AA yearyear inin thethe grovegrove

A collection of papers based on coursework at Yale School of Forestry and Environmental Studies 2000-2001

Diane Russell, PhD, MEM World Agroforestry Centre

Photo: Bruce Marcott

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Table of contents

THE VIEW FROM 2005 ...... 4

CONSTITUENCY BUILDING AND ENVIRONMENTAL SERVICES IN CONSERVATION PLANNING FOR THE DR CONGO ...... 5 Introduction ...... 5 Overview of the Congo Basin Ecosystem ...... 5 Development Options and Consequences ...... 7 The Use and Abuse of Carbon ...... 9 Reassessing Threats ...... 10 Towards a New Paradigm ...... 11 References ...... 16 SILVICULTURE FOR NON TIMBER FOREST PRODUCTS IN THE HUMID FOREST ZONE OF CENTRAL AFRICA ...... 21 Overview ...... 21 Ecogeography of the Site ...... 22 Silvics of the Key NTFP Producers ...... 27 Silvicultural methods ...... 30 Socioeconomic considerations in management objectives ...... 34 Integration of NTFP management and other goals ...... 35 Next steps ...... 38 Conclusion: Draft Silvicultural Prescriptions for Community Based Management in Cameroon ...... 40 References and Resources ...... 42 NATURE OR NURTURE? CULTURE, SOCIETY AND ENVIRONMENTAL VALUES ...... 48

RETHINKING ENCROACHMENT ...... 51

LAND REGISTRATION: KEY TO SUSTAINABILITY? ...... 55

SOCIAL RESEARCH ON VALUES AND THE ENVIRONMENT ...... 59

STRENGTHENING SUSTAINABILITY INDICATORS THROUGH COMMUNITY LINKS ...... 62

THE DEBATE ON TIMBER CERTIFICATION ...... 66

TRACHEIDS IN CONIFERS AND HARDWOODS: STRUCTURE, FUNCTION AND RECENT FINDINGS ...... 71 Introduction ...... 71 Tracheids ...... 71 Differences between Conifer and Hardwood Tracheary Elements ...... 74 Evolutionary Implications ...... 76 New Findings ...... 76 Conclusion ...... 80 Annex: Gallery of the Torus in Woody Dicot Tracheids ...... 83

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INTIMATE WILDERNESS: REFLECTIONS ON THE GROVE ...... 84 Psyche ...... 84 Space ...... 85 Science ...... 86 Society ...... 88 Spirit ...... 89 Symbol ...... 93 Strategy ...... 95 Scenarios ...... 96 ENDNOTES ...... 100

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THE VIEW FROM 2005 From September 2000 to May 2001 I had to privilege to take a year off from work and shelter in the groves of academe at the Yale School of Forestry and Environmental Studies (F&ES) for the one-year Masters in Environmental Management. There I encountered brilliant minds, both professors and students, who helped me to grow in understanding and knowledge. I would like to single out Professors Mark Ashton, Graeme Berlin, Robert Repetto, Stephen Kellert, Charles Peters, Herb Boorman, and Bill Burch for whom the papers in this collection were written and who advised me. My time at F&ES allowed me to take my field and project experience to another level, to place it within emerging frameworks and debates. It provided me with a whole new body of knowledge: on silviculture, plant physiology and tropical forest ecology. A few themes run through these papers: § The Congo Basin and central Africa, where I carried out fieldwork in 1986-88 (in Democratic Republic of the Congo, ex-Zaire) and in 1991-93 (in south-central and eastern Cameroon); comparing and employing solutions from other parts of the world to assist the region. § Socially-sound conservation strategies, as a result of my work with the Central African Regional Program on the Environment (CARPE) in 1999-2000. § Creative integration of social and biophysical data gathering and knowledge. § Increasingly, non-economic approaches to conservation and natural resource management. § Love for trees, even as in F&ES we are not supposed to admit that!

F&ES enabled me to develop some principles that I tried to deploy during my four years at the World Agroforestry Centre (see “a method to my madness,” my papers from 2002-5): § Community-based conservation is not a buzzword. Conservation requires community but community can form and be defined in many ways. Virtually all “traditional” communities now have a diaspora, as well as attracting “stakeholders” who are interested in more than just exploiting natural resources. Please read Russell & Harshbarger 2004 for more on this. § Sustainability is also not a buzzword. It has been studied extensively from many angles and dserves continued attention. § Globalization may wreak havoc on local economies and ecologies but it provides forums for a global community to emerge that places value on beauty, equity, bio and cultural diversity. § Good science is the most valuable asset of modern society: it is not just biophysical science but critical thinking, deep knowledge of a subject, peer review mechanisms and challenging assumptions at every turn. § Progress will come from evidence and science-based adaptive management, with creative integration of local knowledge, for conservation and environmental planning.

NB: I made some updates to some of the papers but not consistently, so in general they reflect the state of (my) knowledge in 2000-1. I converted all footnotes to endnotes because to transform the endnotes into footnotes was more than I could cope with. This makes for cumbersome reading but as the endnotes contain lots of interesting details, I urge you to browse them. Figures were removed so that this document could be transmitted by email but for the CD-Rom version I will replace them. Permission to duplicate tables in the text has not been obtained so please do not use them in any publications without permission. Some reference sections remain incomplete, notably the DRC conservation strategy paper. Such were the exigencies of getting term papers in on time! Over the months I will try and fill these gaps.

Eva this is for you and for Benjie de los Reyes who took really good care of us during this time.

Yaounde, Cameroon, May 8, 2005

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CONSTITUENCY BUILDING AND ENVIRONMENTAL SERVICES IN CONSERVATION PLANNING FOR THE DR CONGO

“There is great potential for conservation within Zaire because many of its forested lands are pristine” –World Conservation Monitoring Center (1998)

“The rain forest, far from being an evolutionary Eden, is a dangerous, bandit-ridden place, perhaps as violent as any inner-city in the West…There is an urgent need to fill this gap in knowledge, and to take account of new social realities in these supposedly ‘pristine’ environments, where automatic weapons and crack cocaine may be as common as on the streets of Liverpool or Detroit.” –Jane Guyer and Paul Richards, “The Invention of Biodiversity,” Africa 1966.

Introduction This paper argues that a focus on environmental services and constituency building could significantly increase chances for success in conservation in the Democractic Republic of the Congo (DRC). Constituency building means bringing together external constituencies that focus on conserving biodiversity, particularly Great Apes, forest elephants and rare or endemic species such as the white rhinoceros and the okapi, with internal constituencies that are concentrating mainly on poverty alleviation, environmental health—clean water, erosion control and solid waste management—and peace and security.i

Wildlife biologists in such organizations as Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS), African Wildlife Foundation (AWF) and World Wildlife Fund within the Central African Regional Program on the Environment (CARPE)ii have dominated the discourse on central African conservation issues (ABCG 2000). For example, the major threat to the Basin has been identified as “bushmeat” hunting—defaunation (Wilkie 2000) and the “pristine isolated protected area” model has only begun to be questioned (Sayer, Swartzendruber, Nasi and Byers 2000). Concerns about water and soil fertility, much less environmental health, are rarely touched upon in meetings on conservation in central Africa. An integrated and ethical approach to conflict in areas of significant biodiversity is lacking (see Shambaugh 2001).

This paper looks at how conservation planning could be reoriented toward an ecosystem approach to conservation and natural resource management and at the same time building a constituency- building strategy, which is essential for building local capacity and keeping the needs and realities of Congolese people at the forefront. The paper focuses on a strategy could integrate information and concerns about the hydrological and carbon cycles as well as recent discussions about the role of biodiversity in forest ecosystems. This exercise allows for a reassessment of major threats and opportunities. Development is going to proceed—the country is one of the poorest in the world despite its natural riches—so what paths are more likely to promote development while minimizing impact on ecosystem function?

Overview of the Congo Basin Ecosystem

Vegetation and Biomass DRC contains half of Africa’s dense moist forest (Annex 3: Ecoregional and Vegetation Map) and forest covers approximately 47% of the country: over 1.1 million km2. There are five main types of forest: monodominant Gilbertiodendron dewevrei (Caesalpiniaceae), mixed forest with species such as Cynometra alexandri and Julbernardia secretii (Caesalpiniaceae), montane forests, swamp forests along small rivers and depressions, and riverine forest found along the A Year in the Grove 5

larger rivers (Mapilanga, date unknown). Other forests and woodlands include bamboo forests, miombo woodlands, and mangrove forests (NEAP: National Environmental Action Plan 1997). There are also extensive secondary forests along roads and areas of settlement.

Large savannas on the plateau Batéké (Bandundu Province), steppic savannas in Shaba Province and grass savannas of highlands in the northeast (Province Orientale) extend on sandy soils developed from decomposed sandstones. The main enclosed savannas are maintained by repeated burning (Mayaux et al 1996). An extensive forest-savanna transition zone is found running along the southern border of the forest, with a zone characterized as woodlands further to the south. This woodland may be significantly deforested in some locations due to population increase from mining and immigration flows.

Brown and Gaston (1995) found that within African forests of 37 countries, highest estimates for biomass density, ranging from 305-344 MT ha-1, were found in four countries including the Congo. Houghton’s estimate for the Congo basin, 150tC/ha, comes in at the low end of that scale (Houghton and Ramakrishna 1999). Field measurements collected by Alternatives to Slash and Burn (ASB), a research consortium, suggest that carbon stocks vary greatly with land use, from 12t C/ha to 252 tC/ha (Kotto-Same et al. 2000). Due to lack of information on land use change, University of Maryland geographer Nadine LaPorte infers that “it is difficult or impossible to reliably use current models to determine the contribution of Central Africa's forests to global carbon dynamics” (LaPorte, pers. comm.).

But let’s give it a try. Using Houghton’s conservative figure, DRC’s forest would contain 33 billion MT of biomass, thus 16.5 billion t of carbon or 16.5 Pg iii, which, if released, would be almost the equivalent of three times the global annual fossil fuel emissions (class notes). In terms of regrowth, two years after clear-felling, above ground biomass at a site near Kisangani was 47 tonnes ha-1, with shrubs accounting for only 6.8 tonnes ha-1 (Lawson 1996). Since the composition of the biomass was not specified it is impossible to extrapolate from this about forest regeneration, but Lawson mentioned that biomass at a forest in Ivory Coast reached one half the size of a “mature” forest after 20 years.

Hydrology The Congo River basin transports half the total continental water flow from Africa to the tropical Atlantic (Mahe and Olivry 1995) and the DRC makes up 62.4% of the Congo river basin (Singh et al. 1999). It is the second largest watershed in the world with 3.6 million km2 (WRI 2000). The Congo River is an exceptional river because it loops above and below the equator. Hence its length straddles two climate zones. The result is that there is little change in flow with the change in season, as the dry season in the northern portion of the river corresponds to the rainy season in the southern portion. Annex 4 displays the minor differences between seasons on the shape and volume of the river and Malebo pool above Kinshasa.

Although similar in rainfall volumes, the hydrology of the two main Congo River tributary areas differs markedly. The Batéké plateau rivers in the southwest are “white rivers” consisting of sand-gritty formation with aquifers that have great capacity for storage. The rivers in the rainforest area in the center of the basin are “black rivers” with no aquifer, making their flow equivalent to the rainfall regime (Laraque et al. 1998: 209). The implication is that change in rainfall patterns will affect the rainforest river flow immediately. Another unique feature of the river is the fact that it is closed to navigation from the ocean. The cataracts that start below Kinshasa are impassible.iv The river system is now considered to be “moderately fragmented” but as the hydroelectric potential of the river is estimated at 100,000 megawatts this could change soon (Wolfire et al. 1998, WRI 2000). A Year in the Grove 6

Soils Most of the soils are very old, weathered, and often deep, attaining 20m or more before bedrock is reached (Lawson 1996: 5). The National Environmental Action Plan (Government of DRC and UNDP 1997) describes six principle soil types (using European classifications): 1) Andosols, covering the volcanic regions of Kivu (+/- 5%); 2) Vertisols, found in the Ruzizi valley (also in Kivu) (350,000 ha); 3) Hydromorphic soils of the Central Basin (11.75 million ha); 4) and 5) Nitosols and Ferrosols covering 160 million ha; and 6) Arenoferrals, recent soils found in the Lukaya region of Bas Congo Province, part of Bandundu and Sud-Kasai Provinces.

Biodiversity The Democratic Republic of Congo ranks fifth in the world for total species diversity and fourth in conservation priority if cost-effectiveness is taken into account (WRI 2000: 117; Balmford et al. 2000). There are 10,000 plant species—3,000 of which are endemic, 409 mammal species, 544 terrestrial invertebrates and 1,086 bird species (Doumenge 1990 and NEAP 1997). In a 40 ha plot deep in the Okapi Faunal Reserve, located in the heart of the Ituri Forest, more than 600 species of trees, shrubs and lianas were identified. In the same area, about 300 species of birds, 13 nocturnal primates and 6 species of invertebrates in addition to okapis, elephants, and chimpanzees were found (Mapilanga, date unknown). The bonobo, another Great Ape said to be closest to humans, is found only in the forests of Equateur Province, while the Mountain Gorilla lives in Kivu Province to the east. The Congo Basin is ranked among the highest in the world for freshwater biodiversity with 1,596 species of freshwater invertebrates (WRI 2000, NEAP 1997).

Land Use The mean population density for DRC is 5 persons km –1 but there is tremendous variation: population densities in the forest zone are much lower than in the woodlands area and over one third of the population lives in cities. The average agricultural subsistence plot is less than 1 ha and the NEAP estimates that 10 million ha of the country is used for agriculture and pasture, out of 80 million ha suitable for farming (NEAP: 27). In some areas, a field will be planted in both rainy seasons, while in others only in the major rainy season. A few people (less than 1% in the 1980s) have farms with larger plots and more intensive production including agroforestry and animal husbandry. In some areas of Kivu, Katanga and Ituri (Province Orientale) there is cattle grazing but not on a commercial scale.

Both artisanal, medium-scale and industrial dwarf palm plantations are found, the largest (dwarf palm) being 12,000 ha Lever Plantations in Orientale Province. Mining may not take up much land outside of Gecamines and MIBA areas (Katanga and Kasai) but artisanal gold mining attracts people into the forest and provokes conflict (Tshombe and Mwinyhali 2000). Protected Areas (parks and reserves) take up 15% of total land area (NEAP 1997) but it is unknown what percentage of this is actually protected (Annex 5: Protected Area Network and Mines).

Development Options and Consequences This section explores the impact of three key development options: logging, hydroelectric power generation and expanded palm plantations, on the Congo River watershed. These options are chosen because they have the potential to bring in large revenues in a relatively short time frame, they build on the DRC’s comparative advantage, and they are subject to policy review at this time.v It is likely that the DRC government and private sector will vigorously pursue all options but, as we see, they may be mutually incompatible.

The cataracts and uniform flow of the Congo River mean that the potential for hydroelectric power is enormous. Estimates have been made that hydroelectric facilities on the Congo River

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could supply energy for half of the African continent (Wolfire et al. 1998).vi Development of the hydroelectric potential of the river brings risks as well as benefits. First, the areas upriver to the dam could be flooded.vii Kinshasa, which is located above the cataracts, already experiences severe flooding during the rainy season. If a dam floods a large area, and the river’s flow diminishes later because of changes in rainfall patterns, there could be a large area of forest or savanna habitat destroyed (cf. Linden 2000: 41). Hydroelectric power, if it involves significant damming, may present threats to certain rare and endemic species and also may increase the hazard of schistosomiasis and other water-borne diseases (Kristensen and Brown 1999).viii

But would these damages exceed the damage, already acute, of charcoal making from forests around cities and towns? Fuelwood demand has been estimated at 40 million m3 per year (NEAP 1997: 33); an indication of this demand is the fact that a proposed 10,000 ha fuelwood plantation outside of Kinshasa would meet only 3% of the demand for charcoal (FAO 1988). DRC emits 49 kg C per capita a year according to WRI (2000: 283) but it is unclear whether this figure includes burning charcoal.

With greater access to electricity, demand for charcoal would decline, given an overall rise in incomes. In addition, selling hydroelectric power would generate revenue for the country that might offset revenues from forest or mineral exploitation. There is also the potential for small scale industry with electric power, which could draw people from subsistence agriculture and poorly remunerated cash crop agriculture.

Damming does not remove water from the Congo Basin watershed but it may rechannel it.ix Charcoal making causes deforestation, which decreases evapotranspiration and increases soil erosion and runoff. However, electricity lines that cut through forest if coupled with maintenance roads might bring about serious disturbance of the forest ecosystem because migration could proceed along these paths. Potentially, planting trees could reverse losses from deforestation by charcoal making. While it would take a few centuries to recover biomass, it would take a few decades to recover hydrological function. Reforestation with eucalypts, as is done in Cameroon, is problematic because it may inhibit stream flow (Bruijnzeel 1995: 89). If there is economic growth without hydroelectric power, however, deforestation for charcoal and firewood will accelerate rapidly and replanting even fast growing exotics could not keep pace.

Intensification of logging may conflict with the expansion of hydroelectric power. University of Kinshasa hydrogeography professor M.K.M. Ntombi has alerted the Ministry of Environment to the impact of logging along the riverbanks of the Kasai River.x He warns that an increase in sedimentation could result in downstream buildup and eventually cracking of the Inga dam. A team from World Resources Institute recommended logging along the rivers, however, to lessen impact on the interior of the forest and increase the profitability of logging, which in theory would reduce the extent of logging (coupled with reform of concession policies) (Brunner 2000).

World Resources Institute’s (WRI) Global Forest Watch created a preliminary map of forest concessions in DRC with data from Service Permanent d’Inventaire Forestiere (SPIAF) and the Direction General des Resources Naturels Renouvelables (DGRNR); existing concessions cover about two-thirds of the forest (Collomb, pers. comm.). If these concessions are activated, significant deforestation could result. Building roads, even unpaved logging roads, to access the interior of most of these concessions, would take a long time and a great deal of expense. The risks of opening gaps in the forest through even selective logging are perhaps greater in the Congo Basin than in other rain forests because there is a noticeable dry season where rainfall is less than 100 mm per month even in the densest forest (Lawson 1996). The fact that there are few forest fires is probably because there is so little logging, or for that matter any large-scale activity.

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WRI has recommended that concessions be allocated by auction and rents be raised considerably to force efficient use of the concession and smaller size. Conservation groups such as Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS) disagree with this approach, arguing that it is better to work closely with large, preferable foreign-owned, concession holders who are subject to pressure from consumers and home country laws. WCS finds worth in the argument of these large concession holders that they need vast areas in order to implement sustainable forestry and cannot afford to pay more for them because of the already steep “transaction costs” of doing business in central Africa.xi

The situation of palm plantation rehabilitation and expansion is an interesting one. Some urged that a smallholder palm plantation rehabilitation program be put into place in Bandundu and Bas Congo provinces to help the private sector palm oil manufacturers offset the loss of their plantations in the east to the “rebels.” But how to call this an “environmental” activity? The argument was given that it is reforestation and hence increasing the stock of carbon. This argument was, at best, dubious, because it is likely that other trees will be cut to make way for improved palm seedlings.

Nevertheless, the expansion of palm plantations points to an important issue in the biodiversity- carbon debate. There is a net loss of biodiversity and biomass with palm plantation creation in a forest zone, but in some cases palm plantations could be created in areas with little forest. Is this a benefit to the ecosystem? In discussions with palm oil traders, it seems that they have very little interest in other agroforestry products such as avocados, fruits, nuts, fibers or leaves hence there is little incentive at present to diversify the plantation. Another concern about modern palm plantations such as the Lever and Busira-Lomami plantations on the Congo and Lomami rivers in Orientale Province is leaching of agricultural chemicals into the river. In addition, oil palms are highly combustible—a palm oil soaked rag is used to start charcoal fires.

The Use and Abuse of Carbon Are the forests of Congo net carbon sinks? There is evidence that forests in Africa and Asia are not accumulating biomass, and are certainly losing it through land clearing, although the number of data points is small (Philips et al.: 440).xii Most of the palm plantations in the Congo are old (>30 years) to very old (>100 years). Do aggrading palm plantations store much carbon, and are these plantations aggrading? This is an important question. The extent of new palm plantation creation in the country is unknown and many have been abandoned due to war or inability to get the products to market. xiii Cocoa is a very minor crop in the Congo and coffee has largely been a smallholder crop, due to the decline of coffee plantations after nationalization in 1973.

What are the trends in deforestation at present? Looking at the best satellite data available, it appears that there is little change in forest cover over the last 20 years (NASA/UMD maps for 1977 and 1997). An estimate was made in a 1988 FAO study that 2 million ha is cleared annually through slash and burn; IUCN made a similar estimate of 1,820 km2 of deforestation in 1985.xiv But as much as 86% of forest cover remains (Wolfire et al. 1998). There are some areas, however, where deforestation has increased due to logging and charcoal making: for example in Bas Congo Province (NEAP 1997). There the protected and sacred forest of Mayombe has been practically wiped out, despite “reforestation” schemes. In the eastern part of the country, there was significant deforestation around refugee camps in Kivu that can be seen from satellite images, and recent reports of intensified logging have not yet been verified by satellite data.xv An Oak Ridge National Laboratory study claims that “if rates of deforestation, 0.2% per annum in 1985, were to increase in Zaire [DRC], which has vast areas of tropical moist forest, carbon emissions from sub-Saharan Africa could increase significantly.”

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Deforestation of the Congo basin forests through agricultural burning will release carbon into the atmosphere with the potential to change local and regional weather patterns. There is already extensive burning in the savannas and southern “woodlands” during the dry season for clearing land, to smoke out small animals and to promote the emergence of shrubs that harbor caterpillars (Strother, pers. comm.).xvi Smallholder agriculture has considerable impact on the forest cover in areas around large towns and cities as fallow cycles shorten, stunting regrowth, and more “virgin” forest is cut, although the pattern can change from one village, or even one family, to the next (Russell 1990). Chromolaena odorata moves in and dominates fallows in the forest zone for about six years until over-topped, while Imperata cylindrica rules in the savanna.xvii

To prevent slash and burn, there have been efforts to encourage intensive “permanent” agriculture in the Congo from the 1930s to the present, as well enforce laws against burning (Jurion and Henry 1957, Mbende Mapaka 1999, Kotto-Same et al. 2000). These efforts are unlikely to succeed unless agriculture becomes vastly more remunerative and that will happen only with the opening up of transport networks—but even then price controls on food crops have been a constant in the Congo since the early colonial era to quell urban rebellion. Techniques such as alley cropping in the forest zone are not adopted by farmers because of concerns about planting “multipurpose” species that have no economic value in their fallows and mulching is seen to bring an increase in pests.xviii These realities do not prevent station-based agronomists from continuing to search for a “cure” for what is basically a socioeconomic phenomenon.

Reassessing Threats It has been acknowledged even by conservationists that, compared to other heavily forested tropical countries, there has been little deforestation in the DRC over the last 30 years and the threat of large-scale deforestation in the next decade is small. Thus threats to forests in the Congo Basin have been assessed largely with respect to impact on biodiversity—high visibility biodiversity such as okapis, mountain gorillas, forest elephants, chimpanzees and bonobos.

To counter threats to wildlife, WWF and other conservation groups have recommended an increase in the size of parks and creating corridors for animal migration (Libreville points, CI 2000). Many staff in these organizations believes that concentrating attention on the most remote and “pristine” areas will maximize conservation funds because they will be able to protect these areas from incursion (Wilkie, pers. corr.). Despite lip service to building African institutions, “international” conservation organizations typically take the lion’s share of funds and dole out small portions to selected “partners.” Then the prevailing wisdom is that there is “weak capacity” in local institutions for conservation and resource management (Russell 2000).

If park boundaries are threatened with encroachment and poaching, the answer has been increased arms for park personnel even though this brings more guns into areas that may already be in the midst of armed incursions. WCS has asked assistance from the invading Ugandan army to clear out poachers from a protected area in eastern DRC for example. Earlier, it proposed using helicopters with machine guns to protect white rhinos on the Sudan-DRC border. Unlike in Amazonia and Southeast Asia, the indigenous populations around protected areas in DRC have not organized in any large-scale way either to ally with or fight against conservation efforts with the exception of some small-scale pacts made between park officials and local authorities.xix

The question of whether defaunation would create cascading effects in the Congo Basin is an open one. The Congo forest is much vaster than the island areas where cascading effects have been observed. Animals move when there are threats, such as gunshots and other disturbances, so it is hard to learn the fate of a given population of animals. In the case of the bonobo, the

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surrounding population did not typically kill or eat them until recently. The change is attributed to an influx of outsiders, particularly the Hutu refugees who ran through from the east in 1997. Capturing of bonobo babies increased when it was learned that they are highly valuable animals and could fetch up to $5,000 from foreigners (C. Andre, pers. comm.), which brings a question about the utility of parks that create the impression that the animals are highly valuable—in fact more valuable than human beings.

What are and will be the key threats to the integrity of the Congo Basin ecosystem and to local ecosystems? Although rainfall has diminished less in the Congo Basin than elsewhere in Africa, there is more pronounced seasonal variability and reasons to be wary: “In western Africa and to a lesser degree in central Africa, river depletion has speeded up since the beginning of the seventies and increased considerably during the eighties due to the persistent rainfall deficit since the start of this period resulting in a reduction of runoff coefficients” (Mahe and Olivry 1995: 109). Bruijnzeel (1996: 92) observes that “the frequently observed deterioration in tropical river regimes following forest removal is not so much the result of clearing per se but rather due to a lack of good land husbandry during and after the operation.” Hence it is the type of clearing as much as clearing the forest in itself.

In looking at other parts of the world, the threat to be worried about is clearly logging. Logging along the rivers—the most efficient mode—results in siltation that creates issues not only for hydroelectric power but concerning water pollution and navigability of the river (which is already plagued by shifting sandbars and water hyacinth). Logging is the primary cause of increased bushmeat hunting, which has been identified as the most critical threat to the fauna. Logging in areas adjacent to savanna and woodland would make these areas more vulnerable to fire—and the woodland-savanna-forest transition area is vast. These areas are more likely to be logged as well because transport is easier.

Logging will also open up areas to migration and increased burning with the creation of agricultural plots (cf. Uhl et al. 1997: 366). Though logging will not directly remove much carbon from the system, it can affect the ecosystem in other ways. Single tree logging can reduce as much as 50% of the canopy (lecture notes 9/25) and “high-grading” will reduce the genetic stock of the species by taking the largest and most robust trees.

The threat may be increasing: An email from conservation activist Karl Amman received December 12, 2000: “It is interesting that besides the exports to Cameroon there are now serious plans for road exports from Congo via Gabon and then reactivating the river. Here goes the forests of the Congo. Many Cameroonian loggers seem to head south with Cameroon having reached pretty much the end of the road.”

WRI maintains that the kind of selective logging carried out in DRC, extraction of no more than one to two high value tress ha-1, is “relatively benign” (Wolfire et al. 1989: 13) but this does not take into account the risks of fire, migration, increased hunting and the fact that some high value species are also important to local economies.

Towards a New Paradigm

Focus on Water “Freshwater is the world’s most vital natural resource and issues surrounding it are urgent and global in scale” (Singh et al .1999: 265). The program has in fact begun to focus on the centrality of the Congo River but the emphasis is being placed on loss of freshwater biodiversity, a

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tragically underfunded problem. Siltation and pollution problems are also being considered with respect to their impact on fisheries and hydroelectric potential. The discussion of expansion of hydroelectric power must take into consideration the lessons from other countries, in particular, the topography of potential dam areas, the risk of disease and opening up lines through forest areas. And if the power does not reach the people, it is of little use in bringing the kinds of economic benefits that would allow for a greater range of economic strategies that might lessen other ecosystem threats.

What if the program were to take a broader look at the role of the Congo River and its tributaries in regulating continental climate? First we need to know the extent to which that role is affected by degradation of forest, savanna and woodland ecosystems through which the river runs. What is the impact of deforestation on water flows—increased flooding because of higher runoff? Would fewer trees and less evapotransipiration affect cumulus cloud formation in the central African context? Also, how are climate changes such as ENSO events affecting the forest’s ability to retain water during drought—is the dry season extending? Or conversely, are heavy rains and flooding becoming more common? The 1999 floods in Kinshasa were said to be unprecedented. Donors and the Consultative Group on International Agricultural Research (CGIAR) could sponsor a research on these topics based on work in other tropical forest areas.xx

One solution to mitigating threats to the river ecosystem could be promotion of a market for ecological services. Upstream fishers, farmers and loggers could be compensated for maintaining the watershed as is done in New York State (WRI 2000).

