Capitalism and Conservation E-Book

• Herausgeber: John Wiley & Sons
• Kategorie: Wissenschaft und neue Technologien
• Serie: Antipode Book Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 716

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

Through a series of case studies from around the world, Capitalism and Conservation presents a critique of conservation's role as a central driver of global capitalism.

• Features innovative new research on case studies on the connections between capitalism and conservation drawn from all over the world
• Examines some of our most popular leisure pursuits and consumption habits to uncover the ways they drive and deepen global capitalism
• Reveals the increase in intensity and variety of forms of capitalist conservation throughout the world

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Half Title page

Title page

Copyright page

Introduction: Capitalism and Conservation: The Production and Reproduction of Biodiversity Conservation

Cultivating Conservation with Capitalism

Selling Conservation

Revisiting Neoliberal Conservation

Acknowledgements

Endnotes

References

Chapter 1: Spectacular Eco-Tour around the Historic Bloc: Theorising the Convergence of Biodiversity Conservation and Capitalist Expansion

Introduction

The Sustainable Development Historic Bloc and the Spectacle of Nature

The Currencies of Conservation Spectacle

Spectacular Relationships in the Global Economy of Appearances

Conclusion: Research and Resistance in the Sustainable Development Historic Bloc

Endnotes

References

Chapter 2: The Devil is in the (Bio)diversity: Private Sector “Engagement” and the Restructuring of Biodiversity Conservation

The Organization of Biodiversity Conservation

Biodiversity and the Conservation of Organizations

Conclusion: New Contexts, New Friends and New Goals

Endnotes

References

Chapter 3: The Conservationist Mode of Production and Conservation NGOs in sub-Saharan Africa

Introduction

The Conservationist Mode of Production

Methods

Conservation NGOs and the Conservationist Mode of Production in Sub-Saharan Africa

The Scope and Limits of the Conservationist Mode of Production

Envoi

Acknowledgements

Endnotes

References

Chapter 4: Shifting Environmental Governance in a Neoliberal World: US AID for Conservation

Changing Public–Private Non-profit Power Relations under Neoliberalism

New Forms of Environmental Governance

State-Led Environmental Foreign Aid

Evolving Environmentalism under Neoliberal Reforms

“Civil Society”-Led Environmentalism

Redefining Environmentalism after 9/11

Creating the New Conservation Enterprise

Reconfiguring Environmental Governance around Biodiversity Conservation

Acknowledgements

Endnotes

References

Chapter 5: Disconnected Nature: The Scaling Up of AfricanWildlife Foundation and its Impacts on Biodiversity Conservation and Local Livelihoods

Introduction

Methods

AWF’s Growth and Development

Chasing the Burn Rate: The Consequences of Financial Success

AWF at Village Level

Conclusion

Postscript

Acknowledgements

Endnotes

References

Chapter 6: The Rich, the Powerful and the Endangered: Conservation Elites, Networks and the Dominican Republic

Elites and Conservation

Protected Areas in the Dominican Republic

Conservation Elites in the Dominican Republic since 1996

International Conservation NGOs and the Dominican Republic

The Dominican Republic, Conservation Elites and Capitalism

Acknowledgements

Endnotes

References

Chapter 7: Conservative Philanthropists, Royalty and Business Elites in Nature Conservation in Southern Africa

Introduction

Capitalism and Conservation, the Role of Philanthropy

Anton Rupert and Prince Bernhard: Networking for Capitalism and Conservation

Concluding Remarks

Acknowledgements

Endnotes

References

Chapter 8: Protecting the Environment the NaturalWay: Ethical Consumption and Commodity Fetishism

The Object

Purchase and Consumption

The Environment

Conclusion

Endnotes

References

Chapter 9: Making the Market: Specialty Coffee, Generational Pitches, and Papua New Guinea

Neoliberal Coffee

Consumer Production

Producer Production

Producting Lives

Consuming Lives

Re-embedding Social Relations and Political Action into Economic Choice?

Acknowledgements

Endnotes

References

Chapter 10: Cashing in on Cetourism: A Critical Ecological Engagement with Dominant E-NGO Discourses on Whaling, Cetacean Conservation, and Whale Watching

Whale Watching and E-NGO Discourse: Conservation-Cum-Ecobusiness

Are Whale Hunting and Whale Watching Really Polar Opposites? A Theoretical Framework

Continuities and Gaps in the Transition from Whale Hunting to Whale Watching

The Ecology of Business and the Business of Ecology: Two Models of Whale-Watching Enterprise

Concluding Thoughts

Acknowledgements

Endnotes

References

Chapter 11: Neoliberalising Nature? Elephant-Back Tourism in Thailand and Botswana

Introduction

Neoliberalisations, Nature and the Global Tourism Industry

Comparing Neoliberal Nature in Thailand and Botswana

Neoliberalising Nature: Elephant-riding Tourism

Conclusion

Acknowledgements

Endnotes

References

Chapter 12: The Receiving End of Reform: Everyday Responses to Neoliberalisation in Southeastern Mexico

Introduction

Contours of “Actually Existing Neoliberalism”

Practice Theory and Everyday Responses to Neoliberalization

Forests as Trees: Collectivism Meets Neoliberalism

Discursive Accommodation: Hybrid Logics, Shifting Fields

Breaking Up is Hard to Do: Spatial Accommodation and Hybrid Forms of Property

Organizational Accommodation: Hybrid Governance Regimes and New Modes of Exchange

Practices of Accommodation: A Longer View

Fault Lines of Power: Accommodation as an Accretion of Practices

Acknowledgements

References

Index

Capitalism and Conservation

Antipode Book Series

General Editor: Dr Rachel Pain, Reader in the Department of Geography, Durham

University, U.K.Like its parent journal, the Antipode Book Series reflects distinctive new developments in radical geography. It publishes books in a variety of formats – from reference books to works of broad explication to titles that develop and extend the scholarly research base – but the commitment is always the same: to contribute to the praxis of a new and more just society.

Published

Capitalism and ConservationEdited by Dan Brockington and Rosaleen Duffy

Spaces of Environmental JusticeEdited by Ryan Holifield, Michael Porter and Gordon Walker

The Point is to Change It: Geographies of Hope and Survival in an Age of CrisisEdited by Noel Castree, Paul Chatterton, Nik Heynen, Wendy Larner and Melissa W. Wright

Privatization: Property and the Remaking of Nature-SocietyEdited by Becky Mansfield

Practising Public Scholarship: Experiences and Possibilities Beyond the AcademyEdited by Katharyne Mitchell

Grounding Globalization: Labour in the Age of InsecurityEdward Webster, Rob Lambert and Andries Bezuidenhout

Privatization: Property and the Remaking of Nature-Society RelationsEdited by Becky Mansfield

Decolonizing Development: Colonial Power and the MayaJoel Wainwright

Cities of WhitenessWendy S. Shaw

Neoliberalization: States, Networks, PeoplesEdited by Kim England and Kevin Ward

The Dirty Work of Neoliberalism: Cleaners in the Global EconomyEdited by Luis L. M. Aguiar and Andrew Herod

David Harvey: A Critical ReaderEdited by Noel Castree and Derek Gregory

Working the Spaces of Neoliberalism: Activism, Professionalisation and IncorporationEdited by Nina Laurie and Liz Bondi

This edition first published 2011 Originally published as Volume 42, issue 3 of Antipode Chapters © 2011 The Authors Book compilation © 2011 Editorial Board of Antipode and Blackwell Publishing Ltd

Blackwell Publishing was acquired by John Wiley … Sons in February 2007. Blackwell’s publishing program has been merged with Wiley’s global Scientific, Technical, and Medical business to form Wiley-Blackwell.

