Negotiated Biodiversity Conservation for Local Social

Change: A Case Study of Northern Palawan, Philippines.

Thesis submitted for the Ph.D.

by

Karen E. Lawrence November 2002

Geography Department

Kings College London University

Published by:

IROKO Foundation 18 Academy Court Kirkwall Place London, E2 0NQ

The formatting of the following publication has been altered and no longer follows that approved by the University of London. Text and figures follow the final PhD copy, submitted and approved by London University in December 2002. Original copies are held at University of London Library, Geography Dept. Kings College London and Karen E Lawrence. This is an academic publication and therefore should be read with this in mind.

. Although this publication is freely available, if you would like to make a donation please do so at www.irokofoundation.org Questions and comments for the author should be directed to: bendum94@yahoo.com ISBN: 0-9553266-2-1; 978-0-9553266-2-2 Copyright © Karen Lawrence and IROKO Foundation, 2006 All rights reserved

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Contents

1. EXPLORING BIODIVERSITY........................................................... 1

PROBLEMS OF BIODIVERSITY .........................................................................................1 A CASE FOR OPTIMISM...................................................................................................2 BIODIVERSITY AS A CONTESTED NOTION.......................................................................2 NEGOTIATED CONSERVATION........................................................................................7

2 BIODIVERSITY INITIATIVES AS OPPORTUNITY FOR LOCAL CHANGE.............................................................................................. 11

OPPORTUNITY TO ASSERT LOCAL KNOWLEDGE CLAIMS .............................................17 OPPORTUNITY TO ASSERT LOCAL SENSE OF PLACE. ....................................................21 OPPORTUNITY TO ASSERT LOCAL GOVERNANCE.........................................................28 SUMMARY....................................................................................................................35

3. METHODOLOGY............................................................................... 36

WHY THE PHILIPPINES..................................................................................................36 METHOD ......................................................................................................................39 TECHNIQUES EMPLOYED..............................................................................................43 RESEARCH FLEXIBILITY AND ACCOUNTABILITY ..........................................................47

4 CONSERVATION MANAGEMENT IN THE PHILIPPINES ...... 49

PHILIPPINE POLICY SITUATION.....................................................................................49 STRUGGLES OVER KNOWLEDGE CLAIMS IN MALAMPAYA...........................................57 STRUGGLE FOR PLACE-BASED RELATIONS IN MALAMPAYA........................................64 STRUGGLES WITHIN MALAMPAYA GOVERNANCE .......................................................67 NATIONAL INTEGRATED PROTECTED AREAS PROGRAMME - NIPAP ...........................69

5 ASSERTING LOCAL KNOWLEDGE CLAIMS ............................ 73

TYPES OF LOCAL KNOWLEDGE CLAIMS.......................................................................73 REPRESENTING LOCAL KNOWLEDGE CLAIMS OFFICIALLY ..........................................85 DISCURSIVE NEGOTIATIONS....................................................................................... 99 AGREED ACTIVITIES AND RESTRICTIONS ...................................................................107 OPPORTUNITIES EXAMINED .......................................................................................117

6 ASSERTING SENSE OF PLACE.................................................... 124

LOCAL BIODIVERSITY STORYLINES............................................................................124 SHARED BIODIVERSITY STORYLINES .........................................................................132 DISCURSIVE NEGOTIATIONS.......................................................................................139 AGREED ACTIVITIES ..................................................................................................149 OPPORTUNITIES EXAMINED .......................................................................................158

7 ASSERTING LOCAL GOVERNANCE ......................................... 165

GOVERNANCE INSTITUTIONS......................................................................................165 GOVERNANCE MECHANISMS......................................................................................168 GOVERNANCE PRACTICES ..........................................................................................172 DISCURSIVE NEGOTIATIONS.......................................................................................176 AGREED GOVERNANCE ..............................................................................................182 OPPORTUNITIES EXAMINED .......................................................................................185

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8. NEGOTIATED BIODIVERSITY .................................................... 192

OPPORTUNITIES ASSERTED ........................................................................................192 FOUCAULDIAN APPROACH .........................................................................................194 NON-MONETARY BENEFITS GAINED..........................................................................197 BIODIVERSITY AND BEYOND......................................................................................199

APPENDIX 1 ............................................................................................. 203

1.1 GUIDE TOPICS USED FOR THE UNSTRUCTURED INTERVIEWS IN 5 SITIOS........203 1.2 GUIDE QUESTIONS USED FOR OTHER SECTOR REPRESENTATIVES.................203 1.3 GUIDE QUESTIONS FOR LOCAL SECTOR REPRESENTATIVES...........................204

GLOSSARY............................................................................................... 206

ACRONYMS ................................................................................................................206 FILIPINO TERMS .........................................................................................................207 CODE, LEVEL, AND NAME OF LAWS. ..........................................................................208 OTHER TERMS............................................................................................................208

REFERENCES.......................................................................................... 209

CARTOGRAPHIC CITATIONS .......................................................................................222 DOCUMENT CITATIONS ..............................................................................................223 INTERVIEW CITATIONS...............................................................................................224 LEGAL CITATIONS......................................................................................................227 PUBLIC HEARING CITATIONS .....................................................................................229

Figures Figure 1 Northern Palawan and Malampaya Sound 38 Figure 2 Community Mapping 45 Figure 3 Sites of CPPAP and NIPAP 52 Figure 4 Barangays in Malampaya Protected Land and Seascape 56 Figure 5 Malampaya Sound, Inner, Outer and Middle 57 Figure 6 Small-scale Fishing Activities 58 Figure 7 Medium-scale Fishing Activities 59 Figure 8 Large-scale Fishing Activities 62 Figure 9 LGU Zoned Management Plan 63 Figure 10 Buwaya Sound and Little Sound 66 Figure 11 Makasabi and Lomombong Community Maps 74 Figure 12 Rattan sketch 75 Figure 13 Sito Lomombong 78 Figure 14 Sitio Pinigupitan 79 Figure 15 Sitio Pinagupitan and Barangay Abongan Community Maps 80 Figure 16 Sitio Calapa and Barangay Banbanan 82 Figure 17 Sitio Calapa and Barangay Banbanan Community Maps 83 Figure 18 Sitio Bulalo and Barangay San Jose Community Maps 84 Figure 19 Various Community Symbols from their Maps 87 Figure 20 External and Internal Relations On the Community Maps. 88 Figure 21 Malampaya Sound, Resources and Vegetation Map, ESSC 91 Figure 22 Inner Sound Symbol Changes 92 Figure 23 MSSFA and Liminancong (Piglas) Community Maps 94

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Figure 24 Excerpt form Resource Use Map Showing CADCs 95 Figure 25 Sitio Yakal Ancestral Land Claim 96 Figure 26 Trawler Symbols Drawn by Communities, ESSC and NIPAP 98 Figure 27 People Looking at the Technical Maps 104 Figure 28 People Looking at the Community Maps 104 Figure 29 3D Model of Malampaya Sound 105 Figure 30 The Large Maps from the Public Hearings 109 Figure 31 Negotiated Boundary Changes for the Protected Area 110 Figure 32 Terrestrial Management Zones, NIPAP map 112 Figure 33 Aquatic Management Zones, NIPAP map 115 Figure 34 Sitio Panaya-ayan 125 Figure 35 Sitio Pangay-ayan and Barangay Minapla Community Maps 126 Figure 36 Sitio Bulalo 128 Figure 37 Sitio Bulalo Community Map 129 Figure 38 Barangay Pancol CBFM Community Map 140 Figure 39 Barangay Baong Community Map 142 Figure 40 Sito Yakal Ancestral Land Claim and the Community Map 143 Figure 41 MSSFA Community Map and Proposed Sanctuary Areas. 145 Figure 42 Aquatic zones; the Core Zone Changes 150 Figure 43 Finalised Aquatic Zones, ESSC Map 152 Figure 44 Finalised Terrestrial Zones, ESSC Map 154 Figure 45 Rabbit-Squid Community Symbol 163

Quotation Guide “reference” (name year: page) Literature Reference “reference” (document name year: page) Document citation “legal quote” (law code: para. code) Legal citation “quote” (name interview year) Interview citation “quote” (institution interview year) Institution citation, general “quote” (place interview year) Place citation, anonymous “quote” (place public hearing year) Public hearing citation “interpreted quote” (place community map) Cartographic citation ‘emphasis’

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This thesis is dedicated to; Ading, (Ignacio Domino) who died from the affects of malnutrition at the age of

five in 1997, and for the rest of the Bukidnon community of Bendum, Malaybalay, Philippines, that provided the

inspiration for this thesis.

My family, especially those who have died before seeing me complete this; my father Robert Lawrence, Catherine Lawrence, Maurice and Adeline Lawrence,

and Madge Taylor.

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Acknowledgements I would like to acknowledge the support and hospitality from the communities of Lomombong, Pangay-ayan, Bulalo, Calapa, and Pinigupitan. I would also like to thank all the communities in Malampaya Sound Protected Land and Seascape, but especially those of Baong, Yakal and Minapla. My field work was supported by Estelita Navidad who assisted in the translations in the sitios and cultural nuances of interviewing, and ESSC staff, Peter Walpole, Martial Bolen, Edwina Dominguez, Jonathan Pilien and Sylvia Miclat. I would also like to thank the assistance and ground support of DENR staff, especially PASu Pete Velasco and all those that gave me interviews; Former Tambuyog staff, PNNI, CI, WWF-KKP, NIPAP, PAWB-DENR, RED staff, PENRO staff, CENRO Taytay and Roxas, DILG officer, PCSD staff, Taytay Municipal Councillors, and finally Mayor Evelyn Rodriguez. The task of detailed editing and careful advice was provided by my supervisor Dr Raymond Bryant, who was both generous, constructively critical and supportive when I needed it. I am also very grateful to Peter Tremlett for advice on editing the text. Thanks to the staff of the Geography Department, Kings College London, who were both supportive and understanding. Financial assistance for this study was provided by Environmental Science for Social Change (ESSC), Gillian Boast, Gideon Lawrence, Robin Lawrence, London University, Kings College Humanities department and the Geography Department of Kings College. I would also like to thank Nicolas Ashton-Jones and Tunde Morakinyo for providing me with the two consultancy jobs that were critical in keeping me afloat during the very expensive London stages.

Critical emotional support was provided by family and friends, and in particular Paco Alonso-Sarria, Sarah Dyer, Margaret Byron, Sophia Wigzel-Natapon, Pip Tremlett, Sylvia Miclat and Peter Walpole. No one warns you how lonely a PhD can be. This thesis uses ‘we’ throughout rather than the expected ‘I’ this is for two reasons. The first is to defer to the Filipino culture and in doing so I am quietly acknowledging all those that have assisted me in this thesis. Secondly I imagined myself with reader as she/he goes through this and therefore, it is the Filipino ‘exclusive’ we used here, so as to be inclusive whilst not assuming the reader will necessarily agree with everything here.

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Abstract

Research in political ecology and social construction of nature has tended to analyse human-environment relations surrounding biodiversity conservation through either dichotomous terms or the so called dramatic event. Another approach taken here investigates those relations as a series of small-interrelated events embedded within daily life struggles. As such, it explores the circumstances where biodiversity as a contested notion may provide opportunities for locally negotiated and beneficial social change. Surprisingly this aspect has received little attention in the literature. Here a Foucauldian approach provides the theoretical basis for examining the possibility that biodiversity initiatives may be considered beneficial by local people. Such benefits are understood in terms of three potential local opportunities vis-à-vis knowledge claims, a sense of place and governance. Therefore, the thesis contributes to Southeast Asian political ecology and to Foucauldian scholarly work generally with what is termed a sceptically optimistic approach to social constructions and dynamics of biodiversity conservation. Specifically the thesis adapts Hajer’s (1995) social interactive discourse analysis in the context of research based on the descriptive and explanatory case study method. This study combines community maps, interviews and other techniques to gather data from the different sectors involved in a biodiversity initiative in Northern Palawan, Philippines. The analysis assesses changes in micro-powers, discursive storylines, and established norms in order to examine how local power relations may shift to benefit local people through this initiative. Discursive negotiation processes were assessed with the resulting discourse coalitions and hybrid agreements related to local social change. The study concludes by distilling broader insights from this analysis of negotiated biodiversity conservation in the Philippines. It suggests that, contrary to research in political ecology and social construction of nature, biodiversity initiatives can potentially provide new ways for local people to address social injustice through hybrid agreements and discourse coalitions supportive of local social change.

Key words: Biodiversity, Discourse, Social change, Foucault, Participatory planning, Political ecology.

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1. Exploring Biodiversity “There is grandeur in this view of life…that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been and are being evolved.”

Charles Darwin 1859:460

Problems of Biodiversity In the new millennium, the view of life looks more tarnished than it did during the time of Charles Darwin. An unfortunate achievement of the last century is that while there has been so much rapid change in people’s lives – there has also been rapid degradation of the environment. The previous sense of wonder typified by Darwin, has been largely replaced by a sense doom and of perceived environmental crisis. Biodiversity loss is part of this crisis and is cited as one of the biggest environmental problems of our time. Norman Myers (1985; Myers et al 2000a, 2000b), has notably helped to articulate this problem, illuminating the grave implications of biodiversity loss for human survival as part of the variety of life.

“The mass extinction of species, if allowed to persist, would constitute a problem with far more enduring impact than any other environmental problem. According to evidence from mass extinctions in the prehistoric past, evolutionary processes would not generate a replacement stock of species within less than several million years” (Myers et al 2000a:858).

Myers has focused on the importance of tropical rainforests, as the ‘lungs of the earth’ and harbour of multiple life forms, yet also highlights rates of destruction, and their severe social and ecological consequences.

The recommended response is to secure remaining blocks of ‘pristine rainforest’ against human exploitation. Implicit here is the assumption that biodiversity has inherent value as scientists emphasise the various ecological benefits. Yet they have a different way of interacting with and talking about biodiversity than others such as loggers or indigenous people. Indeed, a group adhering to a contrasting ‘web’ of social meanings and human-environmental relationships may interpret differently a set of activities that seem beneficial to scientists. This can have dramatic political implications. To take an example: state protection of biodiversity through a system of national parks can be interpreted by local residents as an unjust infringement on their rights to firewood and fodder (Agrawal 2001).

Hence, biodiversity protection can indeed be problematic. Differences of opinion arise when we consider the value of biodiversity, its benefits, the implications of its loss, and the reasons for perception and changes. Deciding how to protect it reflects the various ways of understanding biodiversity. Choices made at every stage of such an endeavour implicate different social meanings and power relations. Choosing biodiversity initiatives for conservation is inevitably a political strategy and one that is also socially constructed. A particular initiative or conservation strategy is therefore likely to empower a group in society to make decisions about it, possibly at the expense

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of another. The choice may support dominant socio-power relations or seek to challenge them. Hence studying biodiversity as a social construct can illuminate potential injustice or positive social change and is of interest here.

A Case for Optimism

This thesis is partly an exploration of different social constructions of biodiversity. It is therefore valuable to probe the possible complexity of shifting human-biodiversity relations in terms of its multiple dimensions of meaning, culture, society and politics of nature (Redclift 1992, Braun and Castree 1998). An approach is needed to capture the complexity of these multiple dimensions, and interacting perspectives, which offers a way of examining the contestations of biodiversity other than simply by focusing on the resistance strategies invoked (Zimmerer 2000). It is therefore surprising that the circumstances where biodiversity as a contested notion and practice may provide positive opportunities for local social change has not been systematically examined. In pursuing this topic, we are broadly interested in seeing whether biodiversity initiatives may be a possible way of negotiating local opportunities for social change as opposed to the conventional zero-sum conflict type of dynamics. This chapter thus introduces biodiversity as a contested notion, and then relates it to the issue of local opportunities. We next explain the theoretical approach of Michel Foucault as a means of exploring negotiated conservation and discourse as a way in which to unpack cultural practices that condition potential opportunities. The chapter concludes by setting out the basic focus and structure of the thesis. Overall, our aim is to assess the case for a cautiously optimistic understanding of local benefits to be derived from biodiversity conservation initiatives.

Biodiversity as a Contested Notion

To begin this investigation though, it is essential to clarify first the contested nature of biodiversity as a measure of the variety of life on earth. What is biodiversity after all? Biodiversity does not describe an object in the same way that a tree or a forest refers to particular objects. Scientifically it describes a way of measuring how much biological variety an object or set of objects has. When forests are said to have high or low biodiversity, its biological and physical diversity along a vertical ‘transect’ is described as a feature of the forest, and as a dynamic characteristic. Biodiversity is addressed by natural scientists on three levels: genetic, species and ecosystems (González-Barbera and López Bermúdez 2000). However, there are many ways to describe biodiversity depending upon who is assigning the meaning and why. Multiple definitions of biodiversity result from different sets of practices and therefore are subject to contested meanings, as can be briefly illustrated. When defined genetically, biodiversity describes the genetic variety between or within species or populations, and requires laboratory analysis. At both the species and ecosystem levels it describes distributions patterns, variety within species and habitats and how many different species and habitats are present. These are only some of the ways that scientists define biodiversity (Begon et al 1990).

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In contrast, anthropologists refer to ‘cultural biodiversity’ that includes the field of ethno-botany (Milton 1996). Cultural biodiversity is a way of understanding the indigenous knowledge and practices of a group of people at the genetic, species and ecosystem levels (Kandeh and Richards 1996, Little 1996). For example many indigenous groups have a classification system for different types of forest – some according to how it feels to be in that type of forest, others differentiate between structural and species types (ESSC 1998a). These systems may also represent a forest regeneration cycle reflective of community use of biodiversity. Importantly, the notion of cultural biodiversity incorporates relationships of local people with their biophysical environment. As we will see later, this is the basis of local knowledge claims in biodiversity initiatives. In contrast, science-based knowledge claims, as noted above, are based on scientific practices that define biodiversity but in ways that imply no human relationship with it. Other ways of defining biodiversity, such as endemism, may indicate areas where species are unique to a place or where habitats and species only exist through human intervention. However, no one set of practices used to define biodiversity can describe the total variety of life because different approaches give a variety of results (Purvis and Hector 2000). Indeed, the practices used to collect and analyse data are themselves chosen to illuminate a particular meaning. Each meaning in turn, shows a different aspect of biodiversity as constructed knowledge of nature. This is so in botany as elsewhere where new knowledge developed initially from observing broad differences in leaves and plant structure lead to the development of taxonomic classification systems supportive of specialised fields of scientific enquiry. Similar processes have been observed in other fields such as geology (Braun 2000). Constructed meanings of biodiversity thus reflect particular sets of social and political relations. These relations interact with previous threads and connections in the dense knot of ‘nature’s multiple dimensions’ (Haraway 1994:63). Nature as a social construct with a complex web of contested meanings has been widely discussed (Cronon 1995, Escobar 1996, 1999a, Braun and Castree 1998). Nature described as biodiversity shows possibilities of similar discursive complexity as chapter two will suggest. There are certainly differences in perspectives on biodiversity, for example in relation to ideology (Leach and Fairhead 2000, Young and Zimmerer 1998). And yet these different perspectives often share a broader and usually dichotomous framework such as – local-expert, insider-outsider or top down-bottom up – that tends to conceal as much as it reveals (Jewitt 1995, Dove 1996, Escobar 1999b). Indeed, this framework tends to assume homogeneity within groups. It does not therefore allow for internal socio-political difference. True, this assumed homogeneity is challenged notably on the basis of gender in some of the feminist literature. Women are shown to have different patterns of resource use than men which gives them access to a corresponding different set of social and political relations (Rocheleau and Ross 1995, Rocheleau et al 1996, Fortmann 1996, Agarwal 1997, Schroeder 1999). However, assuming any type of group homogeneity needs to be undertaken cautiously. Rather than investigating how different sectors understand biodiversity as opposing homogenous groups, greater insight may be gained by looking at how meanings and practices of biodiversity are understood within sectors and

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groups as well as across them (Sajor and Resurreccion 1998). Therefore a basic question posed here is how do uneven power relations interact with biodiversity practices and how does such a dynamic in turn prompt wider social change.

Biodiversity in Daily Life

These concerns over assumed homogeneity can be linked to other assumptions in work by political ecologists on biodiversity conservation. Biodiversity is analysed in some literature using an ‘extreme event’ to show moments in space and time where meanings crystallise and are clearly contested between rival groups. Focusing on explaining such an event certainly has its value (Watts 1998, 2000). Thus, easily observed phenomena can provide insights into underlying social and political relations that brought about the event that may otherwise go unnoticed. However, extreme events are not the only aspects of social reality worth examining. Indeed, by choosing to relate one ‘story’ another is inevitably left untold. As Cronon (1992:1350) states “whatever its overt purpose, it [the story] cannot avoid a covert exercise of power, it inevitably sanctions some voices while silencing others”. A case in point is where Bryant (2000) examines two sharply opposing conservation strategies on Coron Island in the Philippines. One strategy articulated through protected area legislation was pitted against an indigenous conservation strategy supported through an ancestral domain programme. The dramatic event was a meeting of protagonists in October 1996 that highlighted contested meanings of biodiversity. It was used to compare institutional contexts of the two strategies and how protected area legislation did not support existing local biodiversity conservation efforts. It was extreme because it was not usual, since many negotiations in the Philippines are non-confrontational in nature.1 This is especially so with many indigenous groups, and certainly for the Tagbanua (the tribal group on Coron Island), who until the 1950s would even run away from strangers (Lomombong interviews 2000). Coron Tagbanua were also presented as homogeneous view such that less vocal views held by some residents were not represented during this event. That said, a key argument that “all conservation projects contain within them assumptions about what is good and proper” is a useful pointer returned to at various stages of this study (Bryant 2000:26). The social dynamics that continued after this particularly extreme event suggests there may be nonetheless greater complexity surrounding biodiversity negotiations than accounted for in this and similar works. Indeed, that event

1 True, the Philippines is known for its extreme violence yet even here groups are responding to particular situations and have a historical context of violent struggle (Steinberg 2000). Face to face confrontation is avoided because it carries the risk of losing face which has on occasion escalated into family blood feuds. Sajor (1998) investigates the relationship between the Philippine state laws and indigenous people’s customary laws in Northern Philippines. This study found that so-called customary laws are in fact “ever evolving rules and practices in resource access that are ambiguous and inconsistent” (Sajor 1998:136). Importantly he analyses local barangay boundary negotiations and suggests that “the ambiguity, endless backdoor negotiations and manipulations of various social ties such as kinships and alliances employed by the feuding parties and delegated arbiters are built-in features of the village’s system of dispute settlement. Also because there are not absolute winners or losers – because no party loses face – the villagers believe this system to be highly effective” (Sajor 1998:181).