Carbon Options Could or should the DRC benefit from the CDM if it is implemented? First, it is known that the forests are old and as such are not gaining biomass (unless they are cut and are aggrading of course). Plantations are old as well but could be rehabilitated—and of course also cut down and replanted. Palm would be the major crop, then coffee—how much carbon would a palm plantation store?xxi Second, even if there is greatly improved governance of the country, the chances of benefits from the CDM reaching local populations is slim unless there is deep change in tenure policies.

If the government paid the current concession holders not to log with funds from the CDM, the opportunities for rent seeking become enormous. Groups such as Global Forest Watch, which has already begun involvement in the Congo, could perhaps monitor these agreements. But there is reason to be cautious. Smith et al. (2000: 300) warn that the “initial estimates of the contribution tropical forestry could make to both climate change mitigation and to forest conservation need to be scaled down…political realities and investor priorities [concerning CDM options] may not have been sufficiently understood.”

Sustainable Forestry Options Despite its vast forest resources, forestry accounts for only 1% of GDP in the DRC (FAO 1990). There are alternatives to logging not found in other countries in the region. And large-scale logging is more difficult because of the size of country and lack of transport routes. Even if the logs get to the river, they still must be transferred to railroad systems that have not been maintained since the colonial era.

What are the forestry options? Sustainable forestry or even managed logging (a la Uhl et al. 1997) is decades away on a national scale, but local efforts are possible. One firm in the “occupied” territory of the east (north of Beni) has been trying to get its “concession” certified for

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at least two years but issues of how the concession was obtained have prevented any US-based certification action (Smartwood, pers. comm.). The type of company that has tended to do business in the DRC is not the most high-minded kind, and that is not even mentioning the “illegals.” Without the rule of law in the countryside, there is little hope that international plaints and local efforts will create conditions for better forestry practices.

There is wariness about placing emphasis on non-timber/wood forest products (NT/WFPs), certainly within CARPE, which phased out its NTFP program. Questions have been raised by Peters and others about sustainability (under increased demand) and economic importance of NTFP harvesting (Peters 1999, Liengola 1999), while others are more optimistic about the contributions of NTFPs (Ndoye 1999). The early history of DRC was shaped by the horrors inflicted on the local population by the collection of wild rubber. Rubber stands can still be found, however, and collection of rubber might be an option for forest dwellers if there was a market outlet.

Other forest products that were once important in the local economy include jute (not really a forest product but a semi-domesticated shrub found in woodlands), resins and gums used in paint and lacquer manufacture, rattan, caterpillars (an extremely important part of the Congolese diet), mushrooms, medicinal plants (virtually all Congolese depend on traditional medicine due to lack of modern health facilities), fungi, fruits, roots, leaves and berries used as food (Annex 6 is a list of NTFPs in markets in eastern Congo).xxii The industries that used these products have collapsed, but individual use and trade of course continues. Some local furniture and artifact making continues but getting wood to craftsmen in Kinshasa is problematic. Elsewhere in the country there is little market for wood products—people make their own furniture and boats and trade them within the community.

While forest products are not viable as major options for cash or subsistence at present, it is interesting to know how important they once were when there was a functioning economy: there was paint manufacturing that used tree products, match making, furniture and boat making, jute sack production for agriculture.xxiii Taking the lead from Acre Province in Brazil, couldn’t the forested provinces of DRC envision forest products as their comparative advantage?

With respect to agriculture in the forest zone, the previous emphasis placed by donors on “improving” small scale subsistence and cash crop agriculture (manioc, maize) is perhaps misplaced as it is unlikely that these sectors will generate sufficient revenue to finance intensification, except in peri-urban areas. When stimulated by donor money or crisis-driven urban to rural migration, inefficient farming takes places to increase production at the expense of the forest (cf. Russell and Tchamou for Cameroon). Upland rice, once the “engine of development” in Orientale and Kivu provinces, is a major culprit in deforestation, as it grows best on “virgin forest” soils (Russell 1991). Animal husbandry projects, advanced to replace dependence on bushmeat, are problematic because of risks (disease, theft) and high cost.

A shift to emphasis on forest products is possible but the problem is that lines of investment, or what the French call “filieres” are hard to change—palm oil traders want palm oil, forestry deals with timber, petty traders specialize in rice, manioc and bananas, and only a very few local small scale traders deal with forest products. Benefits of NTFPs accrue to individuals while benefits from logging and other large-scale activities line the pockets of government officials and large- scale private sector actors. The bottom line is that few NTFP research and development activities are being carried in DRC with the exception of the Salvation Army’s work on caterpillars and the WWF and the Forest People’s Support Program (APFT) studies of firewood.

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Parks and Protected Areas Goodson 1988 claims that “Zaire’s eight national parks protect the majority of biotic communities, vegetation types, and endangered species.” But it is clear that the main criteria for placement of Protected Areas (PAs) was the protection of species such as the okapi (Okapi Faunal Reserve), the mountain gorilla (Virunga) and the white rhinoceros (Garamba).

Protecting riverine and lake habitats is critical. Only La Salonga and the Okapi Faunal Reserve among national parks are along rivers, and these are tributaries rather than major rivers (Annex 5: Protected Areas). There are no PAs along the Congo River and indeed there is no protection for riverine or lake habitats in general. One PA includes an important water source in Katanga province (Lake Tshangelele) but the major donor, World Wildlife Fund, abandoned this site several years ago.

The protected area model is not a viable choice for protecting rivers. Riverine and fishing communities can be empowered to protect these habitats using a combination of ancestral and modern techniques. Riverine and lacustrine people protected their resources in the past through tabus and demarcation into territories but these controls have lapsed (Basosila pers. comm.). Monitoring can help assess losses of freshwater biodiversity. Help with enforcement of agreements is also needed.

As Peters (1999: 5) points out, “the use of biotic vectors to transfer pollen is apparently the norm in tropical forests, and recent studies in Costa Rica…suggest that over 96% of the local tree species are pollinated exclusively by animals…Animals also play a very important role in dispersing the seeds produced by tropical trees.” Redford found that almost 70% of game bird species were fruit eating (1992: 418). Thus conservation of pollen vectors and seed dispersers could be of great importance. But have conservation areas been developed to take into account the ecosystem functions of animals? It seems that the “keystone” animals came first and then their important ecosystem functions were discovered (e.g., seed dispersing by gorillas and forest elephants).

It would make more sense to concentrate on strengthening locally managed hunting conventions throughout the country such as the bans on rainy season hunting, food taboos, and other controls that were once common (Peterson 1995). And keep the folks with guns out of the forest, whether it is in protected or “non-protected” areas.

The need is to protect forest against incursion by logging and wholesale conversion to palm plantation. The existing network of PAs is in a weak position to meet these needs. The logging and plantation threats are strongest in areas where transportation is easiest. In Bas Congo, most of the forest has disappeared and even reserve forest has been cut down for timber. There is virtually no attention focused on this area. In the east, the outcry concerns the fate of gorillas but increased logging and large-scale deforestation due to refugee migration have not been prioritized. As cloud forests may be particularly vulnerable to drought, the Virunga ecosystem and not just its fauna will need special attention (Bruijnzeel 1992). The gorillas may find that they have nothing to eat.

Conservation organizations should help the DRC managers explore if the large size and “open access” nature of existing PAs makes sense. Perhaps the size of the PAs should be trimmed to a core area and the rest of the area be run as extractive reserves (Sayer et al, 2000). WCS, the

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major player conservation in DRC, may have a hard time with this option, as it is a proponent of increasing protected areas to minimize threats from hunting. The risk is that once the population gets mobilized, or new more dynamic immigrants move in, the whole system will crumble due to lack of internal constituency.

What about the people? Two issues shape resource management in DRC: poverty and governance. Rural dwellers are so poor in some areas that the only modern “prestigious” asset they can display when their photo is taken is an empty (and very old) pack of cigarettes. This poverty is not a result of lack of resources or lack of ingenuity but lack of a way to make productive investments. At the heart of the problem is a need to reform tenure regimes and clarify lines of authority (cf. Uhl et al. 1997: 167). Corruption has created a culture of cynicism. It was well known that during the Mobutu era, his circle ran the smuggling rings for ivory and other valuable forest products despite his stance as a great conservationist. People are pretty savvy about who gets the benefit from both conservation and resource exploitation. The lack of interest of the “international community” in helping the Congolese people to get the rights and opportunities that they have been demanding for so long does not help. Indeed, up to the present, the “help” given them has done far more harm than good.

External groups seem to care more for animals than for people in the DRC. An ecosystem focus could improve the lines of communication between conservationists and local people, however, because it places emphasis on things that local people care about: rainfall, water quality and flow, soil fertility, limiting erosion, and deforestation that results in losing valuable species. Add to this a focus on freshwater biodiversity and agrobiodiversity and you have a much richer suite of options to discuss with local people than the option of “keep out of the forest and don’t kill big mammals.”

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References ABCG 2000. African Biodiversity Consultative Group, meeting notes.

Balmford, A. W., K. J. Gaston, A. I. Rodrigues and A. James. 2000. Integrating costs of conservation into international priority setting. Conservation Biology 14/3: 597-605.

Brown, S and G Gaston. 1995. Use of forest inventories and geographic information systems to estimate biomass density of tropical forests: application to tropical Africa. Environmental Monitoring and Assessment 38/2-3: 157-168.

Brown and Lugo 1992

Doumenge, C 1998. La conservation des ecosystemes forestieres au Zaire. IUCN programme for tropical forests. Gland, Switzerland.

ESRI Data (country.shp) available with ArcView 3.2.

FAO 1988. Zaire forest policy review. FAO Tropical Forestry Action Programme. Rome: Food and Agriculture Organization.

FAO 1990. Republique du Zaire: Plan d’action forestiere tropical. Rome: Food and Agriculture Organization.

Goodson, J 1988. Conservation and management of tropical forests and biological diversity in Zaire. Washington, DC: US Agency for International Development Africa Bureau.

Graham, R L, R D Perlack, A M Prasad and D B Waddle 1990. Greenhouse gas emissions in sub-Saharan Africa. Oak Ridge National Laboratory Office if Technical Research. Tennessee: ORNL.

Houghton R A and K Ramarkrishna 1999. A review of national emissions inventories from select non-annex I countries: implications for counting sources and sinks of carbon." Annual Reviews: Energy Environment, 24: 571-605.

IUCN. 1985. Zaire: Conservation of biological diversity. Gland: International union for the conservation of nature.

Kotto-Same J, M R Njomganag, J Tiki Manga,Tonuyé, C Diaw , H Gockowski, S Hauser, S Weise, D Nwaga, P Woomer, A Gilliason, D Bignell, and J Tondoh . 2000. "Alternative to Slash and Burn Program Phase II Report-Forest Margins Benchmark Cameroon." Nairobi, Kenya, ASB: 72.

Kristensen, T and D S Brown. 1999. Control of intermediate host snails for parasitic diseases: a threat to biodiversity in African freshwaters? Malacologia 41/2: 379-391.

JERS-1 SAR CD-ROM 1997. Global Rain Forest Mapping Project. Africa, 1996-1997. Lead Agency: National Space Development Agency of Japan. See http://southport.jpl.nasa.gov/GRFM

Laraque, A, M Mietton, J C Olivry and A Pandy. 1998. Impact of lithological and vegetal covers on flow discharge and water quality of Congolese tributaries from the Congo river. Revue des Sciences de l’Eau 11/2: 209-224.

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Lawson, G W 1996. The Guinea-Congo lowland rain forest: an overview. Proceedings of the Royal Society of Edinburgh vol. 104. Edinburgh: Royal Society.

Liengola, I. 1999. A preliminary market survey of the non-wood forest products of the Democratic Republic of Congo: the Beni and Kisangani Markets. FAO: Proceedings of First International Conference on Non-Wood Forest Products, Limbe Botanical Gardens.

Mahe, G and J C Olivry. 1995. Rainfall and runoff variations in western and central Africa from 1951 to 1989. Secheresse 6/1: 109-117.

Mapilanga (conservator of Okapi Faunal Reserve). Data unknown. Description of OFR.

Mayaux et al.

Mbende Mapaka, Mukuralinda Mukunzi, Murefu Katsuva, Lonema Chuda and Mabwa Ndeba. 1999. Performance of maize (Zea mays) when alley cropped with legume shrubs at Yangambi, Democratic Republic of Congo. Cahiers Agricultures 8/3: 211-213.

Peters, C. Limbe workshop

Philips et al.

Russell and Tchamou Russell 1991

Sayer, Swartzendruber, Nasi and Byers 2000. CARPE draft briefing sheet.

Singh, A, A Dieye, and M Finco. 1998. Assessing environmental conditions of major river basins in Africa as surrogates for watershed health. Ecosystem health 5/4: 265-274.

Smith, J. K. Mulongoy, R Persson and J Sayer. 2000. Harnessing carbon markets for tropical forest conservation: towards a more realistic assessment. Environmental Conservation 27/3: 300- 311.

TREES Map. 1997. Philippe Mayaux, TREES Project, MTV Unit, Space Applications Institute, TP 440, Joint Research Centre, 21020 Ispra (VA), Italy. Fax + 39 332 78 90 73; e-mail [email protected]; WWW: http://wwwmtv.jrc.it/projects/treeswww/trees2.html

Wilkie reference on bushmeat

Wolfire, D M, J Brunner and N Sizer. 1998. Forests and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Washington DC: World Resources Institute (Forest Frontiers Initiative).

WCMC. 1998. Draft ms on protected areas in DRC (with IUCN). Cambridge, UK: World Conservation Monitoring Centre.

WWF 1997. Ecoregional Map for Africa. At: www.carpe.umd.edu.

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Annex 1: Comparison of Rainy and Dry Seasons on Congo River Removed for email transmission

1a. Low Flood Kinshasa 1b. High Flood October-November 1996 January-March 1996

Source: JERS-1 SAR Global Rainforest Mapping Project

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Annex 2: Protected Area Network and Mines From WRI (removed for email transmission)

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Annex 3: Major NWFPs Sold in the Kisangani and Beni Markets

Scientific name Part used Uses Market Local name Gnetum fumbwa Leaves Vegetable Kisangani africanum (Kikongo) Piper guineense bokango Fruits Medicinal, Beni and (Nonde) condiment Kisangani toketu (Lokele) Cola acuminata ngongoka Seeds Aphrodisiac, Beni and (Nonde) medicinal Kisangani libelu (Topoke) gbongbolia (Swahili) Garcinia cola bobale Seeds Aphrodisiac, Kisangani (Topoke) medicinal olale (Lokele) Aframomum spp ndehe Fruits and Edible fruits, Beni and (Nonde) seeds medicinal Kisangani tondolo (Swahili) soso (Topoke) Scorodophloeus bumba Bark Condiment Kisangani zenkeri (Topoke) Pentadiplandra geene Roots Medicinal Kisangani brazzeana (Topoke) etekele (Lokele) Thaumatococcus longodo Leaves Wrapping Beni and danielii (Ngelema) leaves, roof Kisangani mangongo thatching (Swahili) Elaeis nganzi Nuts, sap Palm oil, palm Beni and guineensis (Swahili) wine Kisangani Raphia spp mabondo Sap Palm wine Beni and (Swahili) Kisangani Fungi buyoka All Food Beni and (Swahili) Kisangani Source: Innocent LIENGOLA Bauma 1999 (need permission to reproduce)

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SILVICULTURE FOR NON TIMBER FOREST PRODUCTS IN THE HUMID FOREST ZONE OF CENTRAL AFRICA

Overview Silviculture in the humid forest zone (HFZ) of central Africa is not highly developed and there is relatively little information on the topic compared with other tropical regions. The zone is defined as the moist tropical forest, excluding montane and coastal forests, of Cameroon, Republic of Congo, Democratic Republic of Congo, Central African Republic, Gabon and Equatorial Guinea. Work has largely concentrated on logging high value timber trees (with little attention to regeneration), okoumé forests (Gabon), oil palm, rubber, monoculture cocoa and mixed cocoa/tree or crop systems. With recent community forestry legislation and recognition of the need to apply modern silvicultural practices, there is a window of opportunity to assist local managers to formulate goals for forest management, and develop appropriate-scale silvicultural techniques to achieve them.

This paper will outline ways in which a community-based silviculture could incorporate management of non-timber forest products (NTFPs). NTFPs are economically valuable, valuable for subsistence use and may also be valuable as indicators of ecosystem health. Management for NTFPs is not a panacea nor is it an adequate goal in itself, but it can be part of an overall strategy of more conscious and diverse management of forest resources than has been the case in the past.

I describe the forest setting and then present what is known of the silvics of selected species that produce economically and culturally valuable NTFPs: rattan (Laccosperma secundiflorum and Eremospatha macrocarpa), Moabi (Baillonella toxisperma), bush mango (Irvingia gabonensis), and some other species. In theory, the primary management objective should be “sustainable harvest” of the NTFPs but since this objective is not considered by experts to be achievable in itself, I look at association with other management objectives, including sustaining wildlife (in or around a protected area or as designated by the community), integration with cocoa and fruit tree systems (in personal plantations), and agriculture, for example in enhancing or not degrading soil fertility, pest and weed control in fallow areas.

The central argument of the paper is that while NTFPs are not necessarily the most important products economically, their management may be the most complex and forest dependent. Hence a forest management system that has as an objective the maintenance of NTFPs may incorporate other objectives whereas a system that focuses on regeneration of commercial species, cocoa, fruit trees or agricultural productivity may neglect the NTFP “habitat” and hence slide toward degradation. Two forms of silviculture must be envisioned: for high forest and rare species and for secondary forest with more common but still potentially endangered species. Most of the paper is based on research in southern Cameroon but some examples from other areas and countries will be used, as well as from West Africa and Asia, where useful models are presented.

The paper will use information on the forest of southeastern Cameroon within the sub-region of Nyong et So’o. In this area, I carried out fieldwork on forest farming during 1991-93 while a post-doctoral fellow at the International Institute of Tropical Agriculture’s (IITA) Humid Forest Station (Russell 1993a, Russell 1993b, Russell and Tchamou 2002). Our study was focused on agriculture, particularly problems of soil fertility, but forest management became a concern as we watched the forest be cut down for food crops in the wake of the cocoa crisis of that era (Sunderlin et al. 2000). In addition to our information, a comprehensive study was carried out by

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the Natural Resources Institute (NRI) around the same time (1992) that provides data that would otherwise be hard to find in the region. Data and concepts are also available from the ongoing work of scientists at IITA’s Humid Forest Station, Center for International Forestry Research (CIFOR), Limbé Botanical Garden (LBG), Afrirattan (based at LBG), Tropenbos Project, CERUT (Cameroonian NGO), Forest Peoples Support Project (APFT), Centre agronomique de coopération en recherche agronomique pour le développment (CIRAD Forêt) in Montpelier France, and the FORAFRI project, a CIRAD, CIFOR and French Cooperation joint project.

Of particularly utility for this paper were the series of papers on NTFPs from a conference at LBG (FAO 1999), a CD-ROM of papers on sustainable management in the African dense humid forest put out by CIRAD-Forêt as part of FORAFRI (CIRAD 1998), and a manual on sustainable harvest of NTFPs by Charles Peters (Peters 1994). Although there are still considerable gaps in knowledge, and many theories and ideas that need to be field-tested in the harsh reality of central Africa, my bibliographic research uncovered a surprisingly large amount of information.

Ecogeography of the Site The Central African humid forest zone (HFZ) is not by any means uniform but there are significant commonalties in ecology and geography if one excludes coastal and montane areas. The most significant variation in the region occurs near the large waterways of the Congo River and its tributaries. In northern Republic of Congo there are extensive swampy areas. Toward the east of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), large areas of forest are dominated by Gilbertiodendron dewevrei. Moderately significant differences exist in the extent of the dry season throughout the region and soil conditions vary as well. For example, cocoa grows well in Cameroon but not in the dense forests of central-eastern DRC in part because the longer dry season in Cameroon makes it less vulnerable to fungus. These and many other social, economic and ecological differences have to be taken into account when generalizing from the sites discussed below to the whole region.

Our Cameroon fieldwork site was four villages of the Bëne people in the county (departement) of Nyong et So’o. Two of the villages are on the main road to Yaoundé and two in the interior. All villages had significant forest cover with localized deforestation based on ownership, micro- population densities and land management. The area is characterized by two dry seasons, the longer one in December to February and the shorter one in June-July. Temperature fluctuates between 22.5o and 25Co with February and March being the coolest months and the warmest months being February and March. Relative humidity ranges from 73% to 60% and mid-day values are close to 100% most days of the year.

According to the 1992 NRI report, soils in the Nyong et So’o “are generally poor. They are strongly acid with low to very low cation exchange capacity, most of which is dominated by aluminium.” The base rocks are metamorphic rocks known as the Basement Complex and comprise micaschists, schists and granites. The NRI team carried out studies of soil fertility including comparisons of different parent materials and vegetation covers. For the area at the site they found that [t]he topsoils are…strongly acid, low to very low in organic carbon, nitrogen, phosphorous and exchangeable aluminium…the topsoil under mature secondary forest is half a unit of pH more acid than soils under other types of vegetation. The organic matter content of the cultivated topsoils are [sic] significantly higher than those in other categories, although there are no clear differences concerning nitrogen. Available P however is significantly higher at the cultivated sites than in areas under different forms of vegetation…exchangeable Al levels are twice as high in the mature secondary forest soils than they are in the regrowth and cultivated land categories (NRI 1992: 45).

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The topography of this region of Cameroon does not create dramatic boundaries in habitats. The sharpest edges in the landscape are roadsides, and between hybrid cocoa plantations and forest or newly cleared fields and forest. But the edges are smoothed and vegetation grows back in fields after 2-3 years of cultivation. The area is overall between 600 to 700 asl, descending southward from the higher plateau where the capital of Yaoundé is situated. Landforms consist of alluvial floodplains of the rivers Nyong and So’o and undulating plateaus and valley slopes. There are small streams throughout the region.

Elements of the Forest System As in the Amazon, recent research has uncovered that human habitation of the central African forest is ancient, human populations in the forest were likely to have been much larger in the past and they undoubtedly shaped the forest structure and composition. Wilkie (2001) notes that “not only is the forest young in geological terms, the ubiquitous presence of scorched oil palm kernels suggests that almost all of it has been cleared by subsistence farmers at least once, and thus should best be described as old regrowth-forest.” The presence of palms indicates former village sites. Ironworking also affected forest composition as certain trees used to make charcoal for smelting were encouraged. There was significant long distance trade in the pre-colonial era. Tree and agricultural crops such as bananas, many fruit trees, cassava, groundnut and maize were introduced hundreds of years ago (Vansina 1990).

Demands on the forest include food, fiber, fuelwood collection, timber for canoe, bridge and house building, hunting, provision of space for spiritual practices (initiation and other rites), maintenance of soil fertility during long-fallow rotation, and collection of forest products such as medicinals. Cocoa was introduced in the late 1800s to Cameroon and came to dominate the economy by the 1970s, shifting into high gear with the introduction of hybrid trees. Over 10% of the land was allocated to cocoa plantations at our study site in the early 1990s. Cocoa plantations typically include fruit trees and overstory timber trees, which partially protect the shade tolerant and sensitive cocoa.

Village dwellers manage plantations and secondary forests, there are timber concessions, protected areas and reserve forests in theory managed by the state. Within the areas managed by village dwellers, there are individual family and clan plots or zones, individually-owned plantations, and common areas, sometimes roughly apportioned to certain clans. The NRI (1992: 1) report notes that “for technical and social (land tenure) reasons, it is not realistically possible to allocate land separately to agriculture or forestry. These two activities are so closely inter-related that, in effect, they form a single compound land use.” We came to the same conclusions and, despite the fact that we were working for an agricultural institute, came to study a family’s fields, plantations, fallows and forests as one unit.

A. The Forestry Sector Fifteen main species comprise 75% of Cameroon’s timber production, with three alone accounting for 50%, according to the NRI report (p. 26). The top three are: 1. Triplochiton scleroxylon; 2. Entandophragma cylindricum; and 3. Lophira alata. Other key species exported in recent years include Terminalia superba, Erythrophloeum ivorenses and Tetraberlinea bifoliata (Laird 1999).

World Resources Institute’s Global Forest Watch (GFW) reported that “in Cameroon, abandoned, current, and future concessions cover 76 percent of the total (protected and unprotected) forest area. 25 logging companies and individuals hold three quarters of Cameroon’s forest concessions. Most of these are subsidiaries of foreign corporations. Three such corporations

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partially or wholly financed by French interests, retained almost a third of Cameroon’s logging concessions in 1998-99” (Collomb 2001: xxx).

Logging causes on average a 10 percent canopy loss, but up to 50 percent of the canopy may be disturbed, because several trees are typically damaged or destroyed in the process of reaching and felling a tree to be harvested (Wilk 1990). Clear-cutting is extremely rare. High operational costs, poor infrastructure and demand for specific species have resulted in selective logging, meaning companies harvest the best quality trees of a few species (White 1994). This practice is characterized by low extraction rate per unit area but often results in overexploitation of specific species and has been compared to timber mining. Despite the low extraction rate, deforestation rates in southern Cameroon were estimated to be 1,355 km-2 yr--1 between 1973 and 1986 (Kotto- Same et al. 1997); much of this is agricultural expansion following logging roads.

As part of the 1994 reform process, an auction system for logging concession allocation was partially implemented. Concessions by auctions are less susceptible to political pressure and are more economically efficient. This system sets the basis for changes in pricing and taxation to increase fiscal revenue and use of non-market based incentives to improve forest management. Unfortunately, the “legitimate” sector is rife with corruption and there is also extensive illegal logging. Though considered a relatively “advanced” country within the central African region, Cameroon has only one trained forester working in the logging industry (CARPE/WRI 2001). GFW put out a report in 2000 that revealed the lack of real reform in the allocation of concessions and in silvicultural practices. In 1997-98, only half of the operating licenses (a type of logging permit) and less than a third of the UFA (another type of logging permit) allocated as of December 1999 fully complied with the new guidelines (Collomb 2001)

The management unit responsible for forests, Office National des Developpement des Forêts (ONADEF), despite some technical competence, has a skimpy operations budget and few vehicles. Most technical advice comes from large institutions such as CIRAD-Forêt, CIFOR and donor-funded development projects. During the early 1990s, for example, the Overseas Development Institute (ODI, now DFID) funded a project in the Nyong et So’o site that experimented with different logging regimes and regeneration of hardwoods. Given the lack of investment by the Cameroonian government in forestry, however, it is hard to see how the lessons and skills from DFID, CIRAD, CIFOR, and others will be internalized. Efforts by the World Bank to force Cameroon to better forestry practices through loan conditionalities have been less than successful (CARPE/WRI 2001).

Recently, largely as a result of donor pressure, Cameroon enacted community forestry legislation that provides a small window of opportunity for communities to exploit forests commercially. This development is discussed below. During and since the colonial era village dwellers have not had legal rights even to their own village forest areas; in all the countries in Francophone central Africa forest land is owned by the state. It is forbidden for villagers to cut trees without permission, except for trees grown by the individual in plantations or when cutting an agricultural plot to “put the land into value” (mise en valeur). But at the same time very poorly managed logging operations are allowed to persist and this double standard has been a disincentive for sound forest management.

The scope of indigenous forest management is not unknown but there is not a wealth of information on the topic, particularly for the dense forest zones. Augustine Muam Chi recently finished PhD work on indigenous forest management in Cameroon, which described several systems in detail and provided an overview of other studies (Chi, date unknown, reviewed in Russell 2000). However, many of the systems described are from the western provinces which in

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fact have little forest. Others have looked at management of specific forest resources such as yohimbe, eru, Gnetum and Irvingia (Limbe workshop reports: FAO 1999). But again, many of the examples come from west Cameroon—Mount Cameroon area (location of Limbé Botanical Garden).