Registered Office John Wiley & Sons Ltd, The Atrium, Southern Gate, Chichester, West Sussex,PO19 8SQ, United Kingdom

Editorial Offices 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148-5020, USA9600 Garsington Road, Oxford, OX4 2DQ, UK The Atrium, Southern Gate, Chichester, West Sussex, PO19 8SQ, UK

For details of our global editorial offices, for customer services, and for information about how to apply for permission to reuse the copyright material in this book please see our website at www.wiley.com/wiley-blackwell.

The right of Dan Brockington and Rosaleen Duffy to be identified as the authors of the editorial material in this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except as permitted by the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that appears in print may not be available in electronic books.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book are trade names, service marks, trademarks or registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publisher is not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in regard to the subject matter covered. It is sold on the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering professional services. If professional advice or other expert assistance is required, the services of a competent professional should be sought.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Capitalism and conservation / [edited by] Daniel Brockington, Rosaleen Duffy.p. cm. – (Antipode book series)Includes bibliographical references and index.978-1-4443-3834-8 (pbk.)1. Environmental economics. 2. Conservation of natural resources–Economic aspects.3. Consumption (Economics). 4. Capitalism. I. Brockington, Daniel. II. Duffy, Rosaleen.HC79.E5.C364 2011333.7–dc22

2011015185

9781444338348

This book is published in the following electronic formats: ePDFs (9781444391435);Wiley Online Library (9781444391442); ePub (9781444391459)

Introduction

Capitalism and Conservation: The Production and Reproduction of Biodiversity Conservation

Dan Brockington and Rosaleen Duffy

His Royal Highness rightly says that our rainforests are worth more alive than dead. This is absolutely true. Leaving aside the immeasurable value offered by our rainforests’ diversity and water conservation functions, we are facing an almost unfathomably large business opportunity, one which we can share with the Rainforest nations of the world … With an estimated 610 billion tonnes of CO2 sequestered by our tropical rainforests, a vast $18 trillion business opportunity is before us … [I]t is increasingly clear that the solution to this problem lies not only within a free market system but also within our field of expertise. What the people of Rainforest nations need is a system that values the services locked up in their land … The rainforests are at the very centre of these countries’ identities; they seek to preserve them even as they struggle against them … With capitalism at the centre of OUR identity, we must be bold enough to see the world at its widest, even as we struggle in our own way … To seize this $18 trillion business opportunity, valuing the services of our rainforest will not only require innovation in market-based mechanisms but also unprecedented global cooperation between the brightest minds of the nations of our world. Many structures and mechanisms will need to be created, but it should be our expertise that defines them, and our appetite for these markets that forces political support for them.1

With these words Stanley Fink, a former leading hedge fund manager, replied to Prince Charles at a banquet held at the Mansion House, in the symbolic and cultural heart of the financial district in the City of London. Prince Charles had arranged the event to communicate the work of his Rainforest Project to the financial community.2 His purpose, simply put, is to make rainforests worth more alive than dead through fostering novel financial mechanisms that properly value the ecosystem services rainforests provide.

Fink, and Prince Charles’ event, rather neatly capture the phenomenon with which this book is concerned: the current alliances between capitalism and conservation. These alliances are characterised by an aggressive faith in market solutions to environmental problems. They are actively remaking economies, landscapes, livelihoods and conservation policy and practice and they are partying in the symbolic heartlands of capitalism. Corson (this volume) provides the best summary of the shared basis of these chapters. She suggests that, by providing an avenue by which corporations and politicians can become “green”, as well as through new enclosures and conservation-based enterprises, conservation fuels processes of capital accumulation. The net result is that “international biodiversity conservation is creating new symbolic and material spaces for global capital expansion” (Corson, this volume: 578). The purpose of this book is to explore the origins, manifestations and consequences of these unions.

A close relationship between capitalism and conservation is nothing new. Neoliberal conservation is but the latest stage in a long and healthy relationship between capitalism and conservation (Adams 2004; Brockington, Duffy and Igoe 2008; Neumann 1998). Rich elites have been promoting conservation of particular species for their pleasure and enjoyment long before capitalism even began; capitalist elites adopted these same privileges (Rangarajan 2001). Capitalist interests strongly advocated the first national parks in North America, and the first conservation NGOs. Indeed it is arguable that what is remarkable about the environmental NGOs and environmentalism of the 1960s and 1970s is that it took such a strong anti-capitalist line. The spirit of Edward Abbey and his Monkeywrench Gang are the exception, not the rule.3

The practices that link conservation and capitalism therefore are old. There is, however, something new going on. Critics and analysts of conservation are observing an increase in the intensity and variety of forms of capitalist conservation. Underlying that is a shift in the conservation movement’s own conception of these practices. As the detailed histories that MacDonald and Corson trace in this book show, the idea that capitalism can and should help conservation save the world now occupies the mainstream of the conservation movement. There is still resistance (Walker et al 2009) but it is becoming increasingly marginal in the corridors of conservation power. This is producing changes in the imagery and rhetoric of conservation as well as its policies and practices.

The challenge for analysts has been how to observe these shifts. The task of observing conservation at work has migrated from remote rural locations where conservation policy happened to massive international meetings (the Earth Summits and World Parks Congress, World Conservation Congress, Conferences of the Parties to Conventions on Biodiversity or Climate Change), marketing seminars, elephant festivals, fundraising events in Washington, plush offices in metropoles throughout the world, film festivals, banquets and analyses of advertisements and glossy magazines. Studying conservation policy, organisations and natural resource management frequently requires multi-sited ethnographic research as well as long hours becoming familiar with the strange new languages of macroeconomics or conservation biology and the peculiar lifeways of exotic tribes of international bureaucrats and corporate sustainability officers.

Intellectually the challenge has been made easier by the thriving research into the neoliberalisation of nature (Bakker 2005, 2009; Büscher and Dressler 2007; Castree 2009; Heynen et al 2007; McCarthy 2005; McCarthy and Prudham 2004) and in particular by Noel Castree’s parsing of that literature (see, for example, Castree 2008a, 2008b). This has helped set the changes we have observed in conservation into a broader economic and environmental context. As we shall see, determining exactly how current forms of capitalist conservation are neoliberal can be difficult. Neoliberalism itself is an unevenly applied doctrine and its practice rarely lives up to its theory (Brenner and Theodore 2002; Harvey 2005; Mansfield 2004). Nevertheless, the convergence of interest in the consequences of neoliberal policy for natural resource use have provided scholars of conservation both insight into the processes they are observing and a common language with which to communicate their work to a broader academe.

