Learning Nature in the Amazon and Himalayas

“I would suggest that young people in Sacha Loma–given their participation in routinized forms of practice that hinge on the aspiration to future participation in wage-work in the local eco-tourism and service economy–are applying a reasoning frame about local forest species styled on a basic assumption imported from Western-style environmentalism: that non-human environments are fundamentally fragile and in need of protection” (Shenton 2018).

Jeffrey Shenton makes an interesting point about ecological understandings in his article titled, “Going to School in the Forest.” His fieldwork took place in an Amazonian village in Peru. While many similar studies looking at the transmission of ecological knowledge focus on the amount of knowledge younger generations are learning (for example, they may be learning less than elder generations), Shenton looks instead at how children are learning, and how they evaluate the importance of ecological knowledge. He notes that even though children today are going to school during weekdays instead of working on farms as they would have in the past (this is what he calls a sort of habitual reorientation), they are still interacting with the natural world: “Though this community reorientation was far-reaching, it still took place in a context in which young people had consistent access to local biota. School standards, though, indexed a clear division between town activities and forest activities. Students traveling to school went to great lengths to stay meticulously free of the omnipresent rain forest mud, wearing a uniform that included a white polo shirt, dark blue dress pants for boys or skirt for girls, and black dress shoes” (Shenton 2018). Children still learn about the forest, but they do so with a different overarching mindset than their parents may have.

In a similar yet distant case, Jeremy Spoon in his article on tourism in the Himalayas, discusses how younger generations have grown up deeply embedded in a world of tourism, which affects how they perceive their environment: “Younger Sherpa experienced most if not all of their lives so far inside a tourist destination engaged in the host-guest drama. For these individuals, tourism may be causing the land to seem more as a tourism commodity and less spiritually endowed” (Spoon 2012: 52).

In both cases – Peruvian rain forest or Nepali mountains – children continue to interact with their natural worlds daily. For many of them, future jobs in tourism demand that they know their environments well. However, the way in which they are learning about their world has shifted, their daily rituals reoriented, and thus nature reinterpreted. While young Kichwa villagers think that the forest is in need of protection, elders believe it provides useful materials for everyday life. Young Sherpas believe nature should be preserved for tourism, while elders believe it should be protected because of intrinsic spiritual qualities. Neither is necessarily wrong, but as Spoon points out, Western concepts tend to create a human/nature divide, whereas indigenous ones commonly do not. Western environmentalism works well when its values align with local values, but we must also be aware of how it is changing people’s fundamental relationship to knowledge and the environment, creating fences where there use to be none.

References:

Shenton, J.T. 2018. “Going to School in the Forest: Changing Evaluations of Animal-Plant Interactions in the Kichwa Amazon.” Journal of Ecological Anthropology 20(1).

Spoon, J. 2012. “Tourism, Persistence and Change: Sherpa Spirituality and Place in Sagarmatha (Mount Everest) National Park and Buffer Zone, Nepal.” Journal of Ecological Anthropology, 15(1) pp. 41-57.

Mehana Vaughan on the Abundance of Kaua’i

“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.