In terms of the social dimensions of indigenous forest management, Malleson (in FAO 1999) notes that some communities in the Mount Cameroon area have begun to limit access to their forests as a result of dwindling resources. Other indigenous management practices include protecting specific trees, the maintenance of sacred groves and forests, and regeneration. The BaAka pygmy peoples’ cosmology represents an integration of the social and spiritual with management. People living in the forest are guests of the spirits and the spirit ancestors who are the true inhabitants and owners of the forest. Activities that seek to appropriate resources— honey for example—require spirit participation. Zengui (the forest spirit) oversees people’s use of the forest, temporary or more permanent. Zengui has a coercive and moral power over all relations between people and the forest. Rituals for soliciting Zengui’s protection are still common among the BaAka (Brown 2001).

Chi argues persuasively that these practices are alive and well despite “modernization” and that they are much more effective than projects initiated by the state and donors. Others, particularly trained foresters and wildlife biologists, are skeptical.

B. The NTFP Sector NTFPs in Cameroon come from trees, understory plants, funghi and animals as diverse as gorillas and termites. They can be seeds/nuts, fruit, leaves, bark, twigs, flowers or sap/latex. Many NTFPs are valued as medicinals, while others are food, chewsticks, oil, building materials, or ritual objects.

The interest of outsiders in Cameroon’s NTFPs was sparked in part by fad: “Rainforest Crunchism” or the belief that NTFPs could generate income for poor forest dwellers while “saving” the forest. This fad is definitely on the wane if levels of funding for research and community NTFP projects are considered. xxiv There has been significant criticism of NTFPs as conservation and development tools. The main criticisms center on high levels of extraction of high value NTFPs, low densities and patchy spatial dispersion of NTFPs in the forest, and lack of incentive to conserve on the part of NTFP gatherers. On the development side, many people feel that NTFP gathering or even processing does not bring in a return to labor comparable to agriculture, hunting or participation in logging. Michael Dove made the point that “minor forest product” development projects are a way to avoid dealing with the major power imbalances between rural dwellers and urban elites who are largely responsible for forest degradation (Dove 1993).

In the case of southern Cameroon, however, the reality of poor soils for agricultural production, the high value of some of the NTFPs, the logged state of the forest, and the paucity of options for rural development make a strong case for attention to NTFPs. The most cogent argument for attention to NTFPs in forest management is that they are a key element of local people’s livelihoods, health and ultimately the ecosystem that sustains them. It is interesting that when I did a small survey of central Africa NTFP experts for the US Forest Service, the African scientists exhibited significantly more interest in and support of NTFP research than did the expatriate scientists (Russell 1999).

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C. The Forest The forests at our site had been logged intensively for twenty years until the early 1980s during the first wave of logging in Cameroon that has now moved east and south. As such only 3% of the forest is considered “primary.” One of our four study villages was the site of a sawmill, which had gone out of business in 1982. Timber concessions still existed but were not active. In fact, timber had to be imported from other areas of Cameroon to the sawmills of nearby Mbalmayo to keep them running. Despite the logging, many valuable trees persist in the forest.

The forest is dense, humid, semi-deciduous and marked by an abundance of Sterculiaceae and Ulmaceae. In the so-called foret vierge or virgin forest, there is very little understory herbaceous vegetation but there is a seed bank. In the early 1990s, Chromoleana odorata had not yet reached the denser forests, even in clearings according to our observations. By now it has certainly spread throughout southern Cameroon.

According to the NRI report, the first species to emerge after land clearing are Chromoleana, Imperata cylindricum, Triumfetta and Musanga cecropioides. Trema guineensis will emerge if the clearing is made in old forest. After 2-4 years, a wide range of what could be classed as pioneer species will emerge, to cite a few: • Aframomum • Elaies guineensis • Macaranga spp. • Ficus exasperata • Morinda lucida • Ricinodendron heudelotii • Spathodia campanulata

Another five years will bring species (perhaps classed as secondary or co-dominant) such as Piptadeniastrum africanum, Erythrophleum suaveolens, Ficus mucoso, Terminala superba, and Bombax buonopozense. Finally, the dominants emerge after ten years while Triumfetta, Trema, Chromolaena and Imperata disappear: • Ceiba pentandra • Baillonella toxisperma • Irvingia gabonensis • Xlopia staudtii

Based on a survey of the lands controlled by 40 families in the four villages, farming system elements were delineated at our sites. I will use these data and data on trees found in each of these zones to construct a tentative picture of stands and assemblages. Stands can be delineated at the site by topography and land use. The main types of stands are found in upland forest, swamp or marshy areas, riparian zones, and old-fallows. Slash and burn cultivation takes place in all these forests and NTFPs can be found in all areas. Below are the major associations: • Upland forest (afan) is “foret vierge” on well drained soils which may have been logged but has not been cultivated in recent memory. Important trees include Triplochiton scleroxylon, Terminalia superba, Baillonella toxisperma, Ceiba pentandra.

• Swamp or marshy areas are called elobi, and the agricultural plot created there is an asan. Brush is cut and maize and other crops are planted in hydromorphic soils. Raphia is the most important economic species in this forest area. Other trees include: Cola rostratra, Musanga cecropioides, Vernonia conferta, Alstonia hoonii, Triplochiton scleroxylon, and Ceiba pentandra.

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• Riparian areas are not extensive as the two largest rivers, the Nyong and the So’o, are quite small. The So’o periodically floods, changing the soil and floristic composition. Palatuvier and Mbam (Aningueria; Rhizophora) are two tree species commonly found along rivers.

• Old fallows (essep) areas have been cultivated between 15-80 years ago. Trees include Musanga cecropiodiodes, Irvingia gabonensis, Pycnanthus angoiensis, Alstonia hoonii, Terminalia superba, Ceiba pentandra, Neostenanthera spp., Triplochiton scleroxylon.

Cocoa plantations, home gardens, recent fallows and newly-created fields contain many important NTFPs and commercial trees (NRI 1992: 71-72). These areas are considered briefly below but the emphasis of this paper is on natural forest rather than agroforestry and domestication. Improvement and domestication of fruit trees and other trees with NTFP values is a conservation and development strategy that is actively being pursued by LBG and the International Center for Research on Agroforestry (ICRAF).

Silvics of the Key NTFP Producers Originally, I had wanted to include several NTFP species in this review, but it proved difficult to compile basic information on the silvics of several species. It is also hard to piece together information on how NTFP species relate to one another, to commercial timber species (there is much overlap) and other flora within stands and across the landscape. Hence I focus on rattan and the top two trees that yield valuable NTFPs and provide an overview of some of the others within two broad categories.

A. Rattan Compared to Asian rattans, there has been little botanical and ecological study of African rattans. The most detailed recent study of African rattans comes from the African Rattan Research Center located in Limbé Botanical Gardens in Cameroon (LBG). Botanist TCH Sunderland has described the botanical and ecological features of African rattans and deposited specimens in botanical collections. This collection and study is critical because information on African rattans was spotty and incorrect (A. Henderson, pers. comm).

Four genera, representing 16 species, of rattan occur in West and Central Africa. Only two species, the large-diameter cane Laccosperma secundiflorum and the small diameter cane, Eremospatha macrocarpa, form the basis of both subsistence and commercial use in Central Africa (Sunderland 1999). Sunderland notes that some rattan species are highly intolerant and are early gap colonizers, responding very quickly to disturbance. Thus they are found in logging clearings and along logging roads. Oncocalamus is so intolerant that it is among the first to appear after cutting. Other rattans such as Calamus deërratus grow in swampy environments. At least one species, however, Eremospatha hookeri, is tolerant and will grow under the canopy. For the most part, however, rattan seedlings and small stems can remain in the understory for a few years but if a gap is not found they will die.

Seeds are dispersed by hornbills and also some primates. However, significant germination also occurs near to the parent plants through natural fruit fall and further predation by rodents accounts for some additional, although limited, dispersal. Interestingly, despite intensive field work and herbarium collection in the past two years, no obvious pattern of seed production and flower development has been determined for most Cameroonian rattans.

Some species, such as the two main commercial species, Laccosperma secundiflorum and Eremospatha macrocarpa, have large ranges and occur from Liberia to Angola, while Calamus deërratus occurs from Côte d’Ivoire to Kenya. In terms of diversity, the greatest concentration of A Year in the Grove 27

rattan species is found in the Guineo-Congolian forests of Central Africa. Over 90% of all the known rattan species occur in Cameroon and during a recent survey of the small territory of Rio Muni in Equatorial Guinea (an area of only 26,000 km²), eleven species of rattan were recorded; 70% of the total number known to occur on the whole continent (Sunderland 1998).

B. Irvingia Irvingia gabonensis of the Irvingiaceae family, called andok in southern Cameroon, is a large tree which reaches up to 35 m in height and 120 cm in diameter. It is a dominant tree with substantial buttresses, a more or less regular bole, yellowish gray bark and a broad crown. Irvingia trees produce a very heavy hard and unusable wood (Letouzey 1972: 253). Irvingina gabonensis is the only species in the family that has edible fruit. Fruiting occurs from April to July and also in September. There is great variety in fruiting from year to year. Important seed dispersers are the forest elephant, ungulates and humans. Ungulates reject the nut and so are very important in dispersing it. The fruit is a drupe that can be as large as 10 cm.

In an International Center for Research on Agroforestry (ICRAF)/Institute de Recherches Agronomiques (IRA) study, farmers in southern Cameroon place Irvingia gabonesis as their top priority for improvement and management (Mollet et al. 1995). This is due to the fact that both the kernels and the fruit have high values and regional markets.

C. Moabi One tree taken for timber that also produces very valuable NTFPs is Baillonella toxisperma or Moabi from the family Sapotaceae. Moabi is the number two priority of farmers in southern Cameroon for improvement and management according to ICRAF. It produces nuts that are made into delicious oil used in cooking, and which also has medicinal properties. The nuts themselves are prized food. A recent article in Bois et Forets des Tropiques stated that “little is known about the ecology [of Moabi]” (Debroux et al. 1998). Like many other large rainforest trees, its phenology is not predictable. It flowers and fruits every two to ten years, most often one year in three. Flowering occurs between February and April (between the big dry season and the small rainy season) and fruiting is between June and August, just before the large rainy season. It is monoecious with perfect flowers. Its spherical fruit, about 9 cm in diameter, contains up to 6 seeds with no endosperm, large cotyledons containing lipids, and weakly lignified seed coats. Seed predators include the larvae of Carpophilus sp. (Coleopteraea: Nitidulidae) and Museidia sp. (Lepidopterae: Phycitidae) while wild pigs eat the seedlings. Moabi seeds are dispersed by forest elephants and other frugivores but stratification is not necessary for germination.

Figure 1 (from Debroux et al. 1998) shows the size class distribution of Moabi in the Dja

Fig 1. Size classes of Moabi in 247 ha protected forest

40 30 20 Series2 10 0 Number of stemsNumber of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Diameter Class A Year in the Grove 28

protected area forest in Southern Cameroon. Diameter class 1 is between 10 and 40 cm dbh and class 10 is between 280 and 310 cm dbh. Note the small numbers in classes 2-4 (40-130 cm dbh) which may indicate illegal felling of this tree. The larger trees would be harder to fell illegally than the medium dimension trees. Other explanations for this distribution could relate to the ecology of the species, its irregular flowering and fruiting, or to high levels of predation at a given period. An interesting alternative hypothesis is that prohibition of hunting in the Dja reserve raises the numbers of wild pigs that feed on the seedlings.

Germination takes place during the big rainy season so the seedling has sufficient moisture but seedling growth is plagued by predation and compacted clay soils. Debroux and colleagues do not find shade to be a hindrance to seedling growth in the first year, indicating that Moabi, like other trees that will eventually dominate the canopy, is shade tolerant to moderately tolerant. It grows very well in nurseries.

Moabi is thus classified as a dominant canopy species, non-pioneer, slow developing and long- lived. It can be placed within an ecological group of tolerant dominant Sapotaceae (others include Tieghemella africana and Gambeya lacourtiana) adapted to animal dispersal with patchy distribution in the forest. Natural regeneration seems deficient.

D. Other key NTFPs Laird (1999) classified NTFP species into two types, those with high commercial timber value and those with low timber value: • Most of the widely marketed NTFPs do not come from trees with commercial value including Irvingia, Afrostyrax spp., Tetrapleura tetraptera, Ricinondendron heudelottii, Garcinia cola, Gnetum africanum and Monodora myrstica. Most commonly-used medicinal plants come from secondary forest and gardens. • Commercial species with NTFP values include Pterocarpus soyauxii (padouk), Nauclea diderrichii, Canarium schweinfurthii, Lofira alata and Milcia excelsa (iroko). With low densities and uneven distributions (comparable to Moabi) Milicia is considered endangered and Pterocarpus is scarce. Medicinal plants for serious illnesses and those gathered by specialists are found in high or secondary forest.

A question arises as to how habitat affects the importance of NTFPs to conservation. If a species is found in deep forest and is rare, does it naturally have greater conservation value than species found in secondary forest? A rare and valuable species may be harder to exploit in a remote location than species found in secondary forests but because of its sparse dispersal it can easily become endangered. More readily accessible species can of course also be overharvested. Schwartzmann et al. (2000) highlighted the importance for ecosystem function of maintaining secondary forest and encouraging sustainable harvest of NTFPs within these secondary forests.

At the Limbé NTFP experts’ workshop (FAO 1999), several highly valued NTFPs were found to be in danger of being over-harvested or endangered from habitat destruction: Baillonella toxisperma, rattan, Gnetum spp. Participant Sarah Laird of University College, London, noted the need to define the relationship between different kinds of NTFPs and conservation, e.g.: • Endemic, rare species like Moabi (Baillonella toxisperma) under threat from other causes or habitat destruction, in this case from logging. • Endemic species that are overharvested, e.g., Prunus—species conservation • NTFPs found mainly in disturbed areas or farms, e.g., bush plum (Dacryodes) used to improve livelihoods and so reduce people’s need to clear forest, but are neither endangered nor poorly marketed at present, so not a conservation priority as a species.

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Participant Laurie Clark, then of US Forest Service, observed that destructive harvesting of NTFPs increases with economic value (e.g., Prunus and Garcinia debarking), while Charles Peters has emphasized that unsustainable harvesting can lead to lack of regeneration over a long time frame that is difficult if not impossible for local people to see (Russell 1999).

The implications for community-based silviculture are that at least two management systems have to be formulated: one for primary or old-growth forest with rare and endangered species such as Moabi that is logged commercially and another for secondary forest that is managed for the use of local people (this might also include endangered species and small scale logging). Rattan and Irvingia may be found in the latter type of forest.

Silvicultural methods

A. Indigenous silvicultural treatments for NTFPs For the Baka of eastern Cameroon, Chi describes “purposeful regeneration using taxonomic and ecological knowledge of flowering plants, tree phenology and the classification of ‘resource zones’ to reflect local and temporal ecological nuances within forest ecosystems” (Chi, p 35). It seems that this indigenous knowledge is not being used significantly by forestry experts.

Management of Irvingia includes “harvesting by climbing, harvesting by gathering, processing, fertilization and disease/insect control” (Ayuk et al. 1999: 7). The mean annual production of Irvingia seeds was found to range from 835 kg/farmer to 112 kg across three divisions in southern Cameroon. The harvest discrepancy is due to the extent of forest left in these areas. Ayuk et al. (op cit: 1) report that “Irvingia gabonensis is propagated rather by transplanting wildings than by planting of seedlings and is found mostly in tree crop fields (e.g, cocoa and coffee) as a shade and production tree.” It grows, however, in all habitats except swampy areas, including the “virgin forest.” Thus, while Irvingia is a dominant tree found in dense forest if is also found in and near villages because of human dispersal and care.

Scientists at ICRAF and Limbé feel that Irvingia is a prime candidate for domestication because it produces small fruit, trees take a long time to bear fruit, and bears fruit only every 2-3 years. The natural stock is declining and artificial propagation techniques have yet to be developed. Multiplication by seed and vegetative propagation is successful according to ICRAF although growth in young plants is relatively slow (Ayuk et al. op cit: 4). Farmers obtain seeds from selected trees on their land or neighbors but they may also buy them in the market.

Moabi seedlings may be protected in clearing and in the forest (Tchamou, pers. comm 2001). One of the families that we surveyed in 1992 had protected eight Moabi trees despite the fact that they had cut down most of the rest of their forest. Seeds germinate well, seedlings thrive in nurseries and the seedlings also grow well though slowly in the forest (the extent of predation seems to be a key factor) but Cameroon farmers as far as I know do not plant Moabi. It takes a very long time to mature and perhaps there is lack of knowledge of its regeneration path.

Chainsaws became important items for forest and plantation management in southern Cameroon in the 1980s with the rise in agricultural incomes. At our study site, each village possessed at least three chainsaws, which were rented out by their owners for felling trees and creating planks for local use. Ownership and use of chainsaws was highly restricted by the government so they are not used overtly. Chainsaws are used only on the largest trees to fell timber and create plantations while axes and machetes are used on small trees and brush for agricultural clearing.

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We did not see any signs of attention to regeneration during local logging operations but this observation needs further research. Local people either clear secondary forest for agriculture or select a tree for its value in construction use. In agricultural clearing, however, we documented that farmers save species of economic value, particularly fruit trees. They do not save species based solely on their value for soil fertility, a finding that confounded plans for introducing leguminous trees into this area for soil fertility enhancement (Russell 1993b). The ODI project was unable to implement a plan for enrichment planting of valuable hardwoods in the area due to the lack of institutional intermediaries to carry out extension activities (A. Roby, pers. comm in 1992). In theory, however, this project should have succeeded because farmers are already familiar with how to create and maintain nurseries and care for seedlings from their work on cocoa.

Terry Sunderland of Afrirattan reported that he previously believed there to be local management of rattan but upon closer examination had found no evidence of it (Sunderland, pers. comm.). In part this could be attributed to the open-access nature of many forest areas in the region and the fact that rattan cannot be easily marked for individual exploitation in communal forests like Moabi or Irvingia (see below). But Peters notes that the very nature of rattan makes it hard to manage: the spines, the location of the rattan in the tree, and the lack of knowledge of its regeneration (Peters, class notes 2001). Rattan is being grown in Asia in forest gardens (e.g., the Dayak tembawang of Borneo) and in plantations but this has not been tried in central Africa. In parts of Southeast Asia, each clan may have its own rattan collection area, which keeps the transaction costs of maintenance lower. A visit of Malaysian rattan specialists to work with local farmers at LBG was planned but unfortunately funding did not come through for it.

B. Scientific forestry: CIRAD and CIFOR’s contribution Bernard Dupuy of CIRAD has written what is for now the definitive text on silviculture for central Africa (CIRAD 1998, Dupuy 1998). He notes that many different forms of tropical silviculture systems can bring lessons for central Africa but most are too expensive, labor- intensive or neglectful of the diversity of vegetation and fragility of the forest. The Malayan Uniform System is not appropriate because it calls for the suppression of all competing (to commercial species) vegetation through use of arboricides. The Modified Selection System used in Ghana, which consists of 40 year rotations and diameter limits for each species exploited, is too complex, the Okoumé natural forest management system used in Gabon has been dropped now in favor of plantations, and the Polycyclic System used in Suriname has small diameter limits (45 cm minimum) with short—20-25 year—rotations. Clear-felling is not recommended by Dupuy except of course if the aim is to convert the forest to plantation, as has happened with Okoumé in Gabon.

The Selective Management System or modified Malayan Unified System, a variant of the Tropical Shelterwood System favors long rotations, which are appropriate for central African forests. In the Tropical Shelterwood System, canopy opening is in stages and secondary species are killed and other vegetation cleared starting five years before exploitation with the objective of obtaining 100 meter-high stems/ha of commercial species of regeneration during the five year period. Enrichment planting may be necessary. Although it puts great value on regeneration, this system is too labor intensive and costly to apply to central Africa. One can also see that it pays little mind to non-commercial values.

Selection systems, which are used almost exclusively in Cameroon by commercial loggers, are risky as well. According to Nwoboshi, “in areas where the desired species are slow growing and difficult to regenerate, the selective system has proved rather unsuccessful in the tropics (Nwoboshi 1982: 36). They require more complicated management to be effective, and there is A Year in the Grove 31

also the very real risk that with little incentive to manage over the long term selection systems become high-grading and lead to impoverishment of the forest. Dupuy notes that silviculture for African dense moist forest has only had a couple of decades of experimentation as a foundation. Silviculture that goes beyond high-grading in natural forests demands a continuity of effort that is difficult to put into place because the long-term nature of these methods are rarely matched by human and financial means. The diversity of the forests and lack of information on regeneration indicate a much less directive silviculture than has been prescribed for the tropics in other contexts (Dupuy 1998: 9). As Nwoboshi puts it, “the problem in the tropics centres on the complex seed production cycles of most of the species. Some economically desirable species do not fruit yearly and those that do, [sic] hardly have good seed years at regular intervals. In addition, both before and after seeds fall from the trees, they may be eaten by insects, birds and rodents—the same agents necessary for their proper distribution” (op. cit., p. 140).

To orient the development of an appropriate and realistic silviculture, Dupuy provides numerous guidelines, some of which are relevant to NTFPs: • Orient the size of the gaps created in logging toward regeneration and not just exploitation. Gaps can favor the regrowth of secondary species rather than valuable species but with care group selection can be carried out that will favor commercially valuable “trees of the future” • Gaps should be created of at least a dozen meters around the selected “trees of the future” but take care not to promote the invasion of lianas and low value secondary species [note: he is not clear how to do this without high labor input and knowledge of the phenology and competition patterns] • Do not use arboricide—simple cutting of secondary species is recommended • Control the damage from logging that can harm regeneration • Ban repeated cutting of the same lot • Pay attention to the multiple uses of the forest and integrated management within the context of commercial logging. Other uses include firewood, medicinals, foods, artisanry, and maintenance of wildlife • To conserve biodiversity, do not exploit species with a skewed size class distribution (few small diameter stems) • Conserve the largest stems for their ecological value and also conserve rare and endemic species • Preserve fragile ecosystems (gallery forests, hydromorphic zones, steep slopes, rare habitats)

To add a couple of points from Vooren (1992): • Postpone harvesting flowering and fruiting trees • Assess age of tree using tree architecture and harvest at last stage of growth The fundamental principle Dupuy espouses is that “logging must become a real silvicultural tool.”

CIFOR also offers criteria and indicators for sustainable forest management based on a series of studies and tested at a workshop in southern Cameroon. One of the aims of developing these criteria is for eventual forest certification.

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Here is an example from a review article by Alain Karsenty (1997: 73, translation by DR):

Principle: Maintenance of ecosystem integrity Criterion 1: Forest regeneration capacity is assured Sample Indicators: • Cutting trees is not authorized if the vertical stratification of the forest is disturbed • Pioneer species do not form part of the dense assemblages in the middle of the forest • Actions to assure natural regeneration are taken

But Karsenty poses the following questions about these criteria: What forests, or even what country could satisfy all these criteria? How can they be modified within different forested spaces of the same country? Can one have the same level of enforcement and same criteria in different local and national institutional contexts, and can the countries involved have the financial means to carry these out? If not, will they lose out on the possibility of certification?

Dupuy (1998: 179) gives an example of experimental silvicultural management in the forest of Deng-Deng Cameroon of 210,000 ha. Rotation was fixed at 40 years with an annual exploitable area of 5250 ha. 40 species were potentially exploitable and diameters specified for each species. An inventory preceded each exploitation and each lot was exploited for two years. Three to five years after exploitation, improvement of natural stands are carried out. Improvement will be justified if one finds at least 22 stems of “trees of the future” per hectare. Artificial regeneration of some key species may take place. However, this project runs for only ten years (see also Aidara 1992 for a similar project in Cote d’Ivoire).

C. Scientific management of NTFPs While CIRAD has taken the lead in commercial silviculture, Dr. Charles Peters has pioneered a system for the sustainable management of NTFPs that can be used either commercially or by local managers. The key operations in Peters’ system are 1) species selection; 2) inventory; 3) yield studies; 4) regeneration surveys; 5) harvest assessments and 5) harvest adjustments (Peters 1994). He notes that “density and size-class structure data are the most fundamental pieces of information required for management” (p. xvii). (The Rainforest Alliance (1999) has also created guidelines for certification of NTFPs as part of forest certification. These guidelines so detailed and constraining that they are not likely to be useful to local people.)

For long-term and more active management, Peters describes three techniques: § Enrichment planting including improvement of planting stock through selection § Selective weeding, cleaning or underbrushing to decrease competition around seedlings and saplings. “Selective weeding is most commonly applied around the base of especially high- value or productive trees prior to harvest to facilitate collection of fruits and seeds” § Cutting and removing woody vines from the crowns of adult trees to improve their productivity. This practice also allows more sunlight to reach the understory and hence may encourage seedling development (Peters, p. 43).

Specific problems that come up in management of rattans include killing the apical meristem for food and harvesting that kills the whole plant. Eremospatha is multistemmed and so if harvested carefully one ripe stem can be taken and allow the plant to live. Tchatat notes that this sustainable harvest often does not take place because “gatherers, motivated solely by profit, cut all the stems including the juveniles and thus destroy the plant” (1998). Irvingia and Moabi are commonly not overharvested because harvesting takes place when the fruit is on the ground and local people claim that it is dangerous to take all the production of these species (Tchatat 1998).

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Socioeconomic considerations in management objectives

A. Economics and markets of NTFPs The economic value of NTFP use and trade in Southwest and Northwest Cameroon is considerable on a local and regional level, compared to logging and other land uses. Roughly speaking, women predominate in trade in these provinces, while men predominate in production, with some strong regional and product-specific variations. In southern Cameroon, the trade is less intense. The farm-level annual value of production for Irvingia varies between US$15.00 – US$93.00 from fruits and US$78.00 from seeds per grower/collector in different regions of Cameroon according to Ayuk et al. 1999. These farmgate studies compliment extensive market studies carried out by Ndoye and colleagues of CIFOR (See example in Table 1).

Table 1: NTFP market data (Source: Ndoye 1999)

Projected Sales of Key NTFPs NTFP Quantity (Kg) Value CFA 1995 1996 1995 1996 Irvingia spp. 111 000 107 100 125 237 000 147 769 000 Cola acuminata 509 000 127 400 221 990 000 94 656 000 Garcinia lucida (bark) 40 600 27 300 10 360 000 9 867 000 Garcinia kola (bark) 16 200 9 900 3 971 000 2 110 000 TOTAL 678 800 271 700 361 558 000 254 402 000 *29 weeks for all NTFP in 1995 and in 1996.

Rattans are widespread and in many areas are not threatened, but increased demand and destruction of habitat is changing this picture rapidly. The NRI study in 1992 documented a dramatic rise in number of small enterprises dealing in rattan. Traditionally certain clans specialized in rattan harvesting and construction but this system is changing as people try to find a way to make a living and there is no way to keep them out of the forest. Sunderland (1999) reports that “many…urban centres are currently experiencing significant price increases of raw cane due to the mounting costs of transportation.”

Although Moabi produces a delicious nut and oil that is highly valued both for cooking and skin care, its masting character means that the oil’s availability is highly variable. As such, Moabi oil and nut commercialization schemes have foundered.

B. Tenure and access Tchatat reports that both Irvingia and Moabi are marked by families within forests and they are visited regularly in anticipation of harvest. These are informal arrangements but nevertheless respected. Other NTFPs are subject to open-access situations that cause overexploitation. For example, in the Mount Cameroon area, Garcinia used to make chew sticks is overexploited because the local chiefs allow Nigerians and other Cameroonians to come into the forest to exploit this species at will for a nominal fee. The situation of protected areas is discussed below.

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C. Community forestry and other legislation The 1994 Forestry Law led to policy modifications and changes in the Cameroonian forest sector detailed by Tchamou (2001). Separating and segregating the types of forests—national, private, community, protected areas—is supposed to lead to improved forest management and ensure continual existence of virgin or near virgin forests. Community forestry and a participatory approach to protected areas management is important for the continued availability of native species as it ensures that stakeholders have a collective responsibility.