Academic interest in the changing nature of conservation has produced a flurry of activity exploring the permutations of the relationships between conservation and capitalism. Researchers working on these topics organised panels at the Society for Applied Anthropology in 2005, the Association of American Geographers in 2008 and the American Anthropological Association in 2009.4 A group of conservation activists and analysts met in Washington in mid 2008 to compare experiences of the disciplining power of hegemonic conservation.5 A team of researchers conducted an event ethnography of the World Conservation Congress in Barcelona in 2008.6 Finally, a new network examining the work of celebrity and the media in conservation met in 2008 and again in 2009. The changing nature of conservation is producing new epistemic communities in academia.

The chapters published here were first presented at an international symposium in Manchester in September 2008. Twenty-two papers were discussed over 2 days; 12 were submitted to Antipode. Collectively they provide the strongest theoretical and empirical examinations of the convergence of capitalism and conservation that we believe has been published. They bring out the detail of the institutional and organisational alliances, some of their history and some indication of the great variety of commodity production that capitalist conservation creates.

We have sorted the chapters into two sections. The first examines the practices, networks, organisations, elites and institutions through which relationships between capitalism and conservation are cultivated. The second examines the commodities and businesses that attempt to produce conservation outcomes through capitalist means. We summarise their main arguments below.

Cultivating Conservation with Capitalism

One of the central themes of this collection is that conservation is proving instrumental to capitalism’s growth and reproduction. It provides an “environmental fix” (as Harvey might put it). As Igoe and colleagues observe (this volume), where Green Marxists have predicted environmental impediments that would threaten capitalism’s prosperity (O’Connor 1988), in fact these very impediments are the source of new forms of accumulation. Consumers thrive on scarcity, anxiety, fear (all help create demand), so perhaps the flourishing of capitalism in conservation, which deals in similar currency, should not be such a surprise. It is still important, however, to understand how this union is being achieved.

Tackling that question is one of the main achievements of the essay by Igoe and colleagues. Following Sklair and others they propose the existence of hegemonic “mainstream conservation” interests composed of an alliance of corporate, philanthropic and NGO interests (Sklair 2001). Mainstream conservation (one part of Sklair’s “sustainable development historic bloc”) proposes resolutions to environmental problems that hinge on heightened commodity production and consumption, particularly of newly commodified ecosystem services. Their views are promulgated through a mutually reinforcing collection of spectacular media productions circulated in advertisements and on the web. The power of these productions lies not in their robustness, logic or rigour, but rather because they are presented and consumed within societies dominated by spectacle (Debord 1995 [1967]). That is, these are societies where representations of, and connection to, places, people and causes have long been mediated through commodified images. In consuming these images people are given “the romantic illusion that they are adventurously saving the world” (p 502) while the deleterious ecological impacts of these very purchases, and the lifestyles they require, are neatly erased.

By focusing consumers’ attention on distant and exotic locales, the spectacular productions … conceal the complex and proximate connections of people’s daily lives to environmental problems, while suggesting that the solutions to environmental problems lay in the consumption of the kinds of commodities that helped produce them in the first place (p 504).

Spectacle is crucial to the work of capitalist conservation. It provides one of the central themes that resounds throughout this collection. The major intellectual contribution of this chapter is to demonstrate how and why it works. The data these authors use — video material on NGO websites and accounts from the world of Disney — suggest a wealth of further work. As the authors show in their conclusion, a great deal of new research would be possible into the production and reproduction of hegemony through spectacle, and its contestation in the same.

While Igoe and colleagues focus on the proliferation of capitalist conservation through society, MacDonald’s chapter examines the precise mechanisms by which conservation and conservation organisations became so capitalist in the last few decades. Organisations, he observes, have specific social and historical trajectories as well as their own arenas of struggle that have to be observed if we are to understand the shifts which have taken place. MacDonald examines the development of the sustainable development agenda and ideas of ecological modernisation, contending that “biodiversity has never really driven environmental agendas” but instead has “been an instrument in larger political projects” (p 515). He suggests that during the last 30 years the institutional context of international conservation governance was forged in ways which minimised impediments to business and even advanced new rounds of enclosure and appropriation. Indeed he calls the corporate co-option and taming of environmental regulations and their decision-making bodies “institutional enclosure”.

Specifically MacDonald shows how corporate interests, perceiving the first Earth Summit in 1992 to be a potential regulatory constraint on the operation of business, worked to draw the sting out of the regulatory measures that the Summit could recommend. He shows how states out-manoeuvred NGOs around the Convention on Biological Diversity to produce a convention which prioritised generating profit from genetic resources over protecting the environment. He also notes that business interests have enjoyed access to prime slots during Conferences to the Parties of the CBD. Following Sklair (2001) he argues that crucial to all these developments has been the formation of a transnational capitalist class fostering alliances and giving business interests the space and support they require.

Finally, MacDonald examines the relationship between conservation NGOs and businesses. He observes that, much as the former need the capital and legitimacy the latter provide, it has been corporate interests that have reached out to conservation groups, particularly if the latter have been perceived to be an impediment. He goes on to document how advantageous materially and symbolically these alliances can be for the corporations involved. The gains for biodiversity are less clear. Within conservation organisations the result of their embrace by commercial interests is that there has been a “near universal conflation of nature and capital [which] has established itself as a dominant view”. He concludes:

[I]t says on the WWF International website “The panda means business”. But the panda didn’t always mean business. At a point in the not too distant past, the easily recognizable WWF symbol meant the development of effective public engagement in the protection of wildlife habitat. The shift in the meaning of the symbol, indeed its conversion from symbol to legally protected brand, indicates a shift in the recognition of what and who are currently in a position to best contribute the support necessary for the organisation to continue its activities (p 539).

Brockington and Scholfield’s chapter examines in greater detail the configuration of conservation NGOs at work in one region — sub-Saharan Africa. These authors have undertaken a unique and large-scale survey of conservation NGOs in the region (Brockington and Scholfield 2010a, 2010b), the insights from which they use to present a framework showing conservation NGO activities. Drawing on Garland’s (2008) ideas of a “conservationist mode” of production, and illustrating Igoe and colleagues’ work on conservation spectacle (this book), they explore how different types of NGO create symbolic and financial value from their representations of conservation need on the continent. Given that these representations often hinge on the material and/or symbolic displacement of other land uses, they call this process “appropriation for appreciation” (p 557). Interestingly the research agenda that led to this survey of NGOs resulted from the considerable attention NGOs attract from analysts and critics. However, as a result of this survey, Brockington and Scholfield conclude that these NGOs are in fact relatively minor players on much of the continent. They are important as catalysts and purveyors of neoliberal style conservation but diverse organs of the state are much more important in the day to day experience of conservation among rural Africans.