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may have been simply one of acknowledging positions as a precursor to negotiating agreements. The extreme event thus may have provided a basis for a less assertive indigenous group to later uphold their own views on the way biodiversity in their area should be managed. Their own ancestral management plan first disseminated during this event, provided the multiple zoning pattern for the protected area (Ambal interview 2000, Coron-GMP 2000). The negotiated agreement ensured that ‘experts’ supported the indigenous conservation agenda, such that the agreed strategy was not simply defined by a scientific knowledge system. In contrast to the sort of approach represented by Bryant (2000), some scholars have adopted an approach more akin to the one that we follow here. Braun (2000), for example takes a less dramatic topic when he describes a new way of discussing geology in Canada during the 19th century. The ‘event’ here was within cycles of accumulation and construction of knowledge that occurred literally over a period of one hundred years. Braun (2000:20) thus traced a key cycle where “the collection of specimens, observations and other inscriptions at many different sites around the globe – and their movement back to centres of calculation – allowed for the emergence of an ordered system of knowledge”. Consequently, structured geological knowledge emerged gradually from that first cycle of knowledge accumulation and calculation, and changed established social and political relations in conjunction with other developments such as the emergence of a technologically sophisticated mining industry. Braun suggests that the emergence of this ‘vertical’ knowledge of nature went beyond just reconfiguring networks of science, government, and capital. The making of ‘vertical’ nature also reconfigured “contours and power of the state, paths and intensities of capitalist development, vision and conduct of citizens and not least, territory of the state and its qualities” (Braun 2000:40). The ‘main event’ thus occurring as a set of practices in the context of daily life, had ‘dramatic’ consequences over time. Its impact was such because this constructed knowledge of nature was embedded within “knots of intertwined practices and objects” (Braun 2000:40). As a less immediately ‘dramatic’ event or better, as a series of events radiating from a web of socio-political relations, it provides a useful approach to discuss various contested notions of biodiversity, and one that is broadly followed in this thesis. Hence, biodiversity practices also produce ‘vertical’ knowledge of biological objects, mapping them genetically, by species or by ecosystem, even forming new fields of research and practice such as biotechnology (Shiva 1993, Laird and Kate 1999). As a constructed knowledge the latter too is embedded within knots of intertwined practices similar to that discussed by Braun (2000). It is likely that impacts of constructed vertical knowledge of biodiversity, such as genetically modified objects, will be an enduring focus of geographers (Kloppenburg 1988). The result of mapping biodiversity of ecosystems has lead to the emergence of biodiversity conservation as ecosystem protection (an example here is bioregional mapping and their strategic protection, see Olson and Dinerstein 1999). However, the merits of visualising biodiversity in this manner are strongly contested (Heaney 1998, Bryant 2002). Heaney (1998) for example argues that the biogreographical regions represent species endemism evolved over long periods of time without human influence, and subsequently biodiversity degradation caused by destructive human interaction needs to be

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stopped. In contrast, Bryant (2002) argues that this biogreographic imagined community in which signs of people have been erased in favour of endangered biota, de-socialises nature and sets the frame for national biodiversity conservation policy and legal practices that further marginalize local people. This thesis builds on this sort of critique by analysing the extent to which biodiversity is pulling on diverse social threads of practices in such a way as to provoke divergent views about biodiversity and conservation. Yet, negotiation and not conflict is the predominant response. Negotiations within and between sectors that evolve in a new set of social and power relations linked to biodiversity initiatives are hence of interest here. Analysing the ‘dramatic’ or ‘extreme’ event may also tend to underestimate the capacity of local people to influence the power relations in subtle or covert forms. Scott (1985, 1989) highlighted in an agrarian context how everyday forms of resistance are embedded in daily life rather than are manifested in the revolutionary event. He found that in a Malaysian village dominated by state officials and landlords, there developed covert forms of resistance such as foot dragging, false compliance, poaching and anonymous threats. In this context, the ‘weak’ were motivated by a sense of injustice and need for survival in a context where power relations constrained open forms of resistance. Yet, there are limitations in applying this approach to biodiversity initiatives. The state and economic elites tend to be reduced to monolithic categories of oppression for instance. Still, in overturning the myth of suppressed people as ‘powerless’, and illuminating the use of ‘micro-powers’ that the poor can use to erode the foundations of established social relations, it is potentially useful. In particular it forces us to question the view of social compliance by the weak as positive affirmation and to search for other behaviour such as resistance expressed through daily practice. In the context of exploring negotiated agreements within biodiversity conservation strategies in the Philippines, Scott’s work offers potentially helpful insights, albeit here applied to assertion via cooperation rather than ‘resistance’. Just as Scott (1990) does not deny the importance of revolution in his analysis of everyday resistance, this thesis will not deny dramatic events brought about by opposing perspectives (Watts 1998, Bryant 2000). Nor does it deny that creating protected areas may sometimes marginalize communities prompting resistance (Gauld 1999). Yet this thesis does suggest that these situations do not represent the whole story, and hence that there may be circumstances whereby local people welcome biodiversity conservation strategies (cf. Zimmerer 2000). This latter scenario is usually manifested through a series of small, interrelated events embedded within the struggle of daily life, and will be a main interest here. Scott (1990) understood such resistance as a daily expression of words, multiple meanings and complex actions. This thesis seeks to unpack ‘biodiversity’ in a similar way. Indeed, the view explored in this study is that multiple definitions and practices suggest a certain complexity leading to possible opportunities for local people to change power relations in their favour through negotiated agreements. This view suggests more broadly that negotiated opportunities are not new to communities. In fact, most of them have

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a history of ongoing engagement and negotiation with powerful outsiders such as traders or government officers (Sajor 1998, Zerner 2000, Murray 2001). Where policies promote local participation in biodiversity planning and management, they may be well received by local communities. Importantly, these benefits need not be wholly about money. This has been found, for instance where local people have access to ‘culturally meaningful’ benefits (Colchester 1992, BCN 1999). One such benefit is the opportunity to negotiate in their own terms and to meet their needs, be they cultural, material or spiritual. With such ‘negotiated conservation’, there is an increasing demand by local communities to influence decisions regarding local biodiversity and its management. In many cases, they articulate a need to reserve areas for natural regeneration in a stance that echoes some of the views of conservation-minded scientists. Yet, these self-imposed restrictions may not necessarily exclude them from using local resources to improve their socio-economic situation (Neumann 1995, Hviding and Baines 1996). Nevertheless, negotiated conservation as this thesis will consider can be about much more than material gain. Indeed, it can bring local benefits across a range of social and environmental relations. Much of this can be seen by the close examination of discursive concerns and relations (Thompson and Rayner 1998). A discursive approach anticipates multiple perspectives on biodiversity based on different sources of knowledge, meanings and values. How may we understand the possible changes in social relations of perceived benefit to local communities resulting from those multiple perspectives in biodiversity negotiations? Theoretical work by Michel Foucault and other scholars on discourse provides a useful frame of reference for this study.

Negotiated Conservation

The Approach of Michel Foucault

Using Foucault to consider biodiversity management as opening up opportunities for positive local change may seem unusual. As Simons (1995:108) points out “Foucault is portrayed as a pessimistic prophet of entrapment.” This reputation is based notably on his work in the 1970s. Even in the 1980s though, Foucault (1984b:343)could observe that;

“not everything is bad, but everything is dangerous. And if this is the case then we always have something to do; which leads not to apathy but to a hyper and pessimistic activism”.

Such pessimism is based ultimately on the view that “humanity proceeds from domination to domination” (Foucault 1984c:85). The possibility of human resistance to oppression seems impossible. Yet, Foucault also provides the means for guarded optimism. For one, Foucault’s analysis of the fluid nature of power relations removes the myth that power sits permanently within structures, persons, roles or institutions. As Simons (1995:87) points out, there is “no oasis of eternal respite”. For another Foucault’s work shifts the analytical focus from analysing events, actors and roles to assessing practices, processes, and procedures: “Events are analysed according to the multiple processes which constitute them” (Foucault, 1991b:76). These aspects are refreshing and even possibly optimistic because

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they seem to put the potential for change in the reach of local people through everyday action thus eliminating polarized perspectives creating ‘heroes or villains’. Still, a Foucauldian approach suggests that a ‘sceptical eye’ is required to follow the power/knowledge relations within these practices to examine how shifts and changes are occurring and with what effects on local people. Foucault thus provides various grounds for ‘sceptical optimism.’ One is in the potentially transformative nature of power/knowledge relations expressed in discourse. He considered discourses in terms of “transformations which they have effected, and the field where they coexist, reside and disappear” (Foucault 1991a:60). In effect, discursive negotiations can lead to social transformation, and shifts can be made in both knowledge and governance dynamics. Shifts can be against dominant discourses, concerning resource management for instance. Another Foucauldian contribution is to look at power in a subtle and dynamic way as a constantly shifting field of relations “because power is capillary, diffused and everywhere” (Darrier 1999a:19). Gordon (1991:5) states that, for power in a society is “never a fixed and closed regime, but rather an endless and open strategic game.” This interpretation can be positive in light of the concerns of this thesis. As Darier (1999a:19) suggests “Foucault’s concept of power is less deterministic”. Societies are made up of complex systems of practices, procedures and processes involving many institutions and individuals, with complex micro-powers operating between them. As strategic struggles over micro-power occur, there is always the possibility that a shift beneficial to local communities can be obtained.2 This social change is unlikely to occur as a ‘dramatic’ event of the kinds discussed above but rather as a series of ‘micro-events’. To critically analyse who benefits from shifting micro-powers is notably to assess whether and how the marginalized or elite members of communities ultimately benefit from conservation efforts. Further evidence for sceptical optimism in Foucault’s work can be gained from his definition of government as the “conduct of conduct” (Foucault 1982:220-1, Gordon 1991:48). This definition broadens our frame of analysis so that opportunities in governance may occur in both formal and informal practices affecting both organisations and individuals. Further the opportunity “to govern is to structure the field of possible actions to act on our own or other’s capacities for action” (Dean 1999:14, emphasis added). Yet, this presupposes the existence of freedom and the capacity to think and to act for both governed and governor (cf. Rose 1999). Freedom is therefore the capacity to struggle in these fields of power relations; as Simons (1995:87) notes, “this is an affirmation of life as it is”. Analysing changes and struggles in these power-relations is the challenge. To assist in this task, Foucault suggests that discursive practices be analysed since they indicate shifts in micro-power relations, which in turn may result in broader social transformation.

2 ‘local community’ itself is unpacked below in chapter 2.

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Discourse

This thesis focuses on discourse to investigate negotiated conservation as a way of assessing possible opportunities for local benefits. There are various possible ways to proceed here. For some the analysis of discourse is basically a linguistic approach (e.g. Harré et al 1998). Yet, as noted below, this approach gives insufficient attention to cultural nuance and hence is inadequate for this study. Early theorising on discourse was also concerned with relations between universal truth claims of science and universal power claims of European colonisation (Said 1979, Grove 1996). Such a focus has been readily analysed through written documents. However, other knowledge claims may be of a more narrative or oral nature. To this end, Barnes and Duncan (1992:8) suggest discourse “embraces combinations of narratives, concepts, ideologies and signifying practices each relevant to a particular realm of social action.” Even here, the use of ‘signifying’ implies a static one-way process from meaning and concepts to practices that does not allow for reciprocal influence. Recent work on discourse and the environment has begun to acknowledge such reciprocity. Research by Hajer (1995) and Litfin (1994), for example, assess negotiated discourses in the international policy fora. Hajer (1995) thus considers acid rain and Litfin (1994) addresses climate change negotiations. Both these environmental issues are of global concern, and as such, are seemingly similar to the biodiversity issues. Hajer’s analysis focuses on discourse interactions, negotiation processes and resulting hybrid agreements and coalitions. Litfin focuses more on the web of knowledge/power relations within negotiation processes themselves, rather than the outcomes that lead to policy changes. The temporal and spatial scales of acid rain and climate change mean there is a great deal of uncertainty in the scientific claims with the result that these are contested. The rate of biodiversity loss has two temporal scales – one affecting global spatial impacts of loss (and hence subject to similar negotiations as described by both Hajer and Litfin) and the other affecting its local impact. Yet, the issue of biodiversity loss has an arguably greater immediate impact at the local level as communities are adversely affected. As such, biodiversity initiatives may be responding to both global and local concerns. Thus approaches of Litfin (1994) and Hajer (1995) may offer a less than complete context for examining possible effects of negotiation leading to local social change. Indeed at this local scale, culture becomes a prominent lens through which knowledge, webs of social relations, values and meanings are negotiated. The importance of culture can be seen, for example, in rural tropical areas with multiple ethnic groups. Many of these groups may still have limited contact with a European knowledge framework and may also have limited reading and writing skills. The discursive interactions are hence likely to be oral, through stories, jokes, and discussion, and in response to local experiences (Dove 1996, Murray 2001). Experiences incorporate knowledge gained over time both as a learned activity and through an expression of sets of practices (Croll and Parkin 1992). In this context, practices as sets of cultural activities for livelihood or otherwise play an important role in the formation of discourse. It is suggested that similarly where the written text, expresses part of the discourse, so may actual cultural practices such as those for livelihood do the same (Milton

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1996). In this way cultural practices not only give meaning to concepts, but they can also be an expression of meaning (Little 1996).

Thesis Focus

A Foucauldian approach is used then to explore three potential opportunities for local benefits ensuing from biodiversity initiatives. Eight years of fieldwork in Southeast Asia, and in West Africa listening to local people and state officials in the context of resource management struggles has led me to conclude that there is a need to look at biodiversity and its conservation in a new way. That way, I would suggest is to see it as a series of discursive negotiations that lead to possible opportunities for local people. It is suggested therefore that local residents may be said to enjoy benefits from negotiated conservation if they have the opportunity to assert local knowledge, a local sense of place or local governance. This thesis examines the extent to which this may be so using evidence from an official biodiversity initiative in Malampaya, Northern Palawan, Philippines. The initiative took place over a two and half year period from 1999 to 2001 and involved several different activities, some of which took the form of officially organised discursive negotiations. Other discursive negotiations were embedded within the daily struggles of local groups as well as others with a stake in the process. As such the thesis will avoid approaches using either dichotomous frameworks or the analysis of extreme events. Rather it seeks to relate everyday local level relations to biodiversity negotiations within a process of discursive interaction. This approach ought to provide new insights into the view of biodiversity as a contested notion. Discursive negotiations are seen to be central and may lead to tangible outputs, some of which may have positive material consequences through agreements, coalitions, or other forms of governance for local people involved in biodiversity initiatives. The next chapter will establish the theoretical framework of this thesis. It elaborates the central claims that negotiated biodiversity initiatives may provide opportunities for local benefit. A threefold opportunity structure emphasising particular types of benefit is therefore outlined. In turn, this structure enables an exploration of the extent to which biodiversity initiatives provide opportunities to assert local knowledge claims, sense of place, and local governance. By exploring these potential opportunities across one biodiversity initiative in the Philippines, an assessment of the possible relevance of initiatives to local residents can be made. Chapter 3 presents the case study method and the techniques used to gather data. By providing a background to conservation management in the Philippines, Chapter 4 examines the historical context in which the biodiversity initiative took place. The three empirical chapters thereafter assess the theoretical framework. Chapter 5 thus explores how complex negotiations may have involved the assertion of local knowledge claims. Chapter 6 examines in turn how these negotiations may have enabled the local assertion of a sense of place. Chapter 7 explores how the negotiating process may have provided opportunities for the assertion of local governance. Chapter 8 finally assesses the broader implications of the study as it summarises the theoretical and empirical findings of the thesis.

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2 Biodiversity Initiatives as Opportunity for Local Change

Choosing how to conserve biodiversity is a socially loaded strategy. Initiatives chosen indicate both how biodiversity is understood and valued, as well as by whom. Certain approaches may give greater opportunity for local benefits than others; indeed, some may even result in a net loss for local people. Benefits where they do exist may not necessarily be synonymous with economic gain. What then are the local benefits that may emerge from biodiversity initiatives? Further, could perceived opportunity here motivate local people to support a biodiversity initiative? This thesis explores these questions using a three-fold opportunity structure. The previous chapter introduced the idea that there are various meanings of biodiversity in the scholarly literature. It also established the basic approach of this thesis from the Foucauldian literature. Here, the main themes are explored in greater depth as the theoretical framework is elaborated. The aim is to explore three types of possible opportunity for local benefit. First, though, the discussion of biodiversity will assess basic notions of central concern to the thesis, namely those of biodiversity initiatives, non-monetary opportunity, and the idea of the ‘local’. Thereafter, the chapter uses pertinent literature to establish the three-fold opportunity structure as it suggests that negotiated biodiversity initiatives may provide local opportunities to assert knowledge claims, a sense of place and governance. This framework is believed to offer a suitable structure to assess possible benefits associated with local social change.

Biodiversity Initiatives

In addressing the issue of biodiversity in more depth it is clear that there are two main sorts of initiatives involved in its attempted protection: those that are on site and those that are off site. Off-site strategies involve the collection of specific species usually also re-locating them in a different place, such as a zoo, botanical garden or gene bank (Whatmore, 2000). However, it is on-site conservation strategies which are usually most socially contested, and which in any event are of primary interest in this thesis. On-site initiatives require that an area be identified, policies and practices defined, and an administrative system set up to support the process. Each step reflects particular power relations within and between social groups. Examining biodiversity initiatives thematically enables us to assess the type of power relations that may be in play. Initiatives can be grouped along three themes: territorial, prescriptive and indigenous (local). Territorial conservation is most associated with national parks. Many state agencies developed this strategy to restrict resource access to non-favoured groups (Vandergeest and Peluso 1995, Wittayapak 1996, Neumann 1997) For example, Thai national parks gazette forests for tourism that were long protected by local communities who were thereby denied access (Ghimire 1994). Communities thus marginalized here often responded by over-using resources in these areas as a form of resistance (Scott 1998). Indeed national parks in many developing

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countries are not that effective at protecting biodiversity (Peluso 1993, Barrett and Arcese 1995, Neumann 1998, Gauld 2000). Prescriptive biodiversity initiatives were developed as a response to the perceived difficulties of the territorial approach. The World Conservation Union (IUCN) and other conservation organisations sought to incorporate community participation and local needs into protected area design and management (Oviedo and Brown 1999). Protected Area Systems or Reserves are supported legislatively in the Philippines, Bolivia and Costa Rica, for example, to encourage multiple categories of reserves, some even allowing limited local access to resources through a system of multiple zoning (Philips and Harrison 1999, Zimmerer 2000). Similarly, biodiversity ‘hotspots’ have been identified which are places with high biodiversity perceived as highly ‘threatened’ by human exploitation (Myers 1998, Mittermieier 1998, Mittermieier et al 2000, Myers et al 2000a, 2000b).3 This approach prioritises funding reserves in ‘hotspot’ countries such as the Philippines, Colombia and Indonesia. Recently, the strategy Global 200 extends priorities to the most threatened ecosystems or habitats (Olson and Dinerstein 1999). 4 These various projects and programmes share the same basic features. First, they depend on scientific experts to designate the location of zones and design management strategies (Borrini-Feyerabend 1996). Second, local communities living in the buffer-zones surrounding the protected areas are usually invited (some say coerced) to ‘participate’ in allowed activities (Peluso 1993, Neumann 1998, Cooke and Kothari 2001). Allowed activities are designed to reduce local dependence on natural resource use by encouraging alternative ‘sustainable’ livelihoods such as eco-tourism (Miller 1999). This is a prescriptive conservation strategy in that it is a top-down process of management based on scientific data, provided by experts and often geared to the advent of new market potentials (Braun 1987, Katz 1998, McAfee 1999). In contrast, local or indigenous biodiversity conservation initiatives highlight the plight of ‘local’ people in ‘outsider’ initiated conservation (PAFID 1998, Li 2000). Local, if defined at all, is often equated with indigenous people, who are portrayed as victims and/or advocates of indigenous rights (Poffenberger and McGean 1996, TERRA 1998). ‘Bottom-up’ strategies, such as counter mapping, are seen to be an alternative to ‘top-down’ approaches (Peluso 1995). As part of this process ‘local knowledge’ is preferred to scientific knowledge (Chambers 1983, Poffenberger 1990, Peluso 1995, Bebbington 1999, Dove 1999). Lately, this position has been refined to emphasise the legitimacy of ‘insiders’ to determine what is true and valuable for local empowerment rather than that determined by ‘outsiders’ (Guyer and Richards 1996, Escobar 1996, 1999b, 2001; Resurrecion 1998). These processes are shown as facilitating ‘bottom up’ resource protection, control, and access that is seen to be the basis for local conservation (Walpole et al 1993, 1994; Pinkaew 1997, PAFID 1998). The literature just noted indicates that the local/indigenous biodiversity initiative, but also perhaps the prescriptive conservation initiative, may offer opportunities

3 See also www. CI 2002 4 Science based global ranking of the earth’s most biologically outstanding habitats, collectively known as the Global 200, see www. WWF 2002

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to assert local benefits. However, what type of benefits are being offered and who are the beneficiaries? The literature above indicates that not all benefits are seen as such by local groups. This reiterates the need to not address groups as homogeneous entities, it also directs our attention to the nature of benefits as well as the varied interests and concern that go under the label of ‘local’. Thus notions of ‘opportunity’ and ‘local’ in relation to biodiversity conservation need to be assessed.

Opportunities for Non-monetary Benefits

First, let us consider what is meant by ‘opportunity’. According to the New Oxford Dictionary (1998:1301), “opportunity is a set of circumstances that makes it possible to do something”. Within biodiversity initiatives it is precisely such a new set of circumstances that may be discursively negotiated.5 Hence, the negotiation is a discursive practice because agreements or compromises are reached through discussion between various groups (Litfin 1994, Hajer 1995, Hilhorst 1997). The result of discursive negotiation will be discussed in the context of the three-fold framework where it is related that outcomes are discursive in nature, but may also have material consequences. True, discourse analysis and the Foucauldian approach in general are sometimes criticized for not making sufficiently explicit the relations of discourse to the material world (Hajer 1995, Tait and Campbell 2000). However, discursive practices as negotiated processes provide the potential for discursive outcomes that may incorporate a new set of circumstances that directly effect material relations. Discourse thus allows us to understand the changes, if any, in power relations that are incorporated within new sets of circumstances. Foucault (1982:220) suggests that in this way power can be a creative opportunity “faced with a relationship of power, a whole field of responses, reactions, results, and possible inventions may open up”. However and to reiterate a point first made in chapter 1, we are not looking at extreme shifts, but rather the way in which micro-powers may be in flux as a result of negotiations embedded in the social relations of daily life (Tait and Campbell 2000). Overall, biodiversity initiatives have tended to favour particular social relations aligned to powerful outsiders. Activities have thus provided opportunities for, among others, specialist bird groups, scientists, state officials, tourists or businesses. These opportunities are often at the expense of local residents. However need this always be the case? There may be circumstances for instance, where local people participate in negotiations aimed at generating a discourse as to what activities are allowed, so their needs and perspectives are incorporated into the new circumstances. These negotiations may also result in supportive discourse coalitions, agreements and alliances even between groups previously in opposition. These outcomes are new emerging circumstances and may enable local people to do something differently now or in the future. For example, where the training of locals in conservation work increases their status in the community, they thus gain a potentially important non-monetary benefit of a sort that is of particular interest here.

5 Negotiate has several meanings. For clarity in this thesis it is “try to reach an agreement or

compromise by discussion with others” (New Oxford Dictionary 1998,:1241).

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This thesis certainly does not deny that where groups perceive biodiversity as a commodity, monetary benefits may be the prime motivation. Escobar (1996) and O’Connor (1998) among others, discuss the theoretical implications of treating biodiversity as a commodity. However, whether monetary benefits are sufficient to secure local support over the long-term is questionable. Songorwa (1999), for example, discusses these issues in a Tanzanian context where community based wildlife management has been driven mainly by the promise of economic benefits. He concludes that the project failed because it was based on the flawed assumption that local people would be moved to participate solely due to the prospect of economic gain through eco-tourism. However, these groups re-interpreted the values underpinning the initiative in an unexpected manner. In effect, they poached the wildlife instead of protecting it for tourists seemingly as a way to eliminate a ‘hazard’ to local people and livelihoods. Songorwa (1999) supports the view that focusing mainly on monetary benefits may divert attention from other motivating factors. This thesis would go further. It suggests that there are cases where monetary benefits are clearly secondary. Indeed, this study explores the case where monetary benefits are not even directly a part of the initiative. In the process, we consider the range of possible benefits that may exist and may motivate local people to support biodiversity conservation. This discussion raises in turn the question of the ‘local’. What is meant in this thesis by the word ‘local’ is a set of relations between actors that are sometimes also referred to as community, indigenous, village or resident. The term is used mainly to emphasise the scale at which a particular set of relations are manifest. However, patterns in these relations may not necessarily conform to externally defined political boundaries. The New Oxford Dictionary (1998:1083) defines local as an “inhabitant of a particular area” or “belonging to, or relating to a particular area or neighbourhood”. The literature discusses various contexts in which local at a community level comprises differentiated actors with various roles and interests (Jackson 1995, Rocheleau et al 1996, Leach, et al 1997, Agarwal 1997, Agrawal 1999, Cramb et al. 2000). As Agrawal (1999:630) notes “initiatives must be founded on images of community that recognize their internal differences and processes, their relations with external actors and the institutions that effect them both”. The methodological difficulties arising from this distinction are discussed in the next chapter. Meanwhile, the importance of ‘unevenness’ within local communities is apparent in subsequent discussions on micro-powers and Foucault below. Suffice to say here that not everyone at the local level receives the same type of benefits or indeed even any benefit at all. For those living at the socio-political margin some opportunities may be influenced by uneven power relations within and between groups operating at various levels. These uneven relations may be expressed through the different practices or ways of getting things done. Foucault (1973, 1976, 1979) suggests that research should focus on small often hidden practices as these often determine how larger processes work. These considerations allow us to move away from seeing communities as homogenous or static groups. Foucault’s emphasis on multiple discourses leads him to suggest that it is combinations of different types of transformations that bring about social change, and that the

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‘micro-powers’ driving these transformations need to be investigated. Biodiversity discourse can be analysed in a similar manner by investigating the micro-powers in the multiple practices within biodiversity initiatives.