The introduction of community forests is one of the major innovations of the 1994 law. It empowers the local communities, and is supposed to prevent national forests from being “open access” forests. The legislation calls for local communities to share some revenue from forest exploitation. But the implementation of this new rule is under study. Observers note the very complex regulations involved in creating community forests and how the mandated committees favor the interests of local elites involved in commercial exploitation. TCH Sunderland, the African rattan expert, takes a more sanguine view of community forestry and the role of NTFPs: Despite being derided as unworkable by most (cynical) workers in this field, on paper, the community forest legislation now in place in Cameroon, Gabon and soon, Equatorial Guinea, does provide some optimism for conservation through resource utilisation. This legislation provides communities with the power to control activities in their forest area, whilst ensuring that benefits from such management accrue to them directly. The nature of forest exploitation will, in theory, be based on sustainable exploitation and, as such, there will be no commercial logging, nor significant land clearance for agriculture (cf. extractive reserves). Logged areas can also be managed – many of the major NTFPs prefer secondary forest and undoubtedly, exploitation for timber and non-timber resources needs to be inextricable interlinked; there can be no exclusivity to resources use. However, all this is possible only with considerable support (and control) from the State. With most forestry departments being drastically under-funded and under-resourced the actual implementation of community forest areas has been somewhat thwarted. I firmly believe that despite this, NTFPs play a crucial and central role in community forest management and their exploitation forms the basis of the management plans required before community forest status can be imparted. Obviously, considerable infrastructural and institutional support is needed for all this to take place (in Russell 1999). Integration of NTFP management and other goals

A. Commercial timber exploitation Can logging and management for NTFPs be compatible in southern Cameroon or elsewhere in the HFZ? A WRI report notes that “logging companies often spread over large areas and open access to previously intact forests through a wide network of logging roads. As logging companies operate and after they leave those areas, secondary activities such as agriculture and hunting contribute to the further degradation of natural ecosystems” (Collomb 2001). Can loggers be encouraged not to harvest the most important NTFP species? This might involve losing up to 20% of their revenue (Nef 1998).

Laird detailed the complex interactions between logging and silvicultural practices on the one hand and the survival and reproduction of different types of NTFPs on the other (Laird 1999). She points to the lack of clear differentiation of NTFP habitats as being a key constraint to better management. The Laird article indicates that there is some potential for the integration of better timber management and NTFP exploitation but steps to make it happen will require fundamental changes in the Cameroonian logging sector and much greater empowerment of local people as forest managers—including incentives for sustainable management that are not in place at present.

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Peters points out that certain NTFPs are more affected by logging than others. Some key factors are yield, species characteristics such as flowers, germination, sprouting capacity, population structure, regeneration guild, and reproductive biology. Species with low yield, few and large fruits and flowers, weak seed germination, low density, unpredictable phenology and rare pollinators will be at much greater risk than those species that have high yields of fruit, leaves or latex, high viability of seed germination, primary regeneration guild, annual flowering, abiotic dispersal or high abundance of dispersers/pollinators, and a nice “reverse J curve” in distribution of size classes (1994: 31).

The CIRAD recommendations represent state of the art commercial silviculture with respect to central Africa, but they do not present any practical (i.e., field-tested) guidance on how management for NTFPs can be integrated into commercial exploitation or on the possibility of community forestry. They see that forest exploitation and regeneration must go hand in hand but how this can be implemented given the financial, technical and political constraints in Cameroon is unclear. The problem is incentive, when the long-term access and tenure situation remains uncertain.

A few changes could be implemented if enough pressure were brought to bear nationally and internationally on Cameroonian loggers. Perhaps the most important is the protection of Moabi and other rare species. In southern Cameroon, the taking of Moabi for timber has caused conflict in some areas. Villagers protect these trees even when other trees are cut down. Chi cites instances of “controlled utilization [of Moabi] and defense with bow and arrow against logging the Moabi tree” (Chi, page 35). It is unclear if Moabi could be protected under CITES in which case it could not be exported. In 1997, it was the tenth most exploited species in Cameroon (Laird 1999). Local people may exploit it for timber, however, as is being done in Western Cameroon, even if the big logging companies do not.

B. Agroforestry and agriculture Many fruit and timber species are compatible with cocoa plantations. Cocoa in fact requires shade. One problem of other trees in cocoa plantations is potential effects from fungicides and other chemicals used on cocoa, particularly on the hybrid cocoa introduced in the 1970s and 1980s. Copper-based fungicides are suspected of killing micorrhyza and may have contributed to the decline in mushroom population, mushrooms being a key NTFP (Russell 1993b).

Banana plantations are also compatible with other trees. In the traditional agricultural system, the long-fallow forest field (essep) combined trees, bananas and shade-tolerant crops such as taro and melon (Cucumerops eduliis). After the field was harvested, seeds of fruit trees were sown and the area became secondary forest/managed agroforest. The rise of hybrid cocoa led to much more intensive management with more closely spaced cocoa trees and less attention to other types of trees in the plantation. And during the cocoa crisis, the essep became more of a monocrop banana plantation. It is not know if this trend has continued over the last ten years but most likely it has because devaluation followed the cocoa crisis and caused many people to return to rural areas to farm (Sunderlin et al. 2000). In 1992, extension agents were giving people unsound advice about completely clearing land for bananas and using chemicals to inhibit pests. This model ended up creating conditions of extreme heat stress and causing crop failure. Hopefully, these failures imparted lessons in better management.

Agriculture is important for both subsistence and commerce but in fact it does not bring in high returns. Ndoye and colleagues at CIFOR have documented that NTFPs can bring in higher returns than common food crops although the market has structural weaknesses (Ndoye 1999). A Year in the Grove 36

Agricultural intensification is very problematic—the returns are not high enough to buy fertilizer or pay labor, in part because food prices are kept low by the government to prevent political unrest. Therefore, extensification is the method used to increase production. This leads to large poorly managed fields that attract weeds and pests (Russell 1993b). It would make great sense to for southern Cameroon to concentrate on forestry, both timber and NTFPs, and leave agriculture to the subsistence sector and to other better endowed and already deforested areas of the country (the West). Two factors hinder this plan: ambiguous land tenure and hence benefit-sharing within the timber business (no incentive for sustainability) and structural weakness of NTFP markets.

RRB Leakey feels that agroforestry, in particular the domestication of indigenous trees for improved NTFPs, holds the best answer for development of the humid lowlands of Africa. His optimism about multistory agroforestry systems and NTFP enterprises belies the reality of low returns to labor, low population densities and uncertain demand for NTFPs (Leakey 1998).

Can rattan be intercropped with commercial species? A trial was done intercropping rattan and coffee and cocoa in Indonesia with success (Siebert 2000). Large diameter rattan was used, however, when it is the smaller diameter rattan that is more desired (Peters, pers. comm.) Peters noted that encircling a tree with rattan is going to cause problems when it comes to harvesting the fruit or latex.

What about the interaction of NTFPs and animal husbandry? Trees provide fodder for animals particularly in peri-urban areas. One example is Caliandra calothyrsus (Mallet 1996).

C. Wildlife conservation Can sustainable NTFP gathering be coupled with wildlife management? This question is under debate in other parts of central Africa, for example at Bwindi Impenetrable Forest in Uganda and Okapi Faunal Reserve in Democratic Republic of Congo.xxv Stricter collecting regimes are being suggested within these conservation areas because of over-exploitation and destruction of wildlife by agricultural clearing, gold mining and logging—wildlife supporters are particularly sensitive to the “bushmeat” problem (BCTF, Cunningham 1999). Local people react negatively to stricter regimes. In the late 1990s, an international conservation project was ejected by local people from the Dja reserve in southern Cameroon.

Cunningham notes that a consequence of the restriction of local people into Bwindi “was increased fire damage through little or no community control of accidental fires or arson in the dry season of late-1991 and early 1992. Fire thus became a significant threat to parts of the national park.” But Defo’s article entitled “rattan or porcupine?” highlights the fact that rattan gatherers will also hunt; these activities are not mutually exclusive, they are complementary (Defo et al. 1999). Threats from armed loggers and miners seem to be more dangerous than local people using traps and nets but certain traps are very harmful.

The frugivorous bat is said to be one of the most endangered dispersers in central Africa but it is not known if threats to this species come from hunting or habitat destruction. Other key dispersers that are endangered are primates (particularly chimpanzee and gorilla), ungulates (forest antelope) and forest elephant (WCS, pers. comm). Unfortunately one rarely sees international campaigns for the protection of frugivorous bats and an important step in integrated conservation would be to link wildlife conservation with the protection of forest regeneration much more closely. It is possible to build on local knowledge of the relationship between seed dispersers and plants and to transmit scientific findings on dispersal and threats. In Solomon Islands, Conservation

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International works with islanders on forest management plans that include lessening threats to pigeons that are seed dispersers, and in the Philippines local forest managers construct food webs to show local people how killing one species can affect the food chain (BCN 1999).xxvi

Next steps

A. Knowledge gaps in silviculture for NTFPs in the HFZ There are clearly fundamental knowledge gaps in the basic silvics of the NTFP species, even such important ones as Moabi. For example, I was not able to discover what factors govern the flowering or masting of Moabi. These gaps are related to the overall gap in knowledge concerning tropical trees and ecology. In particular, lack of knowledge of predation, pollination vectors and phenology of plants makes sustainable management difficult.

For Irvingia, there is need for research on the quality and quantity of fruit and seed production and it is noted that there are gaps in knowledge of the reproductive biology of this species as well (Ayuk et al. 1999). Useful rattans are being researched intensively by TCH Sunderland at LBG but there is still much to do as African rattans are among the least understood of the palms (Henderson, pers. comm.) In particular, how rattans could be actively managed and even planted in the African context is unknown.

But perhaps the most significant gaps concern the development of proper silvicultural treatments that would maintain NTFPs and commercial species in the central African forest context. Understanding the natural regeneration of key NTFP and commercial species is critical for crafting appropriate silvicultural treatments with respect to diameter size allowable for cut, determining advanced regeneration, strategies for eliminating competing trees, gap size created by the cut, and post cut treatments such as cleaning and weeding. In order to craft better collecting and hunting regulations these relations need to be much better known and the information disseminated.

B. Action research and adaptive management Combining the CIRAD silvicultural prescriptions with the Peters system of sustainable NTFP harvesting is a first step. This would have to be done within an adaptive management framework rather than the kind of formal protocols found in manuals. In theory this is the job of ONADEF and other government offices charged with forest management. At present it is beyond the abilities of even the largest commercial (European and Asian based) loggers in Cameroon to carry out appropriate silviculture because of political and economic constraints. Could communities attempt it with so much fewer resources? Where to start?

Cunningham (1999: 7-8) shows how, in the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, based on ethnobotanical surveys of the forest, local markets and households, wild plant resources were divided into three categories: • A low impact, high value category, where impact is low due to harvesting of small volumes of plant material by specialist users, particularly where leaves, fruits or flowers are used. This includes non-commercial harvesting of medicinal plants by traditional healers and midwives or for veterinary medicines, occasional felling of the secondary forest tree Polyscias fulva by traditional blacksmiths, harvesting basketry materials or bee-keeping. All of these uses have low biological impact but high social value through this harvesting to a large sector of the community. Each of these activities falls within Joint Forest Management (JFM) agreements developed within each of these parishes and signed by the Forest Societies and UNP, including access to certain footpaths through the forest and to a hot spring site considered to have spiritual healing qualities.

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• A monitoring adaptive management category, where subsistence demand was high relative to supply or where species selective commercial harvesting was beginning to develop. This included seasonal and rotational management to specialist harvesters of the montane bamboo, Synarundinaria alpina, a slow growing forest climber Loesneriella apocynoides (Celastraceae), medicinal plant species such as Hallea rubrostipulata (Rubiaceae) whose bark is gathered on a small-scale commercial basis, and the secondary forest tree Rapanea melanophloeos (Myrsinaceae), which is used by woodcarvers.

• A substitution category, of continued closed access to resources where sustained use is not possible due to either complexity, high demand or slow growth rates where the emphasis needs to be placed on providing alternatives outside of the national Park.

A plan like the above has to factor in key socioeconomic variables such as knowledge, values, labor recruitment, markets, regulations and local institutions. This step can only be taken with an adaptive management approach working closely with local people. Creating village forest management committees and imparting technical knowledge will not in themselves bring about the desired result. Malleson argues that “the formation of new structures…does not automatically overcome the conflict of interests between different forest users or guarantee their effective participation….I contend that the way forward is firstly to focus on strengthening existing local institutions… to lay more emphasis on involving specific groups of forest users whose interests so far have generally been overlooked.”

Hence, the implementation of community-based multiple-objective silviculture has to be sensitive to who benefits and who loses. Just as sensitive species lose out under poor silvicultural management, vulnerable groups and individuals also risk losing their access and resources when for example commercialization is the over-riding goal. Subsistence use is still very important in southern Cameroon and poor women are prime NTFP collectors. Students of central African pygmy cultures have pleaded that projects designed for them or in their areas take into consideration the vulnerabilities of these peoples as well as their skills in the forest (Bahuchet and Demaret 1994, Cunningham 1999).

Building a silvicultural strategy around vulnerable groups and species (the precautionary principle) may be the soundest initial course of action. This would entail identifying key species to be protected and placing an emphasis on subsistence values—core NTFPs used for medicine, food and ritual. It would look at very inexpensive silvicultural treatments for NTFPs that build on indigenous practices such as clearing, weeding and “encouraging” species. Working with local specialists, improvement of valuable species can be attempted. When timber exploitation occurs, as it will, local and outside experts can train the clan leaders who control the forest to understand the ramifications of certain harvest methods for regeneration. This will only work if they know that the forest will continue to belong to the clan, and even then the dynamics of intergenerational transfers have to be worked out because it is the young men who are eager to get out the chainsaws (Russell and Tchamou 2002).

Restricting the access of migrants and external elites may help a great deal to enhance forest management. Villagers near the Dja reserve in southern Cameroon are using community-based mapping and resource inventories not only to map their territory and potential products but to negotiate with external stakeholders who wish to come in (IRM 2001). Tchamou (2000) believes that in the long run it is political pluralism— increased legislative, community, and public participation in forest (natural resource) use debates—that will lead to improved forest management.

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Can scientific techniques such as the Peters method and the CIRAD recommendations be applied in a community setting? What about simpler silvicultural methods such as coppicing? I saw nothing about this method in the literature on central Africa so cannot say where it would apply. Rattans could be coppiced if they are multistemmed and perhaps other trees as well. Irvingia can be propagated vegetatively and this is the focus of current attempts at domestication (Leakey et al. 2000).

There have been attempts in Asia and the Pacific at community based monitoring of NTFP harvesting and small-scale commercial timber harvesting using walkabout sawmills (refer to projects in Solomon Islands and Papua New Guinea at www.bcnet.org). Melanesians own the land they live on so the social context is different. I have no doubt that Cameroonian villagers can learn scientific monitoring and the principles of sound silviculture but whether their political and economic situation allows them to implement these is an open question.

Conclusion: Draft Silvicultural Prescriptions for Community Based Management in Cameroon Based on the information collected for this paper, I propose the following draft guidelines. The idea is to integrate social-management principles with silvicultural plans from the outset in order to create a realistic and grounded framework.

Principles 1. Information is the property of the community 2. Both indigenous and scientific knowledge should be respected and employed in collecting information and implementing a management plan 3. The community should be trained in scientific methods where appropriate and outside experts should become conversant with local terms and uses 4. Diverse interest groups and divergent opinions on forest management within the community have to be identified and aired in wide consultation 5. Outside interests can be invited to participate when these consultations are completed 6. Traditional management units should be the framework of community forest management where possible rather than entirely new institutions 7. Non-commercial uses of the forest should be highlighted

Steps 1. Synthesize traditional and scientific knowledge about forest composition, disturbance regimes, succession, regeneration (including pollinators and dispersers), use and management to create a picture of the composition and dynamics of stands. 2. Demarcate areas controlled by clans, family or other units as well as forest that will be managed communally. 3. Demarcate stands within these areas. 4. Identify vulnerable NTFP species and habitats and make those species and stands off-limits using traditional taboos and controls; ban or limit hunting of key dispersers 5. Inventory stands controlled by each clan as well as community forest that are to be exploited commercially (both for timber and NTFP gathering). Data should include approximate area, local and scientific names of trees, approximate basal area, and presence of understory NTFPs. 6. Create a realistic business plan for forest enterprises with help from outside experts 7. Mark commercial species to be cut based on size (age approximations), season (not flowering), location, and value. Do not cut rare or endangered species or those with significant NTFP value. 8. Cut to maintain structure of forest particularly in vulnerable areas such as near roads.

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9. Locate and liberate saplings of moabi, Irvingia and other key NTFP and prime commercial species from competing vegetation at sapling stage; do not use arborice but girdling. 10. Determine size class distribution of NTFP species that will be harvested commercially and consider enrichment planting if density of seedlings/saplings is low. 11. Develop simple guidelines for sustainable NTFP harvesting based on local knowledge. Discuss and disseminate them at community meetings. 12. Test different methods of promoting regeneration such as increasing gap sizes during logging operations, cutting only after a large masting season (the problem of Chromolaena raises its ugly head here as it will cover any clearing for up to six years making it hard to track regeneration). 13. Test different processing methods such creating planks for local construction at the logging site using chainsaws or portable sawmills. 14. Institute a simple monitoring system for each clan that blends into their daily routine.

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References and Resources Particularly useful references are in red

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Wilkie, D. 2001. Draft briefing sheet on forests in the Congo Basin for Central African Regional Program on the Environment. Note: should be published by the end of the year.

White, L. 1994. The effects of commercial mechanized selective logging on a transect in lowland rainforest in the Lope Reserve, Gabon. Journal of Tropical Ecology.

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NATURE OR NURTURE? CULTURE, SOCIETY AND ENVIRONMENTAL VALUES

Some believe that behind all the divergences, thinkers East and West inquire into universal problems that transcend cultural differences; other believe that beyond the more obvious gross physical and cultural similarities—ten fingers and toes, an upright gait, language, art, music, social and political institutions, and so on—there are profound and exotic differences that derive from culture-bound ways of thinking and living. –Callicott and Ames, Nature in Asian Traditions of Thought: Essays in Environmental Philosophy

One of the major themes of Prof Kellert’s work has been a discussion about the extent to which biophilia is built into our genes as a survival mechanism. Certainly the ability to identify edible plants and animals, avoid dangers and locate shelters would have had immense survival value for early humans as it does for any animal. But did forms of knowledge about nature or particular algorithms of interaction with natural phenomena coevolve with the increased ability to process information (obviously an inherited characteristic as manifested in larger brains)?

I would argue that the most important factor in human evolution was not the individual’s ability to recognize species or habitats or relate to nature in particular ways but the communication of knowledge within the human group. This means that quite early in human evolution there would have been significant differences in knowledge within groups, and certainly between groups. It is this specialization, and the resulting mechanisms that evolved to share information and plan collective action, that led to the making of a unique animal that could radiate out into a multitude of habitats. Biophilia is thus an artifact of the long dialogue among humans about their habitats, which of course prominently feature other humans.

The extent to which specific elements of biophilia are universal relates to culture, which is shaped by specific habitats and many other factors. We know that the ability to retain specific information about nature is cultural not genetic. A baby born in the New Guinea highlands who is adopted into a family in New York City at the age of six months will know nothing of the plants and animals in New Guinea. She will not display any innate ability to identify plants and animals. Her social values will be highly dissimilar to those of highland New Guineans. To survive in the New York ecology, her values are likely not to include submissiveness and shyness as key traits of womanhood. If a close relative dies, she will not feel the urge to cut off a finger joint out of respect.

Will this baby grow up to have a fear of certain life forms or natural processes? Perhaps in New Guinea she would shudder at a gecko (as the highland Miyanmin do) while living in a New York apartment she will come to loathe cockroaches. Will nature be the centerpiece of the art she creates? Maybe not if her adopted father is an abstract impressionist painter. Will she be attracted to certain types of landscapes? If in New Guinea, she might live on a mountainside in view of glaciers, in a dense forest, or by a palm-fronded beach. In New York, she could reside in a Park Avenue penthouse or a burnt-out building in the South Bronx. Jared Diamond doubts she would be yearning for the savanna in any case.

If she watches the Discovery Channel, will she be captivated by what she sees? Will she decide to become a marine biologist? Many factors could affect that decision. She could take fright the first time she entered the water or she could exult in it and become the next Sylvia Earle. If instead of becoming a New Yorker, she was adopted into an Inuit family, she would learn to be an expert in fish and small mammal behavior, but the knowledge would be constructed in a very A Year in the Grove 48

different way. For one, she would see the species she hunts as part of a spiritual and moral world. Her handling of them would be shaped by the value she places on the spirit of the animal. The spirit that infuses the animal is but a small part of a universe that is at once intimate and forbidding.

On a visit from New York to her relatives in New Guinea, she might be appalled at the treatment of animals. Her reaction to animal torture would label her a deviant and likely subject her to teasing and even cruelty. Would she in time get used to the New Guinea treatment of animals and even come to see her previous attitudes as squeamishness and a luxury of more affluent society? She might have to in order to survive but my guess is that deep down her feelings would not change because I believe that one’s values with respect to other creatures are strong and set an early age. She will never adequately learn the ways of nature of her ancestors but she may come to see that her distant reverence for nature, nurtured by visits to museums and zoos, had little to do with the reality of survival in a harsh landscape.

Culture will filter values to an extent that it is hard to distinguish essence from content. Related values affect values of nature. For instance, Japanese values of control and harmony in human relations shape the way nature is enjoyed and Germans can afford to adore wilderness because they no longer have any. But to a great extent, these social values are a result of the human- nature interface: land history. Land history is dynamic and multifaceted. Different cultures can use the same land in totally different ways and their land use evolves. The Mayan people went from a highly intensive system to a much simpler one, while other cultures have evolved more intensive uses.

As cultural use of land and species changes, values change. This process is clearly seen in cases where people are no longer closely associated with land. Ethnobotanists I have spoken to note that knowledge of plants declines steeply in one generation after “modernization.” Some African scientists with whom I worked had more dislike of working in, or even walking to, the forest or the garden than I did even though their own parents were cassava gardeners and cocoa farmers and mine were native New Yorkers.

Are there essential values with respect to nature, ones that do not change with culture and land history? Among non-industrialized people I believe there are, and these are closely tied to survival value. The formulation of these values differ. For example, I believe that New Guineans have little concern for animal suffering, and see animals as non-spirit because there are no large predators in their land. Fear imbues caution and respect and the only predator New Guineans have to fear is man. Yet the Inuit and the New Guineans share other values such as the value placed on knowledge of species and the primacy of nature in their art.

Perhaps for survival we do not need to retain environmental values as individuals but as a species. That is why some individuals distinguish themselves as hunters even when hunting is no longer necessary, why urbane Australians become “ferals” to protest consumptive life-styles and why city kids in the US and Japan become marine biologists. An environmental value niche exists in society and some individuals are attracted to it. After one generation in the city, some Africans go back to the farm and some New Guineans are attracted to nature conservation. They articulate these values in many ways: a desire for certain landscapes, a need to connect with other species, a less stressful life.

Thus we return to my earlier theme: the social foundation of environmental values. It is the communication of information about nature within groups that has survival value for the group, not biophilia as manifested in individuals. Certainly many individuals did not survive to

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reproductive age because they lacked requisite environmental knowledge and values, but this is not what embedded biophilia in human nature. It is the communication of knowledge through value—as framework for bundles of knowledge—that had survival value for the whole group. Is this “group selection,” a largely discredited concept? No, what I am referring to is the fact that the evolution of values is part of social evolution that drove the expansion of the human brain. Individuals who were not social and could not communicate did not survive!

The implication is that our environmental values are tied to our ability to communicate, to be social. Conservation has to be about how we get along with each other as much as how we relate to nature. This communication can take place in a variety of idioms but perhaps we are beginning to see the emergence of a species-wide idiom, and set of values. Science is a key part of it but there is a deep undercurrent of indigenous culture that imbues the world with spirit, with magic. For millions of years, the whole of nature was a mystery. Indigenous cultures remind us that while we think we have tamed nature, the fundamental mysteries remain.

A fusion of the best of each cultural tradition might very well lead to a new ethic of deep respect for the diversity of life, as well as a recognition that through our broadest affiliation with biotic complexity more humans can attain fully satisfying physical, emotional, intellectual and spiritual lives. –Kellert, The Value of Life

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RETHINKING ENCROACHMENT For conservationists, encroachment into protected areas (PAs) is a critical threat to biodiversity. Parks and PAs are seen to be key mechanisms for protection of habitats and species that might otherwise be degraded or even disappear.xxvii Despite—or perhaps because of— increasing levels of encroachment into PAs, many conservationists wish to see larger PAs, with a great increase in resources to maintain and guard them.xxviii Current growth in PAs worldwide largely comes from developing countries despite significant political resistance to them (Cincotta and Engleman 2000: 48).

Given population pressure, are increasing levels of encroachment inevitable, leading to spiraling costs of maintaining PAs? According to Heinen (1996: 681), “population density is important because as densities around protected areas increase, there are likely to be heavier pressures to extract resources and law enforcement is likely to be more difficult.” A better question may be: is population pressure in fact the main driver of encroachment? Teasing out the factors involved in encroachment might help in creating more effective PAs, and ultimately a rethinking of conservation strategies in an era of intense political, demographic and economic flux.

Many PAs in developing countries were set up in the colonial era or in the early days of Independence. They reflect the Western belief that wildlife conservation is a government function. Marks (1984: 5-6) declares that, in the case of Africa: the creation of most national parks has incurred restrictions on the rights of local human populations without compensatory actions on the part of the government…Wildlife protection, like other imposed policies, has always carried with it the implications of force, of quasimilitary operations, and of sanctions.

Losses to local people from PAs can be extensive. At a site in Madagascar, “village communities have lost access to more than 800 ha of agricultural lands and to a significant amount of forest products as a result of the park. The net present value of costs to the average household because of protection is USD 419” (Shyamsundar and Kramer 1997: 180). Khotari et al. (1995) list several resettlement schemes in India and elsewhere resulting in displacement of local people for the creation of PAs.

Location of PAs is not necessarily optimal for either conservation biologists or local people. Martin (1996: 651) claims, for example that “It is widely recognized that many biosphere reserves, in the United State and other countries, were—even if they were representative of biogeographical regions—initially established primarily for political reasons.” Martin goes on to say that biosphere reserves lost their combined development-conservation focus in many areas to become just another form of PA.

Conservationists may conflate population pressure and other causes of encroachment. Encroachment takes many forms and has many motives. Some people come in to a PA for the day or a few days, seeking specific resources—animals, forest products, minerals. Others live outside but plant gardens or plantations inside because soil is better or land outside is contested. Some move inside temporarily while others are long-time permanent residents. Migrants can come for various reasons but typically move in because the PA is seen as “available land.” However some can be forced in because they are fleeing from conflict or catastrophe or they may even be resettled into a PA by government authorities.xxix When resident peoples receive few direct benefits from the PA, encroachment may be one of the “weapons of the weak” (Scott 1985).

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Population pressures and densities around PAs are thus embedded in wider trends. For example, around Rajaji National Park in Uttar Pradesh, India, Khotari et al. (op. cit., p. 191) describe how bitter conflict has developed over the Forest Department’s moves to evict local nomadic pastoralists, the Gujjars. The nearby cities of Dehradun, Haridwar and Rishikesh have expanded around the Park: factories, power lines and army camps have now cut off elephant migrations routes, thus increasing conflicts between animals and people. The state government has scapegoated the Gujjars for overgrazing in the park while industrial expansion, backed by powerful vested interests, continues.

Encroachment may be symptomatic of social inequities. A PA is likely to have been created on lands of relatively powerless people, and some or many of them may have been “resettled” in the process. Local people around PAs are often very poor (Fiallo and Jacobson 1995). Locals may receive few benefits from PAs, while researchers and managers are relatively well compensated. PAs can even initiate a process of class formation.xxx And even in cases where PAs were designed to help local people (e.g., biosphere reserves) the development component may be neglected.