In the three chapters discussed above we have large-scale overviews of the ways in which conservation and capitalism have become intertwined in a neoliberal age. Their reach is global and continental. The remaining four chapters in this section provide more detailed case studies of particular arenas — institutionally and geographically — where neoliberal conservation has been constituted.

Corson sets out a detailed account of the work of US AID in conservation.7 She tracks the growing funds US AID poured into conservation NGOs (at Congress’ behest) and the influence this had on them and environmental politics on Capitol Hill. When the more oppositional environmental groups began to campaign against the World Bank and on domestic issues, conservation NGOs were left to set the environmental agenda. In an effort to protect the budget appropriation for biodiversity (particularly against presidents who have been hostile to environmental concerns), congressmen and women have created the bipartisan International Conservation Caucus, while NGOs formed the colourful International Conservation Caucus Foundation (ICCF). The latter enjoys substantial corporate backing and strongly promotes conservation work undertaken in partnership with business (and smaller government) in general. It matters in part because it is in the theatre of the ICCF’s spectacle-producing displays that the actually existing interactions between representatives of capital and conservation are forged, celebrated and promulgated. Corson also dwells on the politics of ICCF’s conservation, observing that, in reaching out to liberal and conservative congressmen and women, it has focused on foreign biodiversity, free from the hassles of domestic politics. Corson quotes one former US AID official as saying: “It is easier to do biodiversity overseas than in this country because the conflicts don’t involve constituencies of Congress” (p xx).

Sachedina provides another perspective on the work of US AID in conservation, this time viewed from within one conservation NGO — the African Wildlife Foundation (AWF). AWF is the fourth largest conservation NGO working in sub-Saharan Africa. Sachedina traces its remarkable success under the leadership of its eventual CEO Patrick Bergin, who fostered a successful relationship with US AID that saw it grow dramatically in size, and re-imagine its mission from a rather parochial East African focus to a pan-African NGO with its branded “heartlands” in every part of the continent. Alarmingly, however, AWF’s financial success did not equate to success on the ground in achieving its conservation goals. Sachedina shows how the organisation became orientated towards its funders such that its work in the villages where it needed to be most active was hindered. Indeed, it is probable its work may even have hindered the realisation of those objectives at the same time as it was projecting itself, and growing itself, so successfully. Sachedina holds both the funder (US AID) and recipient (AWF) responsible for the change in character of this important NGO. The result is a particularly poignant account. It was written on the basis of years spent working for and believing in the organisation whose very success rendered it less effective.8

Finally, the chapters by Holmes and Spierenberg and Wels focus explicitly on a persistent theme of this section — the work of conservation elites. Holmes, drawing on Sklair (2001), writes of a transantional conservation elite (elsewhere a transnational conservation class thesis; Holmes 2009) composed of bureaucrats, journalists, civil society workers, CEOs and researchers. He also describes a national conservation elite in the place of his research — the Dominican Republic — whose commitment to protected area growth (particularly that of former President Balaguer) is virtually unmatched in the world. The surprise, however, is that here national conservation elites fought with the transnational elite and resisted their intrusion. Ironically, the conservation successes of extraordinary protected area expansion owed little to the work of transnational elites and much more to home-grown, nationalistic environmentalism.9

Spierenberg and Wels’ account focuses on the work of two of conservation’s richest and most influential supporters in recent times: Anton Rupert, the South Africa billionaire tobacco and alcohol magnate, and Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands. These men were friends as well as conservation associates and constructed elite networks of corporate interests to support their work first for the WWF, and later for the Peace Parks Foundation (the fifth largest conservation NGO on the continent and the most recently established of the larger organisations). This is a spicy account, for moving in these circles involved a fair amount of skullduggery and secretive associations; their arenas mixed the intelligence networks of powerful and aggressive states with commercial and political interests. It is also valuable for the length of time it covers, extending long before neoliberal conservation, or neoliberalism itself, appeared. The chapter shows how conservation initially provided an additional means of social networking for commercial interests, while benefiting from the public (and clandestine) funds donated to strengthen parks. Later visions of conservation were much more closely integrated into commercial transformations of space and nature — although still disruptive to local resource use. In both eras commercial interests benefited from the abidingly positive gloss that associations with conservation provide. This chapter outlines rather different origins to the alliance between conservation and capitalism from that described by MacDonald. The agents of the union here were not so much business interests seeking to outflank and circumscribe potential conservation constraints. Instead the origins were men who believed in particular visions of the conservation cause and used the means and networks with which they were most familiar to advance it.

What emerges strongly from these four accounts is the contingency of the processes that have joined commercial with conservation interests. It required the absence of certain advocacy groups, and vigorous battles on Capitol Hill to produce the alliances that Corson described. It required the individual character traits of key figures (Rupert, Bernhard, Balaguer, Bergin) who made conservation causes their own, but who also, crucially, determined what forms of conservation policy would best advance their visions. At the same time, running throughout these events there is a common tendency to seek out apparently apolitical conservation fields where the complex politics and social relations can be ignored (Igoe and colleagues would call these fetishised representations “conservation spectacle”). There is also the prevailing promiscuity of the main actors involved. In the face of hostile administrations, public or economic concerns, conservation NGOs, politicians and large corporations have been repeatedly able to forge environments where they could do good business together.

Selling Conservation

The second section explores different attempts to achieve conservation goals by selling different conservation products. Carrier provides a useful theoretical perspective to start, examining the forms of commodity fetishism with which these schemes commonly deal. He argues that ethical consumption, which is bent on revealing the social and ecological context of the commodities purveyed, still entails forms of fetishism that subvert ethical consumption’s central goals. He notes that ethical consumption depends upon the circulation of images that are taken to denote ethicality. Yet their validity and ability to circulate as a common currency can require a fair degree of ignorance and prejudice in the minds of the consumers in which they operate. Further he observes that ethical consumption often ignores the broader environmental and social contexts in which it operates. It achieves its ethically positive results by not counting various aspects of the production and consumption of its commodities. In sum, these constraints clearly limit the good intentions of ethical consumption to make transparent the socio-ecological origins of commodities. There is, however, a second, more insidious effect that Carrier finds at work. Underlying ethical consumption, and reinforced by every purchase, is the belief that “personal consumption decisions … are an appropriate and effective vehicle for correcting … the ill effects of a system of capitalist production” (p 683). This too has the effect of decontextualising the consumer, hiding the structures that encourage them to seek solutions in consumption in the first place.

The following three chapters then explore the construction and repercussions of ethical consumption as applied to conservation goals. West’s analysis of the speciality coffee market operating from Papua New Guinea raises a number of concerns about the propensity of the industry to effect meaningful change. It is not just that her lurid accounts of the painful assumptions and constructions of consumers and Papua New Guinea cast doubt on the enterprise. It is the very parameters under which it operates. There is a sleight of hand at work here, for speciality coffees make the poverty and otherness of the coffee producers into something exotic, while simultaneously failing to recognise the role of neoliberal capitalism in creating that poverty, and, furthermore, constraining the imagination of consumers to act against these injustices. It renders the coffee producers so exotic and alien that it stymies empathy, or even the desire to lobby for social change other than through purchasing the right sort of coffee. As she observes, “This supposed embedding of the political and social into capitalist consumption may make for a tasty cup of coffee but it makes for lukewarm political action” (p 710–711).

