JOURNAL FOR CLIMATE JUSTICE VOLUME 1: SUMMER 2024

Land Acknowledgement

UBC’s campuses are situated within the traditional territories of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish) and səlilwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh), and in the traditional, ancestral, unceded territory of the nsyilxcən speaking Sylix Okanagan Nation and their peoples. In recognition of past and ongoing acts of colonial violence and land theft, our work takes place in the spirit of repair. That includes an ongoing attempt to repair the damage done to our collective knowledge by the systemic exclusion of Black, Indigenous and non-European experts and knowledge holders.

Journal Visioning and Article Review/Selection (Winter 2023-24)

Anna Brookes, Jamie Hill, Fiana Kawane, Jack Suchodolski, Shanai Tanwar, and Katie Timms

Editors (Summer 2024)

Mei-Ling Patterson, Charlotte Taylor, and Michelle Xie

Contact Us

Email: ubcjournalforclimatejustice@gmail.com

The opinions expressed herein are solely those of the individual authors.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LAND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT        4

EDITORIAL TEAM        5

INTRODUCTION        8

BREATHING UNDERWATER: ADDRESSING THE STRUGGLE FOR SURVIVAL DUE TO RAPIDLY INCREASING CLIMATE-INDUCED DISPLACEMENT IN BANGLADESH WITH ANALYSIS OF ITS GENDERED IMPLICATIONS        9

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR        9

CONTESTING “BLUE GRABBING” AND ADVANCING THE RIGHTS OF INDIGENOUS PEOPLES IN MARINE SPACES        22

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY        22

(IM)MOBILITIES IN THE ANTHROPOCENE        47

FRAMING STATEMENT        47

AUTHOR POSITIONALITIES        49

ABSTRACT        50

INTENTIONAL COMMUNITIES IN THE ANTHROPOCENE: COHOUSING FOR A POST-GROWTH WORLD        74

ABSTRACT        74

UNCOVERING HOGAN’S ALLEY: URBAN RENEWAL AND BLACK RESILIENCE IN VANCOUVER, CANADA        101

ABSTRACT        101

LAND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

The University of British Columbia’s campuses are situated on the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territories of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish) and səlilwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) peoples, as well as the traditional, ancestral, unceded territory of the nsyilxcən speaking Sylix Okanagan Nation. These lands have been nurtured by their original stewards since time immemorial, and Indigenous climate advocacy continues to serve a crucial role in the work of affecting meaningful systems change. For example, the Tsleil-Waututh’s Sacred Trust Initiative actively opposes projects that threaten the Salish Sea, thus advocating for the protection of their waters and lands. Similarly, efforts by members of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam) community have been aimed at restoring traditional ecological knowledge, emphasizing sustainable land stewardship practices.

In recognizing the enduring impacts of colonial violence and land theft, our work is dedicated to the spirit of repair and reparation. This includes acknowledging and addressing the historical and ongoing exclusion of Black, Indigenous, and non-European experts and knowledge holders from academic discourse. Through this interdisciplinary, student-led journal, we aim to amplify voices of marginalized and underserved communities and, thus, foster integrative climate justice advocacy.

As editors of the Journal for Climate Justice, we recognize the intersections of our identities and privileges. We strive to uplift marginalized voices and advocate for systemic change whilst understanding that true climate justice cannot be achieved without centering Indigenous sovereignty, self-determination, and the traditional knowledge systems that have sustained these lands for generations. We acknowledge our responsibility to the communities and lands we are privileged to learn from and reside upon, committing to ongoing learning and allyship in the pursuit of climate justice. Through our collective efforts, we aim to contribute to a more just and equitable future.

EDITORIAL TEAM

Mei-Ling Patterson

Hello, my name is Mei-Ling Patterson (She/Her) and I am an Editor for the UBC Journal for Climate Justice! I am a third-generation immigrant and settler of half-white and half-Chinese descent but also recognize that my appearance is at-times white-passing. I am grateful to have grown up on the beautiful lands of what’s so-called ‘North Vancouver, BC’. This is the unceded and stolen territories of the Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish) and Səl̓ílwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations. I feel safest and happiest when I am home and walking underneath the protection of the old-growth trees which surround my childhood neighbourhood. I am grateful for the advocacy and stewardship of these lands by the Squamish and Tsleil-Waututh Nations since time Immemorial.

As a bisexual and cisgendered woman with many different intersections in my identity I

recognize that my lived experiences are unique to myself. It is not my intent to speak on behalf

of any equity-deserving communities including those which I belong to but rather to create space

for diverse voices which often face erasure due to Eurocentric narratives.

Charlotte Taylor

My name is Charlotte Taylor, and my pronouns are she/they. I grew up and currently reside within the unceded homelands of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh Úxwumixw (Squamish Nation), and səlilwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh Nation). The xʷməθkʷəy̓əm peoples have stewarded these lands since time immemorial, and Indigenous sovereignty and self-determination are integral to the ongoing work of affecting systems change.

As a white settler, I acknowledge that I have much to learn, unlearn, and relearn in the context of my local advocacy work. My ancestry informs my understanding of privilege and responsibility in addressing climate injustice. In my work with the Journal for Climate Justice (an interdisciplinary, student-run academic journal for climate justice at UBC), I aim to amplify and uplift issues that disproportionately impact underserved communities, lands, and peoples. My ultimate goal, in this context, is to contribute to the mitigation of climate injustice by advocating for institutional and political accountability.

Michelle Xie

        My name is Michelle Xie and I use she/her pronouns. I am a racialized, disabled, cisgender woman of the Chinese diaspora, who was born and raised on             the stolen homelands of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish), and səl̓ilwətaɁɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) peoples. As a non-Indigenous person, I am committed to the ongoing work of unlearning settler colonial narratives, disrupting Eurocentric ways of knowing by honouring ancestral knowledges, and engaging in climate justice work that upholds Indigenous sovereignty. I understand this responsibility extends beyond the self-reflexivity of a positionality statement and am dedicated to organizing in solidarity with Indigenous peoples on the frontlines of colonial violence and climate (in)justice.

My worldview has been shaped by lived experiences of moving through the world with a disabled bodymind, youth-led organizing for collective liberation, generational trauma, and navigating higher education as a first-generation student. I recognize the privileges I carry in being able to pursue higher education and the opportunities I have been afforded due to linguistic privilege. Being a sociology undergraduate, editor, and student researcher has emphasized the inherently political nature of knowledge production itself. Research has caused immense harm towards marginalized communities, which is why I endeavour to challenge the researcher-researched binary by enacting practices of anti-oppression, critical sociology, participatory action research, and abolitionist pedagogies.

INTRODUCTION

As we launch the inaugural edition of the Journal for Climate Justice (JCJ), we reflect on the importance of fostering interdisciplinary dialogue and collaboration within our community. This journal seeks to amplify underrepresented perspectives, challenging dominant narratives in climate discourse. Our commitment to justice, equity, and meaningful allyship guides our motivations to deepen our understanding and solidarity with those at the frontlines of climate justice advocacy.

This collection highlights diverse voices and critical insights into the intersectionality of climate justice addressing: the gendered implications of climate-induced displacement in Bangladesh (Breathing Underwater), rights of Indigenous peoples via Marine Protected Areas (Contesting “Blue Grabbing”), mobility justice within case studies of climate advocacy led by iTaukei Fijians and Gurunsi communities in Ghana ((Im)Mobilities in the Anthropocene), models for co-housing in communities committed to degrowth principles (Intentional Communities in the Anthropocene), and ecologies of care which have emerged in response to displacement and subsequent urban development in historically Black neighbourhoods (Uncovering Hogan’s Alley).

We invite you to engage with these articles, reflect on the complexities of climate justice, and join us in advocating for systemic change. Together, we can contribute to a more just and sustainable future.

BREATHING UNDERWATER: ADDRESSING THE STRUGGLE FOR SURVIVAL DUE TO RAPIDLY INCREASING CLIMATE-INDUCED DISPLACEMENT IN BANGLADESH WITH ANALYSIS OF ITS GENDERED IMPLICATIONS

Author: Maya Balzarini

Editor: Michelle Xie

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

When I decided to attend a panel discussion entitled “What Does Migration Have to Do with Climate Change?” hosted by UBC’s Climate Hub in 2023, I expected at most to gain a simplified overview of a topic I was not necessarily well-versed in. However, I left instead with a newfound interest in the way gender, health, geopolitics, and climate change all interact to form distinctive injustices. I gained the fundamental understanding that climate issues cannot be separated from other social inequities, which is a key component to the principles of climate justice. After attending this event, I was inspired to create this piece as a way of connecting my passion for gender equity to one of the world’s most urgent issues: climate displacement. Throughout the process I have gained a deeper understanding of the interdisciplinary nature of climate justice, and have grown to understand its contemporary relevance throughout social, political, and academic domains.

Thank you to panel speakers Dr. Jemima Nomunume Baada, Dr. Shahin Kassam, Sagorika Haque, and Rwittika Banerjee for opening a space for transformative discussion and inspiring others to participate.

Climate change, forced displacement, and gender inequity are all vitally interconnected with development. As neoliberal globalization throughout the Global North increases carbon emissions and extreme weather conditions, it disproportionately creates climate-displaced people throughout the Global South. Women in these regions are at greater risk of facing hardships due to extreme weather events, as gender plays a significant role in shaping access to financial resources, quality education, and physical safety. This paper argues that climate change induced by the Global North’s neoliberal globalization creates social inequities within Bangladesh through climate displacement: it causes both disproportionate harm to women pre- and post-displacement, as existing patriarchal frameworks prevent their access to adequate resources necessary to survive climate disasters, and makes them more susceptible to violence and trauma. This analysis speaks to the urgent necessity for increased climate finance distribution directly to vulnerable countries such as Bangladesh, and the importance of including local community voices in climate adaptation planning.

The Anthropocene is a term used to describe human impact on the environment throughout the present geological age: it outlines the cumulative effect of human actions involving fossil fuel use and carbon emissions, which are catalyzing dangerous and extreme weather conditions (McMichael 2020, 244). The main culprit of this effect has been the ever-expanding era of neoliberal globalization, which entails the use of large amounts of non-renewable energy sources for the creation and exchange of mass-produced goods to fulfill consumer demand. The global market has grown to include extensive commodity chains that exploit the earth’s natural resources for the Global North’s desire. Transnational actors involved in the expansion of neoliberal globalization, such as the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund, implement “market rules” which urge countries to compete with one another as “competition states” (McMichael 2020, 134). The restructuring of national policy in order to create “competition states” drives neoliberal development, as it encourages the growth of the private sector in providing goods and incentivizes private investors by prioritizing individual and corporate welfare over social well-being. Through continuous privatization and the commodification of goods, consumerism and trade have become more substantial, leading to harsher effects on the environment. While environmental concerns have entered into social and political discourse more within the last decade, many private corporations have understood the destructive nature of carbon emissions for over half a century. For example, the president of the American Petroleum Institute told its members in 1965 that the extensive use of fossil fuels would likely pose serious threats to environmental well-being that would be visible as soon as the year 2000 (McMichael 2020, 245). Knowing this reality did not stop the growth of the private sector and consumer demand; instead, its exponential growth has made climate change an even more pressing issue in contemporary society. Climate impacts, while increasingly pervasive throughout the Global North, are more jarring and lethal in other areas of the world.  

The higher prevalence of struggle, forced evacuation, and fatality within the Global South due to climate change raises the importance of understanding the power imbalance at play throughout the age of the Anthropocene. The world-systems theory, defined by the division of countries as “core”, “semi-periphery”, and “periphery”, provides insight into how production flow and resource extraction are executed in a manner that benefits core countries and exploits those in the periphery (Ciplet et al. 2022, 7). This enables the continuity of areas like North America, Western Europe, and Australia as core countries, while periphery countries of the Global South are used for cheap manual labour and natural resource extraction. Long commodity chains extending to the Global South exist to meet demands of neoliberal consumers in the Global North, which in turn release carbon emissions, toxins, and trigger environmental degradation in periphery-identifying areas. This power imbalance could potentially be remedied by providing equitable financial aid to countries most affected by climate change. In fact, the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) deemed it vital for periphery countries, who are not responsible for the majority of global emissions but face the greatest climate injustices, to receive prioritization for climate adaptation finance. Despite this, statistics from 2016-2020 show that the Least Developed Countries (LDCs) have received only 17% of global climate finance (Ciplet et al. 2022, 3). This depicts a major climate inequity, as those generating the harshest climate effects are benefitting the most, while underfunded countries are left to suffer their consequences. Perhaps the most dire of these consequences is climate displacement, a dangerous reality for many people in the Global South whose homelands are destroyed by extreme weather conditions. Bangladesh is one such area affected exceptionally deeply by displacement, and will be the focus region for this paper.  

Climate displacement occurs when people are forced to relocate due to unsafe living conditions caused by extreme weather patterns, which can often separate families, destroy identities, and strip individuals of safety. The term “environmental refugee” can be more appropriate than the term “climate migrant” when referring to individuals who have been forcibly displaced due to climate change, as the term “migrant” conveys agency. However, climate-displaced individuals often do not have the power or choice to migrate, as they are forcibly moved by weather conditions. As a rapidly increasing issue, it is predicted that as many as 1 billion people could face displacement as a result of climate change by 2050, by a combination of factors such as rising sea levels, deadly temperatures, droughts, desertification, and insufficient access to food sources or safe drinking water (McMichael 2020, 148). Bangladesh is especially at risk of climate-related disasters, as it is low-lying and prone to heightened sea surface tension and sea level rise, which lead to an increased risk of cyclones, extreme storms, and saline intrusion into freshwater (Rasheed et al. 2016, 2). These consequences disproportionately affect women, as gender acts as an additional barrier in terms of accessing resources, education, and safety both during extreme weather events and post-displacement.

Setting aside climate-related issues, existing gender frameworks in Bangladesh already predispose women to unequal rights. As a country, it ranks a mere 142 out of 187 total countries in the Gender Development Index (GDI), a measure developed by the United Nations (UN) which calculates gender inequality based on areas of education, health, and agency over economic resources (Karim 2016, 370). Gender inequalities such as widespread prevalence of violence, lack of autonomy, and unequal access to educational, economic, and political resources have become normalized in Bangladeshi culture due to the existing patriarchal structures that characterize women as dependents (Karim 2016, 371). Norms within the Islamic religion also prevent women from moving freely and participating in income-generating roles outside of the home, forcing them to uptake household duties and rely on male family members for financial aid (Karim 2016, 370).