To appease local populations, income-generating activities and microenterprises have been employed together with “environmental education.” xxxi Participation and even co-management are praised, yet many barriers to true collaboration remain.xxxii “Buffer zones” are created to contain economic activity. More guards are hired and trained to use weapons. To generate funds, pictures of slaughtered animals and animal babies flood the media. When there is political change, however, the local population may dismantle the PA, as happened in Togo and Rwanda.xxxiii

In reality, many PAs in developing countries are de facto open access areas where the risk of getting caught for encroachment is relatively low (Abbot and Mace 1999, Brandon et al. 1998). Park authorities can participate in or even be the ringleaders of poaching, creating cynicism and corruption.xxxiv In worst case situations, elite activities are allowed (trophy hunting, ecotourism) while subsistence use is punished (Hardin 2000, Hughes 2000).

One solution could be sustainable economic development and political reform, particularly growth in civil society, not just around the PA but in the country as a whole. An unusual study of this relation used structural equation models to identify both direct and indirect effects on deforestation as mediated by rural encroachment worldwide.xxxv The authors find that “population growth has a direct effect on deforestation…[but] growth in service and manufacturing, especially in the periphery [developing areas], has a countervailing effect on deforestation.” The paper goes on to say that deforestation is associated with economic decline and that growth in secondary education is associated with less deforestation (Burns et al. 1994: 221).

Many conservationists resist embracing the larger goals of development and political reform within their mandate, though they may see these as important at a given site. Cincotta and Engleman (20000: 50), for example, dispute the notion of development as mitigation by claiming that some PAs in developed countries are degraded from encroachment while others in poor countries are not threatened.xxxvi Others feel that conservation programs have already gone too far in the direction of fostering development, and conservation science must now prevail.xxxvii

But it is highly doubtful that PAs in developing countries will be viable only by the volition of a handful of conservationists. Alienating and heavily policing the land does not work: many cultures do not accept permanent alienation of land and the corruption problem would still exist

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absent wider reforms. There is thus urgent need to study the links between encroachment and pressure from wider economic forces, political marginalization of peoples in remote areas with high biodiversity, and demographic trends in relation to development in these areas.xxxviii

References Abbot, J. I. O. and R. Mace. 1999. Managing protected woodlands: Fuelwood collection and law enforcement in Lake Malawi national park. Conservation Biology 13/2: 418-421.

Biodiversity Conservation Network. 1999. Evaluating linkages between business, the environment and local communities: Final stories from the field. Washington DC: Biodiversity Support Program/World Wildlife Fund.

Brandon, K., K. H. Redford and S. E. Sanderson. 1998. Parks in peril: People, politics and protected areas. Washington, DC: Island Press.

Burns, T. J., E. L. Kick and D. A. Murray. 1994. Demography, development and deforestation in world-system perspective. International Journal of Comparative Sociology 35: 221-239.

Cincotta. R. P. amd R. Engleman. 2000. Nature’s place: Human population and the future of biological diversity. Washington DC: Population Action International.

Fiallo, E. A. and S. K. Jacobson. 1995. Local communities and protected areas: Attitudes of rural residents towards conservation and Machalilla National Park, Ecuador. Environmental Conservation 22/1: 241-9

Geisler, C. 1993. Rethinking SIA: Why ex ante research isn’t enough. Society and Natural Resources 6: 327-38.

Hardin, R. 2000. Brown bag presentation at Conservation International, Washington DC on the history of PAs and concession areas in central Africa. March 2000.

Heinen. J. T. 1996. Human behavior, incentives, and protected area management. Conservation Biology 10/2: 681-684.

Hughes, D. 2000. Shared Landscapes? Community forestry and the property map in Zimbabwe and Mozambique. Paper presented at the International Society for Research on Common Property. Bloomington, IN: May 31-June 4, 2000.

Kothari, A. S. Suri and N. Singh. 1995. People and protected areas. The Ecologist 25/5: 188- 194.

Lowry, A. and T.P. Donahue. 1994. Parks, politics, and pluralism: The demise of national parks in Togo. Society and Natural Resources 7: 321-330.

Marks, S. 1984. The imperial lion: Human dimensions in wildlife management in central Africa. Boulder CO: Westview Press.

Newmark, W. D., N. J. Leonard, H. I. Sariko and D-G M. Gamassa. 1993. Conservation attitudes of local people living adjacent to five protected areas in Tanzania. Biological Conservation 63: 177-183.

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Ortega-Rubio, A., A. Castellanos-Vera and D. Lluch-Cota. 1998. Sustainable development in a Mexican biosphere reserve: Salt production in Vizcaíno, Baja California (Mexico). Natural Areas Journal 18: 63-72.

Peluso, N. 1992. Rich forests, poor people: Resource control and resistance in Java. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Phillips, A. 1997. Protecting nature’s wealth on a crowded continent. Forum for Applied Research and Public Policy 12/2: 103-107.

Price, M. F. 1996. People in biosphere reserves: An evolving concept. Society and Natural Resources 9: 645-654.

Raval, S. R. 1994. Wheel of life: Perceptions and concerns of the resident peoples for Gir National Park in India. Society and Natural Resources 7: 305-318.

Russell, D. and J. Stabile. Forthcoming (2001). Ecotourism in practice: Trekking the highlands of Makira Island, Solomon Islands. In Harrison, D., ed., Pacific Tourism. London: Cognizant Press.

Scott, J. 1985. Weapons of the weak. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Schwartz, M. W. 1999. Choosing the appropriate scale of reserves for conservation. Annual Review of Ecology and Systematics 30: 83-108.

Shyamsundar, P. and R. Kramer 1997. Biodiversity conservation—at what cost? A study of households in the vicinity of Madagascar's Mantadia National Park. AMBIO XXVI/3 (May), p.180.

Silliman, J. and Y. King. 1999. Dangerous intersections: Feminist perspectives on population, environment and development. Cambridge, MA: South End Press.

Tsing, A.L. 1993. In the realm of the diamond queen: Marginality in an out-of-the-way place. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Wells, K. and K. Brandon 1992. People and parks: Linking protected area management with local communities. Washington DC: The World Bank.

West, P. C. and S. R. Brechin (eds.) 1991. Resident peoples and national parks: Social dilemmas and strategies in international conservation. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

West, P. 1994. Introduction: Resident peoples and protected areas—Part III. Society and Natural Resources 7: 303-304.

World Wildlife Fund. 1997. Summary report: Review of integrated conservation and development projects, 1985-1996. Washington, DC: WWF.

Zube, E. H. and M. L. Busch. 1990. Park-people relationship: An international review. Landscape and Urban Planning 19/2: 117-131.

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LAND REGISTRATION: KEY TO SUSTAINABILITY? xxxix It seems so simple: when someone has clear title to land, he or she can protect it, invest in it, and improve it. The land can be used as collateral for betterment in other areas of life such as small businesses and education. Where there were fuzzy boundaries, there are clear ones. The value of a piece of land and its resources can be quantified. Best of all, people who might invade and degrade the land can be kept out. Those who own it can protect it.

In many parts of the world, however, it doesn’t always work out that way. Irrespective of tenure regime, myriad factors shape land and resource use. Some political systems or social structures make efficient or “conservative” use of the land more difficult. Title does not always guarantee security in a changing political and economic landscape. And commodity markets play a critical role in determining the rates and means of resource exploitation.

Political systems with few or no democratic processes make it easier for the political and economic elite to grab land from other claimants and register it regardless of whether they will turn it to productive use. In the 1970s in Zaire, Mobutu gave title to concessions and plantations of expatriates to politically well-connected Zairians. Many of the plantations were ultimately abandoned. In the 1980s, Gaudreau and Almy (1985) found that many registered “farms” in Zaire were speculations of town or city based elite and were not productive. Land registration is a tool of the elite in Cameroon where often lands will be registered for speculative purposes (holding it in case a road is built for example).xl In Latin America, huge privately owned latifundia were shown to be inefficient and wasteful compared to smaller holdings (de Janvry 1981; cf. Taylor 1997).

Social structure can play a role in how land is used regardless of tenure regime. For example, inheritance rules can create ever-smaller inefficient landholding units, which may be titled but cannot survive economically. Systems of borrowing and leasing land can muddle who actually “owns” the land and spread out an individual’s holdings across a wide distance. Systems may have evolved to adapt to climate and edaphic factors: some pieces of land are better than others at growing certain crops. Thus complex overlaying land use systems are created regardless of actual land titles.xli As perhaps they need to be.

Given the opportunity, land registration or finer demarcation is often preferred by local people. Where there is clan control, for example, areas within the clan lands are often demarcated for family use and there is a desire to make these boundaries clearer. In some cases there is a wish to retain the benefits of the land within a smaller family unit, while in other cases there is a wish— or need, due to debt—to sell or lease the land. It is the only valuable asset many people have.

Jeff Sayer, former Director General of CIFOR (2000) mentioned that when community mapping was carried out in Dayak communities in East Kalimantan as a step in negotiating rights with the Indonesian government, the maps were then used in attempts to sell or lease the land. This outcome should not be surprising. Many rural people wish to use land sales to move from the land to the town or city or at least to have a footing in the more urban areas. They see clearly that traders and concession holders are better off than farmers!

This desire of rural people to sell or lease land leads us to a central element of the problem: the non-viability of rural economies in many developing countries. Low food crop prices, state, parastatal or monopsony control over commodity markets (e.g., cocoa, rubber, copra), lack of

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infrastructure, market insecurities, low levels of education and health care are demoralizing. Insecurity of markets can lead to extensification, overharvesting and other poor natural resource management practices just as much as tenure insecurity. Secure tenure will not help if you have no way to get a good price for your commodity. And if there is a sudden boom, pressure is on to sell out to richer migrants.xlii

Market factors shape land use in developed countries as well but here the issue is one of greater intensification rather than stagnation. Privately held lands may not be managed sustainably even when the long-term benefits of doing so may be significant. Common property theorist James Acheson recently demonstrated how the management of privately owned Maine forests was shaped by market forces rather than long-term sustainability factors (Acheson 2000). He notes that timber companies are producing undifferentiated commodities in a highly competitive market, where the future value of the resource is low. These findings confound the belief that providing large tracts of land to logging companies on land owned by them or on long-term leases will lead to sustainable harvesting practices.xliii

Thus land registration or privatization is not the solution to creating conditions for sustainable use. It can be an outcome of changing conditions where certain forces in society see a chance to get what they can from their only asset. If there is severe inequality, private holdings may be encroached or raided and there will be pressure for land reform. Lands around titled property that are not registered will still be “open access” lands absent effective government controls (see Annex).

If land registration is inadequate or even counter-productive to sustainability, what are the alternatives? Common property resource management is effective in small cohesive groups, as has been documented by Netting, Orstrom and many others. And as Rudel points out, areas with informal systems of land claim are not open access areas when there is a cohesive community with little pressure from political and economic elites. But can these systems survive intensified pressures?

Rudel suggests formal land registration as a path to strengthening claims and decreasing pressure. He realizes that titling leaves open the question of lands in the interstices of registered lands but neglects to look at what a new generation may wish to do to the land if new opportunities arise. In a cocoa growing area of southern Cameroon during the cocoa crisis of the early 1990s, many in the younger generation of farmers wished to cut down the cocoa trees of their fathers and plant food crops for the urban markets (Russell and Tchamou 2000). Tucker (1999) finds that there were no significant differences in vegetation structure and soils related to tenure between private and common property forests and neither emphasized concerns for sustainable management.

Customary and informal systems are under great stress because they cannot cope with increased commercialization, mobility, migration flows, and diversification. Mixed or “nested” systems may present an alternative: gardens, plantations, fishponds and the like become private holdings while forests and long fallow areas are common property. Oversight for local regulations is vested in wider entities to diminish potential conflict of interest. xliv But mixed tenure regimes can lead to confusion if the management rules for common property areas are unclear and if the oversight level is as rife with conflict of interest as the local level management.

The example of the Participatory Forest Management Area (PFMA) in West Kalimantan is instructive. In this pilot project of GTZ (German Technical Cooperation) and the Indonesian Forest Authority, management of the area is based in traditional Dayak principles (adat). An analysis of the problem of rattan depletion, however, showed that in fact adat was only used in

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the family forest gardens (tembawang) and along rivers. The forest areas, where a lot of rattan is harvested, were de facto open access even though in theory they were controlled by the project with oversight by the Indonesian Forest Authority (Annex). Thus the mixed system actually sowed confusion and led to poor resource management decisions, in this case because it was new and several actors were involved in shaping it (Cordes et al. 1999, Mahanty and Russell 2000).

Land registration is not going away. It will increase in importance along with migration flows and diversification of economies: this is the closing of the commons moving forward. It is not the solution to better resource management but rather an effect of these changes. Societies need to devise new social controls on destructive practices that work regardless of land tenure status. Timber certification is one promising avenue because it places changing social values into a market mechanism. But we will discuss market failures in the next paper…

Annex: Weavers Group Rules Matrix In a focus group interview, rattan weavers were asked to discuss the rules they devised for their group for collection and use of rattan and whether these rules were effective. The following rules matrix was generated: Rule/ Rattan Rattan Adat— Adat Adat water Group Adherence Harvest Cultivation Rattan Sanctions and rules Planting tembawang rules Always ü(1) Initial phase ü ü(3) ü(4) Sometimes Not at all ü(2) Who? Community Project Community, Weavers and adat leadership adat leaders group leaders (1) Always ask permission from tembawang owner to take rattan. Most rattan, however, is taken from forest (open access) (2) Used to have adat rules to plant rattan, no longer in use (3) Adat controls water use and managed forests (tembawang), for example in rules for women’s use of these resources (4) Group rules refer to dispensing orders within the group Note: Tembawang is a managed forest/agroforestry area Adat refers to traditional law in indigenous societies in Borneo (Kalimantan), Indonesia

References Acheson, J. 2000. Clearcutting Maine: Implications for the theory of common property resources. Human Ecology 28/2: 145-169.

Cordes, B. D. Russell, A. Mahayingtyas, and C. Hochman. December 1998. Case Study of Stakeholder (Weavers) Groups at PFMA area in Kalimantan, Indonesia.. Washington DC: Biodiversity Conservation Network.

De Janvry, A. 1981. The Agrarian Question and Reformism in Latin America. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Gaudreau, M. and S. W. Almy 1986. Rapid Reconnaissance Survey of the 102 Project Area: Kwilu Sub-Region, Bandundu. SECID and USAID.

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Netting, R McC. 1993. Smallholders, houselholders: Farm families and the ecology of intensive sustainable agriculture. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.

Orstrom, E. 1999. Coping with tragedies of the commons. International Review of Political Science 2: 493-535.

Rudel, T. K. 1995. When do property rights matter? Open access, informal social controls, and deforestation in the Ecuadorian Amazon. Human Organization 54/2: 332-339.

Russell, D.and N. Tchamou, forthcoming. Soil Fertility and the Generation Gap in Southern Cameroon. In Colfer, C., ed., Local People in Logged Forests. Bogor, Indonesia: Center for International Forestry Research.

Sayer, Jeff. Talk at Yale SFES October 17, 2000.

Taylor, A. M. 1997. Latifundia as malefactor in economic development? Scale, tenancy and agriculture on the Pampas. Cambridge, MA: National Bureau of Economic Research.

Tucker, C. 1999. Private versus common property forests: Forest conditions and tenure in a Honduran community. Human Ecology 27/2: 201-230.

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SOCIAL RESEARCH ON VALUES AND THE ENVIRONMENT OK, I admit that I am writing a book on social research methods for community-based conservation so I have already given a lot of thought to this topic. Another thing I have to confess is that I have a skewed vision of social research. Most of my research has been in rural, often isolated, communities in Africa, Southeast Asia and the Pacific. Rarely are there accurate censuses or other data about the population, the mail gets to these places infrequently if at all and there are no telephones so it is difficult to do large random or stratified random sample surveys, unless you carry out the census yourself. (We did do one in Cameroon at the village level by picking villages randomly on a grid placed over a map but it was incredibly expensive to implement.).

Consequently when I think about how best to research environmental values, I immediately think of ethnographic methods. In particular, I think of oral histories, community mapping, ethnobiology, and good old participant observation—what Babbie calls “field research.” My background as an economic anthropologist of the historical materialist-substantivist school inclines me to focus on the concrete rather than the metaphysical and abstract. I look for the outcomes of beliefs—practices and behavior—rather than the beliefs themselves. In part this bias comes from having observed many contradictions between what people say they believe and what they do. So when I think about methods for studying environmental values, these examples come to mind from my own experience: • Ethnobotanical study in Fiji. When I lived in Fiji, I attended a workshop by ethnnobotanist Gary Martin. Gary studied recognition of common medicinal plants and found that it increased markedly with age. A significant difference was found between women under the age of 30 and older women. This age cut-off was correlated with the establishment of large hotels near the villages under study. One implication of these findings could be “what you cannot name you will not value” because the women who could not name the plants also did not know how they were used medicinally. But we would have to look at the extent to which the younger women relied on these plants even if they did not know how to use them. • Community mapping in Cameroon. As part of a project run by a colleague, the villagers in Djoum prefecture created a map of their territory, including land uses and boundaries. They have just expressed that they wish to use the map to keep loggers out of their forests and negotiate a shift of the boundaries of a nearby gorilla sanctuary. They reported a strong sense of solidarity within the villages on how to use the maps. Implication: Priorities—values—of villagers differ from those of external conservationists. The map shows to the outside world what the villagers value and helps them negotiate with more powerful forces. Pride in their forest and in their traditional forest management seems to be a critically important value. We will have to see if management practices change as a result of the map. • Oral history of rattan weavers in West Kalimantan. Rattan is grown in common property forests and in tembawang, the multi-species, multi-dimensional Dayak forest gardens. When weavers tell the story of their trade, as they did to me in the course of a 1997 study, it is revealed that rattan in tembawang are managed under adat or customary law, whereas those in the common property (joint community-NGO-state managed) forests are not. Rattan in the common forest has been depleted and supply for weaving is short. Implication: the resource is part of an integrated system, a cultural space, which combines authority, belief, practice, relationships, ecosystem functions and many other elements. Different values are placed on the resource within the cultural space as opposed to outside of it. • Participant observation in Solomon Islands. My daughter and I took a 10-day trek to the highlands of Makira Island, Solomon Islands. During that time, we observed how people interacted with us, the “ecotourists,” and within their villages. I was already familiar with the

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area from previous visits and interaction with the conservation project working there. Men and women took pride in their hardiness, running up and down the mountains in bare feet all day long. Yet frequently they expressed feelings of inferiority with respect to the outsiders. One woman asked, “Why would you bother to come here? We are so poor.” Nonetheless they did enjoy showing us the natural assets of their home—the trees, the flowers, the views, the streams. It seems that previous ecotours had impressed them with the value that outsiders placed on their homeland. Implication: values can be augmented with reinforcement. • Evaluation research. When I start a project evaluation, I first look at the budget. Allocation of resources suggests what people value. In budgets for conservation programs in developing countries, the largest budget items are typically expatriate salaries. Other large budget items are for offices, travel, protected area guards and their paraphernalia (radios, jeeps) and research costs. Local partner organizations tend to get short shrift and little is budgeted for in-country communications. Sometimes I think these budgets arise because they are a sort of template and people do not think very creatively about conservation approaches that could be more effective and cost effective. But also people tend to value perpetuation of their institution, often at the expense of the very values the institution is set up to foster.

All of these examples look at manifestations of values—names, maps, resource management practices, words, actions, budgets. But what about trying to study values directly? This is where I got some ideas from the reading. I particularly enjoyed the section in Babbie on unobtrusive research—the case of the Levin and Spate’s study of the hippie movement through analysis of the press. This kind of study could be carried out with newer alternative press. In particular, Yes Magazine and Utne Reader are trying to build on what they call the movement of “cultural creatives.” These folks value the environment and believe in social justice, gender equality and other good things.

According to these magazines, up to a third of Americans are cultural creatives or potential cultural creatives. Looking not only at the messages in these magazines, but their circulation would be informative. Another angle would be to look at how mainstream press is trying to appeal to cultural creatives, rather like Levin and Spate did in comparing the Village Voice to Readers Digest and other mainstream publications. There you would have to identify symbols, icons, themes or “buzzwords” that cultural creatives relate to and do a content analysis of several mainstream publications. This could be a very important study that, if publicized, could serve to unite Americans who desire significant change in values.

Because of my materialist bias, I don’t think immediately about analysis of belief systems, myths, stories, fables and other social and religious texts in values research. My research on Hinduism and sacred groves opened my eyes to the possibilities for researching how religious values shape ways that people construct their environments both mentally and physically. I have an idea that common religious values may cut transaction costs for management of common property. This came to my mind when reading about the “social trap” in the Costanza et al. paper. They note that long-run social good can be over-run by short-run personal needs or desires. But if long-run social good is embodied in an institution that people respect then they may voluntarily abdicate some short-term desires. Hence the devotees of sacred groves do not despoil them. They do this because they believe in supernatural sanctions. Yet religions in themselves are human creations and so subject to change and “corruption.” Hinduism justified the debasement of certain groups as untouchables within the caste system, for example.

What of the valuing done by economists, as illustrated in Costanza et al. paper? As I noted, my experience with surveys is quite different than those who work in the US and so I am highly skeptical of the contingent valuation methodology based on willingness to pay and indeed of all A Year in the Grove 60

mail-in surveys. People distort their own views to a great degree. At least when you are personally administering a survey you can observe how the person reacts.

People also don’t recall facts very well. When I do surveys about resource use, I can usually only ask about use over the last week (for example, what was harvested or hunted) because beyond that people don’t remember well. And I would never base a recommendation or finding on a survey alone without ground-truthing with observations, records review, key informant interviews and other finer-grained methods. For one, you need to get a sense of the variation in response. This is critical—but often economists don’t care about it because they just want aggregate numbers for their models. Yet to craft a policy you need to understand how certain sectors of the population react and respond. I would argue even for valuation purposes it is necessary to take a sectoral approach because different sectors of the population will value differently. The gross valuation method does not relate how different users and beneficiaries perceive their uses and benefits in relation to costs.

The travel cost method is more direct and I think has merit because it measures a concrete action rather than what people say they pay for, or might pay for. But I realize that it has been heavily criticized as in inadequate proxy for valuation. The extent to which people pay a premium for a good or service might be a better measure. For example, how much will people pay for organic food, a truly “unspoiled” location, “fair trade” food or certified wood? (Again I think it is important to look at the sector of the population paying.) What happens during a recession? Interviews could determine if people are paying for health reasons, environmental concerns or both. It is always said that people in the US will tolerate tax increases for environmental quality but has this really been tested? I find it very interesting that many very wealthy Americans are against the Bush tax cut because they feel that it will undercut social services for less well off Americans.

Another point that I find interesting is that all this valuation might be in fact moot. Several years ago, Caribbean islands began to think about charging scuba divers and snorkelers the costs of protecting their reefs. There was outrage at first by the divers’ associations, but over time these costs were absorbed and gradually raised so that marine protected areas could be self-funded from divers’ fees. Environmental protection has to be legislated by brave public servants and then we get used to the tax. Trying to convince people of the value of species and ecosystem services when it costs them money up front may not be worth it. OK, I realize the public servants need the monetary argument to make the case for environmental protection but comparing a public good with private gain may be comparing apples and oranges.

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STRENGTHENING SUSTAINABILITY INDICATORS THROUGH COMMUNITY LINKS Prof. Repetto portrayed sustainability indicators as being less than useful. This short paper will argue that their utility may increase when community-level indicators link with indicators developed for a broader scale. Indicators created or chosen in response to bureaucratic demands can be so general or aggregated that they have little practical utility. When sustainability indicators are created by and with local populations they have immediate utility and, I will show, certain local-level indicators can be aggregated up to gauge trends and make policy; while some broad indicators can be adapted to the local level.

A search of the Web on “sustainability indicators” was surprising: many of the sites were concerned with community and local sustainability indicators, which include economic, social and ecological measures, rather than National Accounting or international sustainability trends. Sites had been created by or for communities living in areas such as Manitoba, central Texas, San Diego, Seattle, Cumbria County and Maine (see references below). A couple of intriguing and user-friendly sites were found for assisting in the process of developing community sustainability indicators: Maureen Hart of Andover, MA hosts a site devoted to helping communities understand and work with sustainability indicators. Her advice is at once practical and idealistic: There is a real danger that traditional data sources and traditional indicators will focus attention on the traditional solutions that created an unsustainable community in the first place. It may be tempting to keep measuring 'number of jobs,' but measuring 'number of jobs that pay a livable wage and include benefits' will lead to better solutions. Discussions that include the phrase 'but you can't get that data' are not going to lead to indicators of sustainability. In fact, if you define a list of indicators and find that the data is readily available for every one of them, you probably have not thought hard enough about sustainability. Try to define the best indicators and only settle for less as an interim step while developing data sources for better indicators. © Maureen Hart 1998-2000.

Another site, the Sustainability Education Project, provides a 23 page workshop guide to monitoring community sustainability. This report notes that the use of community level sustainability indicators is growing: When the Izaak Walton League of America first published "Monitoring Sustainability in Your Community" in 1995, it was one of the first publications of its kind. It surveyed fledgling indicator monitoring projects across the United States and attempted to distill a set of guidelines that could be used to develop and measure a set of indicators that would help communities determine whether their efforts were moving them toward their sustainability goals. Since that time, the use of indicators to gauge progress toward sustainability has become widespread, and many excellent publications have been written about developing and using indicators.

This Web search was not, of course, exhaustive, but it shows that the concept of sustainability indicators has evolved. No longer are they just gross measurements of national or international trends or abstruse technical measures of ecological flows; they have become tools of community development. The use of sustainability indicators has two main advantages for communities: • If created in a consultative process, they can be seen as more objective than information that is provided by different factions (e.g., developers, environmental groups, the police) • They build capacity to carry out research and analyze data

At the national level, understanding and use of community level indicators can help National Accounting to measure “intangibles,” nonmarket activities and quality of life.

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Let’s return to the issue of scale. When the UN, the US Government, organizations like the World Bank, World Resources Institute (WRI) or the Center for International Forestry Research (CIFOR) create sustainability indicators they may sample and test these at different sites, but the aim is to create indicators that are generalizable over a wide area: a nation, forests, a fishery, etc. To measure wide trends, it is necessary to choose indicators based on data that can be found in a variety of localities. Many developing countries have weak data collection capacity. Their aggregate data can be a compilation of the inadequate data sets available. In any country, aggregate data can hide significant disparities within countries or regions.xlv

When agencies do surveys themselves to get data, the instruments can be poorly devised, the sampling method questionable and the enumerators inadequately trained (e.g., early Demographic and Health Surveys implemented by the World Bank). Even if the criteria and data collection protocols are superbly designed (e.g., CIFOR’s criteria indicators for forest sustainability), surveys are expensive and criteria can be overly complex. If criteria are not used and surveys not replicated—typically the case due to the expense—they remain isolated data points or models that will never be actualized. And do the data and indicators get back to the communities that are supposed to use them to manage their resources better? How do communities use these broad indicators and criteria?

Given these constraints, there is reason to question the accuracy and utility of broad indicators of sustainability as applied to many countries and for many local-level management units. But there are ways to get aggregate information (if not data) on sustainability trends through analysis of community-level sustainability indicators: 1. Identify common and comparable indicators and monitoring protocols used by communities 2. Scale up local-level indicators (communityàStateàNational) 3. Survey community-level indicator reports across the nation 4. Put community level trends into national datasets as case examples

To give an example of community-level sustainability indicators and their wider utility, a community association in south central Maine, the Belgrade Lakes Association (BLA), monitors water quality and loon sightings on several lakes through use of non-scientist volunteers trained by a scientist paid by BLA.xlvi They use these indicators to make decisions about management. For example, BLA recently decided to band together with other local associations to purchase a large portion of the upland watershed of the lakes in order to protect it—in part because of reports of increased nitrification of the lakes. The BLA shares these monitoring data with other associations and with the State of Maine that is carrying out its own assessments of water quality (www.mltn.org). Water quality and keystone species sightings, if carried out systematically, are measures that can be aggregated and used for state-level and even national level policy-making.