Neves looks at the role of whale watching in cetacean conservation. She discovers an industry that is widely portrayed by environmental NGOs (such as Greenpeace and WWF) as saving whales by providing an alternative livelihood for communities that used to depend on whaling. Yet, without any romanticism about the brutalities (to whales and whalers) that the whaling industry involved, she finds disturbing continuities between the old industry and the new one. Both result in “metabolic rifts”,10 and both fetishise the ecological costs of whaling, with whale watching doing so in the presence of whales and tourists. Whale watching plays down the ecological costs required to get to the remote islands (Azores, Canary Islands) that make whale watching possible. They also play down the ecological impacts that some whaling boats have on whales’ echolocation, which produce avoidance behaviours in the whales being observed. It is just odd that such problems are omitted in the rush to proclaim whale watching as the solution to the ills of whaling.

Duffy and Moore contrast the fates of elephant back safaris in Thailand and Botswana. Along with the chapter by Katja Neves, this chapter contests the idea that tourism offers a neat solution to conservation’s problems, and argues that it acts as a driver of capitalism. Since these authors identify capitalism as part of the problem, it is difficult, if not impossible, for it to offer the solution. While tourism is presented as the saviour of conservation, these chapters examine the ways that tourism extends and deepens neoliberalism. Nature-based tourism is promoted by a staggering variety of organisations, from conservation NGOs to private companies to the World Bank; they all back it as a credible and green alternative to industrial development. It is hailed as an “alternative” pathway to sustainable development. But Duffy and Moore offer a critique of this position, arguing that nature-based tourism actually allows capitalism to identify, open and colonise new spaces in nature. However, it does so in variable ways in different contexts. The chapter offers an explanation for why and how neoliberalism is shaped by its encounter with existing social and cultural dynamics. Neoliberalism, it seems, does not displace or obliterate existing ways of valuing, owing and approaching nature; instead it mixes with local dynamics to create new dynamics. The chapter presents a snapshot of neoliberalism “as it exists” on the ground.

In the final chapter in the book we change focus, scope and scale and examine some of the everyday responses that neoliberal pressures on resource use and governance produce. In a collection such as this, written by authors who are almost all characterised by their personal strong commitments to long-term research in remote locations, it is surprising that the rural responses to the pressures we have described do not feature more prominently in the writings presented. It is an indication perhaps of how broad the field of conservation studies has become. Wilshusen’s rich description of Mexican ejido’s responses to the dismantlings of neoliberal policies provides a welcome counterpoint. Drawing on Bourdieu (1990) he explores how neoliberal reforms of forestry that stopped short of privatisation were accommodated by local institutions and practices. He argues that these are best understood as part of decades of coping with dictates from the centre.

Revisiting Neoliberal Conservation

In the chapters included here and in other publications produced by this epistemic community, authors have frequently referred to “neoliberal conservation” (Brockington, Duffy and Igoe 2008; Büscher and Dressler 2007; Büscher and Whande 2007; Igoe and Brockington 2007; Sullivan 2006). This term derives from the literature on “neoliberalisation of nature” (Castree 2008a, 2008b; Heynen et al 2007; McCarthy and Prudham 2004) and has been one of the unifying themes behind the recent surge of scholarship.11 There is always a risk that this sort of terminology is employed simply as a means of joining the crowd. It is important to test its worth.

The difficulty with examining the usefulness of a term like “neoliberal conservation” is that neoliberalism, in Peck and Tickell’s, Harvey’s and others’ depictions, is a fundamentally uneven project (Brenner and Theodore 2002; Harvey 2005; Peck and Tickell 2002). It is applied with differential rigour across space, and often in direct conflict with its ideological precepts. Neoliberalism can be hard to identify as such in these circumstances.

Nevertheless some neoliberal aspects of contemporary conservation are obvious. Conservation is extensively promulgated by NGOs, and in new hybrid governance arrangements of “privatised sovereignty” that appear to be direct products of neoliberal thinking. Conservation strategies can hinge on the deregulation and reregulation of nature-based industries and environmental services. This is, plainly and simply, neoliberalism in practice. In such circumstances the environment, or as we would put it, conservation initiatives, is the actual arena wherein neoliberalism is actively constituted (McCarthy 2005).

Moreover, the fact is that we are witnessing policies and institutions that were forged at the time of neoliberalism’s domination of economic and social policies globally with its concomitant trends of marketisation and commodification (Brenner and Theodore 2002). New conservation enterprises and commodities are also integral to the expansion of capitalist operations. Conservation organisations can provide endorsements that ensure an “environmental stamp of approval” (to paraphrase Corson) on new enclosures. Through mitigation, measures, partnerships, offsets and new commodity production, conservation has proven integral to capitalist growth. If anything, it would be more interesting to look for conservation strategies that are un touched by neoliberalism.

However, it is possible to identify vital aspects of neoliberalism that are not visible in conservation practice, or at least in the current literature on it. For instance, according to Harvey, neoliberalism is characterised by a disciplining and marginalisation of labour power. Brenner and Theodore note its “hyperexploitation of workers” (2002:342). The restrictions conservation can impose on rural livelihoods can increase the importance of wage labour. There are many instances of this occurring, and in that sense conservation can be a means of creating a proletariat. However, this aspect of conservation has rarely been presented explicitly as an aspect of labour relations (for some recent, and notable, exceptions, see Sodikoff 2007, 2009; Timms forthcoming). Nor is it easy to speak of disciplining labour within the conservation movement itself. If there is a conservation proletariat then it is a tiny group of eager volunteers sacrificing time or underpaid staff forgoing better salaries elsewhere to serve a cause.12 These are social relations that are not well characterised by capitalist exploitation.

More importantly, according to Harvey, neoliberalism is funda-mentally about finance. It has meant “the financialisation of everything” (2005:33). It has not, however, “financialised” conservation. Some of the larger NGOs have engaged in debt for nature swaps, and there has been some interchanging of personnel, but these are peripheral developments.13 Conservation has hardly been involved in the production of value through financialisation. Fink’s bold words, with which this introduction began, were intended to shock an audience that has largely avoided the financial opportunities conservation work might provide.14

Thus while neoliberalism may pervade conservation, conservation remains a peripheral element of neoliberalism, certainly if measured by economic activity. But, in one final respect, conservation is integral to the neoliberal project. For Harvey, the often unacknowledged core of neoliberalism is the restoration and maintenance of class power and privilege. This was largely achieved through “exacting tribute” and was visible through heightened inequality and extraordinary concentrations of wealth among a new super-rich (2005:119). It should be abundantly clear from the work that follows that enjoying the benefits of conservation is precisely one of the privileges class power affords. Conservation is not necessarily a luxury of the rich; varieties of environmentalism include all sorts of concerns and practices that originate in poverty. However, in a neoliberal world, conservation is made into a luxury. It becomes the preserve of elites and exclusive communities. Accessing conservation’s rewards, and directing its restrictions, is part and parcel of the restoration of class power that runs through the core of the neoliberal project.