Knowledge Claims

Multiple social practices are based on different knowledge systems with each one providing a different perspective on ‘truth’ based on its particular context (Foucault 1973). Foucault described this process of knowledge construction generally as discourse. If it is understood that place-based relations, local knowledge and governance are part of this process, then a discursive approach help us to ‘recover’ unheard voices. Hajer’s (1995) definition of discourse is thus preferred to that of the one by Barnes and Duncan (1992) as discussed in chapter 1, because it focuses on the interactive development of meaning through practice. Hajer (1995:44, emphasis added) thus defines discourse as “specific ensemble of ideas, concepts and categorisations that are produced, reproduced and transformed in a particular set of practices and through which meaning is given to physical and social realities”. In this way, Hajer emphasises the process of discourse formation that links to iterative practices. This is particularly significant for environmental discourses. The meanings, concepts and categorisations here evolve out of and are consolidated by relating with the biophysical environment through daily activities (Ingold 1992, Goodwin 1998, Escobar 1999b). Hajer implies that an interactive process between what is said and done together creates discourse. This not only grounds discourse in material processes thus avoiding a common criticism of discourse. It also means that the historical or institutional context for the different sets of practices must also be understood in any discourse analysis. This is indeed something that is vital to a study of the kind undertaken here. Darier (1999b:219) further suggests that for Foucault there were “only games of truth; as knowledge was embedded in its own context of production.” He also states that Foucault understood “knowledge inevitably intertwined with power relations and vice-versa” (Darier 1999b:220). This dissolves an absolute sense of power and allows a more flexible understanding of it to be developed, “as a field or a strategic game” (Foucault 1988b:18). According to Levy (1999: 208), this Foucauldian strategy is the “battle over meaning and functioning of networks of terms”. Biodiversity thus has multiple meanings and practices that represent different knowledge claims. Where negotiation processes bring about new meanings practices or a hybrid agreement, a change in power/knowledge relations may be present. This assumes that negotiation processes over meanings-practices are equivalent to ‘strategies/battles’.

Emphasising Culture in Discourse Theory

A question then arises as to the confrontational nature of negotiations if ‘strategies/battles’ are the principal means of human interaction. Hajer (1995:53) defines human interaction as “an argumentative struggle in which actors not only try to make others see the problems according to their views, but also seek to position other actors in a specific way”. Hajer also suggests that actors try to secure support for their definition of reality through credibility, acceptability, and trust. True argumentation may involve confrontation.

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However, this may not be the case. When considering discursive negotiations at the local scale, an emphasis on cultural expression is necessary. Culture is the principal social lens through which existing webs of power relations operate (Massey 1998, Rose 1995). Local discourse negotiations remain within the web of particular relations that helped form them. Thus, local responses before, during and after discursive negotiations such as over a biodiversity initiative may be reflective of historical social relations (Murray 2001). Therefore, culture becomes an especially important lens at the local scale, while its significance may be less appreciated to some extent, at the international scale.6 The cultural context for human interaction is rarely reducible to confrontation. Indeed, interaction may be constrained by established socio-power relations, and strong cultural norms such that confrontation simply may not be culturally acceptable. Foucault (1982:222) here saw power relationships as permanent provocation and “less of face-to-face confrontation which paralyses both sides”. Indeed, on some occasion even silence may be a culturally accepted discursive strategy that is simultaneously provocative and a form of negotiation Cultural practice may influence discourses in other ways. During negotiations for example, a practice often used by weaker groups is to reverse key meanings at strategic junctures through ‘reverse discourses’. This strategy has been popular in the Philippines. Take the case of indigenous people. They are perceived as being different to society – ‘inferior’ due to their ‘primitive practices’ and lifestyles (Anti-Slavery Society 1983). Over the last two decades though, indigenous peoples have formed reverse discourses in which they have asserted land rights on the basis of precisely these perceived differences (Resurrecion 1998). Similarly, the social impact of discourses may be influenced by cultural dynamics. For example, where two groups of people are influenced by the same discourse, their reactions to it may nonetheless be quite distinct as a result of different cultural norms. In a Philippine context characterized by diverse cultures, some indigenous groups are ‘known’ for a particular behavioural response. Thus while some Luzon based groups, such as the Bundoc, respond aggressively in discursive negotiations, others such as the Tagbanua of Palawan and Bukidnon of Mindanao tend to avoid confrontation usually opting instead to go with ‘avoidance behaviour’ (Adas 1981). The influence of discourse over thought and action lead Foucault to consider discourses themselves as distinct power centres. Here it is the ability to delineate the boundaries of thought itself through discursive action. In this regard, Litfin (1994) criticises definitions of power that associate it with control and domination, because these do not consider persuasion through reasoning and debate that is central to knowledge-based power. Litfin (1994:18) helpfully suggests instead a “spectrum of power relations ranging from coercion at one end, through manipulation, and authority, and to persuasion at the other end”. This thesis suggests that the discursive practice of negotiation may be able to pull on particular ‘threads’ in power relations depending upon the type of

6 Culture – “refers to people’s feelings, thoughts and knowledge about the world” (Milton 1996:38). Its suggested here that both Litfin (1994) and Hajer (1995) did not emphasise culture at the international scale.

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negotiating strategy used. The choice of which strategies to use may reflect cultural practice and existing capacities but is rarely settled solely in terms of sheer control and domination. Since discourses are power centres they also produce resistance. When certain discourses come to dominate the field, other ‘counter-discourses’ articulate networks of resistance to particular ‘regimes of truth’ (Foucault 1980a). As Foucault (1982:225) states “there is no relationship of power without the means of escape or possible flight”. Because resistance forms a part of discursive practice, its formation may indicate shifts in power relations (Sharp et al 2000). How do we know what type of discursive strategy is used to resist or to assert a claim? Hajer (1995:56) suggests storylines may be used as “subtle mechanisms for creating and maintaining discursive order, by clustering knowledge, and positioning actors”. It is suggested here that storylines woven into discourse may illuminate these shifts. How discourse frames ‘knowledge,’ as well as the metaphors used, will shape the discursive strategy of participants. Where less forceful discourse strategies are used in negotiations, for example, we may expect an opportunity for the assertion of local benefits such as knowledge claims, sense of place and governance. The context for each of these possible benefits is explored in the remainder of this chapter as we elaborate the theoretical framework of the thesis.

Opportunity to Assert Local Knowledge Claims

The implications of uneven power relations between and within sectors shall be examined to show how the assertion of local knowledge claims may provide non-monetary opportunities to local people. As discussed above, knowledge claims are important to discourse formation and negotiations. How are knowledge claims formed and asserted and with what effect? Firstly, the influence of biodiversity practices in the formation of local claims is explored leading thereafter to an examination of how claims by marginal groups may differ. Then how claims are asserted is explored using cultural discourse analysis – the potential of story-lines and counter-knowledge claims will be assessed as ways of shifting ‘micro-power’ relations to address local social injustice. First though, it is necessary to examine how biodiversity is valued.

Valuing Biodiversity

The terms used to attach value to biodiversity are important. Many environmental NGOs have co-opted economic terms using monetary values to define benefits, thereby justifying protection. This is a common strategy to make biodiversity protection appealing to ‘third world’ state agencies and ‘first world’ donors (Katz 1998). Biodiversity is not evenly distributed with much of it in the third world. Yet, development there has relied on the intensive exploitation of natural resources, embedded within established power relations of local elites. Biodiversity protection requires a shift in how these resources are valued if power relations are also to alter. Murray (2001) suggests that the way in which organisations talk about biodiversity and construct meaning, may reflect historical power relations. These meanings may even encompass the communities most associated with a particular biodiversity. Escobar (1996)

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found that communities with cultural knowledge that sustain rainforests or unlock its pharmaceutical potential were also symbolically sequestered into biodiversity meanings such that both were seen as sources of value. Yet trying to assign monetary values to things of æsthetic or spiritual worth can devalue them. “Assigning value to that which we do not own and whose purpose we can not understand except in the most superficial ways is the ultimate in presumptuous folly” (Ehrenfield 1988:216). Here the view is that ethical criteria not economic values should be the basis for valuing biodiversity. The argument is that as ‘stewards’ of the earth humanity has a responsibility to take care of it (Poffenberger 1990).

Types of Knowledge Claim

Values of biodiversity are inherent within local knowledge claims developed from experiences with people’s immediate environment (Ingold 1992, Dove 1996, Goodwin 1998, Escobar 1999b). Indeed, this link is true for other types of knowledge claims. In the context of biodiversity initiatives three basic knowledge claims emerge: biodiversity as a shared resource incorporating survival relations; biodiversity as a scientific classification; and biodiversity as a commodity (Milton 1996, AFN 1997, Escobar 1999a). As such, each claim will discuss biodiversity in a manner that reflects both inherent values and substantive experiences. Litfin (1994:15) in this regard points out, “knowledge does not emerge in a void but is incorporated into pre-existing stories to render it meaningful”. Biodiversity storylines derived from local practices may even discuss biodiversity without explicitly mentioning the term thereby reflecting the experience of ‘living in’ biodiversity rather than ‘looking at’ it (Milton 1996). Further, knowledge is not evenly distributed in society. This can give rise to the phenomenon of local experts – that is, someone recognised within a community for being competent in certain resource processing activities (Thomas-Slayter et al 1996, Escobar 1999b, ESSC 1999a). Where a group has historical relations in a certain locality, past experiences and knowledge is usually transferred between the generations. In this manner, the broader community endows individuals with authority to talk of matters referring to their particular expertise. At the same time though, knowledge may be the preserve of diverse individuals with overlapping if not competing claims. Consequently, these differences in knowledge may affect which claims are asserted by local groups in the context of biodiversity negotiations. Not only may knowledge be unevenly distributed between groups, so too may the ability to assert knowledge claims vary socially. Many researchers present these differences as a gap between knowledge claims (Litfin 1994, AFN 1995, 1997, Milton 1996, Schroeder 1999). A marked difference is often observed between officials and local communities. Thus officials are trained in practices based on a scientific knowledge claim and are adept in using codified ways of presenting discourse authoritatively – through the use of graphs or tabulated data for example. Meanwhile communities have a set of practices based in local knowledge claims formed through survival and exchange relations with different biodiversity resources. Local people may not have developed necessary reading and writing skills because they have had no need to

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document past discourses but instead have often presented their knowledge in the form of oral storylines. The process of how local knowledge is acquired, adapted and transferred to others is rarely explored by resource officials such as foresters as they require scientific qualifications for promotion and not an understanding of community discourses (Dove 1996, AFN 1997). Indeed, such ignorance is steeped in arrogance. There is often seen to be no need to understand local claims as officials have unquestioning ‘confidence’ in their own practices. Litfin (1994:25) points out that “this confidence is often misguided as the scientific community does not independently verify what is known, most is accepted on referenced authority”. Scientific knowledge claims are perceived differently as having greater legitimacy although this is itself cultural in nature.7 For Murray (2001:63) these cultural differences are an expression of historically sedimented relations of power and hence they do not stand apart from “socially organised forms of inequality”. It is rather formed and inscribed “symbolically as well as instrumentally, discursively as well as forcefully in the relations of rule, trade and everyday interaction” (Murray 2001:63).

This point holds for localised legitimacy based on uneven abilities of local groups to assert different knowledge claims let alone where cultural differences arise. For example often ‘indigenous’ knowledge claims are legitimised through an organised local elite (such as Tagbanua Foundation of Coron discussed earlier) but their legitimisation has come through officially sanctioned processes. These differences within groups are also subject to uneven patterns/relations of power. These patterns may reflect differences in gender, age or socio-cultural status (e.g. cast or class). Kothari et al (1995), Ostrom (1990), Schroeder (1999), and Agrawal (2001) found that internal group differences were a major factor in establishing the success of local resource initiatives, similar to some biodiversity initiatives. In particular, where new institutions are introduced into existing socio-power networks, they interact promoting new ideas of biodiversity initiatives and patterns of discursive negotiation and opportunity. This complexity is notably seen in multiple fora where facilitation is used, notably to draw out ‘minority’ knowledge claims. How well the latter are asserted in local discursive negotiations may indicate in turn how extensively (if at all) power relations shift.

Asserting Whose Knowledge Claims?

According to Fay (1987:130 in Litfin 1994) empowerment implies a local group gains an understanding of its ‘best’ interests and collaborates to achieve them. Litfin (1994) adds that empowerment often involves knowledge-based power as people reconceptualise interests and identities. The civil rights and women’s movements are examples, but this is also applicable to biodiversity initiatives where environmental education is prominent. However this situation assumes a ‘void’ of local knowledge, which is usually not the case. Empowerment may be less a question of reconceptualisation but rather a transformation of the limits of local knowledge systems previously constrained by existing norms, some even 7 Often individuals making the claim legitimises it, for example Severin (1997) suggests that Alfred Wallace, at the time an unknown field naturalist, had to jointly present his ideas of natural selection with Charles Darwin who had the scientific legitimacy to present the idea publically and it be accepted, whereas Wallace was not ‘known’ by the scientific community at that time.

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externally imposed. For example, when people use local knowledge as the basis for understanding, scientific knowledge-claims may be forced to assess these local claims, thus reversing ‘established’ power/knowledge arrangements. Simons (1995:17) suggests Foucault saw “limits as historical and contingent rather than universal and necessary and thus open to change”. Hence, knowledge is reframed so it incorporates new truths, but still connects with existing knowledge systems in complex ways. Let us consider hypothetically at this point, how this may apply in a biodiversity context. Local knowledge says something about how the ‘natural’ world is perceived to work. Hunters tell us about how monkeys eat the seeds of rattan. Rattan gatherers tell us that rattan is most abundant along rivers associated with flowing water. The two knowledge claims may be connected: the monkeys going to the rivers to eat on stones by the river may have excreted rattan seeds which with added nutrients had an advantage over other plants in the area. Scientific knowledge-claims based in ethno-botany may confirm later this link. It may be thereafter the basis for rattan gatherers to negotiate with hunters to keep riverbanks as no hunting zones. In this way local knowledge can lead to social change favourable to some if not necessarily all local interests. Science too is a social process involving persuasion and power and tells us how the natural world works (Litfin 1994, Myerson and Rydin 1997). As the above example shows, it may be used to verify other knowledge claims. More often though scientists seek data for their own purpose of persuasion. There is still a tendency for taxonomic scientists to engage local people as hired porters rather than to consider them as cultural botanists such that data is analysed and interpreted according to pre-existing value communities (Litfin 1994, Blaikie and Jeanrenaud 1997). In its re-interpretation in subsequent papers, scientists move the discourse frame and incorporate knowledge into other storylines, using the data to advance different perspectives and theories. How discourses frame knowledge or move the frames is therefore important (Hajer 1995). The “techniques of power” used to frame knowledge are also critical, such as those “that organise biodiversity spatially, zoning, partitioning, enclosing” (Allen 1999:202). Litfin (1994) further suggests that scientists have access to specialised knowledge and this allows them to place certain issues on the public agenda. Equally, society knows culturally how to accept this data as authoritative, because of respect for the ‘scientific’ way of presenting data. However, scientists may not have access to the knowledge of those who live in the local environment. Equally, society may not acknowledge the legitimacy of the local voice, because it is not framed in a recognizable manner (Bourdieu 1991). Whose knowledge is ultimately recognised in biodiversity initiatives thus reflects a struggle of knowledge claims, where values and meanings are woven into storylines to legitimate a particular claim. In many ‘industrialised’ societies there is a tendency to value knowledge gained through observing biodiversity (science) over that gained from experiencing it (local) (see Milton 1996). Within a negotiation process that acknowledges the latter, however, biodiversity initiatives may be a means of shifting not only perspectives, but also the legitimacy of a minority group. Negotiated agreements for biodiversity conservation may even bring about shifts in micro-powers leading to actual

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social change – for example, through the empowerment of local people as part custodians. How different knowledge claims are incorporated in conservation discourses matter enormously. A dominant claim may be an important symbol that adds legitimacy to official initiatives but also local efforts. Local people often want to be acknowledged or made visible to officially through maps or the census, for example (Murray 2001). However, local perspectives may also be just tacked on at the end of the process as an afterthought to legitimise outcomes as ‘participatory’ development (Cooke and Kothari 2001). Still, the very act of being involved in biodiversity initiatives may assist local people. For them the ability to assert claims in official discursive negotiations itself appears to lend legitimacy to their way of interpreting the world. For many communities their sense of personal/group identity is linked with cultural practices and knowledge ascribed to a specific location (Croll and Parkin 1992). Therefore asserting knowledge claims may re-affirm group identities and create forms of “social solidarity” (Thompson and Rayner 1998:68). Discursive negotiations may acknowledge local claims in agreements, thereby opening new circumstances where local people may be potential beneficiaries of other official or NGO programmes. For example, in 1974 the Ikalahan tribe in Luzon negotiated a twenty-five year agreement with state agencies that established their domain as a reserve and allowed them to define their own management. This provided the basis for further benefits in the form of support for their education system and livelihood development (BCN 1999). By legitimising the value of local knowledge through these agreements, local relations with biodiversity may be ultimately strengthened. In summary, knowledge claims discuss biodiversity in ways that reflect underpinning values, experiences and practices of the claimants. However, gaps occur between knowledge claims of groups in both local and broader society and are due to uneven distributions of knowledge, different capabilities, and perceived legitimacy of the claim. Storylines are a means to assess these differences between claims incorporated into conservation discourses. Thus storylines enable us to assess how local people may benefit in so far as they can assert a local knowledge claim.

Opportunity to Assert Local Sense of Place.

Local knowledge claims are partly formed from a group’s historical and current place-based relations (Murray 2001, Agrawal 2001). These local place relations also are in important in constituting a sense of place. However “there can be no single definition of place” (Thrift 1999:310). As such, place is assessed here to understand how biodiversity discourses are incorporated as various senses of place for different groups. Assessing local sense of place by linking biodiversity to resource access rights, control and management, it will be explored the extent to which protected areas can function as what Foucault termed ‘heterotopias’. These are “other places” where key local place-based relations are asserted in ways that both represent and challenge broader human-biodiversity relations (Foucault 1986 in Heyd 1997:159). In so doing, we asses circumstances where protected areas may be associated with new freedoms for local people linked with essentially non-monetary benefits. Let us

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first examine though three elements of place in the context of biodiversity: place-based relations, ‘placed’ processes and sense of place. While analytical disaggregated, it needs to be remembered that these are all related to each other, and hence cannot be separated (Agnew 1993).

Place-Based Relations

Massey and Jess (1995) point out that there are often rival claims to the meaning of places and therefore the right to its use. Agnew (1993:262) suggests place is “the setting in which social relations are constituted” (see also Massey 1995). Adapting Rose (1995) here though, there are four main ways to highlight place-based relations linked to biodiversity (see also Smith 1992, Massey 1994).8 First, place is a set of social survival relations with the physical resources available. Secondly, place is a result of meanings drawn from activity/knowledge relations built on from experiences gained from exposure to physical characteristics. Thirdly, place is the uneven socio-cultural relations within a group and/or between several groups again in relation to biophysical resources. Finally, place is a set of spatial access relations related to the locality. The emphasis added here above stresses the types of relationship associated with place. Hence, ‘sense of place’ “emphasises the significance of a particular place” for a group and is linked to a set of place-based relations (Rose 1995:88). Sense of place provides the flexibility to explain differences between multiple groups interacting with biodiversity at the same site. Thus a sense of place is not bound to localities per se, as meanings are drawn from dominant place-based relations or combination of relations often generated at a distance from them. Hence for example biodiversity meanings as a sense of place may develop from programmes (Dewailly 1999). Indeed biodiversity meanings and relations incorporated in a sense of place may even be maintained when people transfer to different localities, like nomadic hunters or migrant fishers (Brown 1990). If place is thus understood as a nexus of social, political and economic relations that are interacting, then more than one ‘sense of place’ can exist in the same location (Massey 1993, 1995). This is important in terms of biodiversity where the international science community has identified countries such as the Philippines and Colombia as places of high biodiversity under enormous threat from human development. The sense of place is interpreted as a discourse centred on the ideas of ‘hot spots’ (see chapter 1). Yet for example, Aeta tribes living within the Sierra Madre, among old growth forest may contest this sense of place. Their alternative may relate to the physical and spiritual health of the group living within the forest and not see biodiversity as a degraded hot spot, but rather as a dynamic source of life (Milton 1996, ESSC 1998a). Mapped hotspots are thus a highly political way of spatially representing the human biodiversity relationship. This is also a poignant example of the potential 8 Rose (1995) suggests there is there is a need for place as a natural survival strategy, place results from the meanings people actively give to their lives, place is a means of establishing difference between groups and place also establishes social differences by establishing spatial boundaries. Similarly, Massey (1994) also suggests four ways of understanding place, however territorial linkages to place are not necessarily bounded.

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power of maps and hence of map makers to condition social perceptions of place. Indeed, as Dorling and Fairbairn (1997:7) note the map maker “is able to manipulate the appearance and content of the map to a surprisingly large degree”. Above, the map maker is the trans-national NGO Conservation International, which emphasised countries where the human threat to biodiversity is considered critical and such biodiversity is deemed vital to humanity as a whole. All maps thus “express an embedded social vision” (Harley 1996:441). Further Harley (1996:432) also suggests that “much of the power of the map as a representation of social geography is that it operates behind a mask of seemingly neutral science” (cf. Wood with Fels 1993). In this regard Foucault (1984d:252) admits that specific “spatial arrangements” are a technique of power and are “fundamental in any exercise of power”. Maps present symbolised knowledge in a way that enables the map maker to communicate certain kinds of meanings – in the process, map can be seen as essential discourses in themselves (Wood with Fels 1993, Harley 1996). It is in the process of map construction – what features to include, whether to exaggerate some or displace others, and how features are even classified that can be seen as a process which is “extremely and explicitly subjective” (Dorling and Fairbairn 1997:39). This holds true whether comparing digitally produced maps (from Geographical Information Systems) assisted through a computer programme or those that are drawn by local people with pen and paper (Peluso 1995).

Enframing Biodiversity Changing the scale of place brings out its second element, as an “objective macro-order of location” (Agnew 1993:263). One approach to biological diversity does this very clearly by viewing unique biophysical or biological features through the concept of biodiversity hot spots (Mittermieier et al 1998, Myers et al 2000a). This process causes biodiversity-nature to be abstracted and separated from the social relations that gave rise to a local ‘sense of place’. A specific site can then become imbued with certain inherent values, meanings and qualities, and therefore biodiversity becomes ‘placed’ (Wilson 1999). This occurs when species are found to be endemic to a particular country or habitat, such as the Siberian tiger, or the Philippine eagle or there is site specific endemism, so it exists unique to one island or habitat, such as the Mindoro Tamaraw, or the Madagascan lemur. Many international NGOs have relied on this ‘placed’ biodiversity as bringing to television viewers’ attention the survival of these animals, and as a means of raising funds for less symbolically resonant conservation activities. Large animals or habitats such as rainforests that are rare or endangered may be similarly treated so that one can ‘own’ an elephant or a square mile of a rainforest (www. WWF campaign 2002). Biodiversity discourses formed by these organisations are typically derived from a relationship that ‘looks at’ biodiversity and with an ‘eye’ to a host of biophysical and often commercial concerns. Vandergeest and Peluso (1995) discuss the ‘placing of biodiversity’ as part of a process of internal state territorialization or ‘enclosure of the commons’. This process consists of three aspects: mapping of land boundaries; the allocation of land rights to private actors; and the designation of specific resource uses by both state and private actors according to territorial criteria (Vandergeest and Peluso 1995). They point out that this process benefits the state as a means of controlling and facilitating economic interests. National park systems as a set of

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biodiversity initiatives based on scientific criteria to assess the protection of biodiversity are also a means of separating areas from local claimants (Neumann 1998). Vandergeest and Peluso (1995) suggest this state process clashes with local property rights, particularly claims that comprise complex bundles of overlapping, hierarchical rights. It must be said though, that Vandergeest and Peluso (1995) address a rigidly coercive concept of state power using a Thai example. This is likely an extreme one and hence may not be ‘representative’ of state power even though it provides an insightful window through which to view some of the consequences of ‘placing biodiversity’. However, not all protected areas are the same as those in Thailand. Indeed, generally it is precisely the process of designating specific resource uses as a consequence of ‘placed biodiversity’ that may offer opportunities to local people.