Another example comes from Fiji, where good biological and social data are patchy (NBSAP 1998). The tikina (county) of Verata began collecting data on fish catch, water quality and keystone species (mana or mud lobster and kaikoso, a small clam). These data were used to formulate new management rules for the community.xlvii They also informed government bodies about problems in the area such as water pollution and overfishing. The wider impact of community sustainability indicators was not, however, in the data sharing but in the fact that the community members who learned to collect the data were asked to train other communities around Fiji (Aalbersberg et al. 1998 and Aalbersberg pers. comm.). The community-level collection and analysis of data meant that sustainability concepts and tools were disseminated in a pedagogically more appropriate peer-to-peer manner rather than top-down.

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A corollary advantage of aggregating up from local-level information is support for decentralized decision-making. Scientists and bureaucrats often think that, due to their authority, experience and training, they should be the ones to collect data, disseminate it and make recommendations on policy. What if national level agencies were encouraged to make extensive use of local-level information, and even pay community monitors? It is hard work to search out local level self- generated information, find patterns in it, and feed back the analysis to a wider audience but it becomes more feasible when community level indicators are more formally linked to national data sets. Evidence for this linkage is found in the state-level Web sites (cited below).

Monitoring is only useful if there is a flow of quality data. In most cases, this means that there must be institutions in place to collect data over time. Data will flow when there is a need felt. If getting good data is essential to livelihood or well being, there is great incentive to collect it. Going back to the example of the BLA, the lake monitoring is essential for property owners because if the lake ecosystem is degraded their property values decline steeply and their health could be at risk. The argument for a greater role for community-level sustainability indicators runs parallel to the findings that local self-organized associations can be more effective at managing resources than national agencies and other larger-scale institutions (Orstrom 1998). This notion, interestingly, has very different connotations when applied to the developing world (community empowerment) or US (right-wing, “wise use”) (Hardin 2000).

There are three significant caveats to the utility of community level or grassroots sustainability indicators. First, communities and individuals in communities can have vested interests such as getting data for lawsuits involving pollution or waste disposal, or garnering government or private funding. (This is not to say that vested interests don’t exist at the national level. A glance at the chosen sustainability indicators for the US reveals significant biases and omissions (SDI 1998).)

Oversight and objective scientific technical assistance are necessary. Scientists have peer review and agencies also use peer review and agency review. Community level sustainability indicators need to be subject to the same standards. Second, many community-level indicators are site- specific and as such cannot be aggregated. At best, they can be nested within larger measures and used both for local and wider reporting and decision-making.

Finally, and most critically, community-level indicators may not address wider trends such as climate change, pollutant diffusion or major socio-economic trends (e.g., technology shifts, savings and investment). With technical assistance, local data can be used to monitor these trends. But high quality global and national data are essential where the appropriate management unit is the nation or the world.

There is evolution at the national level. On January 13, 1999, the US Interagency Working Group on Sustainable Development Indicators brought together a number of indicator “mavens” as part of a national dialogue on how best to measure US progress towards sustainable economic, environmental, and social development (SDI Web site). This is a good sign but it turns out that only 3% of participants were from grassroots organizations, while 64% represented the national or international level. An even better sign is the nice interplay between local, national and global indicators in the 2000-1 WRI report (WRI 2000, see for example pp. 191 and 178-179).

References Aalbersberg, W.G, I. Korovulavula, D. Russell and J. Parks. 1998. The Role of a Fijian Community in a Bioprospecting Project. Case study prepared for Biodiversity Convention Secretariat. Montreal: Canada: CBD and also published in Patterns of Conservation.

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Washington DC: Biodiversity Support Program/Biodiversity Conservation Network.

Belgrade Lakes Association, 2000. Notes from annual meeting, August 8, 2000. See Belgrade Regional Conservation Alliance Web site at www.mltn.org/trusts/BRCA

CIFOR. 1999. Criteria Indicators for Forest Sustainability. World Bank Web site.

Hardin, Rebecca, 2000. Brown bag lunch at Conservation International on the history of conservation in central Africa.

NBSAP. 1998. Background documents for National Biodiversity Strategy Action Plan for Fiji. Department of Environment, Suva, Fiji.

NRC 1999. Nature’s Numbers: Expanding the National Economic Accounts to Include Environment. Washington DC: National Research Council/National Academy Press.

Orstrom, E. 1998. How Communities Beat the Tragedy of the Commons. Plenary Presentation, International Workshop on Community-Based Natural Resource Management. Washington, DC: World Bank.

Hart, Maureen, see www.subjectmatters.com/indicators or [email protected]

SDI 1998. Sustainable Development in the United States: An experimental set of indicators.

Washington, DC: Interagency Working Group on Sustainable Development Indicators. Sustainable Development Indicators Interagency Group Web site. www.sdi.gov/iwsdi.htm

Sustainability Education Project Web Site: www.iwla.org/sep/elf/monitor.html

World Resources Institute, et al. 2000. People and Ecosystems: The Fraying Web of Life.

Some Community Indicator Sites Maine http://janus.state.me.us/dep/air/comsus San Diego www.sdnhm.org/education/sustainability Central Texas www.centex-indicators.org (download Central Texas Indicators 2000) Cumbria (UK) www.cumbria.gov.uk/environment Canada—Pacific and Yukon www.ecoinfo.org

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THE DEBATE ON TIMBER CERTIFICATION

Overview Certification is a voluntary regulatory system designed to encourage timber companies to manage forests sustainably. Rooted in earlier standards and efforts to improve forest management, the concept was popularized by non-governmental organizations such as World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF) and Rainforest Alliance. These and other groups banded together to create the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) as a certifying entity. Over 19 million ha of forests have been certified by FSC as of October 31, 2000. There are now several industry-backed and country- level certification schemes as well. This paper reviews the major debates on certification.

The cost of timber certification to the producer is considerable; the promised benefits are being able to sell wood at higher prices to an elite market. The market for certified timber is akin to the market for organic food: consumers agree to shoulder part of the burden of producing goods in a less ecologically destructive manner or, to put it another way, consumers motivate firms to internalize externalities such as biodiversity conservation, soil fertility, and water quality.

Timber certification is a market mechanism not in the sense that permits or certifications can be traded in a market but because the demand for certified wood theoretically creates an incentive through a price differential between certified and non-certified products. If there is no premium price for certified wood and wood products, certification may be ineffective in motivating timber companies to change practices. But there may be other reasons for timber companies to pursue certification. Vlosky (2000) surveyed forest managers in US government and state agencies and found that “[they] generally do not believe that consumers will pay a premium for certified wood products nor that the public will support certification as a mechanism to ensure forest sustainability.” Kiekens (2000) concluded that “certification is mostly sought to maintain market access and…significant price premiums won't be forthcoming.”

On the other hand, Gronroos and Bowyer (1999), after determining that a substantial percentage of homeowners in two US cities would pay for certified wood, found that, “of those indicating a willingness to pay a premium, respondents indicated that they would pay up to $3,500 and an average of $2,500 extra for a home built with certified lumber and wood products” (cf. Spinazze and Kant 1999). Forest Products Annual Market Review (Timber Review 1999) added a regular section on certified products. And very recently two of the largest wholesalers and users of wood products, Home Depot and IKEA International, have adopted polices about obtaining supplies of certified timber from vendors and not buying timber from endangered or ancient forests.

The success of FSC certification in the marketplace of ideas, if not in the global wood market, has led to a substantial response by industry and nations, resulting in a proliferation of certification schemes. In some cases FSC and government standards have been made compatible (case of the UK government forests) while in other cases industry and FSC standards are different and competing (case of SFI/Forest Industry Council discussed below). Indonesia and Malaysia, among other countries, are developing country-specific certification programs. The International Tropical Timber Organization (ITTO) and the Center for International Forestry Research (CIFOR) have both designed forest management criteria and indicators (Higman et al. 1999).

Reading about certification from the Web sites of its promoters such as FSC and SmartWood, one would think that their systems provide a clear path to better forest management.

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The FSC, with its unique marriage of environmental, social and economic interests, has succeeded where regulations, bans, boycotts, lobbying, protests and campaigns have failed—to reach a global consensus on forest management. FSC is funded by charitable foundations, by government donors, by membership subscriptions and by accreditation fees. To ensure its independence FSC's head office does not accept funding from industry.

The industry Web sites present a different picture. Industry groups are challenging NGO-based certification with schemes that fit industry needs. Many US and Canadian firms are using International Standards Organization (ISO) 14000 series standards for determining standards in forest management. xlviii Under this protocol, a firm can request a third party audit. Contrary to FSC, performance objectives are not set by the standard but are defined by the forestry organization. “Green claims” are not permitted under ISO. The Sustainable Forestry Initiative (SFI), which is not compulsory, is based on this ISO series of standards. As this system is new, its impacts can not yet be measured (Kiekens 2000).

According to Willamette, a US forestry company that owns 1.7 million acres, “The American Forest and Paper Association’s Sustainable Forestry Initiative defines a rigorous set of standards and practices which ensure that forest lands are managed in a sustainable manner that is economically, environmentally and socially responsible.” British Columbia’s Council of Forest Industries (COFI) Web site did not mention certification at all, although some elements of sustainability are addressed.xlix Industry analysts claim that education of private landowners is more effective than certification in bringing about sustainable management (Kiekens 2000).

The Swedish and Finnish forestry industries have responded differently. Representatives of a major Swedish forestry company sit on FSC’s board and more than eight million ha of forests in Sweden are under FSC certification. Finland has its own system that is seen to be compatible with FSC. Other European countries are developing and adopting the Pan-European Forestry Certification (PEFC), which may eventually integrate with FSC standards (Ripken 1999).

Issues The debate on certification has many dimensions. Five major issues in this debate are weak chain of custody, lack of life cycle analysis, cost, scale, conflict with free trade agreements and impact on tropical forests. Certifying wood products has brought criticisms such as inadequate chain of custody resulting in mislabeling and discrepancies between certification of wood and paper products (Berg 1997). Life-cycle analysis refers also to wood products. Certification does not assure that a wood product is manufactured in an environmentally sound way.l

The cost of certification includes both administrative time (opportunity costs) and costs related to changes in operations. FSC/UK has grappled with the cost issue and come up with a plan to address the needs of small and medium forest owners and concession holders.li A graph on the FSC/US Web site indicates that both small and large companies are adopting certification. According to a 1999 study cited by Kiekens (2000), however, most industrial forestry companies that have secured certification under FSC already had reasonable capacities in place. In short, if you are on the way to better forest management, certification could be much less costly.

Some argue that certification at a national level would be more cost effective and simpler for the consumer. FSC-UK claims that this practice would not encourage stewardship at the individual concession level. There are attempts, however, to merge FSC and national standards as national standards are developed in several countries and regions.

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Is certification at odds with free trade? Some private forest owners in Europe filed suit, claiming that the cost of certification discriminated against small landholders. The requirement of green and red labeling for certified and non-certified timber in the Netherlands was found to contravene European Union internal market laws (Kiekens 2000). Internal regulations regarding takings and compensation may also pose barriers (Tollefson 1998).

If certification is an alternative incentive to boycotting tropical timber, is it working? Some have argued that tropical countries are less interested in and capable of participating in certification. They may adopt weak or conflicting certification schemes. Indeed, most of the certified forests are in Europe and the U.S. (FSC 2000). China, a major market for tropical wood, is not concerned about certification. Because of costs of certification, some countries may emphasize plantations over natural forests (e.g., Ali Abod and Siddiqui 1999). Other analysts believe that certification is a good incentive for sustainable management in tropical countries that are lagging in wider reforms. It could promote community based management as well (Tolfts 1998). Proponents point to large-scale FSC certification in Bolivia, and a 10-year forest management plan for Deramakot Forest Reserve in Malaysia approved by FSC (Nittler and Nash 1999; Heuveldop et al. 1999).

Conclusions Market trends could weaken certification. If the market will not bear a premium price for certified wood or wood products, it is doubtful that timber and wood products companies will keep up the process for public relations purposes alone. Certification is a capital investment that also has recurrent costs in monitoring and administration. In addition, if wood products overall become more expensive, consumers could turn to other materials (Swallow and Sedjo 2000). Since certifications are by nature non-tradable, they may be a risky investment for a firm.lii But price supports or tax credits to bolster certification could keep an unfit system afloat.

Certification’s impact will also hinge on credibility. Disputes over certification can ruin credibility (Ripken 1999). The problem arises because certification is not yet standardized and may never be. Industry and countries may obfuscate differences among “sustainable forest management” schemes. FSC claims that “many of these [eco-friendly and sustainable] labels are misleading and superficial” (FSC 2000). Others criticize FSC because the chain of custody is unclear and could result in fraud. Fragmentation of “certified wood” into sub-markets can render the monitoring of the impacts of sustainable forest management more difficult.

The voluntary nature of certification has both positive and negative aspects. On the positive side, the industry is not dragged kicking and screaming into regulatory battle. “Government” cannot be blamed for regulations, although certainly environmental groups and lobbyists can be. On the negative side, if certification is not built into the law of the land, it may wither away if consumers care less about the fate of forests. Certification is not a substitute for laws and regulations governing land use that affect all timber concessionaires. Richards (1999) argues, “efforts to increase incentives for sustainable forestry must be accompanied by effective regulation and control…and should also be complemented by policy measures to make forest degrading activities less profitable.” These measures could bring down the cost of sustainable forestry.

Certification is a step ahead of providing educational materials and industry self-regulation. It is an incentive system that could bring concrete rewards to producers and forests. Consumer power can achieve results but only as part of an integrated package to promote lasting internalization of the costs of sustainable management through both market and regulatory mechanisms. But

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monitoring must show that it works, and fraud and obfuscation must be uncovered. Most of all, people must continue to care, care enough to actually pay more—not just be “willing to pay.”liii

References Ali Abod, S. and M. T. Siddiqui. 1999. Current issues in tropical plantation forestry—A Malaysian perspective. Indian Forester 125/12: 1228-1238.

Council of Forest Industries, British Columbia: www.cofi.org

Forest Stewardship Council US: www.fscus.org

Forest Stewardship Council UK: www.fsc-uk.demon.co.uk

Gronroos, J.C.M. and J.L. Bowyer. Assessment of the market potential for environmentally certified wood products in new homes in Minneapolis/St Paul and Chicago. Forest Products Journal 49/6: 28-34.

Ham, C. Certification: Situation analysis of private timber growers in South Africa. South African Forestry Journal 187: 59-64.

Heuveldop, J., M. Kleine and L. Kulenkampff. 1999. (English Abstract) Sustainable forest management in Malaysia: An example of the Deramakot Forest Reserve. Forest und Holz 34/8: 237-242.

Higman, S., S. Bass, N. Judd, J. Mayers and R. Nussbaum. 1999. The sustainable forestry handbook: A practical guide for tropical forest managers on implementing new standards. London: Earthscan Publications. Kiekens, J-P 1999a. Forest Certification, Part 1: Origins, Background and Recent Trends. Engineered Wood Journal. Fall 1999. Reprinted in Rogue Institute for Ecology and Economy: www.rogueinstitute.org

Kiekens, J-P 1999a. Forest Certification, Part II: Impacts on Forestry, Trade and Consumer Information. Engineered Wood Journal. Spring 2000. Reprinted in Rogue Institute for Ecology and Economy: www.rogueinstitute.org Nittler, J.B. and D.W Nash. 1999. The certification model for forestry in Bolivia. Journal of Forestry 97/3:32-36.

Pepke, E. 1999. Forest Products and Annual Market Review, 1998-1999. Timber Bulletin 52/3. Economic Commission for Europe, Food and Agriculture Organization. Geneva: United Nations Publications.

Richards, M. 1999. ‘Internalising the externalities’ of tropical forestry: A review of innovative financing and incentive mechanisms. European Union Tropical Forestry Paper No. 1. London: Overseas Development Institute.

Ripken, H. 1999. (English Abstract) Still tied: The certification ‘fight’ Symposium in Bonn— comparison between the Forest Stewardship Council and the Pan European Certificate of Sustainability. Forest und Holz 54/9: 257-263.

SmartWood: www.smartwood.com

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Spinazze, M.C. and S. Kant. 1999. Market potential for certified (forest) wood products in Ontario, Canada. Forest Chronicle 75/1: 39-47. Sustainable Forestry & Certification Watch: http://sfcw.org Swallow, S.K. and R.A. Sedjo. Eco-labeling consequences in general equilibrium: A graphic assessment. Land Economics 76/1: 28-36.

Tolfts, A. 1998. How appropriate is certification for small-scale timber producers in Melanesia? New Paper, Rural Development Forestry Network, 1998, No 23. London: Overseas Development Institute.

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TRACHEIDS IN CONIFERS AND HARDWOODS: STRUCTURE, FUNCTION AND RECENT FINDINGS

With increasing height of land plants the problem of attaining an adequate equilibrium between water lost by the leaves and water supplied by the roots, without losing mechanical strength in the stem, became an increasingly critical one. The solutions of this problem…are highly diversified and are significant from both physiological and phylogenetic points of view.—I W Bailey, The Evolution of Tracheary Tissue of Land Plants.

Introduction A plant is a biotic system whose elements develop and interact through chemical and physical processes. The most central of those processes is the transport of water. The ability to retain and circulate water enabled plants to colonize land. When water transport is interrupted, the plant wilts and eventually dies.

Transporting water in a tree as opposed to an herbaceous plant presents two main challenges: distance and longevity. The molecules of water have to be taken to the highest branches and leaves and the system must last as long as the tree, which can be a very long time. The major element in the water transport system is the tracheary tissue. The tracheary tissue is composed of numerous sub-elements and has complex interactions with surrounding tissue.

This paper focuses on tracheids, the primary organs of water transport, along with vessel elements in woody dicots. It examines the differences and similarities found in tracheids in conifers and different forms of tracheids in hardwoods (angiosperms). The comparison reinforces the system perspective as it shows that these organs interact with other elements to balance efficiency and safety in water transport as well as strength and stability of the organism as a whole. New research reveals the complexity of the comparison between conifer and hardwood tracheids and between tracheids and vessel elements.

Although the paper will not be able to delve into the taxonomic dimensions of tracheids, some insights into the complexity of classifying tracheids along the “primitive” to “advanced” axis, using tracheids in taxonomy, and changes in thinking on the evolution of tracheid forms are presented. In particular, the paper concentrates on new research into the structure and function of vascular and fiber-tracheids, as these are less well known.

Tracheids There are two basic types of tracheids: conifer tracheids and fiber-tracheids found in woody dicots. Within the hardwood tracheids, a further differentiation has been made between vascular and vasicentric tracheids (Panshin and de Zeeuw 1980). In some conifers (Larix, Pseudotsuga, Picea, Pinus among others), there are ray tracheids as well (Mauseth 1988: 321). These are most developed in Pinus.

Tracheids are dead cells that must continue to resist pressures and to stretch as the tree grows. They are cells that have “considerable elastic strength, but are lacking in rigidity and have a relatively low modulus of rupture” (Bailey 1953: 4). The dominant cell type in conifer wood, tracheids make up 90% or more of the xylem (Kozlowski and Pallardy 1997: 21). Fibers (of all kinds), including fiber-tracheids, take up 20-70% of the xylem of hardwoods with an average of 50% (Panshin and De Zeeuw 1980). The tracheid cell wall is made up mainly of cellulose, lignin, hemicellulose and small amounts of other components.

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Tracheid structure shapes how water flows through the system. Hence studying the form and performance of tracheids sheds light on a species history—in particular what water regimes the species evolved within—and its ability to cope with long and short-term climate fluctuations. For example, conifer tracheids may be particularly adapted to cold. Tracheid forms are adaptable and even within the same genera can be shaped by different climates and stresses, including seasonality. The many forms of tracheids demonstrate the range of tools available to the tree in meeting water and support needs.

Development Tracheids are formed in the procambium and cambium from periclinal division of fusiform initials. In conifers, the tracheids line up while in angiosperms the vessel elements, particularly in ring porous and in the early wood, may knock the tracheids out of line. Consequently, conifers have more regularly aligned fibrous material which is better for such uses as pulp and paper.

As the tracheid develops, three distinct membranes are formed. The primary wall is largely (70%) water with cellulose and other materials. This wall will fill the intercellular spaces. The secondary wall, laid down in layers (S1, S2, and S3 according to Bailey’s classification), is also rich in cellulose. The inner wall lies between the secondary wall and the lumen. The secondary and primary walls match except for the pits, discussed below. These walls give the wood stress reduction properties but also resist tensions in the water column (Ledbetter and Porter 1970: 57). Cellulose microfibrils are spun around the cell membranes in layers. These contain crystals that strengthen them. The angle of these microfibrils in conifers can influence the performance and properties of forest products (Lindstrom et al. 1998).

Tracheids develop quickly: from 1-4 weeks in the early growing season and later two weeks maximum. Formation of the secondary wall takes longest; it is the thickest and the most important in determining the properties of the wood (Panshin and De Zeeuw 1980). Secondary wall formation is a complex process with different arrangements of microfibrils in S1, S2 and S3.liv The microfibrils are laid out in an S or Z pattern and the pattern is typically alternated to provide a network of structural support.

The deposition of the secondary wall restricts the expansion of tracheids as “the yield point of cell walls become rigid simultaneously with the development of the secondary wall” (Abe et al. 1997). Cell formation also relates to turgor pressure which is of course affected by seasonal changes. As the tracheid matures, its protoplasm is deposited on the cell wall and the cell dies. Microtubules may play a role in moving the contents of the cytoplasm to the cell wall. The process of lignification proceeds inward and encases the tracheid membranes and the microfibrils as if they were set in concrete. Lignification makes the cell not only hard but impermeable to most pathogens.

Conifer tracheids can increase 10-15% after differentiation while fibers, including fiber-tracheids, in hardwoods will elongate on average 140% (Panshin and De Zeeuw 1980). This shows the importance of the fiber-tracheid in strengthening the hardwood structure particularly during the time when vessel elements are occupied with channeling large amounts of water. The diameter of early wood tracheids in conifers can increase as well to adapt to the influx of water.

Structure The structure of tracheids shapes the structure of the xylem. Even within the same tree there can be tracheids of different forms, a fact that has led to confusion in identification of trees by wood (Bailey 1954: 5). In general, tracheids are long and narrow cells but they can be quite wide in

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gymnosperms, particularly in early wood (Mauseth 1988: 122). If tracheids grow rapidly, as during the spring, they are wider and less strong while later in the season they will be longer, narrower and have thicker walls. Elongation is related to genetics and environmental factors.

Tracheids are characterized by pit a cavity and pit membranes that overlap with other tracheids, ray tracheids and ray parenchyma, and with vessel elements in angiosperms. It is through these pits that water passes. As tracheids are laid down in the xylem, the pits match up to become “pit pairs.” The pit field is created by a gap in the secondary wall that moves the primary wall in towards the plasmalemma. The pit can be simple or bordered: if bordered the overhanging walls of the pit cavity form a “dome-shaped canopy” around the pit field (Panshin and De Zeeuw 1980). The pits enable water to flow but will not allow the passage of air bubbles. Within the pit chambers of conifers are found the margo, a network of fibrils and at the center of the margo, the torus, which is lignified. The margo is created by dissolving cell wall in the pit to leave cellulose microfibrils, typically in radial form in conifers. Like tracheid size, pit size and number is affected by seasonality: early wood has larger and more numerous pits.

Sap can flow through the margo but when air enters, the surface tension moves the membranes to one side of the pit chamber and the torus seals the aperture—this is called aspiration. Late wood tori may be too rigid to aspirate and thus provide mainly a support function. Only the western redcedar is without a well defined torus (Panshin and De Zeeuw 1980). The “extended” torus that has been discussed in some conifers was explored by Yuzou et al. (1999) and it was found that in Abies sachalinensis there are minute holes in the torus that tend to increase from early wood to late wood. It has been thought that in woody dicots, there is no torus in tracheid pit membranes, the microfibrils are arranged randomly and there are in fact no openings in the membranes of the pits (Kozlowski and Pallardy 1997: 24, Panshin and De Zeeuw 1980) but recent research, discussed below, has uncovered some surprises in this respect.

Perforations of bordered pits are from 1 nm to several nanometers in the same pit, and this and pit diameter varies with species. The late wood pits are more resistant to water transport, possibly because they will operate in conditions of heat stress that might create the opportunity for embolism. Hardwoods can have bordered pits and manifest patterns but they also have simple pits, and it can be hard to distinguish the two kinds. In contrast, conifer tracheids uniformly have bordered pits. Cross-field pitting is found between rays and tracheids and in conifers is a diagnostic trait (class notes). In Pinus, this pit is so wide that it looks like a window and is called fenistriform pitting (Mauseth 1988).

Borders around the pits, as is found in conifer tracheids, increase the strength of the pit in resisting water pressure and embolism. Tracheids with circular bordered pits maximize conductivity and strength (Mauseth 1988: 115). Crassulae can be observed above and below the circular bordered pits and although they do not play a functional role in the wood they can be used for identification purposes. Mauseth terms them “refraction patterns” (Mauseth 1988: 325).

Ring and spiral patterns in the secondary walls are often found in early wood tracheids that need to push a large volume of sap through the system in a short time. If there is much elongation, maximizing the support function of the tracheid, annular and helical thickening will develop (Raven 1998). It is said that pitting gradually disappears if a tracheid cell is elongated into a libriform fiber, and bordered pitting is not found, but this contention is disputed by the findings of Magendans et al. 1999 (see discussion below).

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There is a tradeoff and balance within the tree between strength and conductance. Bailey notes that the strength of the late wood compensates for the weakness of the early wood in which an accelerated rate of longitudinal conduction can occur (1954: 6).

Interaction with other cells and parts of the plant In addition to interacting with vessel elements, discussed below, tracheids interact with fibers, phloem, rays and parenchyma within the wood. When they abut ray parenchyma, the pits can be encrusted and pits will be found only on the tracheid side.lv When tracheids abut fibers there is little pitting. As discussed below, the unusual tori found in some angiosperm tracheids become half-tori when they abut rays or axial parenchyma cells (Dute et al. 1990).

There is also a relationship between size and shape of tracheary elements and type of leaf. Evergreen leaves require uninterrupted water flow but the amount of water needed can be small compared to the need for water of broadleaves during the growing season.

Differences between Conifer and Hardwood Tracheary Elements

Conifer Tracheids Conifer wood is dominated axially by long thin tracheids, varying in length from 3 to 7 mm (Kozlowski and Pallardy 1997) or even as long as 11 mm (Mauseth 1988: 324). Pine has only tracheids and its tracheids are considered to be the most morphologically advanced of the gymnosperms (Wheeler 1983: 86). There is also a reduction in the length of tracheids in Pinaceae, Taxidaceae, Curessaceae and increasing efficiencies in stomatal control of water loss (Bailey 1953: 5). Conifer tracheids in colder environments are more involved in support toward the end of the growing season. Juvenile wood may have lower basic density and shorter tracheid length (Ishengoma et al. 1995). Because of the predominance of tracheids and consequent dearth of fibers, in comparison to hardwoods, conifer wood is called softwood. But of course some angiosperm wood such as balsa is softer than conifer wood and some softwood such as pine is quite hard.

Typically conifer tracheids will have pit-pairs with a margo and a torus. Of 47 conifer genera, only Thuja and Thujopsis did not have a thickening, or torus-like structure, in the pit membranes (in Wheeler 1983: 79). Cycadiales, Gnetales and Ginkoales, classed as gymnosperms, were said to lack the torus by Wheeler (1983), but Bailey reported in Ginkgo there is “pronounced tendency to form widely spaced circular bordered pits with tori and conspicuous crasulae” (Bailey 1953: 8; cf. Torrelli 1999).

Tracheids and Vessel Elements It is impossible to discuss tracheids without understanding the evolution of vessel elements and the interaction of vessel elements and tracheids in dicot woods. The evolution of vessel elements from tracheids is one of the clearest evolutionary records. There is little doubt that vessel elements derived from scalariform tracheids, while circular pitted tracheids culminate in “libriform” wood fibers, which no longer resemble tracheids (Bailey 1954: 6). In fact, Mauseth contends that in “primitive” angiosperms, it is hard to differentiate between scalariform vessel elements and tracheids with light microscopy (Mauseth 1988: 122). Secondary wall thickenings show changes from more “primitive” to “advanced” tracheary elements: the pattern moves from annular and helical to scalariform and reticulate and finally to pitted (class notes).

The xylem of many plants is heterogeneous, however, with some simple perforations and some sclariform, so Mauseth notes that it is hard to say if the scalariform pattern is actually a more

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“primitive” design. Bailey cautions further that “one cannot derive truly primitive structures from highly modified ones, e.g., tracheids from vessel members or libriform fibers” (Bailey 1953: 6).