The consequences of neoliberal conservation are not unremittingly negative. As we have repeatedly stated in other publications, conservation distributes both fortune and misfortune (Brockington, Duffy and Igoe 2008). Moreover the measures of neoliberal conservation have often been implemented by the most sincere and caring groups. The volunteers and employees of the conservation movement are primarily motivated by their desire to make the world a better place.

The problem is, however, that its rhetoric is relentlessly positive. It presents us only with market solutions, win–win solutions (or win–win–win and more), ethically traded commodities, saved nature, wholesome communities, integrated landscapes, sustainable development, cleansed reputations and secure conservation brands. It is because such powerful actors as Stanley Fink think only in unremittingly positive terms of the market that we must invoke a note of caution. The critical tone is a consequence of the chasms that we see opening up between the rhetoric of neoliberal conservation and its actually existing consequences. As Harvey puts it:

It has been part of the genius of neoliberal theory to provide a benevolent mask full of wonderful-sounding words like freedom, liberty, choice and rights to hide the grim realities of the restoration or reconstitution of naked class power (2005:119).

The future challenge this epistemic community faces is to find ways of communicating its concerns more effectively with the conservation community. This collection is probably not the best way to do it, but we hope it will play some role. There are many conservationists who share our antipathy to inequality and cant. We will need to be as zealous in communicating our concerns to such audiences as we have been in sharing them here.

Acknowledgements

We thank the ESRC for support of the symposium that has produced these chapters through Dan Brockington’s Fellowship “The Social Impacts of Protected Areas” (RES-000-27-0174), the Brooks World Poverty Institute, Clive Agnew, Debra Whitehead and the School of Environment and Development for their generous support. We would like to thank colleagues at Manchester University, particularly Noel Castree, Gavin Bridge, and the Society and Environment Research Group (SERG) for providing such a strong collegial atmosphere in which to work.

Endnotes

1 Extracted from Stanley Fink’s speech at the Mansion House on 10 September 2008; copy in possession of Dan Brockington. Capitals in the original.

2 The Prince’s Rainforest Project is advised by a steering group composed of Barclays, BSkyB, Climate Exchange Plc, Deutsche Bank, DLA Piper, Finsbury, Goldman Sachs, KPMG, McDonald’s, Man Group plc, Morgan Stanley, Rio Tinto, Shell, Sun Media Group and Virgin Group, among others (www.rainforestsos.org/pages/steering-group viewed on 16 February 2010).

3 Abbey’s fictional book The Monkeywrench Gang describes the escapades of a group of environmentalists who were violently opposed to capitalist development and set about destructively opposing the construction of roads, logging camps and bridges. Dave Foreman, the founder of the radical group Earth First!, used such tactics and produced a manual on how to do so, called A Field Guide to Monkeywrenching.

4 The SFAA collection resulted in two edited collections (Conservation and Society 2006, volume 4, issue 3 and International Journal of Biodiversity Science and Management 2007, volume 3, issue 2). The publication of the AAA meeting is still being deliberated.

5 This meeting produced a number of essays in Current Conservation 2010, volume 3, issue 2.

6 This produced a special issue of essays forthcoming in Conservation and Society. The same team may return to the Conference of the Parties to the Convention on Biological Diversity in Japan in 2010.

7 Corson’s work is based on years of doctoral research and an earlier career in Washington (Corson 2008).

8 Sachedina’s work is based on a prize-winning doctoral thesis (Sachedina 2008) which, rather unusually, was read and circulated throughout the East African conservation community where he was based. The pdf of this (100,000 word) document has probably been downloaded in excess of 600 times.

9 In their survey of eviction for conservation, Brockington and Igoe (2006) note that active cases of eviction (in Botswana, Tanzania, Ethiopia and Thailand) are driven by strong home grown environmental debates.

10 Metabolic rifts is defined here more broadly than Marx’s original term to include ecological disruption, not just nutrient extraction.

11 Igoe and Brockington (2007) provide an introduction to what neoliberal conservation might entail.

12 We refer to NGO workers, not volunteers who pay to go on conservation camps and holidays with conservation NGOs for short periods of time.

13 Mark Tereck, a managing director of Goldman Sachs, became the president and CEO of the Nature Conservancy in July 2008.

14 The launch of investment funds like Earth Capital Partners in the City of London in December 2008, which seeks to raise $5 billion over 5 years, does not really count. These and others are seeking to make money out of new opportunities in clean technology and energy. They are looking for new profits in ecological modernisation rather than biodiversity conservation.

References

Adams W M (2004) Against Extinction: The Story of Conservation. London: Earthscan

Bakker K (2005) Neoliberalizing nature? Market environmentalism in water supply in England and Wales. Annals of the Association of American Geographers 95(3):542–565

Bakker K (2009) Neoliberal nature, ecological fixes, and the pitfalls of comparative research. Environment and Planning A 41(8):1781–1787

Bourdieu P (1990) The Logic of Practice. Stanford: Stanford University Press

Brenner N and Theodore N (2002) From the “new localism” to the spaces of neoliberalism. Antipode 34(3):341–347

Brockington D, Duffy R and Igoe J (2008) Nature Unbound. Conservation, Capitalism and the Future of Protected Areas. London: Earthscan

Brockington D and Igoe J (2006) Eviction for conservation. Conservation and Society 4(3):424–470

Brockington D and Scholfield K (2010a) Expenditure by conservation non-governmental organisations in Sub-Saharan Africa. Conservation Letters 3(2):106–113

Brockington D and Scholfield K (2010b) The work of conservation organisations in Sub-Saharan Africa. Journal of Modern African Studies 48(1):1–33

Büscher B and Dressler W (2007) Linking neoprotectionism and environmental governance. Conservation and Society 5(4):586–611

Büscher B and Whande W (2007) Whims of the winds of time? Emerging trends in biodiversity conservation and protected area management. Conservation & Society 5(1):22–43

Castree N (2008a) Neo-liberalising nature I: The logics of de- and re-regulation. Environment and Planning A 40(1):131–152

Castree N (2008b) Neo-liberalising nature II: Processes, outcomes and effects. Environment and Planning A 40(1):153–173

Castree N (2009) Researching neoliberal environmental governance: A reply to Karen Bakker. Environment and Planning A 41(8):1788–1794

Corson C (2008) “Mapping the development machine.” Unpublished PhD thesis, Environmental Science, Policy and Management, University of California, Berkeley

Debord G (1995 [1967]) Society of the Spectacle. New York: Zone Books

Garland E (2008) The elephant in the room. African Studies Review 51(3):51–74

Harvey D (2005) A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press

Heynen N, McCarthy J, Prudham W S and Robbins P (2007) Neoliberal Environments: False Promises and Unnatural Consequences. London: Routledge