As Bangladeshi women already face gender-based hardships, they become more susceptible to the stress of additional threats, such as climate change. Firstly, women’s lack of access to a multitude of educational resources minimizes their likelihood of learning skills such as swimming, an essential tactic needed to survive numerous climate disasters in Bangladesh. This, in addition to the fact that women’s mandatory clothing is significantly restrictive, contributed to the shocking statistics from the 1991 cyclone that hit Bangladesh, in which 90 percent of total victims were confirmed to be women and children (Cannon 2002, 49). Because gender norms seclude women’s tasks to the household, they bear the burden of providing their families with natural resources like food and water, which is made increasingly difficult with added pressures of climate change. Salinification of water in the Ganges Delta, for example, has disrupted fresh water reserves that women access to supply for their families, causing them to undergo lengthier distances in order to obtain drinking water (Sugden 2014, 259). Women are also taught to undertake the role of managing the social well-being of their families, which places much of the relocation work when conditions become dire on their shoulders. Hurdles such as water logging in Bangladesh are major in terms of preventing easy escape routes, which adds to the stress of their workloads (Sugden 2014, 259). Women’s responsibilities and chances for survival become progressively more unequal as climate change continues to worsen, intensifying gender inequity.

For Bangladeshi women, the struggle felt from pre-displacement climate conditions does not fade after embodying the status of an environmental refugee. After forced displacement, female refugees are much more vulnerable to exploitation and violence. When relocating to areas such as India, women and children have been arrested – or in extreme cases killed – by security forces at border entries (Ramachandran 2005, 6). Even after crossing borders, their presence is not protected: India has yet to sign the 1951 Refugee Convention which provides protection to incoming refugees, meaning the country’s policies remain strongly anti-immigration (Chindarkar 2012, 5). Due to this, it is not uncommon for Bangladeshi women entering as refugees to be trafficked or even sold as wives to Indian men unable to find local partners in India (Ramachandran 2005, 7). If environmental refugees sold as wives still possess family members in Bangladesh, they are prohibited from contacting them, making it difficult to escape this dangerous situation (Ramachandran 2005, 8).

The inequitable challenges Bangladeshi women experience from the climate crisis are not a one-time affliction either, as the hardships they face are inevitably reimplemented for future generations. A study within the Institute of Population Research at Peking University interviewed female-identifying environmental refugees from Bangladesh after displacement: they shared their struggles with economic security upon displacement, explaining that these struggles stemmed from their lack of rights to land and financial resource ownership (Sams 2019, 63). Many interviewees identified that while they possessed dignity within their social class in their land of origin by participating in unpaid domestic and agricultural work, they faced a lack of personal economic stability without opportunities for financial support and empowerment upon displacement. Two women described in interviews that due to financial hardships that worsened upon becoming environmental refugees, they were forced to pull their daughters from school. This exemplifies a byproduct of the gendered effects of climate displacement, and depicts how gender inequities act “as a cycle that forms and reforms itself continuously” (Sams 2019, 63). This inability to adequately provide for family members is also a weight felt uniquely by women after displacement due to their traditional domestic roles – the mentally draining implications of this lead many to experience anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder (Chindarkar 2012, 3). These unfair conditions for women that accompany statuses as environmental refugees thus work to reimplement gender inequity for future generations, preventing the chance for meaningful progress to be made.

In order to work towards eradicating climate displacement and gender inequity throughout Bangladesh, reforms in climate finance distribution are required. According to Ciplet et al. (2022), climate funds currently rest in the hands of international organizations who act as intermediaries, rather than going directly to climate-vulnerable countries, such as Bangladesh – these transnational actors include, but are not limited to, UN programs, the World Bank, and the World Health Organization. These organizations are predominantly owned by core countries, which makes them susceptible to corruption and unfair distribution. In addition, 16% of total climate finance in 2020 was provided by private entities, which entitles them to avoid abiding by the distribution policies outlined by the UNFCCC climate finance agenda, allowing them to control allocation. Even when funding is passed onto periphery countries, its specific placement within-country creates increasing inequity: typically, finances flow to elite community members who gain control over climate-related reform (Ciplet et al. 2022, 6). In the case of Bangladesh, its existing patriarchal system prevents women from participating in political action and economic flow, leaving it up to elite men to control climate finances independently. Together, these climate finance distribution methods replicate inequities not only by providing more aid to wealthy countries less affected by extreme weather events and climate displacement, but also by maintaining gendered power imbalances in Bangladesh.  

These policy issues have recently been somewhat addressed, beginning with the UN’s formation of the Adaptation Fund and the Green Climate Fund. These programs allow for periphery countries to apply directly for within-country allocation based on proposed project funding (Ciplet et al. 2022, 6). However, there are still qualifications set by the UN needed for application submission, which make it increasingly difficult for some periphery countries to submit requests for funding and for direct distribution to occur (Ciplet et al. 2022, 6). Proper finance distribution would entail equitable access for all periphery countries without the need to meet set requirements. Better yet, it would both eradicate the ability for privatized climate funding to skip outlined allocation policies and stop the intervention of large social actors all together, handing control completely to climate-affected areas that are in urgent states, such as Bangladesh.

Another climate solution that works to minimize distribution and gender inequities is planned community-based adaptation (CBA). This method works against the “top-down” approach, which entails hierarchical frameworks of monetary allocation, by relying on both external actors as well as local community members to develop climate adaptation plans and distribute funds accordingly (Masud-All-Kamal and Nursey-Bray 2021, 1093). In Bangladesh, CBA initiatives have been inviting poor women to participate in planning for climate change, as they are not typically given a place to provide their insights, despite being more affected by climate-induced disasters than men. These initiatives focus on providing sustainable solutions as they aim to assemble community members into community-based organizations (CBOs), which they train to eventually become independent from external actors.

Sociology and geography professors Masud-All-Kamal and Nursey-Bray (2021) provide a current critique of the CBA initiative by outlining its tendency to follow a “business-as-usual” approach. They believe the program functions within existing NGO frameworks, meaning its structure involves power imbalances with external actors. Even as the CBA project broadcasts its implementation of community members within its development models, it falls short in its delivery by prioritizing individual interest, communicating poorly with CBOs, and having preset assumptions of community intervention. These assumptions are particularly harmful, as they pin communities as ideal organizations of people through which projects will be developed and executed according to plan with desired outcomes. In addition, Masud-All-Kamal and Nursey-Bray address how CBA initiatives fail to acknowledge the current patriarchal system within Bangladesh: while it may seem radically empowering to include only poor women within CBOs, as is usually the case, this proves unsuccessful in Bangladesh due to existing patriarchy. Specifically, Bangladeshi men often refuse to cooperate with climate adaptation plans designed by low-status women, making it impossible to achieve desired results (Masud-All-Kamal and Nursey-Bray 2021, 1100). As much as poor women deserve a central role in climate adaptation planning, it is not sustainable for Bangladesh’s current structure to use only these voices. CBA initiatives should continue with its implementation of female voices, but should work at a slower rate, in order to gain the trust and respect of their male counterparts. If CBA projects can recognize how they fall short in fully learning about specific communities and eradicating power imbalances, they can create a greater effect in terms of climate change mitigation in Bangladesh, which can aid in decreasing environmental refugees and climate-related gender inequity.

Climate displacement is a rapidly growing issue throughout Bangladesh, which exacerbates existing gender inequities and works to destroy land and lives. The exponential growth of carbon emissions in the Global North due to neoliberal globalization is the culprit for the expanding climate crisis and the creation of these inequities, which become invisible to most individuals inhabiting core countries. It is time to take ownership of unjust climate impacts that are projected to continuously increase the number of environmental refugees in the years to come. While recognition of these issues throughout policy-making is a positive step in development, the rate of change is not nearly as rapid as needed. An environmental justice lens proves that actors majorly involved in the course of future development must adopt a sense of urgency in implementing solutions, and must listen to the voices of those most vulnerable to climate change’s detrimental consequences.

REFERENCES

Baada, Jemima Nomunume, et al. 2023. “What Does Migration Have to Do with Climate Change?” Panel Discussion, UBC Climate Hub, Vancouver, BC, April 3, 2023.

Cannon, Terry. 2002. “Gender and Climate Hazards in Bangladesh.” Gender and Development. vol. 10. no. 2. pp. 45–50. https://doi.org/10.1080/13552070215906.

Ciplet, David, et al. 2022. “The Unequal Geographies of Climate Finance: Climate Injustice and Dependency in the World System.” Political Geography. vol. 99. pp. 1-12. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.polgeo.2022.102769.

Chindarkar, Namrata. 2012. “Gender and Climate Change-Induced Migration: Proposing a Framework for Analysis.” Environmental Research Letters. vol. 7. no. 2. pp. 1–7. https://doi.org/10.1088/1748-9326/7/2/025601.

Karim, K. M. Rabiul, et al. 2016. “Gender and Women Development Initiatives in Bangladesh: A Study of Rural Mother Center.” Journal of Health & Social Policy. vol. 31. no. 5. pp. 369–386. https://doi.org/10.1080/19371918.2015.1137517.

Masud-All-Kamal, Md, and Melissa Nursey-Bray. 2021. “Socially Just Community-Based Climate Change Adaptation? Insights from Bangladesh.” Local Environment. vol. 26. no. 9. pp. 1092–1108. https://doi.org/10.1080/13549839.2021.1962829.

McMichael, Philip, and Heloise Weber. 2020. Development and Social Change. 7th ed. SAGE Publications.

Ramachandran, Sujata. 2005. “Indifference, Impotence, and Intolerance: Transnational Bangladeshis in India” Global Commission on International Migration. no. 42. pp. 1-18. https://www.refworld.org/docid/435f84da4.html.

Rasheed, Sabrina, et al. 2016. “Salt Intake and Health Risk in Climate Change Vulnerable Coastal Bangladesh: What Role Do Beliefs and Practices Play?” PLOS One. vol. 11, no. 4. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0152783.

Sams, Ishita Shahid. 2019. “Impacts of Climate Change Induced Migration on Gender: A Qualitative Study from the Southwest Coastal Region of Bangladesh.” International Journal of Social Science Studies. vol. 7, no. 4, pp. 57-68. https://doi.org/10.11114/ijsss.v7i4.4292.

Sugden, Fraser, et al. 2014. “Agrarian Stress and Climate Change in the Eastern Gangetic Plains: Gendered Vulnerability in a Stratified Social Formation.” Global Environmental Change. Vol 29. pp. 258-269. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.gloenvcha.2014.10.008.

CONTESTING “BLUE GRABBING” AND ADVANCING THE RIGHTS OF INDIGENOUS PEOPLES IN MARINE SPACES

Author: Elena Gordillo Fuertes

Editor: Mei-Ling Patterson

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

The United Nation’s recent breakthrough announcement to pass the High Seas Treaty aims to protect 30% of the world’s oceans by 2030 by creating an extensive networks of Marine Protected Areas (MPAs) in the high seas (McVeigh, 2023). This policy reflects a broader trend; the necessary movement towards greater marine protection. Nevertheless, it is vital to explore the practices of inclusion and exclusion which can take place when creating MPAs and the consequences this has for Indigenous peoples in coastal and marine spaces. This paper takes a critical decolonial stance on this matter and draws from a series of real-world contemporary case study examples to argue that there is an ongoing colonial legacy to MPAs. This paper examines MPAs in the context of enclosure and links this conservation mechanism to fortress conservation. In doing so, it argues that Indigenous peoples and local coastal communities around the world continue to experience forms of forced displacement, dispossession, exclusion from participatory processes and the violation of Indigenous rights to their traditional territories and resources through the creation of MPAs. This paper concludes with a discussion about emerging forms of co-governance and alternative management strategies like Indigenous Protected and Conserved Areas which provide valuable insights on how to move forward with marine protection in a way that it also advances social justice.

KEYWORDS

Blue Grabbing, Marine Protected Areas (MPAs), Dispossession, Conservation, Coloniality, Enclosure.

TABLE OF ABBREVIATIONS

INTRODUCTION

Marine conservation is a global imperative. The health of marine ecosystems brings not only unique ecological benefits but is also critical for addressing anthropogenic climate change and maintain livelihoods. Marine conservation has recently taken a center-stage position at the global stage with the UN’s announcement of the Treaty of the High Seas, which is based on the also recent declaration of the Kumming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework (CBD/COP/15/L.25). However, this does not imply that the means by which we seek to conserve marine ecosystems should go uncontested. These recent UN frameworks have stressed the importance of implementing international instruments such as the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) and adhering to international human rights standards and national legislation. Nevertheless, past and contemporary case study examples of marine conservation, particularly through the establishment of no-take Marine Protected Areas (MPAs), have demonstrated that this application in practice does not always adhere to the standards suggested in the legislation. UNDRIP was only adopted in 2007 by the UN General Assembly and there continues to be challenges with its implementation, particularly regarding Indigenous rights to self-determination and free, prior and informed consent.

This paper will draw from real world examples from across the world to illustrate how these rights have been violated in a number of occasions during the delimitation of MPAs. The table below (figure 1) outlines the five main case studies that will be used throughout this paper to highlight how the dimensions of enclosure, exclusion from participation and violation of Indigenous rights take shape in various contexts around the world.

This is not the case, however, for all MPAs. Some Indigenous communities approve of MPAs in their territories and other forms of spatial management (Ban & Frid, 2018). In these cases, Indigenous peoples have reached agreements in the decision-making and implementation stages which recognizes and honor Indigenous rights. Nevertheless, peer-reviewed studies on MPAs and Indigenous governance are still limited and very recent with the earliest studies published only in 1999 (Ban & Frid, 2018). This paper will finally consider how MPAs in Canada’s Arctic waters and west coast have been negotiated successfully with First Nations and the mechanisms by which Palau is successfully managing its National Marine Sanctuary. These examples will offer insights into co-governance practices which must continue to grow in importance as we continue to establish MPAs around coastal spaces in which Indigenous peoples have been the traditional stewards of the ecosystems. Ultimately, this paper foregrounds the social justice dimension of marine conservation practices with a particular focus on Indigenous rights.

Figure 1. Table of case studies referenced in this paper.

1. FORTRESS CONSERVATION AND ENVIRONMENTAL COLONIALISM

Fortress conservation is the widespread colonial practices of conservation through spatial enclosure and isolation from human activity grounded in the idea that conservation is most effective when an ecosystem is completely deprived from human activity (Doolittle, 2007). The foundational belief for this practice stems from the Western tradition of viewing nature as separate from humans and therefore having to remove human settlements in order to protect the environment (Sundberg et al., 2009). Throughout the 18th and 19th centuries fortress conservation became widespread in European colonies and resulted in the establishment of most contemporary national parks in Africa. However, this practice has not been completely abandoned. Contemporary forms of fortress conservation are characterized by the creation of protected areas from which local communities are excluded, usually on the basis that they are using resources in environmentally harmful ways, but paradoxically allows for other practices such as tourism, safari hunting and scientific research (Domínguez & Luoma, 2020).  

Forms of neocolonial conservation practices still echo the enclosure principles of fortress conservation and continue to cause harm to Indigenous peoples across the world through ongoing forced displacement and dispossession. As such, fortress conservation has been described as a form of environmental colonialism which perpetuates unequal power structures, colonial imaginaries and practices of dispossession (Nelson, 2003).