‘Tragedy of enclosure’ to ‘heterotopias of opportunity’ The negative consequences of ‘placed biodiversity’ are documented in the literature in many forms. The process of placing biodiversity through territorialization has gone hand in hand with the historical development of the nation-state. The latter has depended in turn upon the management and exploitation of resources, with state agencies set up to regulate access. Forestry policies and the evolution of forest bureaus is a typical example of this process (AFN 1995, 1997; Poffenberger 1999). The state develops both the role of the policeman and the trader. Bryant and Bailey (1997) drawing on a wide political ecology literature discuss further this contradictory dualistic role and suggest that state intervention and regulation of the environment has been necessary to allow capital accumulation and a prospering of the modern capitalist system (see also Hecht and Cockburn 1989, Peters 1994, Peet and Watts 1996, Neumann 1998, Horta 2000, Watts 2000). They also argue that the power of the state and its pursuit of economic development noticeably depends on the exploitation of the environment and its ability to facilitate the modern capitalist system. Although the state has a formal responsibility for finding solutions to environmental problems therefore it is more likely to give resource access rights in a manner that contributes to degradation (Escobar 1996). This may have particular consequences for biodiversity initiatives, some of which may require the state to control the excesses of some capitalists degrading the environment even as it may enable other capitalists linked to say ‘eco-tourism’. Far from justifying the role of the state as an effective manager of biodiversity-nature, Ostrom (1990) reinforces this general observation by pointing out that states often create open access situations because often rules license capitalist users, but rarely limits them through enforced legislation. In this way Ostrom (1990) and the Ecologist (1993) challenge the ‘tragedy of the commons’ concept used by official organisations to justify state management of the environment (Bryant and Bailey 1997).9 9 Stated as the ‘tragedy of the commons’, Hardin (1968) used games theory strategies to argue that resource degradation was a consequence of open-access as different local actors acquired as much of the resource as possible until none remained. He concluded that resources not under private ownership, should be rendered under state control, with rules articulated and enforced by the state in order to protect them. According to Darrier (1999b:220) this is opposite to Foucault who sees “power relations as taking place in a non-deterministic ‘field of power’ and in a non-linear, non-top-down/dominating/dominated type of relationship”.

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Richards (1997) rather suggests that placed biodiversity through enclosure or privatisation of forest reserves leads dependant communities to put pressure on remaining common pool resources (Goldman 1998). Therefore uneven socio-power relations associated with enclosing areas limiting rights to exploit biodiversity nature caused degradation as ‘tragedy of the commons’ (Ostrom 1990). Thus, particular power patterns within local access relations can have direct consequences on biodiversity conditions (Roberts and Emel 1992). Hence, where local people strategically place biodiversity, they too apply power because “power is a strategic game” (Foucault 1988b:18). All of which has real consequences for protected areas, which place biodiversity through boundaries and limit access to resources through zones, as part of the ‘logical’ ordering of biodiversity. In this way protected areas are designed to be ‘other places’ or heterotopias, serving as “places of disturbance; their existence unsettles the regular categorizations of our living space” (Heyd 1997:161). Protected areas function as heterotopias as “they remain recalcitrant to interpretations, they make evident that ‘opening’ knowledge may be required for their comprehension: their cryptic nature makes them places ‘outside’ all places” (Foucault 1986:24 in Heyd 1997:161, see also Routledge 1997). They are “counter sites… in which the real sites that can be found within the culture are simultaneously represented, contested and inverted” (Quigley 1999:201). It is how protected areas are ‘constructed’, the techniques of power and practice that some deploy that determines their potential function as heterotopias. Here too, there may be an opening for local people. Thus where they are able to determine how the protected area functions as an image of biodiversity in which “people locate themselves coherently in the scheme of things” there may be opportunities (Stock 1993). If the process of determination is through discursive negotiation, cultural discourse analysis may then provide a means to understand how local groups discursively negotiate and assert their sense of place. Subsequently where local people strategically place biodiversity, this can be seen as an application of power.

Sense of Place Represented by Story-lines If we are to follow discursive shifts in local biodiversity negotiations, we need to recognise how different groups express their various lived experiences with biodiversity. The experience of biodiversity incorporates particular place-based relations, which then link to a sense of place (Milton 1996). Previously we discussed biodiversity emerging as three experiences related to conservation strategies. Indeed these may be associated with particular storylines. Thus where biodiversity experience is separated by placed territories, storylines to ‘protect a species’ may dominate. Meanwhile, similarly where enclosure for exploitation is experienced, storylines may emphasise ‘resources as commodities’. These are all formed from a sense of place that essentially looks at biodiversity. On the other hand, where biodiversity experience is a common pool resource we may find storylines of ‘balance of nature’. Storylines as presented by local communities may tend to remain firmly within a relational ‘sense of place’, developed from living in biodiversity. Hence these may highlight specific relations with biodiversity without using the term – for example hunters describing how and why they catch less animals than in the past. Storylines may even emphasise power-relations when local users forced to render

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themselves visible to other actors, seek to maintain or ‘protect’ local claims to biodiversity as a common pool resource. At first, this may seem similar to the above placed territories, yet local protection storylines are likely to be different reflecting a personal identification with, and responsibility felt for a biodiversity resource. It then becomes necessary to be able to recognise how storylines may emerge from place-based relations of biodiversity.

Milton (1996) and others (eg. Thompson and Rayner 1998) suggest four ways that local people experience biodiversity that appear to correspond to different storylines about ‘living in’ as opposed to ‘looking at’ biodiversity. The four experiences are biodiversity-nature as omnipotent, as giving, as reciprocating, and as vulnerable (Milton 1996).10 To take but one example to illustrate on of these experiences, where elephants compete with villagers to forage for bush mangos in Nigeria,11 biodiversity-nature is seen as more powerful than the villagers who talk of protection from the elephant. Not surprisingly, the environmentalists suggestion that the more powerful elephants should be protected is often met with hostility (cf. Peluso 1993). These aspects of biodiversity experience are important in the context of negotiations, since how biodiversity storylines are woven together reflect what sense of place is being drawn on as the reference for discussion. Storylines relate to the context as a discursive and hence potentially malleable subject. Flexibility is implied where all sectors, from officialdom to local people, may have more than one storyline depending upon the sense of place they are drawing on. Importantly the prevalence of storylines allows for differences within the sectors, even as it allows different sectors to have the same subject positions (such as NGOs and indigenous people talking about protecting biodiversity, but for different reasons). It may also allow two sectors to have an overlapping sense of place that incorporates some local place-based relations with biodiversity and similar suggestive storylines. What then are the implications of storylines for asserting local sense of place in heterotopias?

Asserting Whose Sense of Place? Wilson (1999) suggests that the cultivation of a common ‘place identity’ or ‘sense of place’ provides ‘common ground’ or a shared set of socio-environmental values that allows a ‘political community’ to be rediscovered. This provides an understanding of biodiversity as a shared storyline, indicating a possible overlapping sense of place. To simply acknowledge this overlap however, does not constitute an assertion of local sense of place. For this to occur we would expect shifts in social power relations that favour local place-based relations represented by a sense of place that allow local people to act in a different way. “For Foucault relations of power are largely ‘positive’ in the sense that they also give identity/identities to individuals, which enables them to act in the world” (Darrier 1999b:223). Yet mention of ‘power’ here is a reminder that sense of place is caught up in ever shifting networks of micro-powers. In this regard Escobar (1999a) and Klooster (2000) locate place-based social and power relations within accumulation regimes and access control mechanisms. These discussions provide insights into the particular dynamics of social relations within a ‘field of power’ that seeks to explain how asserting place-base relations may result in social change. 10 These are explained in detail in chapter 5. 11 Bush mango is a highly sought after forest product in Cross River State, Nigeria.

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These discursive-cum-micro-power shifts can be crucial to social and environmental dynamics. Thus, Escobar (1999a) and Ostrom (1990) describe how discursive changes and shifts in micro-power relations lead to changes in broader social relations and resource access. This is important if we are to understand how asserting local sense of place may be an opportunity to bring about social change. Escobar examined discursively emerging nature regimes of accumulation. In this context he examined where these regimes overlapped and the occasions where two discursive regimes would come together forming a hybrid discourse. These regimes are similar to sense of place emerging from place-based relations with biodiversity in that they “constitute structured social totality of multiple and irreducible relations” (Escobar 1999a:11).12 Similarly therefore where an overlapping sense of place is found, we would expect to see a shared storyline, taking agreed elements from both and reconstituting them to form a more powerful discourse possibly even able to benefit the proponents of that discourse. Where a sense of place is shared and hybrid discourses develop, there may be also fertile grounds for resistance to perceived oppression. Escobar (1999a) discusses hybridisation as a strategic point of resistance occurring in places that are not bounded or stable within the Colombian rainforest struggles where hybrid discourses were formed in resistance to economic depredations. His example of hybrid discourse between local communities and allied scientists that is targeted against logging interests highlights how discursive hybridisation can have practical consequences. In the process these groups form ‘third spaces’ which are ambiguous sites wherein the forces and relations of resistance and domination are entangled (Routledge 1997). Similarly, Klooster (2000) examines how local struggles in Mexico over common pool resources were motivated by historical place-based relations resulting to local social injustice and degradation of biodiversity by local elites. He suggests (2000:15) that the “discursive struggle challenges the distribution of power” by directly confronting the imbalances of micro-powers in communities. Therefore small shifts in micro-powers may occur enabling ‘larger’ relational shifts to occur as hybrid discourses frame ‘other places’ conducive of new local opportunities such as ancestral domain claims in the Philippines. Discursive outcomes may also reflect altered storylines that document local people acquiring new social identities emerging out of negotiations. As Escobar (1999a:31) states, “hybridisation does not necessarily mean decline through the loss of identity”, but rather may allow new identities to be formed “…through the opening of new possibilities”. Thus in the Colombian example, as a result of hybrid discourses, local people were no longer poor and weak but, powerful environmental activists combating plantation encroachment. This act of claiming new identities was for Foucault a practice of liberation, “a tactical reversal to that imposed” (Darier 1999b:229). Therefore asserting a local sense of place may also allow people to form new identities, perhaps allowing them to practice new liberties – in short an opportunity for local people to act differently.

12 Each draws on a dominant place-based relation, but not excluding others. Organic nature draws on cultural meanings, capitalist nature draws on territorial areas establishing social difference, and techno nature draws on accessing physical resources. To an extent they all draw on relations that establish a different other.

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In summary, sense of place is a dynamic concept incorporating those linked to place-based relations and strategic thinking. Residents asserting a sense of place would likely favour place-based relations or strategic placing of biodiversity to secure access to common pool resources. Where protected areas offer local people the opportunity to negotiate resource access through zoning patterns that order biodiversity, they then assert their sense of place through the protected area. Changes in storylines show shifts in micro-powers such that emerging hybrid discourses create new relations, and the possibility of local people acquiring new identities. For example in a protected area local people and officials may jointly patrol the locally defined core zones, thus creating new relationships between previously opposing groups. The prospect of such non-monetary benefits may motivate local participation in biodiversity initiatives.

Opportunity to Assert Local Governance The previous two sections discussed possible local opportunities in terms of asserting local knowledge claims and sense of place. Thus far it is suggested that by asserting local knowledge claims, groups may acquire greater legitimacy, stronger group identity and new opportunities for future benefits. By asserting local sense of place, people may gain greater control and access to biodiversity resources, form new relations, and acquire new identities that enable the practice of new freedoms or actions. This section focuses on how collective endeavours supported through discourse coalitions and hybrid agreements may provide a third non-monetary opportunity for local people in terms of governance. To consider this possibility it is necessary to explore first biodiversity governance per se, as well as how it may be affected by these discourse coalitions. Biodiversity as a set of practices is subject to a certain regime of rationality (Foucault 1980). Although rationalisation at state and international levels has occurred, more local institutionalisation and bureaucratisation is in process with converging ideas of greater local participation in biodiversity initiatives and decentralisation of governance13. Agrawal (2001:12) suggests

“attention to decentralisation and bureaucratisation of resource use is crucial to understanding changes in the nature of control. State formation in this context can be seen to correspond to activities that contribute to the formalization and systemization of social action and in so doing consolidate or complicate relationships between states and societies”.

We draw on Foucault to understand these processes and how culturally-shaped discourse may uncover possible local opportunities. First, we clarify what Foucault means by ‘government’ and therefore how rationalisation of biodiversity has lead to the complex exercise of power through

13 Rationality of government is “any relatively systematic way of thinking about government such as theoretical knowledge, particular programmes, forms of practical know-how or strategies” (Dean 1999:211). Rationalisation at the state level occurs within schools, prisons and environmental management agencies (see Watts 2000). At the international level an example of rationalities of biodiversity would be through IUCN, the world conservation union and their categories of multiple zoned protected area system (see Blaikie and Jeanrenaud 1997).

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biodiversity governance. We then analysis various biodiversity practices through which power is exercised. In the process, we identify how these practices may provide opportunities for local people to acquire non-monetary governance benefits.

Biodiversity Governance According to Foucault (1982:221), government is “the exercise of power in guiding the possibility of conduct and putting in order the possible outcome”; it “designates the way in which the conduct of individuals or of groups might be directed”. This definition is useful because it allows for a multiplicity of institutional forms and relations beyond the state. Further, “to govern is to structure the possible field of action of others” where freedom is implicit in this exercise of power because individuals or groups face possibilities and have a choice of reactions to them (Foucault 1982:221). In this sense biodiversity initiatives are government insofar as power is exercised to guide local people and groups to proper use of biodiversity. Hence then, ‘proper use’ opens up a field of possibilities. In a broader sense, words like ‘guiding’ and ‘proper use’ raise the issue of governmentality. Governmentality is a form of power exercised through an “ensemble of institutions, procedures, analysis and reflections which results in forming specific governmental apparatuses and a whole complex of power” (Foucault 1991c:102). There exists a multiplicity of power relations; hence there are many governmentalities (Foucault 1988b). Foucault never applied this concept specifically to biodiversity, even though it is quite possible to do so (cf. Braun 2000). Two areas have particular relevance to this study. Governmentality first developed around biodiversity when studies in botany revealed new knowledge about the genetics of species. The economic potential here was exploited by pharmaceutical companies but has lead to a whole variety of ‘bio-technology’ developments. As such in order to secure these resources and knowledge, law pertains to both territorial issues as well as to patents for genetic codes ‘discovered’. Internationally it has lead to tighter controls on what genetic resources may be removed from a country as well as the ‘protection’ of indigenous knowledge as a key to identifying useful species (Laird and Kate 1999). This process is criticized however by some scholars as simply confirming state ownership of valued genetic resources rather than supporting indigenous people. Escobar (1999a:30) states “dominant discourses of intellectual property rights and genetic resources amount to a new sort of predation on the life spaces of those existing at the margins of the chemical and money economies”. Under the guise of protecting indigenous rights, legislation thus asserts state governance claims. Indigenous knowledge and practices linking plant processing techniques to medicinal cures are protected for state sanctioned exploitation through licensing agreements, that at best, are of marginal benefit to indigenous people. Here too, the emphasis of international legislation such as the Convention of Biological Diversity of 1992 is to introduce mechanisms “to facilitate access to genetic resources for environmentally sound uses by other Contracting Parties” (Article 15, CBD 1992). If the main discourse here proposes to protect genetic resources in the South against excessive exploitation from the North, the mode of the law appears only to reinforce such

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exploitation (Katz 1998, McAfee 1999). Discourse analysis reveals these subtle micro-powers, which are simply conforming to social-power relations that continue to favour the economically more powerful north (Parry 2000). Secondly, the commodification of biodiversity as ecosystems has been a means by which governmentality extended in this area. Initially, rationalisation of knowledge through ecological studies increased knowledge of ecosystems by studying how habitats function, and even established new ways of thinking such as ecosystem biodiversity. Relations with local people, (usually indigenous communities) were included in this growing body of knowledge albeit in a subordinate manner. However, the commodification of ecosystem biodiversity as tourist destinations has been much slower to solidify. A ‘public desire to experience’ resulted from a growing interest in environment issues stimulated by organisations such as the National Geographic Association and World Wildlife Fund for Nature (WWF). The result has been an increasingly cohesive block of economic concerns known as ‘eco-tourism’ (Holden 2000). This process has created a variety of institutions, including businesses and NGOs, as well as a series of official practices including gazetting territories and patrolling protected areas. In parallel, new mentalities have evolved such as those linked to so-called ‘ethical tourist’ where matters like ‘leaving behind only footprints, taking only photos and memories’ are the norm. In recognising these sorts of governmentality, it is possible to consider how we think about governing biodiversity – both through collective and individual action (Dean 1999). As Foucault states “governmentality is more concerned with how thought operates within our organized ways of doing things, our regimes of practices and with its ambitions and effects” (Dean 1999:18). However as Ferguson (1994) and Bryant (2002) observe in different environment and development contexts, the unintended effects of these practices may be equally important. Here and in keeping with the themes of this thesis, potential opportunities may be based in how local people are governed through regimes of practices associated with biodiversity, “the conditions under which regimes of [biodiversity] practices emerge, continue to operate and are transformed” (Dean 1999:23). Here, an analytic approach based on Dean (1999) is useful. Dean (1999:23) suggests four ways to analyse the process of government: “forms of visibility” (eg. maps) “distinctive ways of thinking and questioning” such as norms that guide what is acceptable behaviour, “specific ways of acting, intervening and directing” including those of control and planning, and “ways of forming subjects” through new institutions that protect biodiversity for example. By exploring these, we can illustrate how local people may realise opportunities through negotiating new governance in biodiversity initiatives.

Visibility A double-sided consequence of new governance is greater visibility/invisibility of local groups – where visibility “illuminates and defines certain objects” and “hides others” (Dean 1999:30). A previous section briefly noted how greater visibility of local groups through participatory mapping may be considered an advantage by them. However, participatory methods per se do not determine how local groups are ultimately seen. Francis (2001:85) points out, for example, that by using participatory methods the World Bank was able to ‘find out’ about local people: yet, the picture to emerge was that of ”individuals with consumer development needs” albeit at present “without material means”. Maps may only

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redefine biodiversity and the populations in identified territories according to criteria based on scientific claims (Escobar 1993). Indeed local people can be identified as compatible or incompatible with biodiversity objectives depending upon whether their cultures are ‘adaptive’ or ‘maladaptive’ (Milton 1996). These decisions may have brutal consequences for local groups if they remain invisible. Greater visibility of local people as part of biodiversity might be advantageous if this were to lead to the alleviation of predatory local resource interventions. Frequently mapped images of biodiversity tend to portray local people as threats to ‘hot spots’ or even ignores them completely to examine bio-geographical regions (Luke 1997, Conservation International 2000, Bryant 2002). 14 Visualizing biodiversity in this manner is brutal for local people if these maps become the basis of subsequent governance technologies and techniques. Despite these ever present dangers, local communities often want to be involved in official biodiversity initiatives and associated governance. Murray (2001) for example found that isolated groups in Indonesia wanted official acknowledgement – they wanted to be on official maps and to be included in official census. This willingness to be visible to official agencies was attributed mainly to the desire to gain access to official services such as schools. Greater visibility may also create multiple channels of engagement between state officials and local people, mutually advantageous to both parties (cf. Agrawal 2001). Visualising local people as a necessary part of maintaining biodiversity might even bring rewards linked to NGO-initiated projects – an unintended consequence of biodiversity initiatives, but nonetheless important locally for all of that (Ferguson 1994, BCN 1999).

Distinctive Ways of Thinking and Behaving The process of government is also to be seen in the ways in which ‘guiding conduct’ is defined. Such conduct, according to Foucault, is “historical and contingent, rather than universal and necessary, thus open to change” (Simons 1995:17). Hence biodiversity ‘norms’ may limit ways of thinking about biodiversity but shifts in power relations may leave them open to change. Conversely, power relations may readjust as new ‘realities’ and objects are brought into focus by biodiversity governmentality (cf. Dean 1999). Thus, for example, there may be the discovery of new species or biodiversity decline may be suddenly revealed by a hazardous event such as toxic algae blooms that kill fish. Yet when power relations shift and new limits to biodiversity are negotiated, local people may gain desirable opportunities of various kinds. ‘Appropriate’ behaviour is shaped by these social and ecological dynamics. Local resource users are constrained by forms of conduct deemed ‘acceptable’ even as other behaviour is ‘condemned’. For example, the protection of biodiversity may become ‘normal’ behaviour, so that populations living in or adjoining protected territories are educated as ‘good citizens of the state’ insofar as they accept conservation norms. However, where local people are able to

14 In the Philippines, biodiversity maps of bio-geographical regions visualise species diversity patterns that have evolved in response to geological processes forming the 7,000 islands (Heaney 1998). With a temporal scale of 20,000 years, human interactions are not statistically significant and do not appear on these maps.

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negotiate the rules controlling relations, they may even define what it means to be a ‘good’ citizen (cf. Cruikshank 1999). Thus where local people are the ones guiding the outcome of what is appropriate behaviour it may be seen by them as an empowering action – where empowerment “is to act upon another’s interests and desires in order to guide their actions toward an appropriate end” (Cruikshank, 1999:69). Foucault saw empowerment not as an end status but as a process of engagement in struggle – to constantly transgress limits to the governance of society and self (Simons 1995). Where power is defined as “actions on other actions” it presupposes people have the capacity or ‘freedom’ to act as agents, to act upon and “through an open set of practical and ethical possibilities” (Foucault 1982 in Gordon 1991:5). Empowerment has to be examined in relation to biodiversity initiatives here in terms of both what ‘disciplining’ limits are transgressed and as a factor in broader shifting power capabilities. It is in these broader shifting power relations that local people must assert their influence. Thus assertion here implies an act of freedom, one that does not necessarily require direct confrontation. However, the local tactics used to do this may lead to a degree of ambiguity in terms of whether local equity is maintained in social relations. As Brosuis (1999:283) states “certain voices may change what they are saying, certain voices may succeed in edging others out, certain voices may be co-opted and certain voices may be judged irrelevant”. Analysing cultural ways of thinking and behaving is thus important to understand whether local assertion of governance arrangement leads to positive social change for all local groups or simply a portion thereto.

Specific Ways of Acting, Intervening and Directing The process of government is also powerfully aided by techniques and technologies that condition how biodiversity and people come to be governed. Planning is above all a key process of rendering biodiversity and people within a territory legible to make them amenable to governance. As Braun (2000:37) suggests, “only when the qualities of the territory are rendered legible that the articulation of people and things could be placed on a supposedly rational basis”. Both Braun (2000) and Escobar (1993, 2001) discuss planning as a tool used notably by state agencies firstly to rationalise knowledge about territories and populations, and then to establish surveillance and control through judicious social interventions. However “intentional plans are always important, but never in quite the way the planners imagined” (Ferguson 1994:20) It is in negotiating the ‘accepted truth’ that local people may gain benefits from participating in planning for biodiversity initiatives. The type of planning process used appears to be vital in understanding how micro-power relations shift. Investigating how participatory planning processes are used can help to uncover power relations in rationality and reveal hidden codification of truth (Foucault 1991b). Tait and Campbell (2000) suggest that planning is a process where power relations are constituted and reconstituted continuously rather than as a one off process. Local people may have various opportunities in a planning process to negotiate favourable governance

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structures.15 This may even involve the strategic concealment of information. For example when the Tagbanua of Coron Island in Palawan drew their biodiversity resource map, they revealed in public deliberations only those areas acceptable to them for proposed use by officials and tourists.16 Thus their map did not feature non-negotiable resources that were hidden in a clear attempt to shape proposed official plans for their territory. The whole issue of ‘participatory’ planning becomes quite ambiguous when assessed in Foucauldian terms. It is seen by some as a subtle extension of self control (Mosse 2001). The act of participation, by local people or groups “can both conceal and reinforce oppressions and injustices” such that there may be no genuine local opportunity gained here but instead further subjectification to outside authority (Cooke and Kothari, 2001:13). Yet this grey scenario need not occur. Thus it is important ensure that the “complexities of power and power relations” in processes and practices used in participatory planning are critically assessed at all times (Cooke and Kothari, 2001:14). More broadly, participatory planning is a set of discursive practices in which different discourses are formed and negotiated. In turn, the process may indicate how micro powers are deployed producing ‘truth’ for groups (Tait and Campbell 2000). By following discursive shifts in this process, it may be possible to assess the extent to which local people are able to assert governance opportunities. One ‘unintended’ consequence of interest to this thesis is that planning and associated techniques of governance may afford other undetermined opportunities for social change. For instance, there may be opportunities for local people to change the nature of ‘traditional’ control through changes in the exercise of authority. Where local people are involved in struggles to resist conventional authority, such as powerful local bosses (cf. Sidel 1999), they may see negotiated conservation as an opportunity to change that control. Analysing practices of biodiversity governance may illuminate whether there have been changes in the nature of control – for whom, by whom and for what purpose. In the end, techniques of government such as participatory planning are liable to have complex effects. For example, Agrawal (2001) investigated participatory governance in the Kumaon region of Himalaya India where communities negotiated their own rules for forest protection with officials. Yet such decentralisation only made the villagers accomplices in their own control. Local groups set and enforced the rules subject to official supervision. Indeed, “the changing nature of control however depended on changes in the strategies of power and relationships between the state and local actors” (Agrawal 2001:13). Here again though the record is mixed. Several studies found that new regulations certainly penetrated existing village relations creating multiple channels of engagement between state officials and residents, but not all of these interactions were conflictual or otherwise opposed to local interests (Kothari et al 1995, Robbins 2000, Agrawal 2001). In some cases, informal

15 As Burgess (2000:227) suggests “discursive practices as participative planning process is symptomatic now of the new public mood in which public and private institutions cannot take public support for granted..” 16 This was the meeting in Bryant (2000) discussed earlier.