Holmes G (2009) “Global conservation and local resistance.” Unpublished PhD thesis, Institute for Development Policy and Management, University of Manchester

Igoe J and Brockington D (2007) Neoliberal conservation: A brief introduction. Conservation and Society 5(4):432–449

Mansfield B (2004) Neoliberalism in the oceans. Geoforum 35:313–326

McCarthy J (2005) Devolution in the woods: Community forestry as hybrid neoliberalism. Environment and Planning A 37(6):99–1014

McCarthy J and Prudham S (2004) Neoliberal nature and the nature of neoliberalism. Geoforum 35:275–283

Neumann R P (1998) Imposing Wilderness: Struggles over Livelihood and Nature Preservation in Africa. Berkeley: University of California Press

O’Connor J (1988) Capitalism, nature, socialism: A theoretical introduction. Capitalism, Nature, Socialism 1:11–38

Peck J and Tickell A (2002) Neoliberalizing space. Antipode 34(3):380–404

Rangarajan M (2001) India’s Wildlife History. Delhi: Permanent Black

Sachedina H (2008) Wildlife are our oil. Conservation, livelihood and NGOs in the Tarangire ecosystem, Tanzania. Unpublished D. Phil thesis, School of Geography and the Environment, University of Oxford

Sklair L (2001) The Transnational Capitalist Class. Oxford: Blackwell

Sodikoff G (2007) An exceptional strike: A micro-history of “People versus Park” in Madagascar. Journal of Political Ecology 14:10–33

Sodikoff G (2009) The low-wage conservationist: Biodiversity and perversity of value in Madagascar. American Anthropologist 111(4):443–455

Sullivan S (2006) The elephant in the room? Problematising “new” (neoliberal) biodiversity conservation. NUPI Forum for Development Studies 2006 (1):105–135

Timms B (forthcoming) Coerced relocation from Celaque National Park, Honduras: The (mis)use of disaster as opportunity. Antipode

Walker S, Brower A L, Stephens R T T and Lee, W G (2009) Why bartering biodiversity Fails. Conservation Letters 2(4):149–157

Chapter 1

Spectacular Eco-Tour around the Historic Bloc: Theorising the Convergence of Biodiversity Conservation and Capitalist Expansion

Jim Igoe, Katja Neves and Dan Brockington

Conservation leaders need to stop counting birds and start counting dividends that nature can pay to the people who live in it (Ger Bergkamp, Director, World Water Council1).

Introduction

On 8 October 2008, New York Times business columnist James Kantner wrote:

The World Conservation Congress is abuzz with how the conservation movement will continue to fail to achieve the objectives it has been seeking for decades unless it engages business and embraces business management techniques to further its goals.2

Indeed the Congress projected a strengthening consensus of synergies between growing markets and effective biodiversity conservation. IUCN leadership had recently entered a partnership with Shell Oil, and were busily forging a new one with the Rio Tinto Mining Group.3 The entrance to the Congress was aesthetically dominated by corporate displays, while its theater featured films like “Conservation is Everybody’s Business”. As shocks in the world economy sent ripples of consternation through the Congress, high-profile speakers warned attendees not to view the “implosion of banks and financial institutions” as a “signal to abandon market models” (for details, see MacDonald forthcoming).4

High-profile conservationists, corporate leaders, and celebrities spread the same message to broader publics: capitalism is the key to our ecological future and ecological sustainability will help end our current financial crisis (Igoe forthcoming; Prudham 2009). Through online initiatives, marketing, and fundraising campaigns they not only urge people to support this vision, but also to support re-regulations (cf Castree 2007) of the environment, facilitating the commodification of nature as the solution to problems that threaten our common ecological future (Igoe forthcoming).5 In contrast to Green Marxists’ predictions that the visible and costly environmental contradictions of late capitalism would prompt alliances of environmentalists and workers to demand green socialist alternatives (esp. O’Connor 1988), such initiatives entice consumers to participate in the resolution of capitalism’s environmental contradictions through advocacy, charitable giving and consumption.

Biodiversity conservation figures centrally in these transformations. The economic growth that preceded our current problems coincided with growth in protected areas, including private conservancies (Brockington, Igoe and Duffy 2008). It also accompanied dramatic growth of conservation BINGOs (Big NGOs), as they competed intensively for market shares and brand recognition and dramatically grew their budgets (Chapin 2004; Dowie 2009; MacDonald 2008; Rodriguez et al 2007; Sachedina this volume). Corporations donated millions of dollars to BINGOs and corporate representatives joined their boards (Chapin 2004; Dorsey 2005; Dowie 1995; MacDonald 2008), while conservationists sought to extend their influence inside of corporations.6 Diverse social scientists working in areas targeted for conservation began to observe, in different locations, that partnerships between conservation and capitalism were reshaping nature and society in ways that produced new types of value for capitalist expansion and accumulation (Brockington, Duffy and Igoe 2008; Brockington and Scholfield this volume; Garland 2008; Goldman 2005; Neves this volume; West and Carrier 2004).

Such value production is not limited to specific conservation landscapes. As Garland (2008:52) has noted, conservation as a mode of production appropriates value from landscapes by “transforming it into capital with the capacity to circulate and generate further value at the global level”. This includes images and narratives that circulate widely in the entertainment industry (Brockington 2009; Vivanco 2002), as well as in the marketing of new consumer goods and NGO fundraising (Brockington, Duffy and Igoe 2008; Brockington and Scholfield this volume; Garland 2008; Igoe forthcoming; Sachedina 2008). These also provide essential fodder for powerful discursive claims that markets, information technology, and expert know-how offer new possibilities of optimizing the ecological and economic functions of our planet, simultaneously allowing economic growth to continue while spreading benefits to impoverished rural communities (Luke 1997; Goldman 2008; Igoe forthcoming; McAfee 1999; Neves this volume).

These claims are not always as verifiable, or indeed as common-sensical, as their advocates appear to believe. Moreover, they are often buttressed by overly simplistic presentations of socio-environmental problems and relationships in the capitalist economy (Brockington, Duffy and Igoe 2008:ch 9). Much of the power of these ideas is derived from a currently dominant ideological context where it is believed that the attribution of economic value to nature and its submission to “free market” processes is key to successful conservation. The details of this logic are as follows. Once the value of particular ecosystem is revealed, for example an ecosystem’s ability to store carbon, the ecosystem acquires economic value as a service provider or as a non-consumptive resource, as in the case of eco-tourism. The ecosystem thus putatively becomes a source of income for local communities, creating further capitalist-development opportunities (Sullivan 2009).7 Given that within the tenets of capitalist principles the allocation of funds is directly related to associated potential returns on investment, conservationists who seek donor funds are increasingly under pressure to show the economic advantages of their conservation goals. Hence, the notion that the relationships between conservationist action and capitalist reality are necessarily beneficial becomes increasingly taken-for-granted. This idea becomes hegemonic when it is so systematically and extensively promoted that it acquires the appearance of being the only feasible view of how best to pursue and implement conservation goals. Alternative and critical views of this logic are consistently kept at the margins or outright silenced.

