longline] fishing. That’s 3,500 hooks in one evening. 3,500 hooks! Mea nui [that’s a lot]…. And the sharks! The sharks! They cut their fins off. This is a massacre. They must really outlaw these thonier. It is true that they have families to feed but… what about the world, eh? Hm? What are we going to eat later on if there are no more fish?”
Tahitian-born Hiro told me about the plight of the tuna one afternoon on the veranda of his home in Motopu, on the island of Tahuata, June 2018. The thonier boats he refers to are large fishing vessels with their eyes set on Tuna (fr. thon). The local mayors council in the Marquesas (known as CODIM) has accepted a new plan to allow thonier to fish in the Marquesan Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ). When I was doing dissertation research on the island of Tahuata, the thonier had not yet arrived, but I found that already the majority of people I spoke with were against these huge boats. Like Hiro, many islanders fear the population of tuna and other species (like sharks) will be decimated. In contrast, others for the program, like the mayor of Vaitahu, are drawn to the project by the potential economic benefits. Today – as a friend from the island tells me through Facebook messenger – the first thonier has arrived at the port of Tahuata’s neighboring island, Hiva Oa. However, protesters continue to show their discontent and the project seems to be at a standstill.
Thonier employ a fishing method called “longline” where lines potentially 100 miles long are strung throughout the ocean supported by buoys. As Hiro says, over 3,000 hooks can be deployed in a single night with this method (see Fitzgerald 2013 for an in-depth description). In his book Tuna: A Love Story journalist Richard Ellis calls this method “ruthlessly efficient.” The by-catch associated with these lines is immense, as anything willing to bite into a large chunk of bait meant is at risk, as well as those who happen to tangle themselves in the line, such as sea birds.
Tuna populations have declined immensely since the demand for this fish has exploded, due to the Japanese sushi market and canned tuna fisheries. I won’t talk about percentages and numbers here, because there are many depending on the species and the geographical location, but if you’re interested in learning more about the sustainability of Tuna fisheries I suggest reading anything by Barbara Block, Carl Safina or Sylvia Earle, as well as Richard Ellis’s book mentioned above (although it’s a bit old). Greenpeace, WWF and FAO also have some important, more statistical information for those interested. More to be said about Tuna and fishing in upcoming posts, I’m sure.
References:
Ellis, R. 2008. Tuna: A Love Story. New York: Alfred A. Knopf Fitzgerald, K.T. 2013. Longline Fishing (How What You Don’t Know Can Hurt You). Topics in Companion Animal Medicine, 28(4), pp. 151-162
Note: The interview in which this quote was acquired was held in French, translation is my own.
The Edited Jottings of an Amateur Anthropologist 