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social controls may be just as important at limiting access to biodiversity resources (Rudel 1995). Whatever the specific outcome, unequal power relations persist even after the passage of locally negotiated control and enforcement (Ostrom 1990). That said, the ability to change the nature of control may interest communities if only to ‘loosen the grip’ of predatory local elites. Where initiatives provide such local opportunities people may respond positively and see resulting governance arrangements as a benefit.

Ways of Forming Subjects Finally, the process of government involves the creation of new ‘subjects’ to be a part of biodiversity regulation. Here also there may be opportunities to assert local benefits. Biodiversity initiatives may offer new ways of forming subjects that open up space for unparalleled local input. “We have to promote new forms of subjectivity through the refusal of this (the state) kind of individuality which has been imposed” (Foucault 1982:16). The various institutions, networks and groups of people involved in a biodiversity initiative participate in discursive negotiations, form coalitions or even new institutions. It is within these governance processes that local people may be able to shift previously imposed notions of their social subjectification. But how are these new governance arrangements formed and how may local participation and involvement lead to local opportunities? New governance including discourse-coalitions are formed if “previously independent practices are being actively related to one another, if a common discourse is created in which several practices get meaning in a common political project” (Hajer 1995: 65). Thus discourse-coalitions are formed through processes of negotiating differences between meanings and practices, and cementing these together with a shared set of storylines. Shared storylines, not interests, then form the basis of the coalition (Hajer 1995). These may support institutional alliances and lead to joint or new activities, which may or may not be formalised through an agreement. Discursive coalitions and negotiations may occur within newly formed multi-sector monitoring or policy making bodies. Local communities may be ‘forced’ to institutionalise themselves as collective ‘subjects’ to be recognised by the state agencies. However “to work with a government implies neither subjection nor total acceptance” (Foucault 1988a:154). Indeed the discourses they use may indicate how these organisations sit within existing power relations – even that they may be able to refuse imposed forms of subjectivity.

Asserting Opportunities Through Governance Of general interest in this thesis, therefore is how the possibility of participating in new governance may lead to shifts in the nature of biodiversity use and control of benefit to local people. Thus summarising the discussion of this section there seem to be four areas in which biodiversity regimes may offer local governance opportunities. Firstly, if local people can negotiate how they are made visible in officially sanctioned biodiversity practices, they may receive unintended opportunities such as development projects or NGO-led skills enhancement work (such as weaving). Success here depends notably on how well planning processes support local discursive positions. Secondly, mechanisms such as meetings or workshops or may help to shift power

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relations of local bosses in favour of greater self control and decision-making. Indeed thirdly, the nature of control may change if local people negotiate their own rules and develop new relations with state agencies and other organisations. Finally, biodiversity initiatives may offer local people opportunities to challenge their conventional image and allow them to take up new responsibilities and act differently in their own communities. However, a Foucauldian approach suggests that governance opportunities are not an idealised state of ‘liberation’. Rather, they may allow the contingent expression of new freedoms by local individuals, and groups even as these freedoms spark fresh struggles.

Summary Looking at non-monetary opportunities potentially offered by biodiversity initiatives may provide a depth to understanding human-environment relations absent in narrow monetary-driven approaches. This thesis investigates whether these initiatives provide opportunities for local people to assert knowledge claims, sense of place, and new governance. These aspects are interesting when considering the responses of local people to biodiversity initiatives – often assumed to be negative. Possible opportunities have been identified here as asserting knowledge claims whereby local groups can legitimise their ‘truths’ and hence receive future benefits (not necessarily monetary) from official agencies or NGOs. Another benefit may arise where initiatives allow local groups to assert a sense of place, linked to maintaining common access and local control of biodiversity. Finally it is suggested that where initiatives bring new governance arrangements involving local people in policy elaboration and planning, as well as in subsequent enforcement, that existing social and political relations may shift in a way that reduces, even if only modestly, their marginal socio-political and economic standing. All of which is to say that biodiversity initiatives may contribute to local empowerment and opportunities considered locally to be beneficial. If this is the broad thrust of the thesis, it next remains to explain the methodology used in relating theory to empirical practice. This is the task of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 then discusses the Philippine conservation context and provides an historical background. The theoretical framework is thereby assessed in the empirical analysis of chapters 5-7. Chapter 5 examines whether there are opportunities to assert local knowledge claims, chapter 6 next examines possible opportunities to assert local sense of place and chapter 7 then explores whether there are opportunities to assert local governance. Finally, chapter 8 relates these findings back to the theoretical framework to assess the broader validity and importance of the study.

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3. Methodology By emphasising the cultural aspects within discourse, this study explores whether local benefits are attained through negotiating conservation. The last chapter developed a threefold local opportunity structure to frame the thesis, consisting of knowledge claims, sense of place and governance. They were all seen as potential non-monetary benefits. This chapter considers the methodology and explains how data was collected. The question of why a North Palawan, case study was chosen is also discussed here, whilst chapter 4 thereafter presents the general Philippine conservation context.

Why the Philippines The Philippines was selected as the case study location because it is suitable for several reasons. It has about seven thousand islands in the tropical zone and several international NGOs have identified it as a mega-diversity area, which is under serious threat in terms of biodiversity loss. It is ranked the eighth priority biodiversity hotspot out of twenty-four identified by Conservation International (www CI 2002). The Philippines has a history of innovative legislation, participatory resource management, and environmental NGOs intervention. Several sectors articulate distinct views on biodiversity, which provide a potentially interesting range of biodiversity discourses. Decentralisation and democratisation processes are present, albeit unevenly, and potentially allow local people decision-making capacity. Since 1987, the Philippines has developed a more open approach to programmes and legislation. Many sectors were thus involved in developing conservation policy such as the National Integrated Protected Area System (NIPAS). Specific aspects considered when choosing the site for fieldwork were: access to documentation, openness of individuals to interviews, and the activities implemented at the site. The general response of local people to the biodiversity initiative was important. Sites were thus excluded where communities were clearly resistant to the initiative or where positive responses were secured through monetary benefits. Although interesting issues are present, these are the focus of different studies and not the present one (Cairns 1997, Saway 1999, Utiing 2000). The main focus was on the European Union funded National Integrated Protected Area Programme (NIPAP) that began in 1995 and ended in 2001. Given the criteria and because of the variety of user groups, Malampaya Sound Land and Seascape, situated in North Palawan became the chosen site (see figure 1).17

Focus Area NIPAP Malampaya was received well by local fisherfolk organisations at its start in November 1997. Although initially local government opposed the project, by mid-1999 they were supportive.18 The Philippine NGO, Environmental Science 17 Coron Island and Malampaya both used community knowledge as the basis of the

management plan; however initially the Coron Tagbanua did not respond positively to NIPAP (Bryant 2000) The Tagbanua later negotiated and agreed to carry out joint activities with DENR, the consequences of which are discussed in chapter 7.

18 Local government as elected officials rather than in the Foucauldian sense as discussed in Chapter 2.

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for Social Change (ESSC) provided access to key documentation. In some cases, this served as primary data or as a back up to NIPAP documentation. The various conflicts and dialogue processes before and during the Protected Area (PA) declaration process indicated that there were potentially distinct biodiversity discourses at stake. None of the organisations implemented a monetary based livelihood project. Therefore the site presented a basis for studying the extent that the three types of opportunities discussed in chapter 2 were being negotiated by local people who were seemingly responsive to the biodiversity initiative. The initiative (Malampaya Sound Protected Land and Seascape) affects an area of approximately 200,000 hectares with the Sound physically predominant. There are twenty-two communities (barangays), each with a central settlement and four or five satellite settlements called sitios. Due to the uneven power-relations between and within these settlements, the question of which ‘local’ may be asserting opportunities for social change is important. To address this methodologically I decided to use a focus area within Malampaya. Choosing five physically marginalized sitios as the focus area allows the micro-powers within ‘local’ communities to be explored by assessing how well their discourses were represented by their barangays in the PA declaration process. Thus the research design ensures this study avoids assuming group cohesion and instead anticipates differences within and between groups. The five focus communities were sitios from barangays San Jose, Minapla, Binga, Banbanan and Abongan. The first four sitios – Bulalo, Pangay-ayan, Lomombong, and Calapa – are also physically isolated, with no access to official services during storms.19 Abongan is not so isolated but its sitio, Pinigupitan, can be isolated when water cuts off road access (see figure 1).

Groups Involved To discuss the methods and techniques in this chapter, I refer to two types of sectors – local and ‘other’ – due to the difference in the exposure of each to mainstream education as well as basic positions on biodiversity. The principal method to illustrate the various local discourses was community mapping (discussed below). During discussions in the sitios, between five and fifteen people were informally interviewed, but tapes were not used as they were considered intrusive.20 ‘Other sectors’ comprised state agencies, local government, as well as non-government organisations (NGO). In the Philippines, agencies are based at national, regional and local levels and, as such, they often have different institutional histories that can influence discourses. Three representatives were interviewed from each organisation at all levels of operation. Of these representatives, one was usually the head, one the project manager and one was field staff.21

19 These sitios are accessed directly through crossing the Sound by boat or taking the boat out along the West coast up to Liminancong. During rough seas the boats will capsize, so these communities are inaccessible during bad weather. 20 Quotes from these interviews appear in the thesis as the names of the five sitios. For example, Pinigupitan interviews 2000. 21 The list of these interviewees under their institution is provided in the references. They either appear in the text as ‘Name interview year’ or as ‘Institution interview year’ see references.

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NIPAP SITES IN NORTHERN PALAWAN

Figure 1

(Baong)

Yakal

Pinigupitan

Lomombong

Pangay-ayan

Bulalo Calapa

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The interviewees selected either conducted biodiversity activities in the area, or their organisation was involved in the Malampaya PA declaration process. Therefore no one sector was assumed to be homogeneous and the method techniques used indeed assume shared and contested discourses within and between sectors.

Method This thesis combines cultural discourse analysis with a case study approach. The latter is used to investigate a contemporary phenomenon within its ‘real-life’ context (Yin 1994). Other methodologies could have been employed, such as experimental, survey, historical or archival analysis. However, the study is looking at contemporary events surrounding biodiversity in a real time situation with groups whose behaviour cannot be controlled (Yin 1994). Further as the investigation is explanatory and descriptive in content, and multiple variables are involved, a survey would tend to miss the complex storylines and practices between and within the sectors. The approach also allows for several methodological techniques and sources of data to be usefully combined (Bell 1987, Hamel et al 1993). True, there is a possibility of introducing researcher bias into the study. This is a legitimate concern, but cannot be eliminated in any method. Further, this possibility is reduced by using various techniques and by choosing five sitios. The case study method is also criticised for lacking rigour in data collection and analysis, and its reliance on few cases (Hamel et al 1993). Although one example is used in this thesis, it is nonetheless considered adequate.22 Indeed, it is expected to illuminate whether the threefold opportunity structure may explain possible positive responses of local people to a biodiversity initiative. It is not expected to produce a general rule to explain all cases, but rather may be ‘generalised’ back to the theory used. However, quality of data collected in case study is an important concern; ‘quality’ is ensured when the study meets the characteristics of validity, rigour and reliability.

Validity Questions of validity arise in several forms that relate to theory, practice or analysis. To ensure there is theoretical validity the theoretical terms used need to be well defined, the study is justified by relating to a real-world situation, and the methods chosen are appropriate for the theories discussed (Kitchen and Tate 1999). To ensure methodological validity, correct operational procedures need to be established that are valid for the concepts studied. In addition, multiple sources of data are sought to triangulate evidence (Yin 1994). Triangulation occurs when evidence from different sources or methods converge, supporting each other, and which then confirms to the researcher that the data is valid. However, triangulation is a navigational analogy whereby a position is fixed by multiple evidence on a point of truth, in this case it is rather a situation of “using one method and then justifying the results by means of another” (Porter 1994:70). 22 The case study area involved is Malampaya Sound, as part of Northern Palawan which extends to Coron Island thus examples from this protected area are also used on occasion in this thesis.

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To ensure analytical validity, those providing the data commented on the preliminary results. By asking various different groups to validate the results the effects of informant bias was minimised. In any case, the use of multiple sources of data and different representatives within the sector groups, and the appropriate use of combined techniques, was all designed to increase validity. Although such research design can reduce the likelihood that results will be invalid, validity cannot be guaranteed. Hence features that may be considered threats to the validity of the study will be considered in the analysis (Gauld 1999). For example although events documented by a particular official missed out key discursive negotiations, there were other written documents of these same negotiations provided from other actors (see chapter 7). Where one set of ‘official documents’ was produced, supporting evidence was sought though anecdotal or interview evidence provided by other groups.

Reliability Reliability comes into question when the subjectivity of the researcher affects the processes and circumstances under which data is collected so that avoidable bias and errors in the data are produced. A measure of reliability is whether the data collection can be repeated, producing the same results under the same conditions (Kitchen and Tate 1999). In some phenomena though, circumstances being studied may not be present again. However, certain procedures can be used nonetheless to increase reliability. The data was documented using tapes where possible. However, in the sitios it was not possible to tape people. Hence interviews were informal, responding to daily life activities and it was felt taping would be intrusive. Still, notes were taken or in the case of meetings, later transcribed. This may have increased the unreliability of data collection, but allowed data to be captured that would be otherwise lost. This was usually sensitive data such as information regarding ‘illegal’ fishing or logging activities. Discussion topics changing over time, or shifting opinions of groups in response to context is normally a problem of reliability. However, shifting biodiversity storylines are precisely of interest in this thesis. Subjects are never isolated or ‘objectified’, while temporal changes are only a problem in case study research if the circumstances surrounding the change of opinion are not documented and understood. It is because the context cannot be separated from the variables under study that case method is preferred as it responds in a flexible manner to changes, as long as they are well documented and the objective of the study does not change (Yin 1994). Reliability is also affected when different sources give different results for the same event or period, so that there is data inconsistency. Again though, this is only a problem for data that is not expected to change. In these cases, inconsistencies may be overcome by using multiple sources of data, such as various resource user groups and sitios (Kitchen and Tate 1999). Within this study, comments from resource user groups on the community maps enhanced validity and reliability. When they recognised the data interpretations of the researcher, there was assurance of data reliability. Where discrepancies could not be clarified, or if data was not considered reliable, it was simply not used.

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Rigour The question of rigour is reflective of the research process in terms of credibility, transferability of findings, dependability of data and confirmability (Baxter and Eyles 1996). Credibility is a measure of how authentic the results are. A study needs to recognise that no single reality exists but rather multiple realities are constructed. When representing the interpretations of someone’s reality, those who gave the data need to be able to recognise it, thereby making it a credible interpretation. Research ensured that sampling was stratified and purposeful, so that the sub-groups within sectors were included. Comparisons were used to explore commonality and difference of interpretations across groups and within groups. In order to do this Baxter and Eyles (1996) recommend persistent observation focusing on the object of interest. It is for this reason that participant observation was used. Multiple techniques were combined to obtain results for a particular objective, ensuring there were several sources. A credible piece of work is expected to use quotes and maps from several sources or informants (Baxter and Eyles 1996). Transferability is the measure to which findings from the research can fit within contexts outside the study area. To assess this it is necessary to provide detailed descriptions of meanings and their contexts of production, how they were perceived and interpreted (Geertz 193). Baxter and Eyles (1996) recommend that these descriptions should also apply to methodology as well as to interpretations, so that others can understand what was meant and to what degree they can be transferred to other contexts. This case study uses two strategies, descriptive and explanatory. Yin (1994) suggests that the descriptive approach is appropriate where the complexity of the subject can be described in terms of the multiplicity of interactions. The detail of descriptive strategy is necessary to understand the significance of small changes in multiple relations at the local level. Explanatory strategy is necessary to consider why and how the changes came about as well as to explain how significant these changes are. Confirmability is said to be similar to objectivity, but includes both the investigator and the interpretations. The premise being that the researcher is not objective, but brings their own biases to any study. Therefore, they should monitor their own biases and discuss how they have affected the interpretations. Baxter and Eyles (1996) recommend the researcher keeps a journal and uses it to document why certain people were chosen to be interviewed and other areas where bias creeps in. The researcher kept this as it serves as a means of checking how stratified the sectors were in the context of who was available to participate in the various techniques. Having discussed issues surrounding reliability, validity, and rigour, the conceptual link between the data from the case study and the threefold opportunity structure as a theoretical framework needs to be made. Chapter 2 explored the Foucauldian approach and suggested a cultural emphasis of discourse analysis adapted from Hajer (1995). In particular, Myerson and Rydin (1997:30) examine environmental discourses using “rhetorical structure of topic, ethos and figures of argument”. Thus, by using rhetoric analysis to examine various environmental arguments in a wide variety of sources they are able to follow the “dynamic and creative processes of argument” (Myerson and Rydin

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1997:33). In some ways their approach is similar to that proposed here, referred to here as cultural discourse analysis. However, there are significant differences with my approach (see below). Hence we use storylines to follow discursive shifts, rather than the rhetorical structure of text so that visual (community maps), verbal and textual discourses can be analysed. The methodological implications of this approach are now examined

Cultural Discourse Analysis Using cultural discourse analysis to explore activities within a biodiversity initiative allows us to consider reasons why local people may respond positively to it. Reasons were theoretically linked to the three-fold opportunity structure: knowledge claims, sense of place and governance. Changes in the storylines may indicate how these shifts are discursively negotiated within the biodiversity initiative. They may also indicate whether there have been corresponding shifts in complex relations affecting knowledge claims, sense of place and governance. The following questions are thereby raised: what were the changes, how were they changed and by whom? How significant are these changes and what is their material effect? By answering these questions we can explore the extent to which local knowledge claims, sense of place and governance may have been asserted as opportunities. Hence, we will ask how extensive was this positive response, and how was it expressed? Did some groups respond negatively, if so how? These types of questions help ensure methodological rigour by seeking data that may ‘disprove’ (as well as prove) the theoretical framework (Mason 1994). Specifically four aspects of cultural discourse analysis will be addressed: discourse identification; context of production; discursive practices; and material consequences of discursive practice. All are evaluated within the context of the threefold opportunity structure. First, discourse identification analyses biodiversity storylines between and within the sectors involved in the Initiative. Patterns of storylines, the subjects within them and their changes relate to particular relations. These subjects may be clusters of symbols or their spatial relations on maps. Analysing storylines, metaphors (including map symbols) and the types of activities described, indicate how extensive the shift towards local knowledge claims may have been. More than one storyline may be expressed or there may be several woven together. Second, the discursive context of production analyses the positions of the sectors, prior to negotiations as well as during them. As such, the context of storyline formation is evaluated. Whether they form through a context predominately historical, institutional or contemporary cultural is of interest here. Third, discursive practices, such as negotiations in the biodiversity initiative are analysed to evaluate how and which storylines are used to persuade and ultimately make decisions. As such we will ask whether there were changes made within a given storyline. If there were no changes within the agreed storyline, which one predominates in discursive agreements? For example, the protected area declaration process (NIPAP-II) used participatory planning as a discursive practice. Hence, where local residents were involved we need to examine how genuine the local participation was and thus clarify who asserted what in the processes. Again, how local groups are persuaded or they

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themselves persuade, through these negotiations is as important as what resulted from them. Finally, material consequences will be assessed whether shared, hybrid or new storylines result as discursive outputs. These outputs may be in the form of new discursive coalitions, alliances or agreements. Indeed, there may even be new governance institutions. Types of coalitions and alliances forming through the discursive practices indicate, for example, whether shifts secure access to common biodiversity resources. Assessing the material consequences of these outputs is consistent with the Foucauldian approach where particular questions must be asked (Potter and Wetherell 1994). Where and what are the counter discourses being formed as well as by whom and with what effect? The context of formation of counter discourses may thus indicate whether shifts have been made that favour local people rather than others. Finally it remains to be assessed whether positive local social change was a material consequence of the negotiation processes and whether these consequences were equally beneficial to all local groups.

Techniques Employed To ensure that rigorous, valid and reliable data was collected from each of the various sectors involved in the PA declaration process, several techniques were used in combination. This allowed triangulation of method, whilst not treating all sectors the same. To reveal consistent data within the two groups (i.e. local and other) I combined techniques such as documentation analysis, participant observation, community mapping and three types of interviews.

Documentary Sources Several sources of documentation exist relating to the PA declaration process including local government discussions, minutes of official meetings, papers written by NGOs as well as public documents such as annual reports and magazines. The principle analytical considerations were the details surrounding the construction of knowledge claims, storylines invoked by language or images and the institutional positions of the sectors, as well as inconsistencies and differences within and between documents of the same source. These illuminated multiple discourses within a sector or where micro-powers within the sector suppress alternative discourses.

Observation Participant observation was used to verify discourses, discursive outcomes, and the quality of data in official documentation of the processes. After the declaration process had finished, I spent five days in each sitio, living in the houses belonging to local leaders. This step built trust and an opportunity to directly observe resource user groups in their daily lives, which verified information gathered from other techniques. During daily activities, I accompanied local people into the forest, fields or on boats. This clarified local knowledge claims. Notes were taken immediately afterwards as it was not physically possible during the activities. This highly participatory and relaxed technique enhances data gathering (Okely 1994). Transect observations validate findings from community maps and verify what

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groups say are activities or practices (Barton et al 1997). However, whether this is overt or covert observation needs to be examined. The question of whether to use overt and covert observation is an ethical question that is complex in shifting field conditions. This is a question of establishing and maintaining trust from and respect for those being researched (Kitchen and Tate 1999). In my experience under field conditions a combination of overt and covert observation is needed. Thus I stated at the beginning of each activity that I would observe and take notes, and asked permission to do so. During the transect walks or boat trips people were made aware that I was there to observe them. However, during other activities participants were not necessarily reminded that they were being observed. The ethical issue is also a matter of how observational data is fed back to those who were part of the research process. Names, dates, or other specific data were hidden so that individuals were not embarrassed. Observations were shared with the groups as general statements of behaviour needing clarification or verification rather than specific comments on the behaviour of an individual. This maintains ethical sensitivity in terms of confidentiality (Seale 1998, Kitchen and Tate 1999). Within this context covert observations revealed to them aspects of their behaviour or lives that they were not really aware of or did not wish to confront. However, residents of these communities decided how they wanted to act upon the information, if at all.

Community Mapping Community mapping is a participatory research activity and provides an opportunity for direct participant observation. I had anticipated using a variety of participatory activities. However, local people seemed exhausted after one day of mapping so I used the venue for group discussion and interviewing participants who showed specialised knowledge on the issues identified. I have previous experience working with these methods with communities, and found them highly insightful in terms of the quality of data obtained (AFN 1995, Poffenberger 1999). They are becoming common techniques in community based resource management activities more generally (see Chambers 1983, Barton et al 1997, Hodgson and Schroeder 2002). This was also similar to the technique used by ESSC (the assisting NGO) to gather data from the communities as part of the PA declaration process. This made an assessment on whose local knowledge claims were asserted possible. Community mapping allows a group of people to express their perceptions of a topic visually (see figure 2). The features drawn by various members were used to draw out collective discussions. The facilitator asked questions to allow those drawing to fill in more of the gaps in their knowledge about their place. These knowledge gaps are observed as blank areas on the map. Local people were the ones to choose what, how, and where to draw. The size of the plastic was large (6 square meters). Once the map was finalised those participating were asked to comment on the overall picture, identifying what and where they saw particular problems and solutions (ESSC 1998b, Fortmann 1996). Once drawn, the data was digitised exactly and multiple copies were reproduced on paper.

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Once spatial data was digitised, I returned it to the community, as the NGO ESSC also did (ESSC 1998b). The maps obtained from the groups were a self-documentation of knowledge about their biodiversity and the relationships present in their area. The advantage of the technique is that ‘shy’ members of a group can be involved (Walpole et al 1994, ESSC 1998b). This technique encourages two-way communication and helps local people to see links, patterns, and relationships in their territory without participants knowing how to read and write. However, it can sometimes give only superficial information if the context for the activity is not clear. Therefore, it needs to be complemented with other techniques. The people were given a whole day to conduct the activity; most of this time was used to gather a group, for them to discuss what should be drawn and to wait for one person to start the process. It was made clear from the beginning to those involved that the activity was for personal research. The people were promised that no other use would be made of the map, unless they gave permission to do so. They were given a copy of the map once it was completed.