Ultimately, fortress conservation is a specific practice of enclosure used to justify a certain approach to environmental governance. Enclosure is understood here as a key process in neoliberal globalization which involves the seizure of the commons (Jeffrey et al., 2021). More specifically, it is the process by which the commons are eroded and seized through spatial mechanisms of demarcation and exclusion of certain bodies from those spaces, resulting in material and immaterial dispossession of commons (Sevilla-Buitrago, 2015). Geiser & Makki (2014) argue that what we are observing take place in the 21st century is the development of ‘new enclosures’ which result in dispossession at greater scale and faster rates than earlier because of the new methods we have developed for the destruction and disenchantment from the commons. Specifically, they highlight how these ‘new enclosures’ are characterized by water grabs and the enclosure of ocean resources, which will be the central focus of this paper.

1.1 BLUE GRABBING

Within the body of literature discussing fortress conservation and environmental colonialism more broadly, a less common theme is that of ‘blue grabbing’ (Benjaminsen & Bryceson, 2012), also referred to as ‘ocean grabbing’ (Ban and Frid, 2018). Hill (2017, p. 97) defines blue grabbing as marine conservation that “results in the appropriation of Marine resources and coastal land from previous custodians by more powerful actors”. This paper discusses this process specifically in the context of establishing Marine Protected Areas (MPAs) which seek to protect the marine environment but that in the process of their creation they may lead to forced displacement of local populations or dispossession from marine resources (Siurua, 2005). This practice has been widely criticized for depriving small-scale fishers from accessing marine resources that have traditionally been an intrinsic component to their livelihoods (Ban and Frid, 2018). Blue grabbing relies on laws and regulations as enforcing mechanisms for the spatial enclosure of marine spaces and occasionally resort to violence for its implementation (Benjaminsen & Bryceson, 2012). In many cases, dispossession takes place through enforced enclosure in the name of ‘ecotourism’ (Benjaminsen & Bryceson, 2012) which relies of Western ideas of the separation between nature and humans (Sundberg & Marchini, 2020).

Western conceptualizations of seascapes have not been traditionally defined in cultural terms but as belonging to nature which is mostly seen as non-human (Pannell, 1996). Some scholars have even argued that the construction of ocean spaces in the European imagination are incompatible with pre-existing Indigenous conceptualizations (Wilson, 2021). In the process of establishing MPAs local fishermen and coastal communities are often labelled as criminals or poachers in spaces they have occupied for centuries and are accused of using fishing practices that are detrimental for the environment (Doolittle, 2007).

1.2 THE ONGOING COLONIALITY OF BLUE GRABBING

Whereas colonialism refers to the exploitation of colonized peoples/territories and resources (Domínguez & Luoma, 2020), coloniality is a more nuanced notion which describes the multiplicity of ways in which colonial power relation and knowledge systems live on today (Stanek, 2019). Coloniality therefore goes beyond the physical practices of exploitation to also consider the knowledge and discourses which have emerged as a result and their legacy on specific contemporary contexts around the world (Maldonado-Torres, 2007). This section considers how aspects of enclosure, participation, forced displacement and dispossession reflect forms of coloniality by drawing from a variety of case study examples from across the world.

1.3 SELECTIVE ENCLOSURE

The creation of no-take MPAs does not necessarily imply that all actors are excluded from marine spaces and that no humans are able to engage with the protected ecosystems. I hereby refer to the process by which some bodies are excluded from this space whereas others are permitted to engage freely in other forms of activity as ‘selective enclosure’. The case study of Mafia Island Marine Park in Tanzania discussed by Benjaminsen and Bryceson (2012), who use this very case study to first develop the concept of ‘blue grabbing’, is particularly telling of this process. Mafia Island Marine Park is the is the largest marine park in Africa. It expands for approximately 822km2 and consists encompasses 10 inhabited villages with approximately 18,000 residents of whom around half rely on marine resources for their livelihoods. A map of Mafia Island and its MPA can be found below in figure 2. This particular MPA consists of ‘core zones’ in which these local residents are prohibited from using marine resources. However, hotels have been allowed to proliferate in the area, tourists can use the space freely and foreign researchers are also allowed to access the marine spaces freely.

Figure 2. Map of Mafia Island and surrounds showing the boundary of the marine mark.

Source: Kamukuru et al., 2004

A similar process continues to take place in the highly contested MPA established over the Chagos Islands. At the time of its establishment in 2010 the Chagos MPA was the largest no-take MPA in the world and was believed to prince very large conservation benefits to a ‘pristine’ area (De Santos, 2011). The location and size of the Chagos MPA are illustrated in figure 3. The creation of the Chagos MPA involved the United Kingdom’s government forcibly removing Indigenous peoples from the islands to make way for a US military based, an occupation that was heavily condemned in 2019 by the UN General Assembly (Bowcott & Rinvolucri, 2022). This is a direct violation of Article 10 of The Declaration (UNDRIP, 2007) which states that Indigenous peoples “shall not be forcibly removed from their lands or territories” (p.11). Chagossians have now spent 40 years in exile in Mauritius and the Seychelles after their forced displacement (De Santos, 2011). In this case, local communities were selectively excluded from this space under the misleading assumption that allowing people to stay or resettle in this space would “jeopardize the pristine condition of the Chagos marine environment” (Sand, 2012). Ultimately, the creation of the Chagos MPA actively displaced Indigenous communities whilst simultaneously welcoming over 4000 military personnel and international support staff to Diego Garcia island, imposing a form of selective enclosure which echoes colonial forms of dispossession.

Figure 3. Map showing the location of the Chagos Islands protection and preservation zone in the Indian Ocean.

Source: Dunne et al. 2014.

1.4 SELECTIVE PARTICIPATION (POLITICS OF REPRESENTATION)

In this section I consider the politics of representation involved in the negotiations and discussions around the establishment of MPAs and its management. This essay understands the politics of representation as those dynamics which signal processes of inclusion and exclusion in the participatory process of decision-making and therefore indicate underlying relations and power dynamics between actors and stakeholders. Although this theme is closely linked to the practice of enclosure it focuses on the decision-making stages that take places prior to creating an enclosed marine space and during the discussions around how it is managed. Politics of representation represents one particular axis of enclosure which addresses matters of voice, audience and democracy (Vasudevan et al., 2008). Ultimate, exploring the aspect of participation prompts us to ask who has the power to make the decisions which determine what resources and being protected and how. It has been suggested in the literature that blue grabbing justifies a form of top-down conservation (Baker-Médard, 2022) from which the participation of local stakeholders is excluded or actively avoided (De Santos, 2011).

A key reason behind the lack of representation of Indigenous peoples in decision-making processes over marine conservation is the nature of the evidence used to justify conservation projects. Adams and Mulligan (2012) explain that traditionally western techno-scientific knowledge has been favored over forms of traditional knowledge. Local and Indigenous knowledges have often been seen as unscientific and therefore unable to be reconciled with contemporary conservation practices in which measurable targets form the basis for momentum building in marine protection (De Santos, 2013). For this reason, local resource users tend to be marginalized from the decision-making processes which establish and govern MPAs.

The study of Mafia Island Marine Park shows how selective participation may vary over time to exclude local communities from engaging with other stakeholders over how to manage the MPA and its resources. Benjaminsen & Bryceson (2012) note that, in fact, participation from local fishermen was intended at the beginning of the negotiations around establishing this MPA. However, over time the decision-making structure around this MPA became more centralized with local and national government officials taking a more center stage position at the negotiation table and this resulted in a lack of focus on consultation and participation with villagers. On top of this, any efforts by villagers to engage with this process was challenge by language and administrative barriers. For example, the General Management Plan of the park was originally published in English and was only translated to Kiswahili, the local dialect, seven years after its publication.

Walley (2004) uses the phrase “social drama” to refer to the social and political dynamics in the participatory project of the creation of the Mafia Island MPA. The key stakeholders in this dynamic are Mafia Island residents, Tanzanian government officials and predominantly Euro-American representatives of international organizations such as the World Wildlife Fund for Nature. Walley (2004) notes that not only did government officials intent to integrate Mafia residents into the participatory project but that residents were promised participation, jobs and help against illegal dynamite fishing but this was not the reality in practice as participation was very vaguely defined. Ultimately, the emerging reality showed anything but signs of meaningful cooperation with Mafia Island residents (Walley, 2004).

Not only may Indigenous peoples become excluded from decision-making in terms of governing the marine space but they are also excluded from the process of resource allocation. For example, Hill (2017) examines the case of Redang Island Marine Park in Malaysia and points out that the previous custodians of the Island’s coasts were not only excluded from the decision-making process prior to designating the MPA but that they were also not included in the revenue distribution process. Revenue generated through ‘ecotourism’ facilities within the MPA were not given to local communities and the existing documents on this unequal distribution mechanism suffer from significant lack of transparency. This highlights how the participation of Indigenous peoples may be excluded at various stages in the implementation and management of an MPA and its resources, including the financial resources it generates and the unequal distribution of these.

When examining the practices of exclusion and inclusion in the processes of creating MPAs, it is important to consider the role of the area’s governing authority and what relation it holds with other stakeholders. The case of Chagos Islands is an interesting example for this because the archipelago is an overseas territory of the United Kingdom (UK) and is formally under the UK’s jurisdiction. Interestingly, MPAs created in UK waters place a huge emphasis on bottom-up approach to marine governance so that local communities can have a meaningful input in the decision-making process. Nevertheless, a strict top-down governance approach in the Chagos MPA precludes any engagement with local stakeholders, a practice which De Santos et al., (2011) argue demonstrates the colonial legacy of fortress conservation in this MPA which still formally exists in British Indian Ocean Territory. This dynamic illustrates that the governance structure and decision-making authorities can vary significantly for each MPA and it is important to critically examine how power may be exercised by the governing authority over other stakeholders.

As Doolittle (2007) argues, conservation can only be truly successful if the needs of the local population are taken into consideration and their perspectives are meaningfully integrated throughout the decision-making discussions and mechanisms. Thus, this section has stressed the importance of meaningful and ongoing participation which has too often been deprived from Indigenous peoples and coastal local communities when making decisions over the protected area and its resources.

1.5 VIOLATING INDIGENOUS RIGHTS TO TRADITIONAL TERRITORY AND RESOURCES

Article 25 of the UNDRIP states that Indigenous peoples have the right to maintain their distinct spiritual relationships with their traditional lands, water and coastal seas. Article 26 of the Declaration builds on this previous article and highlights that Indigenous peoples have the right to own, use and develop their traditionally owned lands and resources. The practice of selective enclosure physically prevents some local Indigenous communities from accessing their traditional territories and the resources there-in. Additionally, ongoing forms of selective participation excludes the ideas, knowledges and participation of Indigenous peoples from the decision-making institutions that shape resource management policy. Consequently, these discriminatory forms of enclosure and participation lead to the violation of Articles 25 and 26 of The Declaration and preclude communities from accessing marine resources which are critical to their food security and livelihoods.

Although UNDRIP Article 26 does not refer to oceans explicitly it is broadly understood that rights relating to ‘land, territories and resources’ also extend to water bodies and traditional means of fishing (von der Porten, 2019). Furthermore, the 2007 Declaration outlines in Article 10 that Indigenous peoples have the right to free, prior and informed consent (FPIC) before development takes place in their traditional territories and before any external decisions over resource management are made. The failure to adhere to the FPIC principle is another way in which Indigenous rights are undermined when it comes to establishing MPAs and making decision over resource use without their full, meaningful and ongoing participation.

Colonial imaginaries and depictions of Indigenous peoples as uncivilized have served to justify selective enclosure and participation in a way that results in the erosion of Indigenous rights. A powerful example for this comes from Pannell’s (1996) study on marine management and conservation approaches in Indonesia. In particular, Pannell draws from the 1991 national government declaration for the creation of the Southeast Aru Strict Nature Reserve, which changed status in 2009 to Aquatic Nature Sanctuary of Southeast Aru Islands. This MPA created a strict marine reserve that was allegedly closed to all forms of human activity. However, large commercial trawlers for shrimp fishing and the commercial exploitation of turtles would occasionally be allowed, either formally or informally by failing to enforce restrictions. In this case, indigenous peoples were depicted as ‘nobodies’ and undertaking fishing practices which were detrimental to the marine environment whereas commercial vessels were framed as efficient, modern and more sustainable. No consultation process took place after the first initial contact between governing authorities and the local population. This case demonstrates how the colonial imaginaries around Indigenous peoples and their traditional practices justifies conservation practices which undermines the rights of local communities to food and relations to the marine spaces they have traditionally inhabited on.

2. INDIGENOUS RESURGENCE IN MARINE CONSERVATION

Von der Porten et al. (2019) define Indigenous resurgence as a form of environmental governance which aims to strengthen Indigenous ways of living and reclaim Indigenous peoples’ agency in the decision-making practices. In their study of Indigenous resurgence, von der Porten et al. (2019) undertake an exploratory and descriptive study involving an extensive document review of marine conservation case studies from around the world. They find that there are significant overlaps in the characteristics between Indigenous resurgence by coastal communities in different contexts globally. For example, they conclude that women continue to be excluded from marine resource decision-making even though they contribute significantly to global seafood catch. They also find that resurgence is taking place with very limited support from national policies and legislation despite evidence that Indigenous participation in MPA governance promotes greater sustainability and better leadership for conservation. However, despite the still limited role of Indigenous knowledges and practices in marine conservation, Ban & Frid (2018) note that MPAs are beginning to be recognizes as conservation tools with a great potential to revitalize Indigenous cultural practices (Ban & Frid, 2018).

Canada’s Arctic coastline stretches for near 160,000 km and has been traditionally inhabited by Inuit communities. Marine Conservation areas and Areas of Interest (AOIs) along this coastline provide great insights into the challenges and opportunities that arise from participation with Indigenous peoples. Canada’s national goal is conserving 30% of its oceans by 2030, an objective which must now include the participation of Indigenous peoples and knowledges since the passing of UNDRIP at a federal level in 2021.

Establishing National Marine Conservation Areas sometimes requires years of negotiations with Indigenous communities. For example, it took six years of negotiations with Inuit communities for Park Canada to release a feasibility assessment for Tallurutiup Imanga a proposed marine conservation area. Warrior et al. (2022) undertake an in-depth study of the Mi’kmaq First Nations participation in establishing MPAs at the Eastern Shore Islands AOI (figure 4). After undertaking numerous semi-structured interviews with Mi’kmaq and non-Mi’kmaq participants knowledgeable or involved in creating MPAs and doing a content analysis on these, the authors were able to identity what the key themes on challenges and opportunities of Mi’kmaq participation were for different stakeholders. They found that some barriers to advancing negotiations were due to a limited understanding of Mi’kmaq culture and Mi’kmaq Ecological Knowledge which is holistic, dynamic, experiential, intuitive and encompasses spiritual and cultural values.

