By Ceylan Hassan
The colonial history of modern conservation – which arguably prioritises biodiversity at the expense of human rights – can be linked to the marginalisation and displacement of indigenous communities, local communities and their traditional ways of life. ‘Decolonial Conservation’ is a way of seeking environmental, epistemic justice that challenges the dominant Western, Eurocentric, Modern colonial model of ecological conservation. It recognizes the interconnectedness of all communities, valuing the beings of these ecosystems and their relational kinship in all the forms of human, other-than-human and more-than-human (e.g. ancestral beings) species, emphasising the importance of diverse ways of knowing and indigenous/subaltern knowledge and practices in conservation efforts.
COLONIAL CONSERVATION’S PAST AND PRESENT
Modern conservation, which emerged in the 19th century in colonial India, parts of Europe, and the United States, implies a superiority of Western knowledge and is characterised by the separation of ‘nature’ from culture, in order to dominate both. This eco-fascist separation facilitates the control of boundaries between people and nature through the establishment of parks and zones, justifying themselves under the premise of local populations ‘mismanaging the land and resources’. These methods arguably serve the interests of industrial development and government revenue generation, often disregarding and undermining the place-based knowledge and practices that have contributed to sustainable resource management for centuries.
In the Caribbean, REDD+ programs conduct land grabs under the guise of reforestation. In Africa, protected areas created through fortress conservation lead to the militarization of ‘nature’ and subsequent displacement of indigenous people. In South America, green colonialism operating under the guise of biodiversity conservation and carbon offsetting has increased monocultures while displacing the endemic human communities. For example, the establishment of Serengeti National Park in Tanzania, where the proponent of the park advocated for the complete exclusion of all human inhabitants, including native communities (such as the Maasai). In other cases, the Manu National Park in Peru displaced the Matsigenka people; and the Serra do Curral park management excluded Quilombo communities of Brazil.
Why? Because ecological baselines referring to ‘pristine land’ are dictated by Modern, dominant perspectives, disregarding the inextricable link between biodiversity and cultural integrity (IPBES, 2018). Western science’s biodiversity maps are perceived as objective and neutral pictures of the world, ignorant of situated knowledge. A Western man looks upon the fertility of the Amazon basin in modern-scientific awe, individualising entities and prioritising categories over their relations. In contrast, the Kayapó see themselves enriching the soil through agroforestry practices like burning, composting, and adding biochar. This terra preta created a nutrient-rich environment that supported diverse plant life and increased agricultural ‘productivity’. The Amazon basin is not a ‘pristine wilderness’ separate from anthropogenic activity. This highlights the role of indigenous knowledge and practices in shaping the environment, denying the colonial myth of terra nullius.
Without a decolonial ecology, the autonomy of place-based cultures remains threatened.
DECOLONIAL CONSERVATION IN ECO-PRAXIS - THE AMMATOANS
This table illustrates the differences between modern conservation and indigenous conservation practices, which pluriversal models allow to flourish:
The Ammatoan people in Indonesia have developed a complex religious ecology which views the forest as a person with whom humans have a reciprocal relationship. This guides their practices of forest conservation and sustainable resource use, which are often at odds with modern conservation policies, similar to the Guarani of Brazil, who believe if land is lost, generational transfer of practices and knowledge won’t occur.
The Ammatoans resisted state encroachment on their forest conservation methods by employing a pluriversal approach. This involved the strategic division of their forest into three categories: the powerful forest (borong karamak), the demarcation forest (borong battasayya), and the outer-ordinary forest (borong luarak). Each category was subject to different regulations based on the perceived power and significance of the forest spirits within it.
The Ammatoans also resisted by engaging with the state selectively. They allowed state development programs in the outer-ordinary forest, demonstrating a reception to modernity, while strictly forbidding any such activities in the powerful forest and demarcation forest. This territorial division allowed them to maintain their traditional religious practices and protect the most sacred parts of their forest.
Furthermore, the Ammatoans institutionalised rituals to reassert their intersubjective relationships with the forest spirits (rupanna). These rituals served to re-contextualize their religious ecology in the face of external pressures, reinforcing the belief that the well-being of humans and the forest are mutually dependent.
The concept of pluriversal conservation demands epistemic justice, in that conservation efforts must be inclusive of diverse worldviews, ontologies and practices.
However, biocultural conservation is not limited to ecological methods. Many decolonial economic initiatives such as socio-biodiverse products and biopiracy patents can produce the same benefits. International legal instruments have just as much capacity to be tools of decolonial conservation. For example, the ILO and the resistance of indigenous women to ‘marco temporal’, a Brazilian policy that seeks to limit their land rights and promote resource extraction. In many indigenous communities, women are the primary caretakers of the land and play a vital role in sustaining local ecosystems through their traditional knowledge and practices. By defending their lands and resisting the imposition of this bill, indigenous women are asserting their right to practise their own forms of conservation that are rooted in their own cultural values and ways of life. This exemplifies the principles of pluriversal conservation, highlighting the importance of recognizing and respecting the diverse ways in which different communities value, integrate and care for the natural world.
In India and Nigeria, the sacred groves are community-protected forests, often associated with deities and cultural traditions, which serve as important refuges for biodiversity and provide valuable ecosystem services. The Joint Forest Management program in the state of Odisha has led to increased forest cover and improved livelihoods for local communities. South Africa’s land restitution program (which aims to return land to communities that were dispossessed under apartheid) led to restoration of land to the Khomani San community in the Kalahari Desert, and improved conservation of the desert ecosystem.
These examples demonstrate that when biocultural conservation is given a platform, it produces better results than conservation models designed by globalised, imperial knowledge. Maybe some places need protected areas, maybe some local communities just need some land rights.
RESOURCES
Posey, D.A. (1985) Indigenous management of tropical forest ecosystems: the case of the Kayapó indians of the Brazilian Amazon. Agroforest Syst 3, 139–158. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF00122640
Maarif, S. (2015) Ammatoan indigenous religion and forest conservation. Worldviews 19, 144-160, https://www.jstor.org/stable/43809528
Ormsby, A. and Bhagwat, S. (2010) Sacred forests of India: a strong tradition of community-based natural resource management. Environmental Conservation 37(3), 320-326. http://oro.open.ac.uk/37005/
https://saracannon.notion.site/c175fb8fa923469d840dda6555fc355a?v=bc65c3cc59ac4a4194e6c6f62365a612
Notes
ON KNOWLEDGE PRODUCTION
When discussing how colonial power structures shape our understanding of the world, Wynter’s critique of the Anthropocene discourse and overrepresentation of “Man” as the universal subject of human experience is pertinent to avoid the erasure of the experiences and knowledge of marginalised communities.
Likewise, Malcolm Ferdinand’s decolonial ecology discourse challenges the coloniality of ecology, highlighting the inseparable link between environmental degradation and the legacies of colonialism and racism. He argues that addressing the ecological crisis necessitates acknowledging historical and ongoing power imbalances that have shaped our relationship with the environment. He critiques mainstream environmentalism for prioritising ecological conservation at the expense of marginalised communities and advocates for a decolonial ecological praxis that challenges power structures, centres marginalised voices, and promotes alternative ways of living harmoniously with the Earth.
Similarly, Umut Yıldırım emphasises “affective ecology,” centering interspecies relationality while discussing the limitations of focusing solely on interspecies mutuality and vibrancy in ecological discourse. Yıldırım argues that these concepts, while important, can romanticise ecological intimacies and obscure the ongoing impact of colonial violence and capitalist extraction.