Community Mapping at Lomombong

Figure 2

In depth Discussions with Resource User Groups Initially focus groups were considered, however one of the characteristics of this technique is that the participants should not know each other. In small communities in the Philippines this is an unrealistic assumption. Another

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inappropriate aspect of focus groups is the superficial nature of the information gathered and the lack of accountability of this method to those that participate in the activity (Burgess et al. 1988). The technique is designed to extract generally accepted perceptions from a large group in a once off activity. It does not allow participants to gain from the activity, as they are unlikely to come away with any more information than they already knew. As focus groups are normally run for two to three hours at the most, with the facilitator setting and controlling agendas, the depth of information and discussion is often only superficial (Burgess et al 1988). Thus, in depth discussion groups were the preferred option. Although still a difficult technique to facilitate due to the numbers of people present, it provides insights into the collective understanding of biodiversity and its opportunities and the management activities conducted. The groups formed naturally as a discussion group after the community mapping activities. These groups provided further details on the cultural practices and knowledge systems in the communities. Insights were gained by asking about place-based relationships, in terms of trade, resource access control, and communications. Still it is a criticism of both focus and in depth discussion groups that dominant members of the group can bias the discussions or the later activities. Hence informal interviews and casual discussions were also conducted (appendix 1.1).

Interviews with Key Local Informants Two types of interviews were chosen that responded to the characteristics of the local sector and ‘other sectors’. Although the difference was in how the interviews were conducted, the guide questions used covered the same topics (see appendix 1.2 and 1.3). Unstructured interviews were preferred for key informants from the biodiversity user groups in the sitios. Open-ended guide questions were prepared and woven into the conversation, where appropriate (see appendix 1.1). These unstructured interviews encouraged two-way communication in a village setting where interviewees felt at ease (Silverman 2001). This is a good technique for obtaining very detailed information and rich quotes. The flow of the interviews depended upon researcher sensitivity and the ability to recognise and suppress researcher biases (Barton et al 1997). There were instances where a translator was needed to confirm translations and cultural interpretations, but the translator was well briefed and a young woman, posing no ‘threat’ to anyone in the sitios. Both the researcher and translator stayed five days within each of the five sitios. Generally qualitative research interviews are a powerful technique for gaining insights into the experiences, beliefs, and worldview of individuals (McCracken 1988). Although structured interviews (with clearly defined set of questions) may ensure less bias and error, they lack flexibility. Interviewees vary in their depth of knowledge and the variety of information they can share. Many cultures based on oral traditions are not comfortable with writing their opinions. Where mistrust has been a problem in the past, an interviewee will be less willing to commit their opinions and experiences to paper (Barton et al 1997). Semi-unstructured interviews with prepared questions guiding the interviewer, can respond more easily to these points. Each interviewee was given the same sort of guide questions, but depending upon the answers, the interviewer probed responses (see appendix 1). There

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were two guide question formats used; one for the majority of the thirty-nine interviews and one for eight local user group representatives (appendix 1.3). These eight interviews were conducted with key resource user groups not found in the five sitios. A complete list of interviewees is in the references. The questions were structured to avoid using the term biodiversity and instead drew out activities, and frequency of the biodiversity resource used. Local people were not comfortable with this type of interview, which resulted in a difference in data richness obtained by using other techniques in the five sitios. Depth of data from the other thirty-nine interviews was rich enough for analysis. Most of the thirty-nine interviews lasted two hours. Within this time, the semi-structured questions were asked as well as other probing questions, depending upon the person interviewed, and their previous responses. Previous experience has shown that those in high official positions prefer less formal styles of questioning rather than structured interviews. Both types of interviews were considered less intrusive than questionnaires and were easier to accommodate each respondent (Barton et. al. 1997).

Research Flexibility and Accountability Before turning to the Philippines context in Chapter 4, it is important finally to consider research flexibility and accountability. Flexibility is considered here first as the problems encountered and how they were overcome, then accountability to participants is considered second. There were three minor problems during the data gathering stage that affected the work in small ways. The Philippine Congress impeached President Estrada in January 2001, consequently government officials were not willing to be interviewed during this period. I left their interviews until last, when political stability had returned and they then gave interviews. In Malampaya, one entire sitio and one interviewee elsewhere were not cooperative. These residents did not want the biodiversity initiative and they thought I was from NIPAP because I was a European and interested in biodiversity. Thus in sitio Pangay-ayan some women refused to participate in community mapping and preferred playing cards to giving interviews. This incident was included as part of the analysis on resistance discourses. The interviewee was a sudsud fisher whose practice was stopped by the Protected Area, he spoke an obscure Filipino dialect, rather than Tagalog, which he knew would be better understood. Informal group discussions took place with other similar fishers at siito Pinigupitan. Burgess et al (1988) also remark on the importance of researcher accountability to participants. The lack of accountability in focus groups was stated as a reason not to use the technique. In contrast, this aspect is important in my own research where accountability ‘loops’ were included in the research design. People were always told what and why the activity was being conducted. Communities were asked to determine research logistics, such as time and place for the activities. Sometimes they chose from options for the sake of planning other interviews. Although people’s participation in my activities was voluntary, I contributed to local economies and costs of my stay with buying fuel and bringing food.

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I made other non-monetary contributions by providing each community with copies of their map in various sizes and copies of photographs of their place taken during research activities. A small report was also made for each sitio and its barangay. This highlighted points of concern they had raised during the interviews and discussion, provided more information on their problems and made them aware of the concerns of other communities. It also presented their own concerns in a way that clarified their options so they could take action if they wanted to. However, this information did not influence the communities to assert opportunities in the declaration process because the negotiations analysed in chapters 5, 6 and 7 were already finished. That said, I do hope that this research will increase local people’s assertion of future opportunities (hence why in part all participants will receive copies of this research). The biodiversity conservation context of the Philippines needs to be explored next in chapter 4. Once the national and regional contexts for the biodiversity initiative are understood, it will then examine the local contexts through a general overview of knowledge claim struggles, existing place-based relations, and governance struggles. Chapters 5, 6 and 7 thereafter will focus on assertions of local knowledge claims, local sense of place and local governance respectively. Chapter 8 discusses the broader implications of this study.

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4 Conservation Management in the Philippines This chapter explores the context of biodiversity initiatives in the Philippines in general, and in Palawan and in Malampaya Sound in particular. The discussion of the latter returns to the threefold opportunity structure of knowledge claims, sense of place and governance introduced first in chapter 2 and which provides the frame for the three empirical chapters. The actual NIPAP process at Malampaya is also examined here to provide further context.

Philippine Policy Situation The Philippines has an international reputation for high quality legislation, inadequately implemented (Serrano 1994). Recent legislation is rooted in the 1987 Philippine Constitution, which stipulates the right for Filipino people to have a healthful and balanced ecology, encourages community-based approaches, recognizes and promotes the right of indigenous people and protects the rights of subsistence fishers.23 It also re-affirms State powers and authority over all public domains including natural resources.24 The Aquino administration re-organised several agencies including the Department of Environmental and Natural Resources (DENR) to regulate and monitor timber license agreements as well as to formulate a national conservation strategy.25 Even with this re-orientation, it was official expectation that forests would remain areas for exploitation aiding national development (AFN 1995). Many non-government organizations (NGOs) in 1987 also re-orientated themselves from human rights issues and anti-Marcos activism to environmental or indigenous people’s rights. Former anti-Marcos activists joined state agencies or NGOs (Broad with Cavanagh 1993, Arquiza 1996a, Bryant 2000). In the early 1990s the DENR initiated much people-orientated legislation reversing decades of neglect.26 Thus Certificate of Ancestral Domain Claim (CADC) for indigenous peoples (IPs) began in Palawan in 1991, extending to the whole country two years later.27 DENR was also slowly forced into partnership with Local Government units (LGU) through the new Local Government Code (1991) giving the latter new powers to protect the environment.28 This shift also gave local governments control of municipal waters previously under the National Bureau of Fisheries (BFAR). 29 DENR partnerships increased when in 1995, Community Based Forest Management (CBFM) was recognised as a national strategy and a year later DENR institutionalised Community Based Forest Management Agreements (CBFMAs)

23 Art II, sections 15,16 and 22. Art XIII, section 7. 24 The Mura Law of 1894, affirmed in 1935 by the Americans as the Regalian doctrine, forfeits to the state all titles that were not adjusted or failed to seek absolute ownership under the Spanish royal decree of 1880 (ESSC 1999b) and confirmed by Art XII, sec. 2. 25 Corazon Aquino was President of the Philippines from 1986-1992. PEO 192, 1987 reorganises state agencies and creates the DENR. 26 Under the 1975 Forestry Code both indigenous people’s and uplanders were ‘technically illegal occupants’ of forestlands, PD 705. 27 DAO 91-61, DAO 93-02. 28 RA 7160, Sec. 447, 1(vi). 29 RA 7160, Sec 131.

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for forest dwelling communities.30 These policies, although not primarily biodiversity initiatives, still supported community protection and resource use. ‘People-orientated’ legislation was perhaps a pragmatic response by state agencies previously reliant on a licensing system to allocate forest management responsibilities to commercial interests. Many of those in the Philippine Congress were political elites with fortunes tied to the timber industry. Yet a series of environmental ‘disasters’ in the late 1980s and early 1990s gave public attention to the consequences of irresponsible commercial practices – the worst incident was a flood in Ormoc, Leyte Island, which killed over 4,000 people. Later analysis concluded that it was caused by excessive logging and consequently, the DENR cancelled the operations of all timber licenses (Vitug 1993). This step was considered a significant conservation victory by environmental NGOs. Indeed with its emphasis on community forestry as a national strategy, the Fidel Ramos administration (1992-1998) was considered by some to be the ‘green’ regime (Steinberg 2000). Whatever the merits of this view, a step back occurred under President Joseph Estrada elected in 1998, who was accused of Marcos style cronyism and corruption until he was removed from office in January 2001 after public protests. Despite these changes in administration, Marcos’ norms have prevailed, and in some provinces, local DENR are reputedly still corrupt, even without logging concessions (cf. Coronel 1996).31

Key Conservation Policies Against the backdrop of these broad political and legal shifts, several key conservation policies were developed to address biodiversity concerns. Conservation strategies began with an American-style national parks system emphasising segregated areas from settlement and occupancy (cf. Stolton and Dudley 1999).32 By the 1980s, it was evident that many of these Philippine Parks suffered after their creation – in part, because legislation was too broad and difficult to implement. In response, environmental NGOs and some DENR officials sought support from international organizations to strengthen conservation legislation. International funding institutions allowed some within DENR to push ‘unpopular’ policies (Ross 1996). As a result, NGO partners (WWF and Haribon) produced the first draft of the Integrated Protected Areas System and a list of priority sites in 1986 (Korten 1994, Calanog et al. 1998). The World Bank further supported an interagency study and in 1989, the Integrated Protected Areas System emerged.33 International NGOs and donors further supported DENR and Haribon in a debt-for-nature swap from 1992 (DENR 1997).34 Similarly the

30 EO 263, and DAO 96-29. 31 Ferdinand Marcos was elected President of the Philippines, 1965-1972 but declared martial law thereafter and ruled as autocrat until he finally lost power in 1985. He was infamous worldwide for patronage politics and corruption (Steinberg 2000). 32 LA. 3915, 1932, see also PP 219 (1976) and PP 2152 (1981) as Palawan examples of this type of broad legislation. 33 This became the National Integrated Protected Areas System, NIPAS, RA 7586 in 1992. In 1994 the WB then funded 10 sites in an eight-year implementation of NIPAS with a consortium of NGOs, CPPAP. 34 From this partnership an endowment fund was established in 1993 for conservation projects, administered by the Foundation of Philippine Environment (www. FPE 2002).

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European Union (EU) also backed this new national conservation orientation by funding a five year implementation programme (NIPAP) in eight other conservation priority sites. Figure 3 locates all eighteen-priority sites, including Malampaya Sound. Other legislation passed in the late 1990s has had indirect conservation effects, and hence are relevant to the situation in Malampaya Sound. These include the Indigenous People’s Rights Act (IPRA) 1997 and the Fisheries Code of the Philippines 1998.35 IPRA provides a legal process to convert ancestral domain claims into ancestral domain titles and mandates the formation of a ‘new‘ official agency the National Commission on Indigenous Peoples. A consequence of this change was that forestlands with ancestral domain titles were wrested from the authority of DENR.36 Some consider a provision under this IPRA, on free and prior informed consent, a sufficient legal mechanism for indigenous people’s to regulate entry into protected areas even without legal title to the land (Saway 1999).37 This possibly challenges in turn the management of protected areas – shifting power from the DENR-PAMB to IP groups for example. Indeed, the legislation suggested a basic contradiction at the heart of the Philippine state. Thus, IPRA provides for self-determination and governance for IPs, even as NIPAS only recognises their rights subject to limits set and controlled by DENR. In any event, the implementation of IPRA was stalled until late 2000.38 In addition, the Fisheries Code (1998) supports sustenance fisherfolk in municipal waters and bans the operation of any boat greater than three tonnes. The use of mobile fishing methods is also banned in municipal waters, but certain hand held practices are allowed with regulated nets. Importantly the Code states “fine mesh nets are unlawful provided that the prohibition on the use of fine mesh nets shall not apply to the gathering of fry, glass eels, elvers, tabios and alamang and such species which by their nature are small but already mature”.39 A method used to catch the seasonal alamang and fry is a hand held push net, sudsud. The local significance of this clause to the implementation of NIPAS in Malampaya is discussed in later chapters.

NIPAS and Local Participation The NIPAS Act (1992) sets the stage for much of what is described in this study. Thus, it stipulates community involvement through thirteen steps legally required to declare a protected area. The development of a general management plan (GMP) with a multiple zoned map is a key output. The Act also specifies the need for public consultations but does not specify a minimum number of public hearings. Rather it simply declares that they must “conduct public hearing(s) at the locations nearest to the area affected”.40

35 IPRA RA 8371 and RA 8550. 36 Ownership is defined under this act limiting the sale of the special titles to non-IPs. 37 Access to Biological and Genetic Resources and to indigenous knowledge is allowed within ancestral lands and domains “only with a prior informed consent of such communities, obtained in accordance with the customary laws of the concerned community” (sec. 35, RA 8371). 38 In 1999 a petition was filed against IPRA citing the Regalian Doctrine. Yet a High Court decision in late 2000 supported the IPRA so that is now being implemented as originally conceived. 39 Sec. 89, RA 8550. 40 RA 7586 Sec .5.d.5.ii.

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Priority Protected Areas of the Philippines

Figure 3

Mt Malindang National Park, Misamis Occidental

Coron Island Palawan

El Nido Marine Reserve Palawan

Malampaya Sound Protected Land and Seascape Palawan

Mt Guiting-guiting National Park Sibuyan Island, Romblon

Mt Iglit-Baco National Park, Mindoro Occidental

Mt isarog National Park Camarines Sur

Mt Pulag Nationa Park Benguet

Legend

NIPAP Sites

CPPAP Sites

Further, local participation in decision-making is assumed through involvement on the multi-sectoral Protected Area Management Board (PAMB).41 The PAMB 41 RA 7586 Sec 11, the Board consists of a Chair, RED-DENR, and one representative from: every Provincial development office, every Municipal government, every barangay and every tribal community (equivalent to IPs) within the protected area. Also included are at least three

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has various responsibilities including planning decisions, boundary delineation, rule development, programme implementation, and staff monitoring.42 The Boards guiding policy framework here is the GMP. The PA Supervisor (PASu) as the executive secretary is directly responsible to the PAMB and Regional DENR officer as chairman.43 A potentially sensitive activity under the act is the census of occupants which documents people and their land within the PA boundary. Any person occupying an area in the PA and using subsistence resources is eligible for stewardship and alternative livelihoods rights.44 Further, areas used by IPs are formally recognised through their ancestral domain claims but are also acknowledged informally as cultural zones under NIPAS.45 There was a clear tension here in the legislation. Thus, the Act further states that “this process shall terminate with the issuance of a CADC and/or Community forest stewardship agreement until such time as Congress provides other forms of recognition for ancestral domain”.46 The recognition provided for by Congress is the ancestral domain title (i.e. under IPRA) but this has not been harmonised legally. Without harmonisation, during implementation some PAMBs interpret these acts as being in conflict (Saway 1999). The implementation of NIPAS is further complicated in Palawan due to its unique history of resource exploitation and environmental policy and practice.

Northern Palawan Regional Exploitation Palawan is a long thin island which, due to its geophysical location, is not usually prone to natural disasters such as typhoons or earthquakes as are much of the rest of the country. The natural resources of Palawan are still in a relatively good condition. Thus with 45 percent forest cover in 1992 the province compared favourably with a figure of total Philippine forest cover estimated at 15 percent in 1992 (ESSC 1999c).47 In part, this is because exploitation started later than elsewhere and was possibly less intense. For example, in Northern Palawan logging was begun by the Valesquez-Wallace company in the 1920s. However logging really took hold there under J. Alvarez, as president and owner of Pagdanan Timber Products Inc. with Marcos awarding his first concession in 1974. The Alvarez operations took on an almost sovereign rule with reports that he had 120 military trained armed guards, and that he controlled congressional leaders, other Palawan politicians, the Bishop of Palawan and local media (Broad with Cavanagh 1993).48 Leaders of worker organisations accused the armed guards of killing workers and other human rights abuse. Alvarez ‘ruled’ Palawan in this way until 1992 (Broad with Cavanagh 1993). Yet the Alvarez shadow remains. DENR even awarded him an industrial tree plantation agreement in 1991, although due to

representatives from local NGOs, including POs and one representative from other national government agencies. 42 DAO 25-92. Sec. 18. 43 DAO 25-92 Sec. 38. 44 DAO 25-92 Sec. 3e. 45 DAO 25-92, Sec.10, g. deal with cultural zones and sections 44 to 49 with the Ancestral Domain Claims in NIPAS. 46 DAO 25-92, Sec. 47. 47 This includes both old growth and secondary growth forest. 48 Palawan Born Speaker Ramon Mitra served as speaker of the House of Representatives from 1986-1992, but lost in the presidential election to Fidel Ramos.

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the logging moratorium in 1992, the agency thereafter suspended it (Vitug 1993).49 Unsurprisingly, Palawan DENR has a reputation for corruption at various levels. Thus, Alvarez was allowed to get away with show-case reforestation which limited re-planting to roads (Broad with Cavanagh 1993). As late as 1996 there was illegal logging in San Vicente where Alvarez is based and possibly in adjoining areas. Environmental NGOs have grown in response to these trends. The Haribon Foundation started a high profile anti-logging campaign in Palawan in 1988, which many local and national politicians opposed. In 1989, a group of anti-Marcos activists formed Haribon Palawan to challenge Alvarez. In November 1991 ten Haribon members and four other NGO workers were arrested on trumped up charges of subversion (Joselito Alisuag as the executive director of Haribon Palawan was one). However, the commercial log ban for Palawan imposed by DENR through the influence of Haribon and other NGOs in 1992 helped shift the power in the province (Arquiza 1996a). Palawan NGOs have continued to be political (Arquiza 1996b). In the 1992 and 1998 elections, for example, Haribon campaigned for the political rivals of Mitra and Alvarez. “It’s been a strategy from the beginning to back and support the campaign of certain political figures that were pro-environment” (Aliswag interview 2001). Due to these struggles, there is a higher environmental awareness of local residents compared to other islands in the country. It was recognised early by officials that Palawan required a different approach to development. The result was notably the Strategic Environmental Plan (SEP) supported by the European Union (EU).50 This provided a national budget allocation for Palawan and created the Palawan Council for Sustainable Development (PCSD), as a multisectoral management board. The executive committee of the PCSD is directly under the Office of the President of the Philippines, and its director is a political appointee. Its mandate is to set environmental policy through a system of management zones to ensure sustainable development. Those who are designated to implement SEP policies are the Municipal Councils and Mayors. Yet, how PCSD was supposed to work with the DENR – with its national mandate to manage the environment – was not made clear (Arquiza 1996a). In the end, PCSD has had very little operational budget and limited technical skills. In practice, it reviews DENR decisions and seeks to make them a little more accountable by not approving certain projects deemed not to be in the interests of Palawan residents (Matulac interview 2000).

Malampaya Sound Situated in Northern Palawan, the 34 km body of water is known as one of the most productive waters in Palawan due to high zooplankton levels. It is an economically significant fishing ground that has been subject to commercial exploitation since the 1920s due to its high biodiversity. The multiple habitats in the Sound provide the basis for a rich biodiversity, and the montane forest of Mt Capaos quickly transitions into rare lowland rainforests. The biodiversity value of the area was increased further when in 1998 the Sound was confirmed as the only Philippine habitat for the Irrawaddy Dolphin (Orcaella brevirostris). The 49 It was due to expire 2015 and is located in the hills between Malampaya Sound and El Nido. 50 Finalised in 1987, but eventually passed in 1992

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largest feature of this area though is the species rich mangrove forest wetlands. Apart from the old growth mangroves there are also beach forests, sea grass beds and corals. This structural and habitat diversity combines with extensive differences in the salinity of the Sound itself. Its mangroves start as brackish muddy waters and increase to clear blue salt water at the two exits into the South China Sea. Winds called the North East and South East monsoons bring distinct seasonal fluctuations within the Sound. These factors combine to provide a high diversity in the biological resources, and the latter in turn provide many livelihood opportunities for over one hundred sitios living around the shores of the Sound (see figure 4). Settlements are very distinct culturally, and depend on a particular combination of resources. The first migrants came to Taytay during the time of the Spanish (circa 17th century). Those settling before the 1970s are long-term migrants – so called Palaweneos. They often came with the fishing fleets or logging companies. Migration continued in the 1980s but intensified during the 1992 to avoid peace and order problems in Mindanao and Negros (Ocampo 1996).51 The Tagbanua as the original inhabitants now live within a few sitios, and form seven distinct groups. Although many Tagbanua own land, their sense of development seems to be different from national and international norms due to a reputation for being ‘not good with money’ (Yakal discussions 1999). The Tagbanua of Malampaya have thus continuously moved further down the shore to avoid migrants settling first in Old Guinlo, then Baong, and finally in the hills of Yakal. Indeed, the Yakal Tagbanua were the only group that local government and other organisations, such as NGOs knew about. However, an equally old group exists the other side of Mt Capaos, along the west coast. For these Tagbanua sitio Lomombong has always been their centre, and the hills their refuge. In practice, both the Sounds and the bays on the West Coast are common pool resources and various conflicts over practices and volumes of catch arise between communities and within them (see figure 5). These local struggles however have taken place in a much broader political arena, where recent historical struggles over knowledge claims, resource access relations and various organisational alliances have been highly influential in forming the socio-political characteristics of the local communities. The recent past also provided the context for Malampaya Sound Protected Land and Seascape as a NIPAP implementation site. Therefore, initially we need to explore briefly the historical struggles through the three-fold opportunity structure of knowledge claims, place-based relations and governance set out in chapter 2. This provides a suitable basis for subsequent analysis of the last two years of NIPAP, during which it implemented the 13 steps to declare Malampaya a protected area – the focus of the detailed analysis contained in chapters 5, 6 and 7.

51 During this time the New People’s Army, militant arm of the communist party as well as Muslim separatists were involved in armed struggles with the Philippine military.

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Figure 4

1 56

1

The Inner Sound, looking onto the hills of Barangay Abongan.

Middle Sound from Barangay Pancol

Outer Sound, near Barangay Liminancong

Malampaya Sound

Figure 5 Looking up into the Middle Sound from Old Guinlo

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Smallest-scale fishers, with canoes.

Small scale fishers with motored boats

Fish corals with green muscles growing on the bamboo stems.

Hand made Fish traps

Gathering crabs from a crab net, eight are used to catch either crab or shrimps.

Small-scale Fishing Activities

Figure 6

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Fish pen users, growing out groupers.

Medium-scale Fishing Activities

Figure 7

Fish corals and pens

Lift nets are drawn up with pulleys to catch many fish in the large fine nets.

Larger boats of three tones and above are used to fish the Outer Sound

3 59

Struggles Over Knowledge Claims in Malampaya Historical struggles between groups with particular cultural practices and knowledge systems have been a continuous part of life in the area. These have occurred both within and between communities but also between and with non-residents, some of whom have commercial interests. Yet, the stage was being set for the advent of the biodiversity initiative. Meanwhile in 1995 Baong fishers invited an NGO to assist them with some of these struggles. On the other hand, the Municipal government were trying to develop plans in response to the LGU code even as NIPAP started implementing activities in neighbouring El Nido in 1996 and a year later entered Malampaya. In 1997 a second NGO (FEEDER) started implementing a project in the Outer Sound. These organisations had various approaches to working with local knowledge and added to the various struggles that were already within the Sound. Before these differences are briefly explored, it is necessary to examine the various cultural practices used within the Sound.