In this study, Warrior et al. (2022)  also found that other stakeholders find it challenging to reconcile western ‘science’ with traditional knowledges. Some participants in their study also suggest that there is a lack of clarity of Mi’kmaq rights, particularly those resulting in fisheries conflicts. However, a greater emphasis was placed on the opportunities that come from Mi’kmaq meaningful participation such as fair consultation, Mi’kmaq approaches & principles, ecological knowledge and discussions around alternative governance approaches like co-governance and Indigenous-led governance. Potter (2023) argues that Canada should reconsider its conservation practices in the Arctic and implement more Indigenous Protected Areas (IPAs) that contemplate the roles that community wellness, employment and prosperity play in environmental stewardship. More studies such as that of Warrior et al. (2022) which explore the barriers and opportunities to establishing IPAs will help advance this project.

Figure 4. Map showing the location of the Eastern Shore Islands Area of Interest.

Source: Government of Canada, 2022.

         The practices of selective enclosure and participation may also be re-examined to challenge the coloniality of MPAs as opposed to perpetuating it. An exceptional example of this is the strategies of co-governance and equitable resource management that comes from Palau. The Palau National Marine Sanctuary is one of the largest MPAs in the world and as of 2020, 80% of Palau’s Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) was declared a fully protected area in which all mining and fishing activities were banned (Blue Nature Alliance, 2020). However, the remaining 20% of Palau’s EEZ has been designated as a Domestic Fishing Zone which is designed to support the fishing practices of Indigenous communities and ensure food security for the local population. In doing so, Palau has created a form of enclosure which is specifically designed to protect its rich marine habitats but cater specifically to the needs and preferences of the people of Palau. This management strategy illustrates how selective enclosure may be redefined to exclude non-Indigenous bodies from marine spaces, as opposed to justifying the forced displacements of Indigenous communities, and establish a framework for selective participation which prioritizes the traditional use of resources by the local populations which have lived in that space long before the creation of the MPA.

3. CONCLUSION

This paper has drawn from five contemporary case study examples from around the world. These are (in no particular order) the Mafia Island Marine Park (Tanzania), Chagos Islands (BIOT), Aquatic Nature Sanctuary of Southeast Aru Islands (Indonesia), Eastern Shore Islands Area of Interest (Nova Scotia), Redang Island Marine Park (Malaysia). As shown in figure 1, each of these exists in a different jurisdiction and is managed by a different governing authority. However, all of these examples indicate some form of coloniality in the process of establishing their MPA, whether this stems from forced displacement, lack of participation or direct violation of Indigenous rights as outlined in The Declaration.

For example, the UNDRIP text clearly states that “Indigenous peoples shall not be forcibly removed” (p.11) and that the principle of free, prior and informed consent must be adhered to by any individual, group or institution that seeks to use and exploit traditional Indigenous territories. The example of Chagos Islands showed that, in fact, Indigenous communities continue to be displaced even though UNDRIP was passed in 2007 and the Chagos MPA was established later in 2010. Furthermore, examples of limited participation and exclusionary processes such as that taking place with Mafia Island residents in the process of creating the Mafia Island MPA highlights the lack of consent by and representation of local peoples in the decision-making bodies and processes.

The three central themes of enclosure, participation and Indigenous rights are addressed in the aforementioned order to provide insights on how uneven power structures and colonial imaginaries are taking shape on the ground. Finally, this paper also considers the important role of Indigenous resurgence in marine conservation and the ways in which co-governance and IPAs are being implemented in the Canadian Arctic and Palau.

The need to protect our oceans is an imperative that is reflected in the UN Sustainable Development Goal (SDG) 14 in the Agenda 2030. It was and emphasized most recently in the historic decision to pass the UN Treaty of the High Seas (McVeigh, 2023). However, it is vital that we critically assess the ways in which forms of marine conservation, particularly in the context of no-take MPAs, take place. This will help advance conservation strategies and in doing so, avoid the reproduction of colonial discourses and practices of dispossession (von der Porten et al., 2019). A critical examination of MPAs and no-take zones must challenge the ways in which coloniality persists and contributes to Indigenous marine dispossession. Dispossession may take different forms in the contemporary ‘post-colonial’ political context as colonial countries advance ideas of sovereignty over marine spaces/resources and simultaneously undermine Indigenous rights. It is important to understand what these forms are, what are their underlying power structures and what can be done to advance a more holistic and socially just approach to conservation. To do this, we must meaningfully engage the voices and agency of the people directly affected by the proposed conservation measures.

Ultimately, this paper has argued that there is an urgency to move beyond the Western dualistic understanding of conservation practices which treat humans and nature separately, viewing nature either as a resource to be exploited or a valuable to be preserved separately from human activities (Adams & Mulligan, 2012). Instead, it is vital to recognize the need for and opportunities that arise from co-governance with Indigenous communities to create truly sustainable forms of interacting with our marine environment and move beyond discriminatory practices.

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(IM)MOBILITIES IN THE ANTHROPOCENE

Authors: Joanne Joseph and Olivia Karp

Editor: Michelle Xie

FRAMING STATEMENT

This paper examines the broader implications of Indigenous climate advocacy among iTaukei Fijians and Gurunsi communities in Ghana. The analysis underscores the need for policies that address the inequitable impacts of extreme weather and climate disasters with grounding in the cultural and historical contexts of impacted communities. By embracing pluralistic, non-universalizing understandings of Indigenous experiences, policymakers can develop more effective and just climate adaptation strategies that honour the agency and resilience of Indigenous peoples.

To meaningfully grapple with the complex dimensions of climate injustice/inequity, we must delve into the unique histories, cultural contexts, and varied experiences of individual communities and the global connections between such communities. For example, in this paper, the term “Gurunsi” is used to refer to a group of Indigenous peoples residing in Ghana and south and central Burkina Faso. Although the term “Frafra” is sometimes used as a blanket term for several groups located in Northeast Ghana, "Frafra" was introduced by colonial missionaries who misunderstood its meaning in the Gurenne language, where it roughly translates to "suffering work." Despite this colonial imposition, some community members continue to identify with the term, while others prefer to be called the Gurunsi people.

To examine how the iTaukei Fijians and Gurunsi peoples experience and respond to climate impacts, it is also essential to recognize distinctions between agency-driven managed retreat and forced climate-induced displacement. iTaukei communities’ profound connection to their lands, encapsulated in the concept of ‘Vanua,’ drives communities’ resistance to relocation. This connection underscores a form of voluntary immobility grounded in cultural and spiritual values​​. Conversely, Gurunsi peoples within the northern regions of Ghana and extending into Burkina Faso, have a long history of adapting to environmental changes through migration. Gurunsi people’s adaptive strategies involve preserving Indigenous knowledge and practices even as they migrate, highlighting a dynamic form of mobility driven by necessity and resilience​​. In both cases, (im)mobility functions to assert Indigenous sovereignty via both mitigative and adaptive climate responses.

It is also important to note that climate disasters are exacerbated by the effects of carbon colonialism, wherein industrialized nations' greenhouse gas emissions disproportionately impact vulnerable communities in the Global South, driving climate disasters that force displacement. Gurunsi people’s adaptive strategies involve preserving Indigenous knowledge and practices even as they migrate, highlighting a dynamic form of mobility driven by necessity and resilience. Similarly, iTaukei people’s choice to remain on their traditional lands is not just a matter of survival but an assertion of their cultural identity and sovereignty.

Many Indigenous communities, such as the iTaukei and Gurunsi peoples, challenge dominant narratives in climate governance. Their experiences highlight the limitations of top-down, universal solutions that fail to incorporate local knowledge and preferences. Moreover, academic and policy discussions often overlook the importance of Indigenous agencies in climate adaptation and migration decisions. Research on the Anthropocene, which emphasizes the impact of human activities on the planet, often fails to account for the power dynamics and inequalities that shape mobility and immobility patterns. Experiences of Gurunsi and iTaukei peoples reveal the urgent need for mobility justice, which calls for an agent-centred approach that respects the decision-making processes of Indigenous peoples​​.

Incorporating Indigenous perspectives into climate adaptation policies requires a paradigm shift towards inclusive, participatory governance. Authors such as Dryzek and Pickering advocate for deliberative democracy wherein Indigenous voices are not just heard, but actively engaged in climate decision-making processes. This approach fosters a deeper understanding of the diverse ways Indigenous communities interact with their environments and adapt to climate change​​. Their voices are not just important, they are necessary for effective and just climate policies.

AUTHOR POSITIONALITIES

We, Joanne Joseph and Olivia Karp, recent master’s graduates, are deeply passionate about Indigenous research and the intersections between Indigenous knowledge systems and climate change. As non-Indigenous individuals, we are acutely aware of the importance of approaching this research with respect, mindfulness, and a steadfast commitment to ethical practices.

This paper, incorporating the Anthropocene framework, aims to highlight human activity's impacts on the climate and the environment. Throughout history, people have been on the move, but environmental changes are now prompting unprecedented levels of migration. Using case studies from Ghana and Fiji, we aim to showcase the effects of climate change on the (im)mobility of people in these regions. The Anthropocene framework not only explores the impacts of climate change on Indigenous Peoples but also examines how these changes affect their livelihoods and cultures.

         We recognize the significance of Indigenous perspectives in understanding and addressing climate change and are dedicated to learning from and collaborating with Indigenous communities to support their resilience and sustainability efforts. We strongly believe in incorporating diverse knowledge systems, especially those of marginalized communities into mainstream discussion on climate change. Our work is informed by a desire to amplify Indigenous voices and to contribute to a more inclusive and equitable approach to environmental research and policy-making.

ABSTRACT

The complexities of agency, culture, power, temporality, and governance all shape how people choose to stay or leave a climate-impacted region. Ghana and Fiji represent two case studies that show many similarities and differences in addressing the multicausal nexus of environmental change and migration (IOM, n.d.). Academic, political, and policy debates have long focused on the forces perpetuating migration flows. However, research on the Anthropocene reveals systemic neglect in how power and inequality impact the governance and control of movement and its consequence in shaping patterns of unequal mobility and immobility in the circulation of people, resources, and information (Schewel, 2020). (Sheller, 2022). For certain people, these forces induce them to leave the places they call home. For others, it encourages or forces them to stay put (Tschakert & Neef, 2022). Mobility justice calls for a dynamic, relational, and agency-centered approach to comprehending the complex decision-making forces that compel people to take differing actions.

1. INTRODUCTION

The relations between climate change and human movement are changing in the Anthropocene. Analytical research into the iTaukei Fijians in the South Pacific, with more than 800 communities, and Gorse / Gurunsi people in the Northern regions of Ghana spreading across neighbouring Burkina Faso, reveals the diversity of climate-induced human mobility and voluntary immobility amidst the ongoing climate crisis. Both cases of the iTaukei Fijians and Gorse people are unique but fairly similar in their response to the environment and changes to their ways of life.

The iTaukei Fijian community is directly impacted by the ebbs and flows of climate change. These islands are highly exposed to climate-induced hazards – cyclones, storm surges and floods - that urge the international community to recognize the Fiji Islands as being climate-vulnerable and needing state and donor support for relocation. However, contemporary research reveals that iTaukei Fijians increasingly resist climate-driven relocation. Vanua is one reason behind climate-related voluntary immobility. Vanua gives iTaukei Fijians a profound sense of connectedness to their “physical, social, cultural and spiritual selves” (Yee, McNamara, Piggott-McKellar, & McMichael, 2022) and an interconnectivity to the environment where nature is considered a part of the self. Therefore, the will to stay put in the face of heightened pressures and climate-related risks draws on this kinship and the collaborative experiences to safeguard and protect their home (Yee, McNamara, Piggott-McKellar, & McMichael, 2022).

The Gurunsi people are an Indigenous group inhabiting Ghana's northern regions, who are also affected by climate change. They make up only 2% of the Ghanaian population but have years of history in Ghana, where they have practiced their traditions, culture, and Indigenous knowledge using the environment (Agyemang, 2022). Specifically, the environment has become a way of life for the Gorse people (Agyemang, 2022). This dependence has resulted in the group migrating and adapting to the changing climate. In other words, the environment has impacted the group’s and (im)mobilities. Migrating is not new for the Gurunsi people but has prompted new ways of preserving their Indigenous knowledge and livelihood (Agyemang, 2022). Similar to the iTaukei Fijians, the Gurunsi people challenged the Anthropocene by using the environment and (im)mobility to create prominent adaptation strategies for effective climate migration governance.

Fiji and Ghana reveal the significance of incorporating local understandings of climate-related migration and voluntary immobility in climate adaptation policy formulation. Authors Dryzek and Pickering explore this act of deliberative democracy in their book, highlighting the transition towards further engagement, direct participation, and representation of Indigenous voices (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018a). Dryzek and Pickering invite us to remodel our thoughts by confronting alternative ways of navigating (im)mobility challenges in the Anthropocene (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018b). The effects of the environment have forced the Gorse people and iTaukei Fijians to be resilient, pushing them to turn a negative situation into a positive future. Dryzek and Pickering would view the strength and positivity of the Gorse people and iTaukei Fijians as evidence of them trying to build their agency while interacting with the world around them (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018b). However, this agency, which has close ties to collective identity and the environment, is often overlooked in the Anthropocene (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018c). This oversight is accountable to the lack of efforts to include Indigenous knowledge and traditions in climate adaptation strategies. Therefore, non-Indigenous scholars must observe, listen to, understand, and engage with the concept of justice in the Anthropocene that seeks to remake the global climate change regime (Lukacs, 2017).

Environmental degradation influences human life in diverse ways. The Gorse people and the iTaukei Fijians are distinctive cases to explore and learn from because of how they engage with the Anthropocene, the former wanting to migrate and the latter wanting to stay. It is not a linear decision but a complex outcome of interrelated variables, circumstances, and factors. This paper explores how (im)mobilities impact the decisions and, consequently, the lives of both groups driven by climate change and their engagement with the Anthropocene. In particular, the paper will examine the two aforementioned cases and highlight their success and failures, revealing important challenges about how the groups engaged with the Anthropocene for survival.

This paper will explain key themes like the Anthropocene, mobility, (im)mobilities, path dependency, justice, resilience, non-human, traditional Indigenous knowledge and colonial legacies, and the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) further.

2. ENGAGEMENT WITH THE ANTHROPOCENE

One definition of the Anthropocene is understanding human-to-non-human relations in which the planet helps meet human needs. In other words, it is "our awareness of both the current state of the planet and the effect of our actions" (Pavid, n.d.). It includes working through the politics of the Anthropocene and rejecting naïve faith in progress and development. The Anthropocene is not simply a "temporal geological market of human impact on the world's climate" (Suliman, et al., 2019). It is also an emergent historical conjuncture of “carboniferous histories of industrialization, capitalism, and colonialism” (Suliman, et al., 2019, p. 299).