Vessel elements emerged in angiosperms independently five times. Some “primitive” angiosperms lack vessels, while Gnetum, classed as a gymnosperm, contains them. As vessel elements, with their far greater hydraulic conductance ability, emerged, tracheids assumed a supporting role within the xylem. Vessel elements have perforations which allow them to be stacked up in the xylem and they also can much wider than tracheids. Tracheids serve to strengthen the xylem as fibers and also operate as fall-back water conductors during times of stress, when there is risk of embolism. Because of their width and perforations, vessel elements are more vulnerable to cavitation. As the pit perforations in vessel elements are much smaller than in tracheids, however, this must provide some protection to counteract the larger size and lack of torus (Zimmerman and Brown 1975).

A very recent study, in synthesizing the literature, found that “there was no significant difference in adult, whole-plant conductances between [gymnosperms and angiosperms]” (Becker et al. 1999). Tracheids are seen as less specialized than vessel elements but they are, however well adapted to climates where there may be quick freezes and thaws of water that could create embolisms in the larger vessels (Ewers 1985). Becker et al. 1999: 445 find that in the northern Utah and Alaskan environment “most conifers were entirely resistant [to xylem embolism] whereas dicot trees were vulnerable.”

Carlquist (1992, 1996b) has studied the interplay between tracheids and vessel elements in woody dicots. Tracheids are retained in woods in which perforation plates are simple because the vessel elements will be adapted to peak flow times (spring) while the tracheids will move in during the summer. Woods with clustered vessels tend not to contain tracheids, while woods with solitary vessels do have numerous tracheids. Trees with evergreen leaves will of necessity need tracheids that can retain the water column. Braun carried out research on the interaction and structure of different cell types within wood and has created a comprehensive classification (in Mauseth 1988: 338). A recent study revealed the relative strengths of fiber-tracheids and vessel elements during cell formation. Application of a pressure-girdle did not affect fiber-tracheid development, while it did inhibit vessel formation (Tillmann and Walter 1997).

Tracheids in Woody Dicots In the evolution of angiosperms, as the vessel element emerged as the primary cell for water conductance, the diversification of tracheids, fiber-tracheids and fibers would have given dicots an array of options to strengthen the wood and to provide additional conductance.

Compared to conifer tracheids and vessel elements, there is much less found about dicot tracheids in the literature. This must be due in part to the interest in tracheid to vessel element evolution and to the prominence of gymnosperm tracheids and vessel elements in water conductance. Dicot tracheids have some interesting features, however, that shed light on the plasticity of form of cells within the xylem.

According to Esau (1965: 209-211), fiber-tracheids could be considered as much fibers as tracheids as they are classed between tracheids and the most specialized fibers—libriform fibers—and combine the functions of water conduction and support. Esau points to the gradations between fibers and tracheids in oaks to display how fibers evolved from tracheids to become longer and thinner. The size of bordered pits is also reduced in fibers and this is a way to distinguish between fibers and tracheids. The length of the pit canal increases with thickness

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along tracheid-fiber tracheid-libriform fiber axis. Fiber-tracheids still have pit chambers while those of libriform fibers are absent or reduced. Magendans et al. (1999), however, find that there are bordered pits in libriform tracheids, which they are suggesting should be called funnel pits, perhaps because of the length of the pit canal. Libriform fibers are said function as storage cells because they retain protoplast within their lignified walls (Bailey 1954: 6).

Fibers in hardwoods undergo more extensive apical elongation than tracheids in conifers, on average 120 percent over 54 species with a range from 20 to 460 percent. The degree of elongation depends in part on the specialization of vessel elements (Panshin and De Zeeuw 1980: 81). In the vesselless dicot Tetracentron, the tracheids are arranged in regular radial rows, like conifers, and scalariformly pitted early wood is contrasted to late wood with circular bordered pits (Gifford and Foster 1989: 516). The end walls of Tetracentron tracheids have porous pit membranes. Comparing this condition with vessels in primitive dicot wood, Carlquist finds that “even today, we have some instances that there is a continuum between tracheids and vessel elements” (Carlquist 1996b: 77).

Panshin and De Zeeuw (19:180-82) differentiate between vascular tracheids and vasicentric tracheids found in hardwoods. The vascular tracheids resemble axial parenchyma. They are similar to small vessel elements but they do not have perforations. They can be mixed with late wood vessel elements, be arranged in a vertical series and have spiral thickenings. Carlquist refers to vascular tracheids as “degenerate vessel elements.” They are said to be found in 12 angiosperm families that are not closely related (Wheeler 1983: 87). Vasicentric tracheids look like conifer tracheids, thus longer and thinner and serve a back up function when vessel elements are at risk for embolism (GPB, class notes). They are tapering or rounded at the end and are seen to be intermediate to fibers (Panshin and De Zeeuw 1980). Vascular tracheids can be found in elms and vasicentric trachieds in oaks.

Evolutionary Implications The structure of tracheids has been used to identify and classify trees. This evolutionary path has not been straightforward. While vessel elements in angiosperms clearly derived from scalariform tracheids, they originated in the Gnetales by the dissolution of the membranes and tori of circular bordered pits (Bailey 1965: 8). This is an example of convergent evolution. In conifers, scalariform bordered pitting was eliminated thus “working backward” to helically thickened tracheids. Bailey uses the evolution of tracheids in conifers as evidence that vesselless angiosperms could not have derived from Coniferales.

Carlquist notes the adaptations of tracheary tissue to the environment, specifically seasonality, but points out that genetic information about selective adaptations such as vestured pits is not easily invented and hence an evolutionary sequence does not mean picking up “ideal” adaptations (Carlquist 1996: 75).

Bailey’s view of the primitiveness of vessellessness in dicots has been challenged by molecular evidence, according to Carlquist. And interestingly tracheids in some primitive vesselless dicot woods lack the torus while more advanced dicots seemingly have tori as discussed below (Dute and Rushing 1988: 243).

New Findings Some new findings complicate the classification of tracheids further. It has long been thought that the torus was present in conifers and primitive angiosperms only (Mauseth 1988: 117). R. Dute, E A Wheeler and others, however, have found evidence for the torus or torus-like structures in some of the tracheary elements of Daphne (Thymaealaceae), Osmanthus americanus and

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Ligustrum lucidum (Oleaceae) and perhaps Ribes sanguineum; Pyrus communis L. and Prunus (Rosaceae) and Ulmus alata, Celti laevigata and Celti occidentalis (Ulmacae). (The Annex provides photo evidence of the torus or torus-like structure in these species.)

What exactly did they find? The definition of torus was given by Bauch and colleagues, with respect to gymonsperms as “central part of a pit membrane which can be distinguished from the margo by containing no capillary interspaces due to amorphous substances” (in Parameswaran and Liese 1973: 9) but the International Association of Wood Anatomists (IAWA) defines the torus more simply as “a central, thicker part of a pit membrane” (in Wheeler 1983: 81). It has long been known that the torus could be found in pit pairs of primitive vessel-less angiosperms, but what of non-primitive angiosperms with well developed vessel elements?

As is often the case, the phenomenon of tori in fiber tracheids was first suggested in the 1800s. Strasburger noted torus-like thickenings in Prunus avium, comparing them to the tori of latewood conifer tracheids (in Parameswaran and Liese 1973: 9). The story of more recent investigations into unusual structures in woody dicot tracheid pit pairs begins in 1973. Building on an earlier study, Parameswaran and Liese (1973) found anomalous structures in the bordered pits of fiber- tracheids of the shrub Ribes Sanguineum (Grossulariaceae): “Within the youngest three to six rows of fiber-tracheids, padlike structures within the pit chambers are present.”

The pads evinced no trace of lignin and disappeared by the fifth or sixth cell layer from the cambium. The investigators felt that it was the first time such pad-like structures were found in bordered pits. While many of the fiber-tracheids in Ribes are septate, the pads were found in nonseptate tracheids. The function of these pads was unknown at that time.

In 1978, Ohtani and Ishida reported the presence of torus-like structures in the hardwood genera Daphne and Osmanthus (Magnoliophyta) but this research, published in Japanese, was not broadly known. It is interesting to find that Braun had earlier identified a “Daphne mezereum” type of tissue arrangement wherein the vessels are located only among tracheids (Mauseth 1988: 338).

By 1981, Parameswaran and Liese, building on the Japanese findings, carried out further research and published a paper on “torus-like structures in interfibre pits of Prunus and Pyrus.” These genera come from the advanced family of Rosaceae (GPB article in Encyclopedia Britannica). They found different structures within the bordered pits but most notably flaps on both sides of the pit membrane “reminiscent of softwood tori in their shape and location.”

To increase the comparison with conifer tracheids, they found that after delignification “the torus- like thickenings evince bundles of fibrils arranged more or less in a circular manner” within the pits (Parameswaran and Liese 1981: 89). While advancing their position on the torus in Prunus and Pyrus, Parameswaran and Liese evinced skepticism concerning Ohtani and Ishida’s findings in Daphne and Osmanthus because the relationship between the pit membrane and the “torus” was not evident—indeed during delignification there was a random orientation of micrfibrils in the torus region.

1983 brought more data on torus-like structures in dicot tracheids: the surprising finding that these structures could be found in native American Ulmacae: Ulmus and Celtis (Wheeler 1983). What is particularly interesting is that the torus-like structure was not found in Ulmus americana L. but in U. alata, Michx., U. thomasii Sarg.; as well as in Celtis laevigata Willd., C. occidentalis L. and C reticulata Torr.lvi These thickenings were found in vascular tracheids that are intermixed with vessel elements.

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In later ontogeny studies of the winged elm, and C. laevigata and C. occidentalis, commonly called hackberry, Dute and Rushing (1990) found that the torus in these species consists of two wall thickenings and looks like a “grooved wheel.” The torus was found in bordered pit pairs in both early wood and late wood, but the torus was lacking in “pit membranes separating the large diameter vessel elements” (1990: 72). The tori consisted of two wall thickenings separated by a middle layer.

As Parameswaram and Liese questioned the torus-like structures found in Osmanthus and Daphne, Wheeler finds that the interfiber pits described by Parameswaran and Liese for Pyrus and Prunus differ from those found in Ulmus and Celtis, casting some doubt about whether the torus area was impermeable and fixed in a web of circular microfibrils. While the “membrane thickenings” found in Pyrus and Prunus were not centrally located in the web of microfibrils and could even have “flanges,” in Ulmus and Celtis the torus-like structure was centrally located (Wheeler 1983: 86). Delignification in both cases, however, revealed both random and circular microfibril patterns. As it turns out, conifer tori may also be irregularly extended over the margo and, in Thuja, the torus thickening can be absent (Panshin and De Zeeuw 1980).

The findings on the torus in tracheids of certain Ulmacae need to be assessed with respect to Panshin and De Zeeuw’s (1980: 180) contention that ”vascular tracheids with spirals are found in Ulmus and Celtis in the wavy bands of mixed small vessel elements and vascular tracheids that characterize their late wood. Since vascular tracheids, when cut transversely, have the same appearance as pores, they cannot be distinguished from true pores in a cross section of wood.” Dute and Rushing (1990: 72) could often not differentiate between tracheids and vessel elements in thin sections of the earlywood of Ulmus and Celtis.

Are the tori found by Wheeler in spiraled tracheids, or as she puts it for U. thomasii, those with “radiating microfibrils” (1983: 81), or in vessel elements?lvii Interestingly, Wheeeler cites Panshin and De Zeeuw’s definition of the bordered pit pairs of dicots (randomly arranged microfibrils, no visible openings, uniform thickness) but fails to mention their discussion of the spirals in vascular tracheids in Ulmus and Celtis in the same work. Tracheary elements in Daphne also contain spiral thickenings (Dute et al. 1990). These are seen to be characteristic of early wood, as discussed above.

Barnett (1987) carried out lab studies of the development of the Pyrus pit membranes studied by Parameswaram and Liese to try and answer the emerging questions about their function. He (or she) suggests that the “torus” is less of an aspiration mechanism as a seal against autolytic enzymes emerging from dying cells. He cites the presence of “vestigial plasmodesmata” on the torus-like structures and their eccentric location to support this contention and, coincidentally, sheds light on the possible role of plasmodesmata in cell differentiation. In addition, he finds that “the torus-like cap described by Parameswaran and Liese is found only in cells at a very advanced stage of differentiation” and remains after cell death. Again the question emerged of whether these structures could be tori if eccentrically located.

Dute and Rushing (1988: 241) went back to check on tori in Osmanthus in the mid 1980s but this time focusing on the only American species, O. americanus (the Japanese had focused on the Japanese species). They found that the tori in O. americanus differed from the others in that they were always at or near the center of the margo, while the other “tori” were not always placed in the center—again the “eccentric” placement question. Daphne also had a centrally placed “torus” (Dute et al. 1990). The torus was different from other angiosperms but also from gymnosperm tori in that the fibrils in all of the angiosperm tori described were either random or radial, whereas the gymnosperm pit fibers are highly radial.

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In looking at the development of these structures in Osmanthus, Dute and Rushing (1988) found that the two halves of the torus did not develop at the same time and did not develop until the pit- border development was well underway. In tracheary elements near the cambium, the pit membranes connecting tracheids and vessel elements were similar. They also report on microtubules associated with torus formation that are distinct from those formed with the secondary wall. In Daphne (Dute et al. 1990) as in Osmanthus, the role of the tori in aspiration is highlighted.

The ontogeny studies of Dute and Rushing, Barnett, and Parameswaram and Liese show different patterns of development among the angiosperm tracheids and between these “torus” bearing angiosperm trachieds and conifer tracheids. Among the angiosperms, the tori of Ulmus alata, Daphne, Prunus spp and Pyrus are said to be lignified whereas others are said to be porous. The tori of Ribes sanguineum disintegrate as the cells mature (Dute and Rushing 1990: 80). The presence of plasmodesmata in Pyrus, and occasionally in Daphne (Dute et al. 1990), and the eccentric location of the “torus” in other angiosperm tracheids studied calls into question the relationship between this structure and a conifer tracheids, even though there is evidence of plasmodesmata traversing tracheid tori in Pinus strobus, Tasodium distichum and perhaps Pseudostuga menziesii (in Dute and Rushing 1988: 47).

Microfibril complexes were found in Osmanthus but not in the Ulmaceae, although they did possess cisternae (Dute and Rushing 1990). Finally, torus initiation in Osmanthus was earlier than in Ulmus and Celtis—a pattern found in some gymnosperms (Dute and Rushing 1990: 80). Whether the role of the torus is to prevent transmission of autolytic enzymes at cell death (Pyrus) or for aspiration (Osmanthus, Daphne) is the question. It may be more simply that the torus strengthens and prevents rupture of the pit membranes (Dute et al. 1990). Encrustation in tracheids is another factor to be considered in analyzing the pit pairs. It may be difficult to ascertain what is a blockage in a pit pair, perhaps plasmodesmata, and what is a “torus.” In Daphne at least, the torus was completely removed with a 25 hour treatment of acidified sodium chlorite (Dute et al. 1990) and thus the torus was considered to be lignified.

What is surprising is that these findings don’t seem to have been widely tested by other researchers. Professor Dute did not know of any critiques or follow-ups to his work (Dute, pers, comm. 12/2/00). There is mention obliquely of the findings of Dute and colleagues in the Raven et al. text but most works use the common assumption that the torus is found in conifer tracheids only and in the bordered pit-pairs of angiosperms “there are no openings in this membrane, which is made up of randomly arranged microfibrils rather than centrally radiating ones as in gymnosperms” (Kozlowski and Pallardy 1997: 24). Some contend that microfibrillar webs found in vessel elements that look similar to the margo may be specimen preparation artifacts (Barnett 1981: 108). Carlquist (1996b: 84-85) is of the opinion, after citing only Wheeler’s work, that the pit membranes of angiosperm tori lack slender microfibril strands, and do not have a margo. He concludes that the scattered incidences of tori and aspiration in angiosperm pits “do not seem to represent ancestral conditions at all because they occur in a very few highly specialized woods.” But are Prunus, Pyrus, hackberry and elm highly specialized?

Is it a torus? If so, are these tori the exceptions or the hint of a much greater diversity in angiosperm tracheids? Wheeler feels that “considering that characteristics of an extremely small fraction of the thousands of dicotyledonous woods have been used for making generalisations about pit membranes structure, it seems likely that other ‘exceptions’ will be found as more woods are examined with the transmission electron microscope” (Wheeler 1983: 86).

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Conclusion Tracheary tissue is highly complex and as it is studied in depth with electron microscopes a huge range of patterns is found. The distinction between tracheids and vessel elements becomes more of a continuum than the strict differentiation made in most texts. Similarly, fibers and fiber- tracheids shade into one another. New research shows that conventional wisdom on dicot tracheids may change.

New findings about the torus in fiber tracheids show that these angiosperms have possibly retained an additional guard against cavitation. Are these structures an example of “survivals” or are they important adaptation, perhaps giving the species an edge in times of drought?lviii The Ulmacae with tori had more vascular tracheids than the other species in the family but Wheeler did not find this significant.

An ecological analysis of these species, beyond the scope of this paper, might shed light on this question. This type of analysis does not seem to have been done by the wood anatomists who studied the torus in angiosperm phenomenon. Indeed, Wheeler says that “there is no adequate functional explanation for the presence of the torus in vascular tracheids” because vascular tracheids are small and thus not easily embolized (Wheeler 1983: 86). The tori may provide as much a support as an anti-embolism function (Dute and Rushing 1987: 243). But Dute and colleagues also believe that any function to block embolisms would be adaptive, and the formation of partial tori and eccentrically-placed tori is evidence of programming to produce the torus (Dute et al. 1990).

With the emergence of angiosperms, tracheids did not outlive their usefulness—indeed their plasticity of form has extended their utility to the tree. Even with the development of vessel elements, they retain a central role in the xylem, serving to support and to conduct water.

References Abe, H, R Funada, J Ohtani and K Fukazawa 1997. Changes in the arrangement of cellulose microfibrils associated with the cessation of cell expansion in tracheids. Trees 11: 328- 332.

Bailey, I W 1953. Evolution of the tracheary tissue of land plants. American J. of Botany 40: 4-8.

Bailey, I W 1954. Contributions to plant anatomy. Waltham, MA: Chronica Botanica Co.

Barnett, J R (ed.) 1981. Xylem cell development. Tunbridge Wells, UK: Castle House Publications Ltd.

Barnett, J R 1987. The development of fibre-tracheid pit membranes in Pyrus communis L. IAWA Bulletin n.s. 8/2: 134-142.

Becker, P, M T Tyree and M Tsuda. 1999. Hydraulic conductances of angiosperms versus conifers: similar transport sufficiency at the whole-plant level. Tree Physiology 19/7: 445-452.

Carlquist, S 1992. Wood anatomy of Hedyosmum (Chloranthaceae) and the tracheid-vessel element transition. Aliso 13/3: 447-462.

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Carlquist, S 1996a. Wood, bark and stem anatomy of new world species of Gnetum. Botanical J. of the Linnean Society 120/1: 1-19.

Carlquist, S 1996b. Wood anatomy of primitive angiosperms: new perspectives and syntheses. Chapter 4 in Tayler, D W and L J Hickey Flowering plant origin, evolution and phyologeny. New York: Chapman and Hall.

Dute, R R and A E Rushing 1987. Pit pairs with tori in the wood of Osmanthus americanus (OLEACEAE). IAWA Bulletin n.s. 9/3: 237-244.

Dute, R R and A E Rushing 1988. Notes on the torus development in the wood of Osmanthus americanus (L.) Benth and Hook. ex Gray (OLEACEAE). IAWA Bulletin n.s. 9/1: 41- 51.

Dute, R R and A E Rushing 1990. Torus structure and development in the woods of Ulmus alata michx,. Celtis Laevigata willd., and Celtis occidentalis L. IAWA Bulletin n.s. 11/1: 71-83.

Dute, R R, A E Rushing and J W Perry 1990. Torus structure and development in species of Daphne. IAWA Bulletin n.s. 11/4: 401-412.

Esau, K 1965. Plant anatomy, 2nd Edition. New York: John Wiley and Sons.

Ewers, F 1985. Xylem structure and water conduction in conifer trees, dicot trees and lianas. IAWA Bulletin n.s. 6/14: 309-317.

Gifford, E M and A S Foster 1989. Morphology and evolution of vascular plants. New York: W H Freeman.

Ishengoma, R C, P R Gillah and S Iddi. 1995. Basic density, tracheid length and strength properties of juvenile and mature wood of Pinus patula grown in Tanzania. South African Forestry Journal 0/172: 19-23.

Ledbetter, M C and K R Porter. 1970. Introduction to the fine structure of plant cells. New York: Springer-Verlag.

Lindstrom, H, J W Evans and S P Verrill. 1998. Influence of cambial age and growth conditions on microfibril angle in young Norway spruce (Picea abies [L.] Karst.). Holzforschung 53/6: 573-581.

Kozlowski, T T and S G Pallardy 1997. Physiology of woody plants. San Diego: Academic Press.

Magendans J F C, W L H van Veenendaal, and W L H Van Veenendaal. 1999. Morphology of pits in hardwood fibers. Wageningen Agricultural University Papers 99/2: 31-97.

Mauseth, J D 1988. Plant anatomy. Menlo Park CA: Benjamin/Cummings Publishing Company.

Panshin, A J and C De Zeeuw. 1980. Textbook of wood technology: structure, identification, properties and uses of commercial woods of the United States and Canada, 4th Ed. New York: McGraw Hill.

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Parameswaran, N and W Liese 1973. Anomalous structures in the bordered pits of fiber-tracheids of Ribes sanguineum. Wood and Fiber 5/1: 76-79.

Parameswaran, N and W Liese 1981. Torus-like structure in interfibre pits of Prunus and Pyrus. IAWA Bulletin n.s. 2/2: 89-.93.

Raven, P H, R F Evert and S E Eichhorn. 1999. Biology of plants, 6th edition. New York: W H Freeman and Co.

Sperry, J S, K L Nichols, J E M Sullivan and S E Eastlack 1994. Xylem embolism in ring- porous, diffuse-porous and coniferous trees of northern Utah and interior Alaska. Ecology 75/September: 1736-1752.

Thomas, R J 1972. Bordered pit aspiration in angiosperms. Wood and Fiber 1972, 3: 4, 236-237.

Tillmann, B and W Eschrich. 1997. Mechanical pressure inhibits vessel development of xylogenic cambial derivatives of beech (Fagus sylvatica L.). Trees (Berlin) 11/6: 329- 355.

Torellli, N 1999. [English Abstract] Maidenhair (Ginkgo biloba L.) and its wood. Les Ljubljana 51/12: 397-402.

Yuzou, S, Y Kawakami and J Ohtani 1999. Variation in the structure of intertracheary pit membranes in Abies sachalinensis, as observed by field-emission scanning electron microscope. IAWA Journal 20/4: 375-388.

Wheeler, E A 1983. Intervascular pit membranes in Ulmus and Celtis native to the United States. IAWA Bulletin n.s. 4/2-3: 79-87.

Zimmerman, M H 1983. Xylem structure and the ascent of sap. Springer Series in Wood Science. New York: Springer-Verlag.

Zimmerman, M H and C L Brown 1975. Trees: structure and function. New York: Springer-Verlag.

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Annex: Gallery of the Torus in Woody Dicot Tracheids Removed for email transmission

Photos and sketches found at the TAMU-BWL Digital Library of Vascular Plant Images: www.csdl.tamu.edu/FLORA

a. Ribes sanguineum b. Osmanthus frangrans c. Daphne mezereum d. Prunus avium e. Pyrus communis f. Celtis laevigata g. Ulmus alata

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INTIMATE WILDERNESS: REFLECTIONS ON THE GROVE

Psyche There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Appareled in celestial light The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it has been of yore— Turn whereso’er I may By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. —William Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

My first years were lived at the edge of a wood owned by the Harlem preacher Father Divine. His ownership kept the forest undeveloped, despite it being very close to New York City. My sister and I created a sacred grove in the wood. Its central space was a large tree with long low- hanging branches. The tree was our shelter where we crafted acorn teacups and stashed our collection of odd-shaped twigs, stones and shiny chestnuts. We nestled in its branches. Our grove was at once intimate and wild, homey and mysterious. It emanated a calm green spirit.

One day a developer came and started to lay the foundation for new houses inside our wood. My sister and I threw rocks at him, to no avail. It was our first experience of betrayal and helpless rage. Since that time I have seen many sacred spaces and trees with unique personalities destroyed. Wordsworth talks about the fading of memory, how our awareness of the immanence of nature slips from our grasp. We have lost one of our senses yet we cannot put a name to it. Eventually even the betrayal and rage at the loss fades, and we are left in a grayer world.

What would happen if we did not lose that sense? Could we get it back within the embrace of a grove? The grove has multiple purposes but a most important one is renewal. A community’s life is renewed in the grove, as is its biodiversity. The grove joins the social and the ecological with the glue of spirit. It is a stage for birth, initiation, bonding and the tragedy of human separation. The grove represents the Garden of Eden, that time before history when humans did not have the knowledge to destroy their habitat. In the grove, the soul is cleansed, the lion lies down with the lamb and the human is once more a natural creature.

In this paper, I explore ways that cultures old and new have created and maintained groves. I touch on the natural science of sacred groves, move to their role in social life, then the symbolic and spiritual force that connects our human energy to natural place, process and form. I end with groves as strategies for conservation and human renewal.

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Space Groves “allow” nature into human society, not the reverse. The danger and mystery of nature have to be handled carefully. Groves are not remnant wilderness but artforms that recreate features of nature pleasing to humans although in a more subtle form than the garden. They occupy a taxonomic space between garden and forest.

GARDEN GROVE FOREST

Space Cultural Liminal Natural Form Human Transformational Non-Human Time Present Periodic Eternal Emotion Comfort Respect Awe/Fear

In physical space, sacred groves can be as small as one tree and as large as several kilometers. There is in fact a continuum and even a confounding of treeàgroveà forest. Special trees mark the grove: oak, laurel, pipal, ash, banyan, mango, silk-cotton and the cacao. The grove can be in a forest, adjacent to it, or on an otherwise denuded landscape. Groves seem to be found in most areas of the world that have forest, embracing many religious traditions. Often they are sited on important springs and water sources.

Asian sacred groves are laid out according to zodiacal plans. Examples include the Star Forest, the Planet Forest and the Zodiac Forest (below from Chandrakanth and Romm 1991). These plans indicate that the grove may play a mnemonic and ritual role akin to the labyrinth, helping the community to decipher and plan events.

Figures 1 and 2: Planet and Zodiac Forests (removed for email transmission)

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Science An ingenuity too astonishing to be quite fortuitous is this bog full of sundews, sphagnum- lined and shaped like a teacup.

A step down and you’re into it, a wilderness swallows you up; ankle-,then knee- then midriff- to-shoulder-deep in wetfooted understory, an overhead spruce-tamarack horizon hinting you’ll never get out of here. But the sun among the sundews, down here, is so bright, an underfoot webwork of carnivorous rubies, a star-swarm thick as gnats they’re set to catch, delectable double-faced cockleburs, each hair-tip a sticky mirror afire with sunlight, a million of them and again a million each mirror a trip set to unhand unbelieving that either a First Cause said once, “Let there be sundews,” and there were, or they’ve made their way here unaided other than by that backhand, round-about refusal to assume responsibility known as Natural Selection. But the sun underfoot is so dazzling down there among the sundews, there is so much light in the cup that, looking you start to fall upward.

—Amy Clampitt, The Sun Underfoot Among Shadows

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Climbing into a mossy grove, Clampitt reflects on Natural Selection versus divine creation. In the end, the light obliges her to “fall upward.” Natural Selection is a refusal to assume responsibility; this backhanded science an end to the divine properties of nature. Can the two be compatible? Yes. Sacred groves reflect the divine in human behavior even as they become tools of scientific management for conservation. The divine is that which persists and aids the continuity of all life. Groves are created and maintained to store biodiversity that is useful to humans and they also become havens for creatures that depend on the biodiversity.