The hegemonic nature of these claims, and the ideological context from which they are derived, present major obstacles to democratic and reflexive discussions of our most pressing socio-environmental problems. Capitalism’s destructive-extractive relationships with the environment are unlikely to be challenged unless we are able to understand the fundamental contradictions between capitalism’s need to expand exponentially vis-à-vis the capacity of ecosystems to withstand and absorb the disturbances and stresses that this exponential growth entails. Indeed, it appears that capitalism is turning the environmental problems it creates into opportunities for further commodification and market expansion (Brockington, Duffy and Igoe 2008; Klein 2007).

The relationship between conservation and capitalism thus presents a salient site of enquiry for documenting and analyzing the kinds of relationships that facilitate capitalism’s ability to reinvent itself even when its excesses appear to threaten the viability of the very ecosystems on which human economic activity depends. We thus propose a theoretical framework from which we can begin to organize our investigations and analyses of these issues. We now turn to a brief outline of this framework and its theoretical antecedents.

The Sustainable Development Historic Bloc and the Spectacle of Nature

Our theoretical framework builds on Gramsci’s concept of hegemony, which he developed in response to his discontent with monolithic and dualistic understandings of domination. Like Gramsci, we are concerned with the ways in which the ideas and agendas of particular interest groups are promoted and imposed over a world of diversity, full of conflicting values and interests. Gramsci (1971b:210–218) was especially fascinated that these processes occurred mostly without recourse to force, but rather through “the manufacture of consent” (1971a:12).

In thinking about global conservation, therefore, we are interested in understanding how such a complex and heterogeneous movement appears to be dominated by a relatively narrow set of values, ideas and institutional agendas. Here we are referring to what Brockington, Duffy and Igoe (2008:9) have labeled “mainstream conservation”, which they describe as the dominant strain of global conservation. The ideas and values of mainstream conservation are most clearly visible in the operations of conservation BINGOs, which dominate conservation funding along with the discursive and spectacular representations of the values and goals of global conservation.

Fully to appreciate the power and influence of mainstream conservation, it is necessary to illuminate its larger context. This in turn refers us to another Gramscian concept; the historic bloc. The historic bloc refers to a historic period in which groups who share particular interests come together to form a distinctly dominant class. The ideas and agendas of this class thus come to permeate an entire society’s understanding of the world.8 Two aspects of the Gramscian notion of historic bloc are germane to the issues that concern us here. First, the ideologies accompanying a particular historic bloc conceal the nature of existing relations of production by presenting a naturalized view of extractive class hierarchies that comprise these relations. Second this concealment has the effect of smoothing over the contradictions, paradoxes and irreconcilable differences that exist within these relations (Gramsci 2000a).

According to Sklair (2001:8) our present historic moment is dominated by “the sustainable development historic bloc”, which purports to offer easy consumption-based solutions to the environmental crises inherent in late market capitalism. They thus present a comforting alternative to the more disruptive social transformations predicted by O’Connor (1988) and other green Marxists. This historic bloc, according to Sklair, is produced and supported by a “transnational capitalist class” of corporate executives, bureaucrats and politicians, professionals, merchants and the mass media. Through their efforts, consumption and spending become indispensable to the solution of environmental problems (Sklair 2001:216).

Mainstream conservation’s connections to this larger historic bloc have their roots in networks and collaborations that were forged in the creation of national parks in the American West at the end of the nineteenth century. This was also America’s “Guilded Age”, which was a period of rapid industrialization, extractive capitalist expansion, and the rise of iconic business tycoons, many of whom also became noted philanthropists. Ironically, these transformations simultaneously threatened the natural beauty of the American West, while producing the elites who championed the cause of protecting that natural beauty. Tsing (2005) aptly notes that, early conservationists pursued strategies that involved the enrolment of these elites in nature conservation and corporate sponsorships for the creation of protected areas (also see Spence 1999). While the contexts of these relationships has changed over time, the creation of American parks has historically entailed the intertwining and blurring of states, private enterprise and philanthropy (eg Fortwangler 2007; Mutchler 2007; Muchnick 2007).

Brockington, Duffy and Igoe (2008:9) refer to the networks and affinities that emerged from these types of processes and relationships as mainstream conservation’s “collaborative legacy”. These networks and affinities, which have become increasingly transnational over time, are evident in the highly visible and central position that philanthropic entities, such as the Rockefeller, Gordon and Betty Moore and the Turner Foundations, have come to occupy in mainstream conservation. Foundations like these and the conservation organizations that they fund, are frequently intertwined by tight networks of interests, values and agendas (Chapin 2004; Grandia forthcoming; Igoe and Fortwangler 2007; MacDonald 2008). They share staff, personnel and board members.9 Moreover, the collaborative legacy forged in the American West continues to extend itself to other parts of the world and incorporate new elites.10

Recent expansions in the collaborative legacy of mainstream conservation have been closely tied to the growth of protected areas and conservation BINGOs briefly outlined above. During this period the five largest conservation organizations grew their collective annual budgets to billions of US dollars, thus commanding over 50% of globally available conservation funding (Chapin 2004). This growth was achieved in part by millions of dollars in corporate funding (MacDonald 2008), but also reflected an increased alignment of global conservation with bilateral donors (Corson this volume) and international financial institutions like the World Bank (Chapin 2004; Young 2002). To quote Goldman (2005:9):

In remarkable synchronicity, the sustainability crowd and the neoliberal development crowd have united to remake nature in the South, transforming vast areas of community-managed uncapitalized lands into transnationally regulated zones for commercial logging, pharmaceutical bio-prospecting, export orientated cash cropping, megafauna preservation and elite eco-tourism (cf Ferguson 2006).

Such alignments of interest are consistent with Gramsci’s notion of historic bloc, but this is only part of what constitutes a hegemonic position in which particular ideologies appear as commonsensical. Gramsci (1971a:3–23) was concerned with how such common sense worldviews were produced and presented to society through the work and words of intellectuals and experts. While Gramsci defended that all men and women have intellectual capacity, he drew a distinction between “organic intellectuals”, whose ideas and worldview emerged from the lived experience and interests of the masses, and “ideological functionaries”,11 ranging in stature from petty bureaucrats, to individuals publicly renowned for their intellect and expertise (see Holmes this volume), whose ideas and worldview were closely associated with the interests of ruling elites. According to Gramsci, members of both groups exhibited competencies for making statements about the world, of being “in the know”, and the ability to explain the world in ways that were understandable and appealing to a broad cross-section of society. Since those in power publicly sanctioned ideologue intellectuals as the true holders of legitimate and valid knowledge, however, members of this class held a much higher position of authority, visibility, and credibility vis-a-vis the general public. Consequently, they had an enormous impact on the legitimation and propagation of the ruling class’s understanding of the world. This is reminiscent of the ways in which techno-scientific knowledge is often mobilized to implement elite understandings of ecological-conservation practices, at the cost of silencing alternative types of knowledge that may be more closely associated with the interests of local communities (eg Neves 2004).12