The Anthropocene, which coincides with individualism, colonialism, and industrial development, is noted to have failed the Gorse people and iTaukei Fijians and hindered their agency in addressing climate conditions. Indigenous peoples teach us to take responsibility for our surroundings and communities, unlike neoliberalism’s approach through “economic policies and laissez-faire attitudes” (Lukacs, 2017) that celebrate competitiveness and hyper-individualism. Further, contemporary politics of Anthropocene mobilities are constitutive to colonial and post-colonial meanings attached to historical forms of movement (Whyte et al., 2019), leaving Indigenous peoples un- or under-represented in formal multilateral climate governance platforms. Our case studies reveal that this oversimplified model of Western thinking often assigns Indigenous peoples the victimhood narrative, which erases the agency of affected groups and, in particular, "the exercise of choice to stay, or to migrate” (Lukacs, 2017). In their migration journey, the Gorse people use the knowledge and traditions of their relationship with the environment to adapt to ongoing vulnerabilities (Agyemang, 2022). They have built an adjustability and survivability mechanism with the teachings they have gained. For the iTaukei Fijians, choosing to stay is a powerful assertion of indigeneity and an acknowledgement of the limits of nation-state solutions. Additionally, staying is also a claim to their cultural and spiritual practices of maintaining connections to ancestors, preventing loss of cultural identity and ensuring the continuation of unique place-based knowledge and cultures for future generations.

Non-human voices are invisible because the Anthropocene fails to understand non-humans' connections with Indigenous peoples like the Gorse people and the iTaukei Fijians (Agyemang, 2022). As stipulated by Dryzek and Pickering, the language of crisis will change how we respond and plan for an emergency. However, it should be noted that including Indigenous and non-human voices are especially integral to coping with any changes in the society of the Anthropocene (Lunstrum & Bose, 2022). Indigenous human and non-human struggles against and within the context of climate change deserve treatment and analysis that reach beyond common conceptualizations of mobilization and multilateral negotiations (Whyte et al., 2019).

Mobility due to climate change is often perceived as a solution to the problem. The pathological path dependency of the international community’s mobilization has reinforced two features of contemporary global climate politics: "(1) the subordination of Indigenous voices and (2) the marginalization of (im)mobility concerns" (Suliman, et al., 2019, p. 300). Therefore, path dependencies aid in rethinking how the Gorse people and iTaukei Fijians mobilize culture and challenge the hegemonic misconceptions of development, global environmental protection, and climate justice. The Gorse people’s decision to migrate and iTaukei Fijians’ to stay, both to preserve their culture and way of life, should be viewed as an opportunity in climate governance. Further, suppose the Anthropocene can remove these misconceptions. In that case, it can help renew Indigenous knowledge and livelihoods, bringing together different communities to strengthen their own roles of agency in planning for environmental change.

In doing this, we also need to be cautious of the appropriation of Indigenous peoples into “green agendas.” According to Suliman, et al., “Indigenous peoples are trotted forward as mouthpieces, mined for their wisdom, highlighted for their tragedies, and then shoved to the back of the line” (Suliman, et al., 2019, p. 302). Their knowledge and experience can be co-opted for political purposes. Thus, radical reformation of the relationship between powerful states and Indigenous peoples needs to be done. Long-term sustainable solutions might be co-opted by dominant institutions that perpetuate pathological path dependency (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018d). Even within the UNFCCC, Indigenous worldviews are subordinate to scientific and technocratic visions of effective climate change mitigation and adaptation that are thought to be achieved through market mechanisms and state-led cooperation (Suliman, et al., 2019). Additionally, there continues to be a long-standing tendency to marginalize Indigenous voices within global climate governance, which depoliticizes conceptions of climate change adaptation to maintain market-based (capitalist) approaches to climate change solutions.  Using this framework, Indigenous knowledge is seen as complementary, rather than disruptive, to formal governance spaces (Suliman, et al., 2019).  

According to Dryzek and Pickering, resilience and justice for Indigenous peoples are critical to rethinking and conceptualizing transformative governance for action in multilateral climate governance (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018b). Indigenous peoples can act as formative agents in the politics of the Anthropocene by shaping and practicing the principle of justice through Indigenous knowledge, traditions, and culture (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018d). Knowledge and teachings are critical tools to foster a sense of community and belonging founded on practices frequently entwined with social elements, memories, and natural facilities. Indigenous collectives signal unity vis-à-vis the historical determinants of climate vulnerability.  To achieve justice, Indigenous peoples must be able to exercise a sense of agency. Bringing in Indigenous stories will help find new ways to learn to deal with the climate emergency respectfully.

3. SUCCESS AND SETBACKS OF GORSE PEOPLE AND ITAUKEI FIJIAN CLIMATE ADAPTATIONS

         Climate change is a global phenomenon, and its threats and dangers are, and will be, felt everywhere. Therefore, creating mitigation and adaptation strategies that understand the Gorse people and iTaukei Fijians’ choice to stay or migrate is vital to both Indigenous groups. At the same time, promoting long-term environmental sustainability encompassing stakeholders from the government, private sector, civil society organizations, and international institutions should take precedence. Below are examples of the successes and setbacks the Gorse people and iTaukei Fijians have faced as they adapt to climate change.

        The ability to preserve one’s knowledge and traditions in a new place is a significant challenge to the Gorse people’s well-being and future generations. It also affects their moral relationship to protecting and caring for nature. Migrating affects their moral duty to protect nature (Agyemang, 2022). They also face the challenge of restarting their lives in new places due to climate change. The Anthropocene overlooks the specific environmental impacts for the Gorse people, necessitating them to leave their old knowledge behind and reinstate new ones on the path towards justice, to protect their families and future generations (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018e). Although the Gorse people have a history of migration, adapting to new environments while preserving vast traditions and knowledge within their communities remains difficult. (Agyemang, 2022). Further, they experience a different kind of immobility because of the work they have done to rebuild their communities and traditions.

One of the setbacks for the iTaukei Fijian community is navigating international climate governance while implementing sustainable long-term solutions that adhere to the values of bula vakavanua (Klassen, 2020). To be sustainable, development efforts must embrace Indigenous knowledge in the planning process to bring in human and non-human relations. For instance, in 2010, the Fijian government commissioned solar panel systems for rural Indigenous communities. These solar panels were designed to contribute to reducing carbon emissions and influencing and acquiring individual goods like electrical appliances. However, there are two problems with the NGOs and foreign organizations expected to deliver sustainable development solutions to Indigenous communities (Klassen, 2020). First, there is a disconnect between expectations and reality. Local Indigenous experts express concern over the kind of development work taking place in Fiji. Studies reveal that “climate change has become a form of extortion, where organizations come to make money from tuitions of international volunteers and subsidies” (Klassen, 2020, p.36). Another cautionary narrative exposes the disconnect felt by Indigenous peoples who have a collectivist style of living founded on mutual exchange and reciprocity instead of technological advancement, which forces individualism in these communities under the pretext of ecological modernization (Klassen, 2020).

Another failure of the iTaukei Fijians is experienced in their multifaceted and nuanced relationships with the natural world. Their unique relationship to nature puts them in a precarious position. Many Indigenous communities have deep-rooted relations to the land as part of their livelihoods and cultures.  Some participate in subsistence activities, such as hunting and fishing, and spend time outdoors for cultural and spiritual purposes.  As a result, continued use of fossil-fuel-based economic development and the changes these processes make to the surrounding environment will exacerbate the ongoing vulnerabilities faced by these communities, like political and economic marginalization, loss of land and resources, and human rights violations (United Nations, 2021).

Success for the Gorse people is seen in the utilization of migration as a coping strategy to increase their resilience to the impacts of climate change. They have a spiritual connection to the environment, which they use to adapt to their surroundings (Agyemang, 2022). These strategies allow the Gorse people to acclimate to the changing environment and find new ways to overcome climate migration challenges. (Baldwin et al., 2019). The Anthropocene lacks understanding of the traditions of mobilities that the Gorse people have faced. They use stories of their ancestors and lessons to guide them and manifest their knowledge in many different ways to maintain their culture and survive (Agyemang, 2022). These teachings help expose fundamentally different sets of critical alternative worldwide views about nature (Whyte, 2017).

In the Anthropocene, knowledge as we know would conflict with the Gorse people’s ancestral knowledge because systems of oppression do  not grant voice to the ‘Other.’ (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018d). The Gorse people honour their ancestral knowledge, which allows them to strive toward freedom and justice, a step towards moving past the effects of colonization and capitalism. Dryzek and Pickering argue that there also needs to be justice for other species subjected to human interference, which adds new urgency in extending the obligations of justice to non-humans (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018e). Further, the Gorse people and their ancestral knowledge open avenues to integrate the voices of the non-humans to establish their own mobilities.

Among the Pacific Island nations, Fiji was among the first developing nations to create a ‘National Action Plan’ (NAP) in 2018 (Prasad, Alam, & Kundra, 2022). Dryzek and Pickering urge us to recognize the limitations of dominant institutions and foster the idea of ‘ecological reflexivity.’ It entails a commitment to continuous, critical questioning of all ideas and practices resulting from top-down models and instead emanates practices from “processual development” (Prasad, Alam, & Kundra, 2022, p.5785). Fiji’s successes in implementing ecosystem-based strategies result from what sustainability and democracy can look like in the age of the Anthropocene. Indigenous Fijians' unique relationship with nature is leading the way in innovative health-related climate change adaptation work by using traditional knowledge and novel approaches (Schramm, Al Janabi, Campbell, & Gaughen, 2020).  Land is crucial to Indigenous worldviews and identities. Therefore, communities and national governments focus on on-site accommodations and protection adaptation measures like building sea walls, improving drainage, and planting mangroves (Farbotko, 2018).

A prime example of nature-based solutions is seawalls built by natural products, including rocks sourced from within the communities. Planting vetiver grass on the seawall with the grassroots netting themselves into the rocks will help firm them up. Additionally, there is space among the crevices for species of plants and animals to thrive, essentially creating a living, breathing wall. Planting a mangrove system around the wall will help turn the area into a biodiversity-rich protected area while protecting the coastline from erosion (Singh & Cooke, 2022). Further, they have no chemicals or construction-based waste impact on our marine seascape areas. Restoring nature by establishing both seascape and landscape biodiversity parks is part of a bigger picture of an ecosystem-based adaptation, which is a critical part of global solutions to climate change (Singh & Cooke, 2022).

According to the UNFCCC, these ecosystem-based adaptation techniques are crucial globally. A study by Suliman, et al., highlights six guiding principles that recognize the importance of ecosystems to decreasing human vulnerabilities and sustaining livelihoods while promoting socio-economic growth. They recognize the importance of adopting a comprehensive strategy considering ecosystems across all industries to produce the best solutions inclusively and collaboratively. These adaptations build on cultural knowledge and historical traditions of responding to change.

Based on the two case studies, it is important to highlight that there are two ways of tackling the climate crisis within the Anthropocene. The Gorse people's choice to migrate reveals the need to adapt and rebuild resiliency in their changing environment. The iTaukei Fijian community's choice of staying reflects their desire to preserve their culture and use the existing land to maintain their communities. Both examples demonstrate the complexities of achieving climate justice in the Anthropocene.

4. ROLE OF SOCIAL MOVEMENTS, BUSINESS, NGOS, & GOVERNMENTS

Governments, businesses, and institutions are crucial in understanding and mitigating climate change's impacts on the Gorse people and iTaukei Fijians. These organizations are important in regulating interactions with different institutions, especially between global agendas and grassroots groups.

In Ghana, according to Dryzek and Pickering, the government should be the one to respond to vulnerabilities and acknowledge their own path dependencies to bring the non-human voice to the table as a way to engage with the unforeseen circumstances of climate migration (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018a). For example, the Department of Social Welfare and Development works closely with the Ministry of ‘Gender, Children and Social Protection to assist the Gorse people by giving them money and resources to migrate safely (Agyemang, 2022). In 2018, the department helped provide food packages to young Gorse men and women and a lump sum of GHS200.00 (Ghanaian dollars) since the environment could no longer provide their necessities.  Similarly, the government’s understanding that non-human needs are part of the Gorse people’s journey signals that the state can adapt to the different worldviews.

However, the Ghanaian government has also unsuccessfully supported the Gorse people’s migration to new areas. Path dependencies limit their interactions on ideas of justice and utilization of new ancestral ideas and knowledge that the Gorse people have regarding the environment (Whyte et al., 2019). Therefore, governments require reflexivity in their systems and the incorporation of non-humans into these structural systems because they lack recognition and rights in the international community (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018c).  The government should work on listening to their concerns and endeavour to use Indigenous knowledge, as well as culture, to preserve their way of life if they were to migrate somewhere else.

Local businesses have also succeeded in aiding the Gorse people. For instance, when the Gorge people migrate, they often trade with local vendors using their goods in exchange for other resources rather than money (Agyemang, 2022). In Ghana, many different types of local businesses make food and materials. A study conducted by the UNHCR states that Indigenous groups traded their baskets and locally grown food for wood, tools, and clothes (Agyemang, 2022). All of these materials the Gorse people receive are helpful for trading with local businesses (Agyemang, 2022).

Businesses are practicing an example of a ‘thick cosmopolitanism’ (Dobson, 2006). According to Dobbs, the nature of thick cosmopolitanism is to “provide economic and social support for our membership of a common humanity” (Dobson, 2006, p. 169). Businesses are doing that by trading goods with the Gursuni instead of asking for money. Ultimately, if businesses keep exchanging goods, it will help them expand their membership of ‘Good Samaritans’ in the language of justice (Dobson, 2006).

However, big corporations founded on market-centred practices fail to support the Gursuni in their migration journey. They live in Burkina Faso, an area known for farming rice, peanuts, and beans. However, in 2017, big farming corporations like ‘Green Gold Farms’ obtained land already used by people to grow their own crops (Agyemang, 2022). The Gursuni resisted and tried to negotiate land use with ‘Green Gold Farms’. They were unhappy with the deal made and bought off different parts of their land at a higher price than the Gorse people could afford, forcing them to move to a smaller community section (Agyemang, 2022). In the Anthropocene, decision-making in corporations is often driven by profits, which forces the Gorse people to pursue cheaper alternatives that are not always the best for the environment or the Gurunsi. (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018).

The state allowed the corporation to buy more land from the Gorse people because governments were more focused on economic growth than the well-being of those involved (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018). For the most part, government actions, along with Green Gold Farms, show that they cannot adapt to instabilities within their own systems (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018e).  In summary, it is important for the Ghanaian government and businesses to recognize their path dependencies and bring revolutionary change within their institutions  (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018). This shift in worldview will make it easier for these two types of institutions to practice reflexivity regarding listening and learning from the Gursunis and non-human entities.

        Climate change adaptation in Fiji and other Pacific Island countries over the last thirty years has been advanced by numerous interventions by NGOs, businesses, and governments. However, most have failed to bring about desired and sustained change because they are externally designed and funded and lack human and financial support from local communities. Often, external interventions come with the intent to undermine community coping capacities, aspirations and worldviews with a ‘one-size fits all’ transformation strategy. In the ‘Politics of the Anthropocene,’ we see how dominant institutions, like external NGOs, become unfit as they hold onto market-based practices that align with global agendas rather than community-specific interventions (Kumar & Nunn, 2019).