Different Local Knowledge Claims This section discusses the general types of local knowledge claims in Malampaya in light of local fishing practices. This serves to clarify historical local struggles where local fishers have long sought official acknowledgement of their practices as opposed to commercial practices. To appreciate these struggles, it needs to be recognised that there are three broad categories here –small, medium and large scale fishers – all of which use different practices. Further they form distinct groups due to the types and size of boat which is important because this restricts mobility and therefore determines volumes and species caught as well as areas fished. In figure 6, several examples of small scale fishing practices are given. Thus, the smallest-scale fishers use hand dug canoes and are restricted to the Inner Sound and rivers. Smallest-scale fishing practices use very low technology that is usually handmade. Other small-scale fishers have larger motorized boats and, with greater mobility they can fish with nets in the Inner Sound even during choppy weather unlike smallest-scale fishers. A series of passive fishing practices are also used by small-scale fishers such fish traps, fish corals for prawns/shrimps, green mussel collecting and fish pens. All these subsistence fishers tend to have detailed knowledge of marine species, seasonality and the movements of species in the Sound. Medium-scale fishers on the other hand tend to use much larger boats, fish in groups or have a larger quantity of passive gear. The boats in this category are usually bigger than those discussed above but smaller than three tonnes. Figure 7 shows their main activities. The volumes of catch and capital outlay for gear notably differentiate medium-scale fishing. In contrast, figure 8 shows the large-scale fishers with boats greater than three tonnes. These large trawlers use scrape nets, large lights to attract fish into the catch area, compressed air or even bash the corals directly to frighten fish into waiting nets. By 1984 these vessels were renowned for using dynamite and using children as ‘slave’ labour to frighten the fish (Bulalo interviews 2001). Much of the struggle over cultural practices of concern to this thesis has centred on the efforts of small-scale fishers trying to get their perspectives and practices acknowledged officially so as to ensure access to fishing areas. Reliant on

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basic technology, they are the first group to be adversely affected when marine biodiversity is reduced either by volume or by species. It was such a group of small-scale fishers at Baong that first contacted Tambuyog Development Centre (Tambuyog), a Manila based NGO. Tambuyog thereafter organised communities in the Malampaya with a noticeable impact on knowledge affecting events of interest here.

Hybrid Knowledge Claims Tambuyog started biodiversity management in late 1996, working with People’s Organisations (POs) organised in three Inner Sound barangays (Old Guinlo, Baong and Banbanan). Members of these barangays with specialised local knowledge and leadership potential assisted in gathering local knowledge to develop a fisheries management plan for the Inner Sound. Although the Tambuyog plan used some local knowledge, it was still heavily weighted towards scientific data (see Jarabejo 1997). Even then local government rejected this plan because it did not involve them and indeed was labelled by some to be anti-government or ‘communist’. In general, the Malampaya context illustrated a wider trend namely that it was important which organisation conducted the research as sources were not all equally legitimate locally (Alisuag interview 2000). This occurred within the state as well as between its agencies and civil society. For example, national agencies produced a hybrid knowledge claim that was not always acceptable to provincial officials because although the legitimacy of scientific knowledge was acknowledged, it was also resented (Tambuyog interview 2000). Thus agencies with scientific qualifications considered themselves to have greater legitimacy than NGOs in gathering data, for example DENR-Protected Areas and Wildlife Bureau (PAWB). However other organisations also gathered scientific data in the area, but often their staff were personally connected to national officials through attending the same university for example, NIPAP, Conservation International, and WWF-Philippines. Whether state agency or NGO-initiated, a top down approach typified data gathering in which science-based knowledge claims emphasised biodiversity as the amount of endemism rather than as an element in human-environment interaction. Many of the scientists working in these organisations knew each other and were hence mutually supportive. A notable exception here was the Philippine Working Group (PWG) whose members were practitioners from several organisations such as the DENR, NGOs, donors, development workers, and technical specialists that had diverse skills and knowledge backgrounds.

Development Knowledge Claims A pattern of political power existed in Malampaya that supported science-based knowledge systems over local claims. Development claims, meanwhile were distinct but linked to knowledge-based struggles over conservation. Thus for example, the local government development claim was based on using natural and social scientific knowledge drawn from an informal alliance between local officials and NGO, in order to maximise economic resource use. The official scientific knowledge was drawn from the Municipalities’ own fisheries expert, a former BFAR employee.

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Commercial Trawlers with large drag nets

Trawlers usually operate in a fleet of up to seven vessels

Murami still operate the deeper seas, but come in to collect water and wood from San Jose.

Large-scale Fishing Activities

Figure 8

They have a large number of crew, usually from their place of origin in the Visayas region.

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5

Legend

Taytay Local Government Proposed Fisheries Plan

Figure 9

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The assisting NGO meanwhile was an organisation of former BFAR employees, called FEEDER.52 Through an informal alliance, they developed an official fisheries plan (see figure 9). This plan epitomised this link between development and conservation claims. Thus it considered various practices used in the Sound, but depended on scientific knowledge emphasizing sustainable use and development of marine resources. Yet, key commercial relations were embedded prominently within this knowledge claim. As figure 9 shows, the proposed official management zones emphasized commercial investments and allowed exclusive rights to be awarded to business elites for the development of certain resources in both the Inner and Outer Sounds. However, when this plan was presented for its first community consultation in early August 1998, the local people rejected it. In the meeting POs and other local fishers demanded local government approve their fisheries code instead. Against this rejection by local fishers, the Municipality promised not to implement its plan until there had been a process of further consultation with communities. It is against the back drop of this knowledge based struggle that the biodiversity initiative may be seen to offer possible opportunities to residents asserting their local knowledge claims. Indeed, the context may indeed explain why residents might respond positively. However equally knowledge claims legitimised by the initiative must also have the approval of local government. Chapter 5 assesses the extent the biodiversity initiative was able to meet this multifaceted challenge.

Struggle for Place-Based Relations in Malampaya Knowledge claims link to place-based relations particularly those that affect access to common resources, such as the aquatic biodiversity of the Sound. This section considers struggles associated with place relations in the period leading to the NIPAP PA declaration process. This provides a context for understanding why certain organisations reacted the way they did during the PA declaration process – our focus in chapter 6.

Market Place-based Relations of Local Fishers Market activities have long had an impact on local biodiversity and place relations. Thus, the largest revenues from the Sound have involved selling live fish from the fish cages as well as the sheer volume of fish caught from lift-nets. The live fish trade is linked to sodium cyanide and is tightly controlled by Taiwanese traders and capitalists based in Manila (Addun 1995). The small-scale fishers are dependant on these traders and are often locked into cycles of debt as loans from them enable fishers to survive bad fishing seasons (Rivera 1997). Excessive commercial exploitation have resulted and are usually experienced locally as a decrease in their volume of catch. Hence, the resources of the Sound have not been stable. The volume of marine biodiversity has crashed several times since the turn of the twentieth century. Indeed resource conflicts between local communities became common with the introduction of new technologies, such as dynamite in 1955, sodium cyanide in 1960, small trawlers in 1979, super-lights in the 1980s and finally lift-nets in 52 Foundation for Empowerment, Economic Development and Environmental Recovery (FEEDER).

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1991.53 These techniques, lead to higher volumes but ultimately were destructive such that small-scale fishers saw their daily catch reduced from 30 kg to 2-3 kg over a period of ten years. Awareness of such Marine biodiversity loss has grown among the small-scale fishers. With this growing awareness, they have demanded official support for their right to access the common resources rather than those of destructive commercial interests.

Local Place Struggles for Common Resources Historically then, commercial exploitation of the Sound has been linked to local struggles for access to common pool resources. For example, as early as 1948 the municipal government leased commercial fishing rights to one operator, San Diego, but due to local protests, they did not renew their licence and it stopped operations in 1956. Violence was often the norm. “When my grandfather was in local government he was against the concessionaire. … The license was up for renewal but my grandfather refused to sign it: they (San Diego company) shot him” (Piñada, interview 2001). Despite such local protests, commercial operations continued. However, by the 1970’s official studies showed that the fish resources of the Sound were depleted and without local consultation, BFAR officials imposed a five year ban on all fishing in 1973 (FAO III). It came as dramatic shock to residents when overnight the Sound was closed to all fishing. A local fisher recalled “BFAR personnel would shoot a gun above our heads if we tried to put up fish-corals, … even hook with line was banned at first. We used to fish at night, hiding in the mangroves” (Bolen interview 1999). After local petitions from Baong and Pancol, BFAR allowed sustenance fishing even as fish stocks began to recover.54 The official commercial fishing ban was technically maintained, commercial exploitation gradually increased again with local government approval. In response to further studies showing reduced fish volumes, BFAR once more re-imposed a strict commercial ban in 1988 but this only lasted until 1991 when authority over the Sound reverted to Taytay Municipal government (the LGU) under the new local government code. With lower volumes and species of fish available, small-scale fishers competed with each other and with non-residents to maintain access rights (Mapa-Lacson 1998). Local struggles focused on access to coastal alcoves where shallow waters are protected from the high waves of the South-west monsoon. This was particularly so in the Little Sound between Pancol and Baong and Buwaya Sound (see figure 10). For example in Buwaya Sound, the conflict was between the sudsud fishers and the shrimp fishers of Baong.55 Since sudsud fishers started working in 1980 in Buwaya Sound, the shrimp fishers of Baong and Old Guinlo have complained to the LGU that they catch seedlings and cause declines in catch volumes.56 Yet the LGU did nothing to ease the conflict. Small-scale fishers were also concerned when fishpond construction started in the alcove of the Little Sound by Marhyliker-Assis in 1995 as consequence of 53 Super-lights, is the use of bright halogen lights that attract fish, see the glossary. Dates are approximate and based on interviews with local people living in Barangays Pancol, Old Guinlo, Baong, Pinigupitan, Bulalo and Liminancong. 54 FAO 111-A. 55 See glossary for Filipino terms. 56 Sudsud uses fine mesh nets, which need to be small enough to catch the alamang.

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proposed a sea ranching license (Jacinto 1995). Sea ranching provides exclusive rights as the licensee cordons off alcoves by trapping fish inside using a net at its entrance and with it the company would control access to a key nursery ground of the Sound. This fuelled a sense of local insecurity and in response local fishers contacted the NGO, Tambuyog. Local rumours were rife as to local government protection of those behind the sodium cyanide and live

fish trade, as well as collusion with dynamite fishers and large trawler vessels operators. Clearly, where a biodiversity initiative enabled local fishers to address these historical place-based struggles, local people would be anticipated to respond positively to its implementation.

Figure 10

Inset from figure 1, showing areas of historical conflict.

Little Sound

Buwaya Sound

Inner Sound

Outer Sound

El Nido Marine

reserve boundary

El Nido Municipality Boundary

Pinigupitan

/ Baong Yakal

Barangays and sitios with historical conflicts.

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Sense of Place Struggles These place struggles resulted in tension between Taytay Municipal government and small-scale fishers, especially at Baong where the Mayor was at odds with local sense of place. Mayor Evelyn Rodriguez took a ‘bossism’ approach to governance using her various political connections, to shape Northern Palawan development (cf. Sidel 1999). These connections came through her dead husband who as a lawyer had been a classmate of Governor Socrates, the Sandovals (congressional member and owner of fishing fleets), the former Philippine Senate Speaker Mitra, and the notorious logger Alvarez. Thus for example, the fleet of fishing trawlers that frequent the west coast reportedly belong to the Sandovals (Bulalo interviews 2001). The strongest connection is to Alvarez, and indeed even the most influential NGO in Palawan, the Haribon foundation was never able to get a foothold in Taytay. Similarly local official sense of place was not consistent and struggles were distinctly place-based, in particular between Taytay and Liminancong. The sense of place subscribed to by Mayor Rodriguez envisioned Taytay as a full fledged city, that would make it eligible for a larger budget from national government.57 In contrast Liminancong, the natural port on the west coast of the Outer Sound, stood as a challenge to the Taytay Cityhood with its residents and officials subscribing to a sense of place which envisioned Malampaya as a new municipality and Liminacong as the municipal capital.58 However this would make Taytay ineligible for city-hood, and hence opposition from Taytay elites. Placing a biodiversity initiative in the area may only support one of these sense of place, thus we would anticipate support from the local officials of only one of these large towns. A different struggle relating to sense of place concerns the Tagbanua at Yakal, who in 1992 applied for the first ever certificate of ancestral land to secure their control over their watershed. However, during the preparation of the claim, both the size and area of the ancestral domain was altered by DENR. The Tagbanua were never even given a copy of their domain map such that when they tried to maintain control within their watershed they found it difficult. In a desperate attempt to exert control, Tagbanua leaders began charging punitive fees to outsiders that cut timber for houses (Yakal discussions 1999). This effort failed. As such, the Tagbuanua wanted to reverse this failure to assert their sense of place and saw the biodiversity initiative as a possible means to do this (Yakal discussions 1999). These various place-based struggles provide the historical context for the empirical analysis in chapter 6.

Struggles Within Malampaya Governance Malampaya has an equally strong history of contested governance. This section explores the historical context of governance struggles over territories, law enforcement and resource organisations, thus providing a context for

57 Taytay was the Spanish capital of Northern Palawan, from 1623 but its power was reduced when the provincial capital moved to Puerto Princesa in 1873 (Addun 1995). 58 In 1988 Liminancong requested the provincial government to make it a municipality and split Taytay, but it was not until 1996 that the Provincial Government in Puerto Princesa requested Congressman Sandoval to file a bill in congress to support this request.

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analysis in Chapter 7. It examines these struggles during the period before the declaration process started.

Boundaries and Controlling Territories Disputes over territorial jurisdiction have occurred at local, regional and national levels. Neighbouring municipalities such as El Nido to the North and San Vicente to the south, were carved out of Taytay Municipality during the 1960s. Boundaries were ambiguous but this did not matter much until the passing of the LGU code in 1991. However, the New Code linked size of territory to an allocation of taxation funds from the state agencies. By the mid 1990s boundaries were as important as the territories claimed within them. Under this Code local residents elect the Municipal and Barangays leaders and councils. In contrast, the sitios are politically subordinate to the barangays, but are where biodiversity resources are actually managed. Where there are large differences in access to socio-economic and political power bossism is still in affect through favours, loans, and personal relations (Sidel 1999). NIPAP thus entered this established web of socio-power relations. The NIPAP project started first in El Nido, building on the debt-for-nature-swap project (1992) in which it was declared a Marine Reserve. The NIPAP GIS expert used ecological criteria to determine locations and activities of management zones. Consequently things did not go well locally. “The protected area in El Nido went through a power struggle, with various elite families in the area, they paid local people to protest against the protected area …” (Bactol interview 2000). Ecologically the El Nido protected area boundary was the most appropriate boundary position to take. However, politically it incorporated contested territory between Taytay and El Nido and hence of relevance to this thesis. Controlling these territories was also an area of conflict for local people and their barangay officials. Under the Local Government Code, residents are deputised as fish wardens or as forest guards to patrol resources.59 Local groups in the provincial capital were credited with controlling illegal logging and fishing (Arquiza 1996b). Yet, Taytay local government did not support either effort – much to the dissatisfaction of local fishers. Small-scale fishers thus observed that policing activities tended to fall into particular patterns which always saw the ‘illegals’ go free – that is, if they were ever caught. In the Outer Sound several agencies were present, including the Coast Guard, Maritime Police, BFAR, DENR and national Police. However, some of these agencies had reputations for extracting bribes and collecting pseudo license fees. Indeed for local people the worst agencies were known by their anachronisms – hence, money-time police and the cash-guard. When complaints were made to officials, local communities observed no action was taken. In fact, during election campaigns, the Mayor was even observed on the boats behind destructive fishing practices. A biodiversity initiative thus sensitive to existing boundaries and keen to reduce illegal activities by supporting local activities, may be expected to be receive support from local people.

59 These are ‘bantay dagat’ and bantay gubat’, (bay and forest watch).

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Local Fisher Organisations Fishers living around Baong, Old Guinlo and Pancol have a history of community protest. They petitioned BFAR to cancel the San Diego fishing concession in 1956, and petitioned it again against dynamite fishing in 1969. A further petition was made against the closure of the Sound in 1972 and again in 1977. In 1995, responding to the sea-ranching plans of the LGU, Tambuyog began organising fishers at Baong (Rivera and Jarabejo 2000). Despite initial local reluctance the two NGOs, Tambuyog and FEEDER organised fishers between 1996 and 1998 in both the Outer and Inner Sound.60 By the end of 1997, two peoples organisations with over 800 members situated in 20 settlements had been established. Thus the NGO Tambuyog emphasised livelihood activities, through five small fisher organisations living in Baong, Pancol and Old Guinlo, coordinated after 1997 via Malampaya Sound Small Fishers Association (MSSFA). Similarly in the Outer Sound, FEEDER organised twelve sitios, albeit here focused on protecting the environment. Hence, twelve organizations were formed with five hundred members also federated into a network called Piglas.61 By 1998, small-scale fishers were experiencing regular catches of reduced volumes and hence an increase in daily fishing effort (La Torre interview 1999). Destructive practices and commercial fishers were blamed. A series of disasters in 1998 added to these problems. The Asian currency crisis caused the local bank to collapse and the capital of MSSFA and Piglas was lost. In March 1998, a child died of food poisoning in Baong, and subsequent samples of shell fish tested positive for red tide toxins. The people of Baong were in crisis as none of the traders came to buy products, and the local government seemed paralysed by indecision. In addition, a December typhoon destroyed all livelihood projects set up by local organizations. December 1998 also saw critical problems within Tambuyog itself, which caused their withdrawal from the area and negotiations to continue PO support through Palawan NGO Network Inc. (PNNI). Although the livelihood activities of these federated organizations were unstable, their members remained active participants during the PA declaration process and worked closely with NIPAP. Local people saw the NIPAP initiative as being distinct from DENR efforts – which was important since Taytay DENR were known for corruption since the time of Alvarez.

National Integrated Protected Areas Programme - NIPAP Against this backdrop, the NIPAP was introduced to the area. The first phase (1995 to 1998), NIPAP-I, had an emphasis on livelihood programmes, education campaigns and infrastructure creation. In mid 1998 NIPAP-I staff were advised by the donor to speed up the information education and communication, and to take into account livelihood concerns as much as possible (NIPAP 2001). From late 1998 the Co-Directors changed resulting in a ‘new orientation’ hereafter called NIPAP-II (from 1998 to March 2001). In 60 Local fishers were initially reluctant because they thought both organisations were proposing something similar to the closure of the Sound. 61 The PO name is Piglas ka Kasama, but is referred to as Piglas throughout this thesis for simplicity.

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response to the donor review of NIPAP activities the NIPAP directorate gave Malampaya Sound a low priority. By December 1998 meanwhile, the Mayor and Municipal Council of Taytay requested that NIPAP stop activities in the area. As Malampaya Sound was only the Inner Sound at that time, “it was given low priority because of perceived intractable opposition by the Municipality of Taytay” (NIPAP 2001:13). Taytay Municipality felt justifiably negative towards NIPAP. NIPAP was seen as a potential threat to LGU authority over Malampaya (Tambuyog interview 2000). NIPAP staff did not explain to Taytay Municipality that the project boundary in no way reflected political boundaries. When the Co-Director talked with the Mayor of Taytay, matters were made worse. “He [Co-Director Canalog] was very arrogant, he said we [Taytay] should be grateful that the European Union is spending this money here [in the municipality]” (Rodriguez, E interview 1999). By this time, however PA staff had already talked to Tambuyog and local barangays about the project objectives and residents were becoming interested because there were patrols trying to enforce existing environmental laws.

NIPAP and Community Relations In contrast PA staff wanted a different approach from NIPAP in Manila. The Protected Area Superintendent (PASu) made two strategic decisions: the first to continue building on the community relations and secondly to re-establish relations with the Mayor. In order to do this he employed several local staff –one of whom was an official of MSSFA and who also happened to be a brother of a municipal councillor. This fortuitous connection enabled the objectives of NIPAP to be explained to the Mayor’s son in clandestine meetings and thus communication was opened. Relations with Baong community were particularly strengthened when the red tide toxins were found in Malampaya in 1998. PA staff, in particular Boatman Bolen gathered mussels and other shellfish, then contacted the media in Puerto Princesa to film people eating products from the Sound. It worked and the traders returned. During the Typhoon disaster the NIPAP vehicle was even used to take people to the nearby hospital. These spontaneous efforts promoted local trust of the biodiversity initiative.

NIPAP II, A New Approach? At the start of NIPAP-II a single process was identified to meet project goals known as the NIPAP model. This model identified 13 steps that DENR must undertake to ensure an ecological basis, social acceptability, and a legal basis for protected area declaration through a congressional act. NIPAP was convinced by a contracted NGO, Environmental Science for Social Change (ESSC) of the ecological basis and local support for the Protected Area, and thus re-instated Malampaya as a priority site (Ashton-Jones interview 2000). After local approval was negotiated Malampaya was re-prioritised as the larger site of 200,000 hectares (see later figures 32, and 33 for example). The following table outlines the activities involved in NIPAP-II.

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Table 1. The NIPAP Model of 13 Legal Steps. Legal Step

Activity Comments

4 The Initial Consultation and education campaign starts in 1998 and continues to November 1999

17 school seminars reached 1753 students and 3 others reached 141 adults. (Velasco interview 2000)

1 Compilation of maps and technical descriptions started in December 1998, and finished in March 2000 (DGMP 2000)

The process of producing 29 community maps, and verifying them, involved 658 people from 25 barangays and 9 sitios as well as 2 POs. (only 24 maps were used in total as some were not included in the PA)

PWG Dialogue Process in February 1999 LGU approval is given April 1999, NIPAP reprioritises the site in May 1999

3 Public Notifications were completed in June 1999 (Velasco interview 2000) Interim Protected Area Management Board (PAMB) is formed in July 1999

5 Census and Registration of protected area occupants starts in July 1999 and finishes February 2000 (Velasco interview 2000)

27,828, people or 5,369 households were registered to be living in the PA (DGMP 2000)

2 Initial Screening – Protected Area Suitability Assessment (PASA) finished December 2000

66 people participated, 17 of whom were women. However, 2 sitios of Taytay and four barangays on the west coast were not included (PASA 1999)

6 Resource Profiling by DENR finished March 2000 (RBI 2000)

Conservation International conducted 2 studies in early 2000

7 Initial Protected Area Plan (IPAP 2000) was finalised in March 2000 with the proposed management zones

The zone development for the seascape involved 7 barangays, 12 sitios and 1 people’s organisation and involved 650 people. Including the mapping processes, 1308 people were involved in total.

8 9 Public Hearings were conducted in April 2000; 8 were held in one week and New Guinlo (Baong), a week later.

Out of 22 barangays 4 had no representation, 2 Tagbanua groups were not represented and 4 barangays were poorly represented. In total about 400 people attended the public hearings.

PAMB Formed, its 1st meeting was held in May 2000 A 3D Model of Malampaya Sound is constructed in

May 2000 (Attendance list) 86 participants; 23 from DENR, 11 Municipal government representatives, 10 students and the rest were local people from 19 barangays. 4 San Vicente barangays did not attend and neither did 2 other barangays and the Tagbanua groups.

A Strategic Planning Workshop was held a week later, still in May 2000 (Strategic Plan 2000)

69 participants; 9 were representing POs, 9 were from 3 NGOs and 12 were Barangay Captains,62 the rest were from DENR/NIPAP

The draft General Management Plan (DGMP 2000) was completed by ESSC in July 2000 and provided

comprehensive policy guidelines to the PAMB

It integrated the vision with the zones from the public hearings, consultations, and data from the IPAP, the RBI, and the PASA.

9 Regional Review and Recommendations from DENR and PCSD occurred between March and July 2000

10 National Review & Recommendations from PAWB-DENR were made between March and July 2000

11 Presidential Proclamation 342 was signed in July 2000, the area was named Malampaya Sound Protected Land and Seascape

12 The proclamation went to the House in August 2000 for Congressional Action as Bill #12421

13 Demarcation has not occurred yet

62 Barangay Captains are the locally elected leader of the barangay council.

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Table 1 is a summary of the process as it actually happened, drawn from NIPAP process documentation and interviews with protected area staff. It is the declaration process as a series of consecutive activities, rather than as the process outlined by the law, which is represented by the numbers from the first column and taken from the act. The activities outlined here are analysed in the three empirical chapters to follow only if they gave possible opportunities for local people to negotiate and assert local changes. Some activities where designed only to inform, such as public notification, and are therefore not analysed. It is clear that in practice, NIPAP went beyond the basic requirements of the law and increased occasions where local people could participate and negotiate in the declaration process. The extent that this decision gave any real opportunities for local people is examined next. Chapter 4 has briefly set the scene for the subsequent empirical analysis of the thesis. It has pinpointed the nature of local socio-ecological dynamics and the advent of the NIPAP-II, the biodiversity initiative that is the focus of this study. The following three chapters investigate the extent to which local people responded positively to biodiversity initiatives and aw opportunities to assert local knowledge claims, local sense of place, and local governance. Also, whether these possible opportunities may bring about local social change is assessed. Chapter 8 finally discusses the broader implications of the study.