Furthermore, Fiji’s climate vulnerability has raised interest in the implications of peace and security to policymakers, academics and observers. However, the lack of evidence that proves a direct causal link between climate change and conflict and the failure to respond to the very real emotions of many iTaukei Fijians who are victims of hazardous climate disasters could lead to many more unintended conflicts. Historical global interventions in the Pacific, including past colonization and displacement, hold many lessons for how contemporary “externally conceived interventions” (Higgins, 2020) interact with existing power relations, resulting in the creation of more inequity and exclusion (Higgins, 2020). Nevertheless, government and international actors have an important role in creating meaningful long-term partnerships with civil society organizations to transform existing drivers of inequity and violence while engaging with the “histories of place, people, land and environment” (Higgins, 2020). Existing structural institutions and conceptual frameworks will need revolutionary strategies to ensure the evolution of governance mechanisms in alignment with climate justice. For instance, incorporating various worldviews will be a turning point for collaboration between formative agents and participating communities at the regional, national and international levels (Higgins, 2020).

Churches and church-based organizations also play significant roles in localized responses to climate change, disaster risk management and humanitarian actions. A qualitative study conducted using focus group discussions with church members and key informant interviews in church-based organizations reveals the benefits of grassroots organizations in reaching everyone, everywhere, and every time. They are crucial in monitoring impacts of intervention at the community level. Church leaders reinforce the connection between traditional iTaukei governance processes and international agendas. At the local level, we see how churches act as powerful tools to grow resilient communities that can help support each other. These collective actions can act as a form of empowerment and ownership as members lead disaster preparedness and recovery initiatives (Iese, et al., 2021).

5. CONCLUSION

        To conclude, our research paper explores how Indigenous groups like the Grone people and iTaukei Fijians demand a radical departure from the status quo to remain within planetary boundaries and achieve sustainability. Rethinking justice, institutions, and efficiency is needed for a radical transformation of cities and regions. The scale, pace, and intensity of human activity in the Anthropocene calls for a dynamic and relational approach to complex decision-making forces in the face of the climate crisis (McPhearson, et al., 2021). Further, it is important to consider that even Indigenous groups like the Gurunsi and iTaukei Fijians have their path dependencies, specifically their biases and traumas from dealing with Western models of thinking, which can affect how ideas of justice are incorporated into institutions.          

The success and setbacks of both Indigenous groups reveal how it will require more than small tweaks and incremental change to shift human enterprises toward a sustainable relationship, especially with non-humans. Radical change to achieve a ‘good’ Anthropocene that is just, resilient and sustainable necessitates investments in Indigenous traditional ancestral knowledge, technologies, institutions, sociocultural behaviours and meanings (McPhearson, et al., 2021). Justice for Indigenous groups entails the right to live in a safe environment and preserve their societies for the future. Reflexivity allows agents to process change in light of changing environments (Dryzek & Pickering, 2018b). Therefore, alternative pathways must be articulated to engage with diverse values, worldviews, knowledge systems, and power structures directed at achieving goals at the grassroots level before achieving the global climate agenda. This will also include reframing dominant conventional principles, especially the neoliberal narrative that states must only play “a reactive role rather than a proactive role” in environmental governance (McPhearson, et al., 2021). Further transformations will require feedback structures across subsystems to overcome institutional path dependencies (McPhearson, et al., 2021).         

Our research into the Anthropocene demonstrates that we cannot solve complex challenges with simplistic approaches. Attempting to pinpoint the current trajectories that put us on pathways toward a dystopian future with oppressive border enforcement will make way for radical change (McPhearson, et al., 2021). Here, we also see how (im)mobilities are an exertion of power in the Anthropocene built on manipulating others - human and non-human. We recognize that choice is a privilege within our planetary boundaries; however, it must remain an option in climate migration governance. It might be easier to ignore the voices of those involved and retain the status quo. Still, our research reveals many shortcomings in existing institutional structures that lack proactive climate mitigation and adaptation strategies.

Additionally, radical change demonstrates optimism and support from organizations like the Breakthrough Institute that believe humans can do wonderful things. The institute, as a “paradigm-shifting think tank,” offers hope that people working together can eventually transition to an ecologically vibrant future that is secure, free, and prosperous and founded on core values of “integrity, imagination, and audacity” (Breakthrough Institute, 2023). Non-Indigenous and Indigenous people should take time to reflect and practice the values of the Breakthrough Institute. Suppose everyone comes together to reflect and move toward a society that allows everyone's voices to be heard, focusing on accepting that there are differences and then only revolutionary change can occur (McPhearson, et al., 2021). There is not just one way towards necessary change; there are many different options that everyone can collectively work towards.  

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INTENTIONAL COMMUNITIES IN THE ANTHROPOCENE: COHOUSING FOR A POST-GROWTH WORLD

Author: Divija Madhani

Editor: Mei-Ling Patterson

ABSTRACT

This paper explores and describes the potential benefits, differences, and feasibility of alternative sustainable models derived from various cultures across the globe, such as Buen Vivir, Ecological Swaraj, Ubuntu, and Décroissance. It illustrates how the décroissance model, in particular, can be used as an exemplar for alternative economic models. By providing policy recommendations, the paper demonstrates how décroissance can address major sustainability crises in areas such as housing, food systems, transportation, and labor.

“Our house is on fire. I am here to say, our house is on fire,” declared renowned climate activist Greta Thunberg on January 25th, 2019, in her opening remarks at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland.

In recent decades, the pursuit of sustained economic growth has dominated global political agendas.^[1] This approach—measured primarily by annual increases in gross domestic product (GDP)—has been criticized for neglecting ecological stability and social equity.^[2] Agreements like the Brundtland Commission’s Our Common Future report in 1987, the United Nations’ (UN) Millennium Development Goals for 2015, and most recently, the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) Agenda for 2030, outline global priorities for sustainability.^[3]

While there is widespread consensus that the climate change in recent decades is a product of the Anthropocene, there is less recognition of intensified colonialism as its root cause.^[4] The worldviews, institutions, and practices that justify the expansionist, extractivist, and exploitative demands of (neo)colonialism and industrialization also exacerbate climate impacts under the guise of endless economic growth.^[5]

The (re)emergence and growing popularity of sustainable, post-growth alternatives, such as Buen Vivir (good life), Ecological Swaraj (self-sufficiency), Ubuntu (humaneness), and Décroissance (degrowth), stand in stark contrast to the socio-ecological harms caused by the prevailing neoliberal economy. These alternative ontologies prioritize principles of social, ecological, and economic justice across various domains of daily life, including essential social services like housing, food production, transportation, labour markets, and financial and political institutions.^[6] Buen Vivir, Ecological Swaraj, Ubuntu, and Décroissance thus offer valuable insights for reorienting contemporary policy agendas toward post-growth living.

This paper aims to answer the following research questions: Why are these post-growth models considered suitable for addressing the climate crisis? What practical solutions do these models offer to tackle our ongoing socio-ecological crises? If these models are effective solutions for the era of the Anthropocene, how can they be scaled up?

The paper begins with a brief examination of alternative economic models and their potential to address our polycrisis, with Décroissance as the primary model explored. Décroissance is contextualized within the climate crisis to outline practical solutions to societal issues, particularly the global housing crisis examined at a local level. Intentional communities serve as examples of Décroissance solutions, drawing from case studies in Denmark, the United States, the Netherlands, Austria, the United Kingdom, and Spain.^[7] Furthermore, the paper explores the challenges and limitations of the Décroissance model, offering recommendations for its implementation.

1. REIMAGINING ECONOMIC SYSTEMS

There is extensive research to suggest that economic growth is incompatible with healthy ecologies and just societies.^[8] The literature indicates that economic growth widens the chasm of social inequality while simultaneously depleting natural resources and polluting the environment.^[9] Given these challenges, the current neoliberal economic model in the Global North has failed to uphold the three pillars of sustainability—long-term social equity, environmental protection, and economic prosperity. It is therefore pertinent to explore alternative economic models built on wellness and justice.^[10]

Addressing our global polycrisis requires acknowledging that capitalist economies, emerging only in the last 500 years of humanity's nearly 300,000-year history on Earth, are not the sole historical economic norm.^[11] Before capitalism, societies thrived under various economic models closely aligned with contemporary discourses of sustainable development. Examples from around the globe include Buen Vivir, originating from diverse Indigenous communities such as the Quechua and Aymara in the Andean region of South America; Ecological Swaraj, shaped by various philosophical and ecological movements across countries like India in South Asia; Ubuntu, embodying diverse interpretations within Southern and Eastern Africa and among ethnic groups such as the Zulu and Xhosa; and Décroissance, reflecting a spectrum of environmental and socio-economic approaches influenced by Western European countries such as France, Italy, and Spain.^[12]

These alternative economic models draw on local, traditional, and Indigenous knowledge systems that prioritize environmental stewardship and community well-being.^[13] However, contributions from these knowledge systems are frequently marginalized due to colonial legacies and systemic oppression.^[14] This reflects an epistemic injustice in climate solutions that favours Western scientific paradigms, which prioritize empirical evidence over practical knowledge and spirituality.^[15] The onto-epistemological and cosmological plurality inherent in these post-growth models encourages us to reimagine our economic systems, offering scalable solutions to address our socio-ecological crises in the Anthropocene era.

1.1.  Buen Vivir, Indigenous Communities in the Andean Region

The philosophy of Buen Vivir emerged among Indigenous populations in Bolivia, Ecuador, and Peru.^[16] It asserts that living well involves harmonious coexistence with others and nature, balancing spiritual and material wealth.^[17] Emphasis lies on the inseparability of the natural environment and human societies, and regarding pachamama (Mother Nature) with the utmost respect to ensure multigenerational sustainability.^[18] This approach has resurfaced in response to the extractive practices of racial capitalism. In contrast to the prevailing development discourse, Buen Vivir prioritizes sustainable living over conventional measures of progress.^[19] It promotes a grassroots, society-wide transition towards diverse expressions of well-being across cultural, social, economic, and environmental dimensions, integrating technological advancements and diverse knowledge that challenge dominant modern assumptions.^[20]

Nevertheless, Buen Vivir faces challenges within policy circles due to its perception as more visionary than practical in providing concrete tools for guiding communities through systemic change.^[21] Policymakers face challenges in operationalizing Buen Vivir, despite its focus on holistic well-being, sustainability, and cultural diversity, within frameworks that emphasize economic growth metrics and conventional development paradigms.^[22] Without robust implementation, evaluation, and monitoring strategies, Buen Vivir risks remaining an inspirational concept rather than a transformative force in policy and governance.

1.2.  Ecological Swaraj, South and Southeast Asia

Ecological Swaraj, or Radical Ecological Democracy (RED), is a wellness framework that originated in India.^[23] At its core lie the social and environmental dimensions of sustainability, governed by a new decentralized political system and democratic economic system.^[24] This framework is founded on ten principles, beginning with respect for the planet’s ecological integrity and limits. It emphasizes proactive prevention of socio-ecological harm to ensure just and equitable access to basic needs across generations. The framework celebrates diversity in values, knowledge, culture, and ways of being, and promotes democratic participation in decision-making processes. It upholds the right of nature to thrive and advocates for shared stewardship of resources. Resilience and adaptability are prioritized in addressing sustainability challenges, alongside decentralized governance to empower local communities. Finally, the framework integrates interconnected aspects of human wellness—physical, mental, and social—into holistic approaches to sustainability.^[25]

Implementing the RED framework involves mobilizing social movements led by civil society and non-party political actors to reshape power structures, decentralize governance, and empower local communities with decision-making authority to foster just, climate-resilient societies.^[26] However, entrenched interests and bureaucratic inertia hinder the implementation process, demanding considerable time, resources, and political commitment.^[27] Addressing gaps in quality and affordability across diverse communities adds complexity, highlighting systemic challenges that require coordinated efforts across governance levels and sectors. Although the RED framework offers promising socio-ecological solutions, overcoming these limitations is crucial for effectively promoting its principles.^[28] 

1.3.  Ubuntu, Southern and East African Traditions

Drawing on the Indigenous knowledge of Nguni and Xhosa communities in South Africa, Ubuntu is an expansive African philosophy that embodies a collective worldview emphasizing compassion, interconnectedness, and mutual support in life. ^[29] Ubuntu prioritizes humaneness in relationships, including with nature, over the concept of development.^[30]

While Ubuntu and Buen Vivir both reject development for its own sake, Ubuntu distinguishes itself through a fundamental principle: it emphasizes a dignified interconnectedness among all life, rooted in values such as reciprocity, reconciliation, compassion, and cultural diversity.^[31] This philosophy critiques pervasive modern slavery practices of capitalist systems and extensively employs postcolonial discourse. Consequently, many of Ubuntu's policy implications advocate for laws that transition towards postcolonial economies.^[32]

1.4.  Décroissance, Western European Environmental Movements

French for degrowth, Décroissance represents a contemporary alternative for sustainable economies that originated in France and gained traction in Italy and Spain as part of a socio-ecologically conscious political movement.^[33] Unlike abrupt economic downturns, degrowth involves intentional and equitable downsizing of society’s material consumption and production capacities across various levels of government, particularly in the Global North.^[34] It aims to uphold socio-ecological sustainability across generations by shifting societal values away from commercialism and materialism towards principles of voluntary simplicity, reciprocity, and community-based support.^[35]

Degrowth encompasses several defining dimensions: socio-economically, it prioritizes human relations and social justice over market profits to enhance societal well-being.^[36] Ecologically, it focuses on safeguarding ecosystems by respecting natural resource limits and waste absorption capacities.^[37] Politically, it calls for decentralizing institutional structures to promote direct democracy, equality, justice, and self-determination.^[38] Philosophically, it encourages individuals to find meaning in life beyond consumption-oriented material cultures.^[39]

Implementing degrowth requires a radical shift in societal values to liberate thoughts, desires, and institutions from capitalist rationality and the pursuit of perpetual growth and accumulation.^[40] This shift mirrors other post-growth models like Buen Vivir, Ecological Swaraj, and Ubuntu, which emphasize community-specific approaches grounded in local knowledge systems and cultural contexts. These models prioritize harmony with nature, relational values, and holistic living, underscoring their unique strengths and limitations in diverse global contexts.