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5 Asserting Local Knowledge Claims In assessing whether negotiated conservation may provide opportunities to assert local knowledge claims the assumption is that the opportunity to gain non-monetary benefits may motivate local people to respond positively to biodiversity initiatives. As chapter 4 explained the initiative that is the focus of negotiated conservation here is the second phase of the National Integrated Protected Area Programme (NIPAP-II). This chapter seeks to examine the extent to which local knowledge claims were indeed asserted in this process. In doing so, it considers both the number and array of local knowledge claims, but also the manner in which these were asserted. The chapter also assess which individuals or groups are involved in asserting the claims and who may be the main beneficiaries.

Types of Local Knowledge Claims This section examines how diverse knowledge claims within the community develop, with what effects, as well as how different claims within and between communities were incorporated in the NIPAP-II initiative. In order to generalise findings from the twenty-four community maps that are our focus, the analysis here initially compares features and discourses from three barangay maps facilitated by ESSC with those in three research sketch maps drawn by residents living in the corresponding sitios. 63

Diverse Knowledge Claims in Local Communities How extensive can differences in knowledge claims be within a single community? Chapter 2 suggested that their formation reflected cultural practices. Hence, cultural practices are critical in determining the extent and importance of patterns of difference in local knowledge claims. It is perhaps intuitive to suggest that livelihood activities will dominate the community knowledge claims since biodiversity use relates to them. However we also need to examine other types of local knowledge asserted through the community maps. Firstly, an example is used to illustrate how extensive differences within a community can be, and how these differences may be represented in the community mapping exercise. A Tagbanua community is chosen here because it is often assumed that indigenous people (IPs) are socially cohesive or homogeneous. A key finding to emerge form the mapping exercise and accompanying discussions was that not all knowledge was equally significant socially. The pair of maps in figure 11 represents what the tribal community deemed important.64 Thus different age groups or individual’s experience was reflected

63 For the sake of clarity those maps drawn as part of the research will be referred to in the text as sketch maps, those drawn by communities facilitated by ESSC will be referred to as community maps, see chapter 3. 64 Communities are selective in what they share so perceived differences may be more to do with how much they want to say to you. For example Makasabi sketch map of Lomombong, (see fig 11) seems relatively empty of features when compared to other sketch maps. However, it was clear during the mapping when tribal elders were drawing intricate figures for rattan and

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animals that knowledge was selectively shared. It would seem that they were selective because they did not need to fill in the blanks, they knew what was there, and I did not need to know.

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in the role certain resources were said to play locally. For example, knowledge and practices about rattan, general forest types and honey collection was held notably by a male elder. Indeed, he knew nine different species of rattan in the area and could identify them through their botanical characteristics. Figure 12 shows the clarity and detail that knowledge in his drawing, which he drew to correct my own sketch of a rattan. In this situation he was very assertive, with no negotiation with others as to whose drawing was more accurate – he immediately dismissed my alternative. The depth of knowledge reflected in this drawing and (top) figure 11 also seems to indicate the social importance of this resource (especially to the men who collect it).65 Gendered knowledge claims were also visible when local women drew and discussed their map. Thus for example the female tribal officials knew the ownership pattern between the Tagbanua and Visayan migrants in their community (see the lower map, figure 11). This knowledge indicated that women were more responsible for land activities in the lower hills and around the houses then were the men. The women also showed greater knowledge on the status of the land and health of people as well as local finances. For example, one woman knew many medicinal plants including those used for birth control. What emerged from the discussions was that gendered knowledge claims were spatially differentiated and represented different zones of biodiversity use and knowledge. Thus where men’s knowledge extended deep into the adjoining forest where they hunted animals and collected resin and rattan, women’s knowledge extended only as far as the regenerating forest area where agriculture was based and herbs grew. Gendered social relations were also reflected in who drew the community maps. Men tended to pick up the pens faster, hold them longer and draw the ‘important’ features. For example, men drew the trawlers, and their symbols tended to stand out on maps. How was such gendered knowledge handled by NIPAP-II staff if at all? Basically, gender was analysed as a head count of women participants either on an attendance sheet or on the community map (NIPAP 2001). There were various problems with this approach. For one thing, age differences were not considered thus neglecting how knowledge between generations may differ. For another, it is wrong to simply assume that women’s knowledge was fully included in the maps, even if women were present during the process. To understand the ways in which these maps can reveal how local opportunities were asserted or suppressed in NIPAP-II is to relate knowledge claims to local practices. In many but certainly not all cases, these practices were connected to livelihood. How then are these practices represented in the community maps and which ones predominate? Field research revealed certain patterns. For example, biodiversity resources with a market value were associated with livelihood knowledge. They tended to be a discrete resource, such as squid or rice, with an identifiable market. These biodiversity resources tended to be seasonally available in large volumes and were dependable (see figure 13). Thus, they also provided a cash income and associated activities were relatively simple to learn. As one Lomombong fisher stated, “everyone is involved in

65 The top map, figure 11 shows three different symbols drawn for rattans (labelled as Nanga, Peldet and Bogtong).

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squid fishing during the season, children, my wife included. We all have lines from the side of the boat, and we’ll stay fishing until the boat is full”. Other important knowledge featured on the maps related to subsistence and life-enriching activities. Thus, survival knowledge described such resources that provided food, shelter and health. Food crisis resources were especially important because they reduced vulnerability to hunger, a frequent occurrence during the wet season. These included resources like salty fermented mini shrimps (alamang), shellfish and octopus. Other resources with ‘survival’ value were used for shelter as houses, furniture, and utensils. Asserting these survival claims through mapping ensures that local people have basic security. The assertion of local knowledge in map form also featured diverse sorts of ‘cultural knowledge’. These included such activities as how to make and use tools or spiritual practices. These activities often require specialist knowledge and skills. Resources with spiritual value may be those used in traditional celebration such as wine made from honey or coconut juice.66 Asserting these cultural claims through mapping ensures that local people have flexibility to adapt to any changes in resources, such as seasonal species availability. In many cases, knowledge claims reflect the heterogeneous character of village life and livelihoods. Flexibility appears to be the key for maintaining stability and security. For example, the Tagbanua use a variety of resources that require very different skills, but allow them to maintain stability within their household. As one resident remarked “our hungry season is from June to July, when the rainy season is strong and we can not fish, the rice is not ready. This is the time we sell the rattan or almaciga to the buyers”. Knowledge claims as such may also be indicative of community’s relative robustness to changes in their relationship with cyclical biodiversity availability patterns.

Differences between Communities or Groups If different knowledge claims emerge through mapping within a community with differentiated possible opportunities thereby suggested, differences in knowledge claims between communities provide a further basis for beginning to unpack social relations and micro-power relations pertaining to biodiversity. A sample of the community maps from the NIPAP-II process are here analysed in detail to assess general patterns emerging.67 Each of the three paired maps shows a way that the micro-powers between communities may hide the knowledge claims of a subordinate group.

The first pair of maps (figure 15) show how the mapped livelihood resource detail nonetheless hid significant differences in claims between sitio Pinigupitan and barangay Abongan. Both incorporate the lowland marshes of south-eastern Malampaya Sound (see figure 14). Rice dominates in the Abongan community map thereby emphasising livelihood knowledge of biodiversity.

TP

66 This is true for communities in Bukidnon Mindanao and Bundok Luzon where the local wines were used in rituals. Due to the strong visibility of Christian religion, many groups are reluctant to admit that the roots of certain practices date back to pagan religions. 67 Out of the five available paired maps, only those which showed significant difference were compared and contrasted to examine the validity of general patterns in local claims made with the twenty-four community maps produced during the initiative.

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6

Sitio Lomombongs’ white beach.

Two small islands in Lomombong ancestral waters, where fishers prepare to go out to fish for squid.

These rocks are a traditional Tagbanua burial area.

Sitio Lomombong Figure 13

Tribal elder is cutting a sapling to make the new tribal hall. In the bottom right hand corner is a young rattan plant

Lomombong is in the foothills of Mt Capaos where the Tagbanua gather rattan and resin.

Tagbanua squid fisher with his homemade lures

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Mangroves forest of Sitio Pinigupitan, looking from the Inner Sound.

A shallow fish coral is in the foreground.

The sitio is accessed by the mangrove forest, which has been cleared in places. Sudsud nets are rolled up leaning on a mangrove in the background (encircled in black).

Many only fish the rivers and Inner Sound using the dug out canoes and sudsud nets.

Sitio Pinigupitan

Figure 14

7 79

Figure 15

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The impression given is that those growing rice hold power in this community and that rice is the key resource. On the other hand, its sitio Pinigupitan (see figure 15, upper map) presented a picture of landless residents dependent on basic estuary survival resources (e.g. shellfish and shrimp fry). The perception here given is one of having few options – as indicated by the lack of symbols on the map and later confirmed through group interviews. Pinigupitan are resource ‘poor’ which makes them vulnerable to change including conservation related action. However, as one resident stated, “things have always been difficult”.68 The Pinigupitan sketch map thus indicates a narrow relationship with biodiversity, emphasising survival knowledge over wider livelihood or cultural knowledge. Yet, such vulnerability was hidden in the Abongan community map, such that any local knowledge claim in NIPAP-II based on the Abongan map would miss key crisis food as a survival resource. In the process, it would also lose the storyline of vulnerability of the landless sudsud fishers at sitio Pinigupitan. There are similar noteworthy differences in the second pair of knowledge claims between sitio Calapa and barangay Banbanan at the foot of Mt Capos (see figure 16). In figure 17 meanwhile, we see in map form the basic differences and how local resource problems are ignored by a lack of features on the map. Generally, Banbanan community map (lower map) has few features, particularly at Mt Capaos, where we might expect many because it an area of lowland rainforest which is rich in resources (see figure 11 which shows resources on the other side of this mountain). In the Sound, further only lift-nets and fish cages were drawn as fishing methods. This map fails to state problems and activities of the sort that are evident for instance in the Calapa sketch map. The latter presents a storyline of crisis and blame: “we used to catch many fish but now destructive fishing practices have stopped fish growing big and even take the seedling fish”. Yet if Calapa identifies lift-nets as destructive, the Banbanan captain suggested that increasing numbers of small-scale fishers using traps, rather than destructive methods per se, are to blame.69 Asserting knowledge claims in the way that the Banbanan map serves to emphasise livelihood relations to biodiversity, even as it neglects the sorts of problems perceived for example in the Calapa map.70

68 Difficult and easy tend to be ways of describing how life is, rather than saying we are ‘poor’ or rich. 69 Thus fishers at Calapa are themselves blamed because they use this technology. 70 As a third piece of evidence, the final pair of maps, sitio Bulalo and barangay San Jose show

how inter-community differences do not have to be extensive, yet still problems are masked by a lack of emphasis in the map (see figure 18). In this case San Jose community map does not emphasise any feature in particular, equal importance is given to the squid and cashew trees that represent livelihood resource use. Bulalo sketch map has a variety of detailed symbols for species representing the three types of knowledge. Large and clearly drawn symbols also represent problems, such as dynamite fishing and the trawlers, which are competing with local fishers. In contrast although San Jose map does identify the trawlers, in general problems are not emphasised. Asserting knowledge claims based on San Jose’s community map misses some important biodiversity relationships such as a crisis resource. The sense of ‘urgency’ from Bulalo to “stop the effects of the trawlers” is reduced to a minor concern for San Jose. In contrast the similarity of the two other paired maps, sitio Lomombong and barangay Binga as well as sitio Pangay-ayan and barangay Minapla, show how inter-community differences should not be taken for granted. These issues are discussed in chapter 6.

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The islands in the Sound, from Calapa hills

Sitio Calapa in the foothills of Mt Capaos

Barangay Banbanen, below Mt Capaos and to the right of sitio Calapa

Path up Mt Capoas, the Barangay is in the foothills

Figure 16

Sitio Calapa and Barangay Banbanen

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Sitio Calapa in the foothills of Mt Capaos

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In general, the paired maps indicate that, while diverse activities are shown, the emphasis is on livelihood knowledge. Yet, even this initial introduction to the question of local knowledge claims suggests unevenness in the portrayal of resident claims. This possibly reflects subtle micro-power relations at play in the area that privilege certain activities over others. This would appear to effect how local communities, in turn, assert themselves through knowledge-base activities, such as mapping in the official NIPAP-II process.

Representing Local Knowledge Claims Officially In a biodiversity initiative such as the NIPAP-II, it is important to assess how extensively was the representation of local claims. We have already seen how community maps tend to reflect particular power relations by the knowledge they present or leave out. This appears to have implications for the assertion of local knowledge-based opportunities. Given this, we now explore how power relations were generally reflected in participatory mapping activities in NIPAP-II and specifically examine the production of twenty-four community maps linked to this initiative. Then we examine how these relations lead to certain local claims becoming dominant, or more conspicuous that others. Finally we consider how local knowledge was ‘translated’ into a form amenable for NGO and official use via technical maps.

Community Maps Examining how the community mapping process influenced what people chose to put on maps, and what meanings attach to map symbols, allows us to assess how well these maps may reflect local perceptions and interests. In this regard it is important to note that the introduction of the mapping exercise reflected existing power relations. In setting up the exercise, for example, the NGO ESSC approached barangay officials (ie the official local political leaders) to organise community involvement. Those invited to the mapping activity usually had cordial relations with these officials. In order to encourage the maximum expression of local knowledge, ESSC asked those attending to define the map elements by drawing their resources on large plastic sheeting.71 The people chose the colours, the symbols and decided what information to draw, and where and how it was drawn. They also chose who was going to do the drawing. After the participants finished, they drew a legend, signed their name, and the attendance sheet. The activities ‘trained’ local people in a more disciplined way of thinking, whilst giving outsiders a way to interpret the map through the legend. ESSC thereafter digitised the maps returning a printed copy to the community for editing. Once finalised, copies were returned to the barangay captain. Overall, this methodology attempted to minimise outside influence on the drawing process. That said, aforementioned power relations meant that there may have been a measure of self-censorship even under these ‘liberal’ conditions. For example, local people often only shared what they thought ‘the outsider’ considered important. One anecdote from field observation illustrates this point. Thus, Tagbanua at Lomombong only drew the important honeybee resource on their map when I expressed interest in it. Indeed, what villagers drew, how they drew

71 the size of plastic sheet was determined by ESSC which limits how much detail was drawn.

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it and what they did not draw have a bearing on what the map ‘asserts’. Hence, the size and detail of the symbol drawn was indicative of relative importance rather than technical scale (see figure 19). The importance of internal local interests and power relations is seen in the authorship of symbols drawn. Not only were there particular knowledge claims on the maps, but those claims were stated in a way that was sensitive to actual ‘ownership’.72 At Bulalo, for example, an old man looking after one area refused to draw its resources because he did not own it, but was only the caretaker. This was not an isolated case. Where maps have names of the landowner, the people that drew them felt they had to make it clear that they were not claiming the land for themselves. This was also the case with certain forest resources like honey. Those drawing the symbols were typically stating their responsibility for the bees as well as a claim to the honey. In short, the very act of drawing seemed to imply a sense of responsibility for the feature drawn. Individual claims thus often were revealed to underlie the overall community claim. If, the variety of symbols on the twenty-four maps is extensive, there are nonetheless patterns in the type of knowledge shared.73 Half of the maps, for example, were dominated by livelihood knowledge. The remaining maps tended to emphasise cultural knowledge over livelihood knowledge, and indeed four were predominantly about cultural knowledge. Two things stand out generally when assessing these NIPAP-linked maps. First, survival knowledge receives rather little mention on them. True, a few maps indicated key species used during a crisis such as the hungry season, but these indicators were not emphasised and it required supplementary dialogue to be aware of their actual significance locally. Maps based on local knowledge claims then, would generally assert livelihood and cultural knowledge claims, but not typically show how vulnerable communities could be to particular shifts in the availability of survival resources. Secondly there were few resource problems noted on the community maps. Only eight of them related resource conflicts in the communities. Often these perceived conflicts involved outsiders seen as local predators. For example, in five maps people drew trawlers ‘stealing’ their fish resources or other damaging activities such as blast fishing or illegal logging. Figure 20 discusses examples of such conflict. There are also features on the maps that imply there were internal problems, but their local meaning was not incorporated, such that it was ultimately not clear what claim was being made. Faced with such ambiguity, ESSC ignored them in subsequent data translation. If the twenty-four maps in aggregate tended to affirm the predominance of livelihood knowledge, this does not mean that such knowledge is the full extent of local experience with biodiversity. Community mapping is a discursive tool that may not represent the full set of community experiences. 72 Ownership here denotes responsibility for the area or shared resources, not always necessarily implying a title or deed. 73 Twenty-one maps were drawn by barangays, one map drawn officially by a PO (MSSFA) and two maps drawn by sitio communities, and were used as the basis for developing the zoned management plans in the General Management Plan for Malampaya Sound protected area. Three CADC boundaries were taken from Tagbanua sketch maps, but were not used for the management zones. 86

3. These bottom three figures show how the size of the trees can be different depending upon importance, thus those with hives are larger and more detailed.

Figure 19

Community Symbols

1. These top three figures show the variety in symbols. This was both between and within species, like mangroves and various plantation species as well as the methods they use for resource collection. 2. The top right hand figure shows coral reef much larger than the methods, size indicating relative importance rather than representing

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1. External relations were clearly shown on the maps, as the symbols were larger and residents volunteered explanations. 2. Those more commonly identified were illegal logging, trawlers (hulbot), and dynamite fishers (see figure 26 for more trawler symbols). 3. Several communities even considered local government as ‘external.’ In one map for example, the quarry area was included because although approved by local government, local people did not want it because it erodes the riverbed and causes land erosion during storms.

6. Internal relations were not so clearly identified (see these five boxes on the right). Typically the symbols were smaller, which could be easily missed during accompanying discussions. Often words would represent the concern, such as pebbles or a proposed minority association LUCMA, CADC. These relate to access rights to a resource or overlapping place-based claims.

5. These two boxes show symbols for fishponds, which are owned by residents. As these examples people’s named, there may also be issues over ownership as the ponds enclose former common pool resources.

4. Local biodiversity conservation efforts often focused on watershed protection. The watershed areas were used as a local strategy to claim back common pool resources like the forest. The accompanying dialogue explained that this area was previously under a powerful logging company that still made claims to the reforestation areas. The PA was seen locally as an opportunity to finally, once and for all, refute the company’s claim (Abongan Public hearing 2000).

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Figure 20

External and Internal Relations Represented on Various Community Maps

Indeed, it may even reflect uneven power relations within and between groups as certain claims tend to be the most conspicuous. This may even be to the advantage of the community as a whole but depends upon whether this stronger local voice incorporates or marginalizes diverse local interests.

Conspicuous Local Biodiversity Knowledge Claims Resources were the principal element that allowed people to discuss and negotiate biodiversity in the context of NIPAP-II. Interestingly, despite the considerable heterogeneity of the studied communities, common themes emerged. Thus for example, one set of villagers typically remarked with their map, “life is harder now, there are less fish to catch, we must stop others destroying fish habitats or catching seedlings” (MSSFA community map 1998). This expresses a common experience of fishing for depleted resources. In recent years, fishers here needed to work longer hours, and fish further away from shore but without the guarantee even then of securing a catch. Even as late as 1990, fish species and volumes were relatively abundant and hence fishing provided a stable livelihood. Such historical abundance permitted time to do other things: mend nets, make traps, build houses, go hunting or undertake cultural activities. That a biodiversity discourse of crisis existed was also thus reflected in the sense of ‘lacking in life’:74 “there are fewer types of fish, or wood available so there is less chance to get the big fish or large trees to build a house” (Yakal community map 1998, Ferrera interview 2001). In material terms, the consequence of this change is that the same catch volume gives a lower return to fishers because fishing costs are much higher.75

Two environmental ‘events’ in 1998 reinforced this dominant discourse of ‘biodiversity’ crisis and increased local vulnerability. An unexpected typhoon in December 1998 combined with an El Niño drought to destroy corals and fishing resources. The result was that local discourses stressed even more than usual security concerns and the associated need to reduce depredations of outsiders such as the trawlers. Undoubtedly, these shocks influenced local responses to NIPAP-II. Therefore, where the protected area was seen to offer protection to an ‘endangered way of life,’ they responded positively:

“Water here is special, … as it contains lots of plankton that the fish eat. There is fast reproduction, with lots of types of shells, fish breeding in the mud. We must conserve and maintain the balance of our [biodiversity] in our environment, not totally prohibiting the communities fishing in that area because this is their source of their income.” (Ferrera interview 2001).

Interestingly this was the only instance during my research that a local fisher used the term biodiversity. Undoubtedly, this was due to the fact that he had been exposed to the term during NGO training sessions and activities. Here again, the community maps were critical to the process since they represented conspicuous local knowledge claims, which emphasised socio-economic stability, resource security and habitat protection as the way in which marginal local livelihood interests could be secured.

74 This translates from kakulang, which not only means to lack resources but also to lack in a spiritual sense, to lack a joy of life. 75 Prices are controlled by traders so that a lack of competition between them means that fishers never reap the economic benefits from normal competitive demand and supply relations.

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Technical Production of Official Maps Community mapping clearly represents a key means by which local knowledge claims are defined, albeit selectively. Yet, how did outside organisations leading the NIPAP-II initiative incorporate those claims in the technical mapping process? Exploring this question illuminates how these organisations reacted to the assertion of local claims. The key organisations involved were the NGO ESSC, which produced the initial technical maps, and NIPAP itself which thereafter reproduced them for a wider audience. In both cases the symbols used link to local knowledge, as well as the relative sizes of symbols or even alterations to them, all illustrate how much local claims may have been accepted by outsiders and thereafter asserted on behalf of local people. In the process, the analysis begins to show how, and to what extent, complex local knowledge claims are reflected in the elaboration of the NIPAP-II initiative at Malampaya Sound. The first step in this process was the representation of local claims by the ESSC. This NGO thus produced ten technical maps of the Protected Area to guide management activities. Of immediate interest here is that the geo-referencing points76 on the maps do not predominate. Rather, in the map legend community maps were prominently referenced, suggesting that ESSC did not privilege scientific data over community data (see figure 21). Community knowledge was also incorporated as the names of places, sitios, islands, and bays. While this step shows a minimal acknowledgement of community knowledge, what is important as we shall see is that it provided a baseline for the subsequent assertion of local knowledge claims. This initial decision is not to be underestimated. Technical maps have a way of ‘standardising’ information that invariably filters the assertion of knowledge claims via map symbols. For example, ESSC used landuse data from the community maps to update the 1987 satellite landuse data. Significantly however, rather than use the standard technical legend, ESSC took symbols from the community maps, and used them to indicate the different types of forest (see figure 22). Therefore forest is denoted by groups of trees, rather than just a colour or graphic pattern. In the process, though, local multiple discourses were simplified to that which was most conspicuous. This use of standardised community symbols was thus an initial if partial assertion of local claims. Indeed, it implies a power dynamic as the outside organisation retains the right to choose how to ‘standardise’ the community symbols on the map. The format of technical maps in biodiversity initiatives such as NIPAP-II results also in a prioritisation of data for management over which communities themselves have no control. This can have important implications. Unlike multi-scaled community maps, technical maps using a single scale inevitably hide details even as the symbols imply complete knowledge. There were two aspects to this process of particular interest here. First, the most vulnerable resource relationships to biodiversity were not on the vegetation map. Crisis resources such as octopus were omitted from the technical map. 76 These are points on a map that refer to the grid referencing system on a globe, giving longitude and latitude coordinates.

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The same resources translated by NIPAP

Inner Sound Biodiversity Resources drawn by MSSFA

Little Sound

Buwaya Sound,

The shaded part is their proposed sanctuary

The same biodiversity resources translated by ESSC into a technical map of Vegetation Cover and Resource

The red boxes show how local people, ESSC and NIPAP, symbolized artificial corals respectively. In addition the black circles show similar differences with the representations of forest for each.

Figure 22

Inner Sound Symbol Changes

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