Degrowth offers a flexible policy toolkit adaptable to diverse socio-economic environments at individual, local, and national levels to address socio-ecological challenges and foster a post-consumerist, sustainable future.^[41] Examples include opting for public transit, community gardens, and intentional communities at the individual level; shortening the workweek, promoting work-sharing, and investing in non-commercial public commons, such as libraries, parks, and cultural facilities at the local level; and restricting advertising, investing in renewable energy, and taxing pollution at the national level.^[42] These policies account for variations in historic carbon emissions, colonial legacies, and development disparities between the Global North and South, targeting unsustainable practices in affluent nations like the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom that have disproportionately impacted the Global South.^[43]

Given that degrowth is still an emerging movement, there is confusion surrounding the vision for achieving degrowth which may pose challenges for policy actors during the degrowth policy formulation and implementation processes.^[44] By integrating diverse perspectives and collaborative efforts among academics, policymakers, and activists into both bottom-up grassroots initiatives and top-down policy frameworks, degrowth distinguishes itself as a viable and scalable solution for addressing the multifaceted challenges of the Anthropocene era.^[45]

2.  POST-GROWTH ECONOMIES FOR CLIMATE-RESILIENT FUTURES

To explore practical applications of post-growth models, this section focuses on intentional communities as a degrowth solution to the global housing crisis. Recognizing degrowth's Western European origins, it is crucial to acknowledge the Eurocentric bias in the case studies presented and to approach the analysis with cultural humility and respect. This involves critically evaluating the effectiveness of these models while considering the diverse socio-economic and environmental contexts of different communities. The goal is to explore ways to scale up these models to foster climate resilience and address broader socio-ecological challenges, ensuring that the solutions are inclusive and respectful of cultural differences.

2.1.  The Housing Crisis: Historical and Contemporary Context

Prior to the 12th century, every individual had the right to land, including the right to occupy and use the natural resources of common lands without paying for access.^[46] However, significant changes began in the 12th century and intensified through the 19th century in England.^[47] During this period, the colonial ruling class enacted several Enclosure Acts to systematically privatize and enclose common land, thereby stripping individuals of their traditional rights.^[48] Deprived of access to lands crucial for subsistence, many were compelled into wage labour under emerging industrial capitalism to sustain themselves.^[49] Similar processes of land enclosure and shifting land ownership occurred across Europe in varied forms, later influencing European colonial expansion globally. Each region developed unique dynamics of land tenure and access, shaped by local customs, legal frameworks, and historical contexts.^[50] Understanding these changes requires contextualizing them within diverse cultural perspectives and historical contexts related to land tenure, highlighting their disproportionate impacts on marginalized communities based on factors such as race, class, and gender.

The enduring impact of the Great Enclosures is evident today in housing access and ownership. In capitalist societies, homeownership extends beyond meeting basic needs like shelter and security; it is also a symbol of status and achievement.^[51]The dominant capitalist narrative promotes homeownership as an aspirational goal.^[52] Consequently, market forces—developers, builders, and investors—are driven to prioritize economic growth over social and ecological well-being. This results in the rapid construction of larger, privately owned houses rather than sustainable rental options.^[53] These neoliberal practices exacerbate housing affordability crises and contribute to urban sprawl, undermining environmental sustainability in urban planning and design.^[54]

A top-down neoliberal approach to housing for economic growth drives the ongoing housing crisis, impacting the social, ecological, and economic dimensions of sustainability at a municipal level. In large urban contexts such as New York, London, and Tokyo, housing arrangements are characterized by hyperindividualism, increased fragmentation, and sprawl.^[55] This erodes social cohesion, reduces social interaction, and diminishes the sense of community, leading to increasingly stressed, disconnected, and isolated individuals, which harms wellbeing and emotional fulfillment.^[56]

The dual role of housing as both a basic need and commodity has led to the over-consumption of land, non-renewable building materials, household appliances, and energy sources, contributing to the inefficient use of the world’s natural resources.^[57] Despite numerous housing construction projects, there is an acute shortage of affordable housing.^[58] For example, in cities like San Francisco and Vancouver, high costs associated with homeownership, including deposits, high mortgage rates, and household debts, have left millions of individuals unhoused and unable to meet their basic need for shelter.^[59]

Although housing markets today are major contributors to economic development and GDP across the globe, the dominant market exchange-based approach to housing under capitalism fails to provide socially, environmentally, and economically sustainable housing. The downside of the growth narrative paradoxically includes inadequate housing for all, significant environmental impacts from housing developments, and a political environment that ties homeowners to growth-oriented capitalism.^[60] Clearly, the current approach to housing is problematic, and there is a pressing need to explore sustainable alternatives.

2.2.  Degrowth Solutions to the Housing Crisis

Current policies addressing the housing crisis largely focus on the economic aspects of shortage and unaffordability, with limited attention to environmental costs.^[61] Most of these “solutions” promote intra-regional competition among key housing market actors, generate artificial scarcity during land development, and maintain rigid zoning laws, all of which uphold the market exchange-based status quo.^[62] Consequently, these approaches not only neglect the social, ecological, and economic dimensions of the housing crisis, but also perpetuate the systems that created it.^[63]

Meanwhile, degrowth provides a holistic approach to solving the housing crisis. Examples of proposed solutions include:

​​reducing the total urban area; simplifying and redistributing access to housing; halting industrial urbanisation; deurbanising and renaturalising areas; renovating dwellings to improve living conditions; sharing dwellings more; and developing low-level, low-impact, small-scale, decentralised, compact settlements.^[64]

Spatial planning within the degrowth framework reveals four housing models for social, ecological, and economic justice that are adaptable across various territorial and jurisdictional levels: intentional communities, bioregions, urban villages, and demoi.^[65] While this paper argues that intentional communities represent the ideal degrowth-based solution to the housing crisis, it is essential to compare them with other degrowth-based sustainable housing models to comprehensively evaluate their strengths and adaptability across different contexts.

Intentional communities typically house 10 to 1,000 members and emerge from grassroots initiatives rooted in ecological health, co-living, and direct participation in decision-making.^[66] Examples include eco-villages and cooperative or cohousing structures. Bioregions, akin to larger and more complex intentional communities, embody a geographic, social, and historical reality with populations around 10,000 inhabitants.^[67] Urban villages expand upon bioregional concepts, integrating residential homes, commercial infrastructure, and communal spaces within district-sized populations.^[68] They emphasize localized participatory democracy to foster social interaction and eco-conscious lifestyles.^[69] Finally, demoi are politically-oriented territorial units advocating highly democratic, decentralized governance systems to replace existing institutions, promoting complete resource self-sufficiency independent of capitalist frameworks, typically housing around 30,000 inhabitants.^[70]

All four of these housing models emphasize eco-conscious living spaces, integrated urban planning, and different degrees of regional political and community autonomy.^[71] Intentional communities and cohousing present viable pathways toward socio-ecologically responsible housing solutions, already established in countries such as Denmark, the United States, the Netherlands, Austria, and Spain.^[72] These models have gained traction through collaborative efforts involving local communities and governmental support, reflecting a growing global interest in alternative housing approaches.^[73]

2.3.  Global Case Studies in Cohousing: Benefits and Limitations

Establishing cohousing as a localized, degrowth-based response to the global housing crisis, this paper examines its multifaceted impacts through case studies spanning Denmark, the United States, the Netherlands, Austria, the United Kingdom, and Spain.^[74] Originating in Denmark in the 1970s, cohousing has evolved in diverse cultural and policy environments.^[75] These case studies offer a comprehensive view of cohousing's challenges and benefits across social, ecological, and economic dimensions. They highlight social challenges like gentrification and residential segregation observed in Vienna, Austria, and other European and North American contexts.^[76] Additionally, they demonstrate ecological benefits, such as substantial reductions in energy consumption and resource usage in Catalonia, Spain.^[77] This exploration provides valuable insights into how cohousing addresses housing challenges amidst complex social dynamics, ecological impacts, and economic realities.

Cohousing is a type of intentional community characterized by collective living, social contact design, and deliberate neighbourhood planning.^[78] Projects are developed democratically, involving residents in recruitment, building, and ongoing operations. Units consist of multiple independent homes with extensive shared spaces and facilities for daily use, alongside green spaces that enhance community health.^[79] The physical layout fosters interdependence, support networks, sociability, and security, promoting non-hierarchical, collaborative lifestyles with shared common areas and a strong emphasis on resident engagement.^[80] Unlike communes, where incomes are pooled, cohousing residents maintain financial independence with separate incomes.^[81]

2.3.1.  Social Dimension: Well-being, Community Cohesion, and Gentrification

Cohousing models are pivotal in addressing the social dimension of the housing crisis by fostering community cohesion and enhancing residents' well-being. Designed to facilitate social interaction and shared spaces, cohousing communities promote conviviality^[82] and strong social bonds, countering the isolation often prevalent in single-person households typical of North American suburbs and cities.^[83] For instance, a survey conducted among cohousers in Denmark between 2016 and 2017 revealed that a significant majority of cohousers reported high levels of life satisfaction, with a substantial number attributing these positive outcomes to the supportive social environment provided.^[84] Moreover, residents in suburban and quasi-rural Denmark view cohousing as a practical way to recreate meaningful social connections that are often absent in traditional nuclear family setups, underscoring the importance of community and support structures inherent to cohousing.^[85]

However, cohousing faces challenges, particularly regarding increased gentrification and social segregation within these communities.^[86] For instance, projects like The Baugruppe Wohnen im Grünen Markt (The Green Market) in Vienna, Austria, tend to attract residents predominantly from higher educational and income backgrounds, primarily Western European descent.^[87] This socio-economic and ethnic homogeneity can marginalize individuals from less educated, lower-income, and minority backgrounds, hindering their participation and exacerbating social inequalities within cohousing communities observed across various studies in the United States, United Kingdom, and the Netherlands.^[88]

2.3.2.  Ecological Dimension: Shared Commons, Resource-Efficiency, and Value Systems

Cohousing provides significant ecological benefits in tackling the housing crisis through shared commons and services, effectively curbing excessive material, resource, and energy consumption. Studies from Catalonia, Spain show notable reductions in energy usage within cohousing communities, leading to substantial savings on space, electricity, and general goods compared to traditional households.^[89] These efficient sharing practices encompass a wide range of items such as gardening tools, maintenance equipment, household appliances like freezers and washing machines, and even children's clothes.^[90] Moreover, cohousing encourages reduced car dependency through increased bicycle use and well-organized car-sharing systems, further lowering individual carbon footprints.^[91]

However, a limitation in maximizing these ecological benefits lies in the diversity of environmental values among cohousing residents. Commitment to eco-friendly practices and shared resource utilization varies across cohousing communities. For instance, Vienna-based projects like Auf lange Sicht (In the Long View) and The Baugruppe Wohnen im Grünen Markt illustrate differing intensities in eco-conscious sharing practices. Auf lange Sicht focuses on urban gardening and communal amenities such as community rooms and shared gardening infrastructure.^[92] In contrast, The Baugruppe Wohnen im Grünen Markt offers a broader range of shared resources including communal kitchens, libraries, tools, and cooperative food initiatives.^[93] This variability highlights the challenge of achieving consistent ecological impacts across diverse cohousing environments.

2.3.3.  Economic Dimension: Affordability, Financial Autonomy, and Risks

Cohousing offers notable benefits for addressing the economic dimension of the housing crisis by promoting economically self-sufficient lifestyles that contrast with the unaffordability of traditional housing markets. A prime example is Freetown Christiania in Copenhagen, Denmark. This cohousing community achieves economic autonomy through use of its own local currency and the operation of approximately 90 businesses and institutions, many of which are workers' cooperatives.^[94] These structures support a less materially intensive lifestyle, aligning with the principles of degrowth.^[95] Despite lower incomes and fewer residents in the labour market compared to the average Danish population, inhabitants of Freetown Christiania report a higher quality of life, emphasizing well-being over material wealth.^[96]

However, significant financial risks characterize the limitations of this model. In the United States, for example, residents of cohousing projects bear full financial responsibility, including raising capital for development, ongoing management, and assuming liability for associated costs and risks.^[97] While professionals may be hired for specific tasks such as design and construction, residents often assume the role of project managers, necessitating a substantial investment of time and expertise.^[98] This highlights the financial challenges and barriers to entry for those unable to access sufficient resources or knowledge, underscoring a critical area for improvement in making cohousing initiatives more inclusive and accessible.^[99]

2.4.  Policy Strategies for Implementing Post-Growth Cohousing

Transitioning from global insights to practical implementation, this section examines policy strategies for fostering cohousing as a degrowth solution, engaging key actors such as governments, community organizations, non-profits, urban planners, academic institutions, and residents. This illustrates how localized, community-based initiatives under a post-growth framework bolster positive systemic change to address the complex realities of the Anthropocene.^[100]

Successful cohousing initiatives hinge on localized democracy.^[101] Local governments, pivotal in this role, oversee zoning regulations, permits, and support for community-led ventures.^[102] Empowering them to back such initiatives through grants and participatory decision-making processes is critical. Community organizations, integral to project initiation and sustainability, require bolstering via funding and capacity-building efforts.^[103] Grassroots involvement enhances engagement and fosters collective responsibility, echoing successes like Collserola's rurban squats, which reclaimed spaces for communal living, thus embodying degrowth principles by lessening reliance on formal markets and nurturing social cohesion.^[104]

Governments at all levels hold sway in incentivizing cohousing projects aligned with degrowth principles.^[105] Locally, this involves adapting zoning laws to favour mixed-use and community land trusts, and offering tax incentives for conscious urban living, akin to Vienna's cooperative housing policies.^[106] Provincially and federally, this entails legislating post-growth frameworks, creating housing trust funds, and subsidizing socio-ecologically responsible practices.^[107]

Urban areas are crucial for scaling up cohousing models. Cities serve as catalytic living-labs for exploring alternative, climate-resilient living arrangements for improved mass eco-footprints.^[108] The potential of urban environments to foster inclusive living is exemplified by Danish intergenerational cohousing, demonstrating how integrating cohousing into urban planning can effectively address urban disparities and environmental strains.^[109] By funding studies on cohousing impacts and disseminating knowledge about post-growth community development, academia offers valuable research and data to inform best practices development.^[110]

Ensuring just and culturally-sensitive cohousing policy mandates recognizing and centering Indigenous rights to self-determination throughout the cohousing project lifecycle.^[111] This involves moving beyond symbolic actions and focusing on "weaving" diverse knowledge paradigms together ensures holistic policy development.^[112] Fostering collaborative partnerships rooted in relationality, respect, cultural humility, and reciprocity with equity-deserving communities during decision-making ensures representative post-growth governance, enhancing policy effectiveness.^[113] Through community empowerment and alignment with degrowth principles, these strategies offer tangible pathways toward a just, post-growth future.

3.  CONCLUSION

In exploring alternative economic models such as Buen Vivir, Ecological Swaraj, Ubuntu, and degrowth, this paper showcased their suitability to address the multifaceted crises of our time. In the context of a global housing crisis, intentional communities across cities in Europe and North America demonstrate how localized applications of degrowth principles, exemplified by cohousing, enhance community resilience and environmental stewardship. By prioritizing social, ecological, and economic justice over relentless GDP growth, these post-growth frameworks offer practical solutions to the global polycrisis. In the era of the Anthropocene, scaling up these models is critical, requiring participatory democracies and diverse post-growth paradigms to reimagine and co-create a future of collective liberation and resilient ecologies.

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UNCOVERING HOGAN’S ALLEY: URBAN RENEWAL AND BLACK RESILIENCE IN VANCOUVER, CANADA

Author: Tessa Wiehr

Editor: Charlotte Taylor

ABSTRACT

This paper examines Hogan’s Alley as a case study for the “plot,” referencing Davis et al’s research to investigate displacement and subsequent urban development in historically Black neighbourhoods. The author draws connections between the economic, sociocultural, and community-based kinship and care, and urban initiatives that disrupt communities within which these frameworks thrive. Further, the author describes how land use in urban spaces perpetuates environmental racism and how governmental initiatives are used to segregate and displace BIPOC folks.

1. INTRODUCTION

Depending on your point of view, Hogan’s Alley in Vancouver, BC, Canada was either a slum or the most vibrant place in the city: a community that laborers, small business owners, families, and a church community called ‘home’ (Compton, 2010; Vancouver Heritage Foundation, 2022). In 1967, this predominantly Black community became the target of an urban renewal project that tore their neighborhood apart. Fifty years later, important efforts are being made to remember and celebrate the history of Hogan’s Alley and Vancouver’s Black community. The story of Hogan’s Alley is a powerful example of a community whose lived and remembered connections to a place, also described by Davis et al. (2019) as the ‘plot’, have transcended multiple generations. In the following paragraphs, I will affirm Davis et al.’s (2019) assertion by using Hogan’s Alley as a case study to demonstrate the importance of having a plot for a community to form kinship and uphold histories of fostering an ethics of care, creativity, and resilience.

2. THE PLOT

In a literal sense, Davis et al. (2019) explain that the plot was a space within a plantation wherein slaves cultivated their own foods. However, it was also a space in which socio-ecological justice, reparations, and webs of differentiated kinship were formed (Davis et al., 2019). The plot emerged as a “deep well of creativity” (p. 9) wherein community members found “[...] relational modes of being central to the emergence of radical foodways enabling survival and social cohesion” (p. 8), which became necessary for navigating everyday crises of enslavement and rethinking one’s place in the world (Davis et al., 2019). From a political perspective, the plot provided an analysis of power that illuminated the unjust conventions, institutions, and laws that permeated people’s everyday lives (Davis et al., 2019). From an ethical perspective, the plot also enabled the community to imagine alternate realities and identify the resources necessary to cultivate new forms of cooperation for a just and sustainable future (Davis et al., 2019). Through the plot, one can conceptualize lived assemblages that simultaneously tend to the needs of social reproduction, social justice, and ecological care (Davis et al., 2019).

3. URBAN KINSHIPS & BLACK ECOLOGIES OF CARE

Davis et al.’s (2019) statement focuses on the idea of multiple forms of kinship and non-binary ways of engaging with the world. The concept of kinship is often thought to be naturally given through biological relation to others (Bjarnesen & Utas, 2018). However,  Bjarnesen & Utas (2018, p. S4) describe urban kinship as “one sphere in which the durability, solidity, and predictability of social life are grafted, however rhetorically, onto the constantly mutating city space.” Biology and lineal descent are less important than the significance inscribed into particular relationships by urban residents (Bjarnesen & Utas, 2018). These bonds create a solidarity that is forged out of the gradual accumulation of everyday experiences through cohabitation (Bjarnesen & Utas, 2018). The urban context is especially important here due to the density of residential areas and public spaces and the uncertainty of many residents’ lives (Bjarnesen & Utas, 2018). Bjarnesen & Utas (2018) note that these ties can be increased in the urban context by a number of factors such as migrant households being dependent on the moral and financial support of their neighbors, transactional relationships intertwining friendship and business or neighborhood-based solidarity threatening to relapse into moral condemnation and social exclusion.

Cities serve as networks through which segregation, environmental racism, and unequal access to resources shape everyday life (Reese & Johnson, 2022). For those who have been ‘written out of belonging’ through acts of racism and who face a scarcity of care, prefigurative politics and mutual aid projects can transform everyday realities (Reese & Johnson, 2022). As well as providing food and other material goods, mutual aid projects, even in informal practices, provide radical care and spiritual healing which can create a sense of belonging (Reese & Johnson, 2022). Reese & Johnson (2022, p.36) state: “In a community that lacks precious resources such as care and safety, we gathered in this time to care for each other, to mobilize and expand our relationships, thereby increasing our senses of safety in belonging, and to share with each other the ways that we can act collectively toward radical solutions”. Mutual aid is therefore a relationship practice that is vital for collective survival and resilience (Reese & Johnson, 2022).

4. BLACK URBANIZATION

Historically, the entrepreneurial sector of Black urban communities has been a key component of local social networks and capital and not strictly a financial activity (McBride, 2015). Black churches, recreation centers, and other social organizations in the same communities are key institutions and often the primary market segment for neighboring Black businesses (McBride, 2015). Part of this entrepreneurial sector also includes church leaders, local business owners, entertainers, and leaders in community philanthropy and education (McBride, 2015). Poorer Black and minority communities are particularly dependent on social networks, social capital, and culturally-inspired activity to survive and recover from disasters, disruption, and displacement (McBride, 2015). For decades, urban policies to modernize housing and economic development have fundamentally strained traditional socio-economic networks in urban Black communities (McBride, 2015). In particular, urban renewal projects, such as highway expansion initiatives, have disproportionately affected areas of the city that house large numbers of ethnic minority residents, demolishing churches, schools, and other important cultural and social institutions, and have instead prioritized building transportation routes for middle-class automobile commuters (Rodriguez & Ward, 2018; McBride, 2015).

5. URBAN RENEWAL IN THE 1960S

In Canada, between 1948 and 1968, the Central Mortgage and Housing Corporation (CMHC) expended $125 million on 48 urban renewal projects (Filion, 1988). These projects involved replacing the built environment of areas that were often categorized as ‘slums’ or ‘blight’ (Filion, 1988). Around this time, what Carmon (1999) called the “First Generation: the era of the bulldozer” of urban renewal policies and programs began to spread in cities throughout Canada, the United States (US), the United Kingdom, and several other European countries, all of which shared similar socioeconomic and sociopolitical developments, particularly after World War II. Carmon (1999) notes that through the wish to make “better use” of central urban land and drive the poor out of sight, the concept of slum clearance became prevalent. Very quickly, these programs came under heavy criticism for ignoring the social and psychological costs of forced relocation and the destruction of healthy communities (Carmon, 1999). Residents of these communities called for a form of urban renewal that would be less disruptive for the inhabitants of affected neighborhoods (Filion, 1988).

6. HISTORY OF HOGAN’S ALLEY

 In their fight to keep their neighborhood, residents of the Strathcona neighborhood (in Vancouver, British Columbia) became a national symbol of residents’ resistance to renewal (Filion, 1988). From around World War I to the early 1970s, Hogan’s Alley was a small sub-neighborhood in Strathcona inhabited by Black, Italian and Asian working-class immigrants (Compton, 2005). Though Hogan’s Alley was not an exclusively Black neighborhood, the neighborhood was referred to as a racially Black-identified space (Compton, 2005). Residents lived, worked, and worshiped together and supported institutions such as southern-style chicken houses (restaurants that sometimes doubled as speakeasies primarily owned by Black women in the community), nightclubs, and the city’s only Black-administered church (Compton, 2010). At its peak in the 1940s, the Black population in Strathcona consisted of around 800 people (Vancouver Heritage Foundation, 2022).

The Black community was established in Hogan’s Alley in part because the community was situated close to two train stations and, in Canada, as in the US, railway companies preferred to hire Black men as porters for passenger cars (Compton, 2010). Vancouver was the terminus for the Western Railway, so porters sometimes had to layover in the city for a few days (Compton, 2010). In fact, one of the earliest sites of Black presence in Vancouver’s East End was the Pullman Porter Club and a residence called the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters (Compton, 2010). The Porter club backed onto a T-shaped alley with  an east-west path, which was informally known as “Hogan’s Alley” (Compton, 2010). There was also a large presence of Black performers due to vaudeville circuits often stopping in Vancouver. In the 1930s and 40s, Vancouver had well-known nightclubs and its entertainment history played a prominent role in the development of the city (Storyhive, 2016). The Crump Twins were two of the most recognizable entertainers in Vancouver from the late 1940’s to the early 1960’s and Nora Hendrix, the paternal grandmother of the famous musician Jimi Hendrix, was one of the early Black Vancouverites who helped to found the Fountain Chapel (BC Entertainment Hall of Fame, n.d.). Sammy Davis Jr, Lena Norne, Louis Armstrong and many other well-known entertainers came through the doors of Vie’s Chicken and Steak House, one of the most popular local eateries(Griffin, 2019); Storyhive, 2016). However, beginning in the late 1930s, newspaper articles began to portray the Alley as a problem spot; a center of squalor, immorality, and crime (Vancouver Heritage Foundation, 2022).

Figure 1. Map of Hogan’s Alley, 1939 (Compton, 2010)

Figure 2. Hogan’s Alley, 1958, from City of Vancouver Archives (Compton 2010).

In 1967, the right-wing Non-Partisan Association (NPA), which presided over the city council through the middle of the twentieth century, revealed a plan that had been made in secret to build a freeway that would run directly through Hogan’s Alley (Compton, 2010). The city council quickly launched the project while the opposition was still organizing. Outraged, the Strathcona Property Owners and Tenants Association (SPOTA) rapidly formed to oppose the plan (Compton, 2010). Due to the secrecy of the preparations, the project moved forward swiftly, leading to the assessment for expropriation of the western end of Hogan’s Alley. Several blocks of houses were demolished, and the first phase of the freeway was completed by 1971 (see Figure 2) (Compton, 2010). Citywide protests rose up to protest the freeways and 500 people crowded city council meeting rooms (Chong, 2022). Ultimately, the entire project was canceled due to a lack of community support, which left only the viaducts standing and a community destroyed (Compton, 2010).  

Figure 3. Construction of the Georgia Viaduct at the Hogan’s Alley site, November, 1970 (Compton, 2010).

Though the Black community had largely left Hogan’s Alley by the time the viaducts were built in 1967, what happened to Hogan’s Alley was a close reflection of the US urban renewal strategies that were part of the “First Generation”, wherein a Black community was chosen and displaced and a freeway was constructed where the old neighborhood once stood (Compton, 2010). Though the Fountain Chapel and the chicken houses survived into the 1980s, by 1990, there were no remaining markers of Strathcona as a historically Black community (Compton, 2010).

7. HOGAN’S ALLEY TODAY

Hogan’s Alley is remembered as the first and last Black neighborhood in Vancouver. Even today, the dispersal of Vancouver’s Black community has not resulted in any places, neighborhoods, areas, or plots that the Black community can call its own (Compton, 2010). For a while and arguably still to this day, there has been a perceived absence of Black people in Vancouver, and many Vancouverites are still unaware of the vibrant community that existed in Hogan’s Alley for almost six decades (Compton, 2010). Dr. Adam Rudder (2020, p. vii), Black Vancouverite and co-chair of the Hogan’s Alley Society, reflects on growing up in Vancouver:  

“How had I been in school for fourteen years, and been exposed to European histories from all over the world, and yet knew nothing of what I was beginning to think of as my own history? Like most of my peers, I grew up through the education system assuming that Black people did not have a history in British Columbia and hardly ever thought to question why. It was made clear to me that I did not belong, a notion that was often reinforced by the now-cliché question, ‘Where are you from?’ The assumption, of course, was that a Black person could not be from British Columbia.”

Though there may be an absence of a place where Black people can find each other in Vancouver, Black History Month is a time for everyone to come together, learn, remember and reflect. In 2011, Vancouver City Council passed a motion designating Black History Month one of its official celebrations to recognize every February the history, contributions and culture of Black Canadians (City of Vancouver, n.d.). Andrea Fatona and Cornelia Wyngaardens’ feature film Hogan’s Alley (1994) presents oral histories of one-time residents of Strathcona during the Hogan’s Alley era, and it is often played at events during Black History Month (Compton, 2010). This film serves as a memorial to the rich and meaningful history of this area within Strathcona. The short video Secret Vancouver: Return to Hogan’s Alley also features past residents who describe Hogan’s Alley as a close-knit neighborhood that was lost due to the viaduct (Storyhive, 2016). Featured speakers refer to Hogan’s Alley as a good neighborhood where residents knew each other's names and could say ‘How are you?’ (Storyhive, 2016). Other than the two videos and work by Wayde Compton (Compton 2005, 2010), there is very little historical literature on the neighborhood, and there is still no meaningful memorial where Vancouverites can learn about Hogan’s Alley.

Figure 4. In 2014, Canada Post issued a commemorative stamp recognizing Hogan’s Alley. The stamp features Fielding William Spotts, Western Canada’s first Baptist and who lived in Hogan’s Alley for most of his life until he died in 1937. The woman is Nora Hendrix, Jimi Hendrix’s grandmother (Vancouver Heritage Society, n.d.; Compton, 2010).

Still, there is a thirst for knowledge and recovery of this local Black history, and a few notable projects are important to mention. In 2002, the Hogan’s Alley Memorial Project (HAMP) was established to think of ways that Vancouver’s Black history could be officially remembered (Compton, 2010). A recent agreement with the City of Vancouver and the Hogan’s Alley Society will provide a community land trust for the area where Hogan’s Alley once stood (Azpiri, 2022). The society hopes to provide housing, amenities and a cultural center with the aim of reclaiming some lost hope  and working toward reviving a thriving local hub for Black community members (Azpiri, 2022). The Hogan’s Alley Housing Solutions Lab will also receive an investment of $350,000 from the National Housing Strategy's Solutions Lab program (PRNNewswire, 2022). Their project aims to deepen public understanding of the housing system so that Black Canadians can access safe and affordable housing to meet their needs (PRNNewswire, 2022; Hogan’s Alley Society, 2022). Finally, a Vancouver Black Library has formed. Recognizing that there still remains a noticeable systemic lack of practical, tangible Black community spaces in Vancouver, the Vancouver Black Library will cater to the needs of Black community members (Vancouver Black Library, 2022). Members of this organization hope that, one day, the Van Black Library will serve as a springboard for other initiatives, such as group therapy and community care efforts (e.g. mutual aid fundraising, child care, art exhibitions, book clubs, etc.) to connect people (Vancouver Black Library, 2022).

8. CONCLUSION

The plot creates a space for social networks and kinship-like bonds to form. Having a designated space where community members feel safe and empowered allows for creativity to thrive and cultivates new forms of cooperation to fight against unjust institutions or acts. For example, SPOTA is still recognized today for their fight to ensure that Vancouver remains one of the few North American cities without a freeway running through it. The spirit and memories of those who once resided in Hogan’s Alley are still felt and remembered. Further, ties to that community are so strong that Black community members hope to one day revive Hogan’s Alley as a home for their community.

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