Sacred groves serve as in situ conservation sites. In Uttara Kannada, India, 107 of the 416 bird species found in the region live in sacred groves (Chandran and Gadgil). Deb et al. (1997) document a similar role of sacred groves as bird refugia in West Bengal. They find that, while sacred groves have dwindled due to the erosion of traditional values, local bird species find refuges in the small habitats they provide. In Malshegu, Ghana, a small sacred grove has been preserved for over 300 years in the semi-arid landscape, conserving local plant species (Dorm et al. 1991).

Groves also serve to maintain ecosystem function, particularly protection of watersheds and soils. They are typically sited on water sources and the vegetation serves to prevent erosion and runoff. At a relict sacred grove in India sited on a karst (limestone) foundation, fine root dynamics were studied compared to forests of other regions. Fine root component has a key role to play in nutrient cycling: different species have different nutrient release patterns related to litter quality and seasonal environmental factors. The four species in the relict sacred grove act to conserve nutrient elements thus ensuring their rapid recycling. This grove was protected for religious reasons while the surrounding landscape is desertified grasslands (Khiewtam and Ramakrishnan 1993).

In times past, rulers created sacred forests and groves as preserves—the world’s first protected areas. They mime natural processes, and gently move them into more human-compatible forms.

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Society

Next after this he shows the spacious grove Which fiery Romulus the Refuge named, And 'neath its cool cliff called the Lupercal By Arcad custom of Lycaean Pan, Points too to sacred Argiletum's grove [and on the Capitoline Hill...] The place with its dread sanctity was wont To awe the frightened rustics; even then They trembled at its wood and at its rock This grove, said he, this hill with leafy crest A god inhabits -- who that god may be, Is all in doubt; Arcadians believe That they themselves Jove oftentimes have seen... —Virgil, The Aeneid, Book 8

What do the ancient Romans, the Votyaks, the Fon of Bafout in Cameroon, the Okanda- Kudumbigala Heritage Center in Sri Lanka and an occult shop in Santa Cruz California have in common? All have sacred groves as important sites of social identity. Sacred groves are found throughout the world from small-scale to highly stratified societies. In recent times, they have experienced resurgence within neopagan and Wiccan cults. Society, spirit and symbol are intertwined within the grove because the grove is a key space for the creation or maintenance of social order through mystical transformation. Let us look at the social aspects first. Sacred groves are sites of celebration and solidarity. They also reflect social order. Groves fulfill social, economic and cultural purposes of meeting places, legitimizing territorial control and reinforcing social relations (Burman 1996). Groves can be similar in physical appearance but differ in social and ecological significance. There are for example “boundary” groves used by people with no written records of their claim to a territory while others are temple groves that serve the literate monks within. Some groves are located on ancient trade routes and thus had or have economic significance. In one case cited by Burman the sacred grove is a symbol of one group’s conquest of and dominance over other groups. Administrative functions can also be carried out in groves or under sacred trees. Groves serve to give identity to a people in their fight for land. Groves can bring people of different ethnicities and beliefs together, when for example Muslims and Hindus join together to worship at Haracandi’s grove in coastal Orissa (Apffell-Marglin 1998).

Groves tame the savage beast of greed and need. “The ‘incorrigible criminals’ [the Lodha of West Bengal according to other groups] do not steal any twigs from the trees growing in their sacred grove, even during periods of severe wood famine.” No policing or monitoring is carried out by humans in the sacred groves of Orissa (Malhotra et al. 2000). And in Rajasthan, only fallen and ripe fruits are collected. Dead and fallen wood is used for religious functions (Pandey 2001). Thus the grove is a way to test the unity of a people.

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Spirit The sacred groves of Europe’s barbarian prehistory give a new meaning to the phrase “Cathedral Forest”…The Gothic Cathedral visibly reproduces ancient scenes of worship in its lofty interior, which rises vertically toward the sky and the curves to a vault from all sides, like so many crowns converging into a canopy overhead. —Harrison, Forests: The Shadow of Civilization

In the darkness the vaulted clearing begins to look like a cathedral. Tall thick tree-trunks reach upwards like columns, and heavy branches curve overhead in pointed arches…the fetishers circle round, with wild haggard faces of men in a kind of trance. They have snatched this music out of the very earth, from the rocks, the hideous vegetation and creatures of the bush, a music that only conveys man’s primordial fear. —Gaisseau, The Sacred Forest

Groves in Western Civilization In the beginning, much was sacred to the Mother Goddess—caves, groves, lakes, mountain peaks. In Classical times, her archetypes Artemis and Diana were goddesses of the woodlands. “[Diana’s] sanctuaries were commonly in groves, indeed every grove was sacred to her, and she is often associated with the forest god Sylvanus in dedications” (Frazer, p. 162). But Diana and Artemis were not just goddesses of woods and groves but of fertility as well. Nemi, an oak grove sacred to Diana comes from the word Nemus, Latin for grove or woodland glade. The priest of Nemi, who is an alter-ego of the god Virbius, represents Diana’s lover and King of the Wood.

Frazer concludes that “the King of the Wood, whose life was bound up in a fashion with oak, personified no less a deity than Jupiter himself…It is not impossible that the King of the Wood, who guarded the sacred oak a little lower down the mountain, was the lawful successor and representative of this ancient line of the Silvii or Woods” (Frazer, 189-190). The major theme of Frazer’s compendium of religious and magic practices, The Golden Bough, is the curious rites at Nemi that call for the old Priest of the grove, the King of the Wood, to be killed by his successor (see Gellner 1995 for a description of the academic feuds on this point). These rites bring together male and female, chaos and order, struggle and submission, compassion and cruelty, fertility and death. Thus they illustrate the themes that resonate with humans in their relations with nature, both their own natures and the nature “external” to them.

Among the Germans, the grove was the center of their whole religion. Tacitus wrote “it is regarded as the cradle of the race and the dwelling place of the supreme god to whom all things are subject to obedience” (in Harrison, p. 164). Grimm deduced from the Teutonic word for temple that the oldest sanctuaries were natural woods. “Sacred groves were common among the ancient Germans, and tree-worship is hardly extinct among their descendents at the present day,” says Frazer (p. 127).

Rain and water are highlighted: “trees or tree-sprites are believed to give rain and sunshine. When the missionary Jerome of Prague was persuading the heathen Lithuanians to fell their sacred groves, a multitude of women besought the Prince of Lithuania to stop him, saying that with the woods he was destroying the house of god from which they had been wont to get rain and sunshine” (Frazer p. 135). Aburrow (1994: 79) points out that ancient groves consisted of a focal point of a sacred tree, frequently also a well or spring and a shrine to house sacred objects. They could also be sited near ore deposits such as those on the River Severn near Lydney in the Forest of Dean in Britain, which was exploited in pre-Roman times and later by the Romans. Roman temples often replaced Celtic groves and the Celtic gods merged into Roman ones.

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Clearing the forests laid the foundations of civilization. “The wider the circle of the clearing, the more the center is nowhere, the more the logos becomes reflective, abstract, universalistic, in essence ironic” (Harrison, p. 245). It also meant an eventual end to polytheism as the vastness of the sky became visible, subsuming all other powers. Indeed, it was visible for millennia among pastoral peoples living in the desert, unlike those within the forest. The Bible ordered “Though shalt not plant thee a grove of trees near unto the Altar of the Lord” (Deut. 16: 21). After all Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden and we are not allowed to return until we enter Paradise. Mystical Christians however continued to find inspiration in woods—the cross of Jesus as a tree of life, the forest as a place of renunciation, the world tree as a source of salvation, Anne (mother of the Virgin Mary) sitting under a laurel tree (Aburrow 1994: 93).

In Medieval times, the forest grew back significantly but it came to have another social meaning. No longer did it represent the commons, but the body of the king—he that kills the savage beast and becomes the only predator. William the Conqueror afforested large regions of England, displacing many villages, in order to create royal forests (Harrison, p. 62).

Lynn White believes that “the whole concept of the sacred grove is alien to the ethos of the West. For nearly two millennia we have been chopping down sacred groves, which are idolatrous, because they assume spirit in nature.” Is the alleged assault on groves part of the move toward “scientific management” and rationalization of nature in the West?

It is much more complex than that. Forests are not easy places to inhabit. Cultures all over the world, with the exception of true “forest people,” such as the Baka or Mbuti in central Africa, fear forests even as they appreciate their value. Forests are where the spirits live although in truth these spirits are not natural but human in origin. Humans turn into animals and inhabit trees and wild spaces in order to carry out sorcery against other humans. Gods, nymphs and sprites are reflections of social divisions and tensions. They survive in Christianity as saints, demons and angels. While Protestantism dealt a heavy blow to naturalistic religion, it is still alive and well within syncretic Catholicism as can be seen in any bodega in New York City. And even in Protestant Europe the arboreal heritage lives on, as discussed below.

Sacred Groves in India “We have here two extreme phases of Hindu worship, one of primordial formless spirits abstracted from nature, permeating the grove and approachable without the medium of priesthood. The other, considered to be supreme god, visualized in human form and with all natural forces under his control. To the lay worshipper he is inside fortified temples, guarded by a strong priesthood and with elaborate ritualism involved in the worship” (Chandran and Gadgil).

Thus the animism of the forest peoples of India is being slowly transformed to orthodox Hinduism within sacred groves. If Frazer is to be believed, this parallels the evolution of belief in European culture, as forest spirits became gods of the pantheon through conquest and assimilation. Another parallel is the representation of the feminine in sacred groves in India and Europe. Tree worship is feminine and sacred groves are home to the goddesses (Chandrakanth and Romm (1991).

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Figure 3: The Sacred Grove at Sagdara, Maharashtra (Nipunage et al. 1988). Note protection of watershed—female/fecund shape of grove within the valley. (Removed for email transmission.)

In Uttara Kannada, each sacred grove has one or two deities: “indistinct beings represented by vacant spots” (Chandran and Gadgil). The Brahmana say that these deities are bloodthirsty goblins but the laity venerate them as parental figures—there is typically a male and female deity. The serpent is worshipped in some locations as are the panther and tiger. Some deities are represented by termite hills or rocks. Termite hills and snakes are often associated.

The sacred deity of groves in summits or hills in Tamil Nadu is often associated with Murukan, a hunter, with this trident. He and others may go back to ancient folk deities inhabiting forests and mountains. Many of the deities are associated with water sources. The deities are considered as guardians of crops and animals and are propitiated periodically. The idol formerly represented by a piece of rock now has an anthropomorphic shape.

The forest people are being progressively Hinduized or Brahmanized, and are now inviting Brahmana priests to worship near their major sacred grove. Inside this grove however are formless spirits without any icons. Burman (1996) also documents this trend for Maharashtra. Groves and trees give way to temples as the economic situation of the people improves. Even in some cases, plantations and housing developments are displacing sacred groves. “Our gods, alienated from the elements of nature, are getting locked up in temple complexes which have turned out to be places of elaborate ritualism,” say Chandran and Gadgil.

Many groves were wiped out earlier. During the colonial era, after 1865, all forests, including the sacred groves and shifting cultivation fallows, became state property. While numerous groves remained largely undisturbed in the Western Ghats and the northeastern States, almost all were expunged in Bihar, Bengal and Orissa. Now many groves persist in denuded and even desertified landscapes (Ramakrishnan 1996).

The African Sacred Forest Boys and girls initiated in sacred groves in Africa may live there for weeks undergoing teaching and ordeals during the liminal period between child and adulthood. Echoing the role of Diana, infertile women in the Congo will return to the sacred forest to undergo the purifying rite of zebola. Both danger and healing are associated with the sacred forest—the closer the healer to the forest, the more efficacious are her or his treatments, but also the harder to reach. The true forest healers do not accept payment but pick and choose whom they will accept to heal.

As in India, the association of the grove with water is strong. Gaisseau (1954: 122) describes how the initiation ceremony among the Toma is “a kind of baptism which takes place in the forest precincts…the boy takes a purification bath in the stream, lying in the water with his head toward the source.” There is a waterfall in the sacred forest that drowns the cries of the initiates. Another interesting feature is the “gate” to the sacred forest that separates it from the profane world. Exiting the gate, which is a narrow hole in the understory, is a rebirth for the initiates. Thus the sacred forest is a womb that creates not the physical being but the social person.

Today African sacred groves are neglected in many locations while they persist in others. In 1986, paddling down the Congo River, my Topoke guide pointed out a patch of forest on the bank. “That was our sacred forest where our youths went to be initiated,” he told me. “Do you

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go there still?” I asked. “Not since the Catholic church forbade the practice in the time of my father,” he replied.

Augustine Muam Chi describes the institution of Quifor among the Bafut of Western Cameroon. Quifor is first a custodian of culture, norms and traditions but “conservation of forest has from time immemorial been rooted in African’s spiritual world-view…[belief in the supernatural] creates respect for nature; reverence for mountains, forest, animals and rivers. It explains why certain places are revered, certain activities taboo, certain rivers and forest worshipped.” Building on this tradition, the Bafut leadership instituted the Bafut Botanical Garden Project, which is sited on the traditional sacred grove. It is also to become a tourist destination and to that end has set up medicinal plant gardens, rock and waterfall gardens and areas of indigenous species. The project is to manage not only this site, but also three other sacred groves and patches of forest.

The BaAka pygmy peoples’ cosmology represents an integration of the social and spiritual with management. People living in the forest are guests of the spirits and the spirit ancestors who are the true inhabitants and owners of the forest. Activities that seek to appropriate resources— honey for example—require spirit participation. Zengui (the forest spirit) oversees people’s use of the forest, temporary or more permanent. Zengui has a coercive and moral power over all relations between people and the forest. Rituals for soliciting Zengui’s protection are still common among the BaAka (Brown 2001).

Chi argues persuasively that these practices regarding sacred forests are alive and well despite “modernization” and that they are much more effective than projects initiated by the state and donors. Others, particularly trained foresters and wildlife biologists, are skeptical.

Figure 4: Sacred cacao grove. Source: Gomez-Pompa et al., p. 252. (Removed for email transmission)

The Sacred Cacao Groves of the Maya The film Chocolat portrayed the mystical powers of chocolate from the ancient Mesomerican peoples to engender fertility, and chaos. Bishop Diego de Landa wrote in 1566 that the Maya “have sacred groves where they cultivate certain trees, like cacao” (in Gomez-Pompa et al., p 250). Cacao was a highly valued crop whose seeds were used as currency. A dozen years ago, remnants of sacred groves of cacao and other valuable trees were discovered in sinkholes in the state of Yucatán (Gomez-Pompa et al. 1990. The grove is recreated in the drawing above.

God K, the God of the Ornamented Nose, a patron of elite lineages and rulers with cacao pods among the Maya, is associated in iconography with cacao pods in a fixed location—waterholes and the principle water resources of the northern Yucatán. One image shows a lord grasping a cacao tree standing on an oversized crab (a symbol of the presence of water).

Spirit in Sum Is the era of the gods of the grove at an end? They have undergone transformation since the dawn of time, as forest is cleared, “civilization” advances, and local knowledge is lost. Below we examine incarnations and avatars in our own time and place. Harrison (p. 178) believes that “the gods are present wherever human estrangement has made an abode for itself on earth.” We may conclude that they are still needed to remind us of where our water and our fertility emerge.

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Symbol Nature is a temple where living pillars Sometimes let out confused words. Man passes there through forests of symbols Which observe him with a familiar gaze. —Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal

Harrison (1992: 179) declares, “nature is a temple because it preserves within its forestal enclosure the original familiarity that makes analogies between different things possible.” At first reading, this sentence is confusing. But in fact it defines our theme perfectly. Groves are the locations that juxtapose humanity and nature in space and form. They represent our dual nature—beast and angel.

Remnants of the grove and its function are found in symbols such as the wedding canopy, the scouting trip to the woods, and the Christmas tree. Today is a particularly auspicious day to present this paper because it is May Day. The Maypole represents a tree—and perhaps that in itself a symbol of the phallus—in the sacred grove and the dancers around the pole the young initiates. It is a symbol of the fertility that touches the earth at this time of year. Frazer quotes the puritanical Philip Stubbs describing how they used to bring in the Maypole in the days of Good Queen Bess: Against May, Whitsonday, or other time, all the yung men and maides, olde men and wives, run gadding over night into the woods, groves, hils, and mountains, where they spend all the nigh in plesant pastimes; and in the morning they return, bringing with them birch and branches of trees to deck their assemblies withall...there is a great Lord present amongst them, as superintendent and Lord over their pastimes and sports, namely Sathan, the prince of hel…But the cheifest jewel they bring from thence is their Maypole, which they bring home with great veneration. And thus being reared up, with handkercheefs and flags hovering on the top, they straw the ground round about, binde green boughes about it, set up summer haules, bowers, and arbors hard by it. And the fall they to daunce about it, like as the heathen people did…of the fortie, threescore or a hundred maides going to the wood over night, there have scaresly the third part of them returned home again undefiled.

Like all symbols, groves are manipulated and shaped by dominant cultural meanings. Bohemian Grove in San Francisco is a place where powerful men can play. There, deculturalization and commdification transform the concept of the grove from fertility to abandon by taking one salable aspect—“sex” for the pleasure of men—and leaving the rest: the biodiversity, mystery, social solidarity, community. Dionysius wins out over Diana.

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Within Wiccan and neopagan groups, grove symbolism infers closeness to the secrets of nature, which sets the group apart from mainstream religions. Membership in an occult group is a way to protest the hierarchy without having to challenge power relations overtly—African villagers have practiced this art for millennia. The grove in neopagan images connotes secrecy, perhaps a bit of menace, a shadow of civilization that is nevertheless potent.

Claiming the Space is a spell that prepares the ritual area for magical work

East In the name of the Lady of Light, and in my own name, I claim this circle as a place of Men. Let all who enter be bound to speak, and hear the Truth. So mote it be.

West In the name of the Sacred King, and in my own name, I claim this circle as a place of Women. Let all who enter be bound by Perfect Love and Trust. So mote it be.

South In the name of the Lord of the Greenwood, and in my own name, I claim this circle as a place of Nature. Let all who enter be bound to the Sacred Web of Life. So mote it be.

North In the name of the Queen of Heaven, and in my own name, I claim this circle as Sacred Space. Let all who enter be opened to the presence of the God and Goddess. So mote it be.

—From the Fellowship of the Sacred Grove Web site

Associated with abandon and decadence, the grove is also a symbol of virtue, as in the tale of Vidyutprabha who in saving a snake was granted a grove to protect her and her flock. When the King was passing, the noise of his accoutrements startled her and she fled. The grove followed her and this so entranced the King that he ended up marrying her (Devagupta 2001). Another potent virtue symbol associated with the grove is the legend of Robin Hood. This Western archetype is associated with mercy and community but also with chaos and disorder. Living in the green wood, he flaunts convention. His relationship with Maid Marian echoes that of Diana and her consort, the King of the Wood.

The Living Heritage Trust of Sri Lanka selling its sacred grove project on the Internet to potential donors knows that the grove is a potent symbol likely to invoke emotions, and contributions. It attracts us with an alternative vision of the world, one in which we repair the earth rather than destroying it. The images of robed pilgrims and holy places invoke a world of piety and community service.

These stories resonate. The term sacred grove may in fact have its origin in nature parks and preserves of nineteenth century US, a time when landscape architects and horticulturalists were recreating nature and landscapes according to a new more “natural” aesthetic. Many elegant homesteads were landscaped with shady groves and temples on their grounds. Tales of Robin Hood, Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, the Arabian Nights, and Just-so-Stories filled the ears of eager young children. As their physical space began to deteriorate with industrialization, their imaginations soared. We call this “the invention of tradition.” “Only when the garden of the imagination is properly tended can we glimpse the higher realm of the imaginal,” remarks Richard Smoley (2001). Perhaps the symbol of the grove must be pruned. Its multiple meanings

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have weakened its potency and our wanderings in it may weaken our ability to discern myth from science.

Strategy In 1997, UNESCO created a new category of World Heritage Site—the cultural landscape (UNESCO 1997). Included in the subcategory of “organically evolved locales” are sacred landscapes such as the sacred groves of Ghana. No other sacred groves were mentioned but other sacred sites such as Uluru in Australia and Tongariro in New Zealand link natural features to cultural identity. UNESCO recognizes that these sites, a blend of human and natural forces, “enriches and humanizes life the world over.”

Sacred groves have also become part of major conservation organization and government planning in India and to a smaller extent in Africa. World Wide fund for Nature/India features sacred groves prominently on its Web site, including a large section on activities in religion and conservation that involves sacred grove projects. But on closer inspection, some of the projects seem to have little to do with the sacred. For example, the press release on religion and conservation noted that “Dr. Shivmurti… spoke of the achievements in Karnataka, where 3,500 toilets had been built in three talukas. Other successful projects by his religious group were in the area of land development and women’s welfare.” Another voice in the press release spoke of “American arrogance…the capitalistic style of development is anti-God. Mahatma Gandhi’s world is being turned upside down.” Sacred groves and a “religious approach” to environment then become a political weapon in the fight against imperialism. One wonders if “faith-based” environmentalism will emerge in the United States.

Gomez-Pompa et al. (1990: 255) believes that the discovery of Mayan sacred cacao groves “provides another alternative to conservation of tropical biodiversity—conservation of small forest patches by local rural communities. By these methods, ancient and modern Maya have preserved germplasm that could prove useful for the genetic improvement and protection of one of the world’s most important forest products, cacao.”

How can groves function in today’s world of landscape ecology and ecosystem management? Are sacred groves large enough as patches—can they be? Are traditional management techniques adequate to meet the threats of the modern era? Many scientists have begun to consider these questions as descriptions of sacred groves come to light (Chandran and Gadgil, Chandrakanth and Romm 1991, Decher 1997). Perhaps the larger we need, or wish, to scale up conservation planning, the more removed we become from the sacred, at least as it is embodied in place.

Apffel-Marglin (1998) concludes from the study of sacred groves that a protected area model is not appropriate: “the wilderness is a world in which humanity is involved. Excluding people from natural areas in order to preserve these lands is a recent idea imported from the West; it has not worked well in India and the rest of tropical Asia…More biodiversity preserves and more nature and wildlife parks cannot be an answer either in India or anywhere else.”

Yet examples of scaling up exist. Silent Valley National Park in Kerala was established because it was deemed sacred by local people. Vana Degula, a garden based on sacred use of plants, was established in Sri Lanka, after there was a threat to replace forests with eucalypts. Despite the promise of sacred groves for conservation, there can be very sharp boundaries between the grove and the encircling denuded landscape. Chadrakanth and Romm (1991) find that there is simultaneous decimation of the nation’s forests and preservation of local forests with religious value, commonly in the same place by the same people.

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On a much more intimate scale, there is now a drive to turn cemeteries into groves and create memorial groves to replace cold headstones. In Africa and elsewhere, groves are the homes of ancestors. The memorial grove movement is particularly strong in Britain, where neopagan, Celtic and other cultural traditions thrive. Erik van Lennep of Dartmouth University writes about the Association of Nature Reserve Burial Grounds that networks 25 or so woodland burial grounds in the UK. He paints a highly evocative scene to entice Americans toward this movement: An elderly woman comes to plant hepaticas at the base of a young white oak. Tucking the roots into the dark compost amongst the oaks roots, she lovingly waters them, all the while talking to her husband, to the tree…Further down the slope a young family sites at the base of a grand chestnut, amidst a scattering of smaller chestnut trees and tells stories about the relatives and ancestors whose bodies now feed the trees where they have spread their blankets. In a ravine, a stand of great white pines is planted to hold the banks against erosion…Further upslope, a stand of shagbark hickories unfurls its leaflets like a bronzy green haze amidst the stout twiggy branches. A sign at the entrance reads, “We are all but compost for future lives. The cycle alone endures.”

Van Lennep concludes that one of the few forces allowed to retain some mystery, and therefore able to command some respect, is death. Memorial groves represent “the future sacred grove [which] will be created by concern for damaged lands, climate stabilisation, increased old growth habitat, and new recreation lands. The use of the sacred grove as both an expression and as a concept is powerful. By connecting people with a positive image of the cycles of Life, the ensuing generations will grow to respect both forests and ancestors in a manner not seen for many western generations” (van Lennep, date unknown).

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. —Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

Scenarios Harrison pointed how the clearing of forest led to reflective, abstract and universalistic thinking— ultimately, science. Frazer shows how the grove was represented as backward, wild and chaotic by Puritans and other reformers despite their history as fonts of fertility and healing. Conservationists are focusing on the value of the grove for biodiversity, while traditional cultures see groves as representing their social identity and permanence, even as they adapt them to tourists. Feminist neopagans turn to the female symbols of the grove as signs of the ancient power of women. Activists focus on the symbolic value of sacred trees and groves (see Rival 1998). Westerners are turning to groves to reclaim their lost ancestries and the ancient trees that brought unity to their cultures.

The ubiquity of the grove and its commonalities—the presence of powerful gods and goddesses, taboos on exploitation, protection of water sources, links to ancestors, storage of germplasm— indicate that maintaining groves is a highly adaptive cultural trait. The grove does not require the intensive care of a garden but it is not lost in the forest; it retains its cultural distinctness while also retaining nature’s value. Somewhere between individual ownership and wilderness, it represents the spirit of a clan or community—its continuity. Like the Indian maiden Vidyutprabha and her grove, the grove moves with the community; they are inseparable.

Imagine that your family, your community could not be separated from its biodiversity and water source. Degradation of your grove leads to death. Look out your window and envision where you would start to recreate a system like that. Would you want to? It is a harsher reality than the

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fantasy of groves that permeates the Internet, where hooded figures gather in the dawn light of suburban townships to worship trees.

Can you take the god, the goddess, the spirit out of the grove and still retain it? A similar question was posed to me concerning ethnobiology by Gary Martin of the People and Plants program of WWF, who fears that the field has become too focused on collecting remedies and finding economic uses of species. Without the values and beliefs that frame the taxonomy, he told me, the system loses internal consistency and becomes another laundry list of species. Sacred groves are embedded in spirit for good reason—spirit instills respect and fear. The king’s game warden of Medieval times had the same purpose, as does the modern-day park guard and forest warden. Do communities have the internal consistency to take back the power of protecting biodiversity from the state? It is an awesome responsibility.

The grove is not likely to be the answer to all our conservation problems. But it may serve an exceedingly important psychological function in starting to mend the wounds that humans experience in the sharp separation from nature. Renewing and recreating sacred groves within communities could be a step towards understanding the intimate connections between human identity, community and natural processes. We cannot take the mystery out of the grove because indeed nature is wild and chaotic, untamable.

One of the most profound feelings of childhood is the mystery of nature. As I write this paper, I recapture some of the sensations I experienced sitting in my sacred grove as a child: the feel of bark, the divine shape of twig and leaf, the smell of green, the sensation of mossy carpet, the song of rivulet. I wonder if Father Divine is still there, in spirit, watching over the children of the housing development, and if there is forest enough for them to see him. Let us leave behind all the debate over the meaning of the grove. Now it gets personal. We come to find that we need the grove as a space to articulate the natural and human—an intimate wilderness to roam and gently shape.

When we find this grove, we are home.

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References Aburrow, Y. 1994. The sacred grove: Mysteries of the forest. UK: Capall Bann Publishing.

Apffel-Marglin. 1998. Secularism, unicity [sic] and diversity: The case of Haracandi’s grove. Contributions to Indian Sociology 32/2: 2: 17-235.

Brown, M. 2001. Local forest management in the Congo Basin. Draft briefing sheet prepared for the Central African Regional Program on the Environment.

Burman JJR 1996. Syncretic groves and forests. Eastern Anthropologist 51/4: 373-381.

Chandrakanth, MG and J Romm. 1991. Sacred forests, secular forest policies, and people’s actions. Natural Resources Journal 31: 741-756.

Chandran, MDS and M Gadgil. Date unknown. Sacred groves and sacred trees of Uttara Kannada. Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts, New Delhi. On www.igna.nic.in/cd_08009.htm

Chi, Augustine Muam. Date unknown. Co-Management of Forest in Cameroon: The compatibility of government policies with indigenous practices. PhD dissertation, University of Twente, Netherlands.

Deb, D, K Deuiti, and KC Malhotra. 1997. Sacred grove sites as bird refugia. Centre for Interdisciplinary Studies Current Science 73/10: 815-817.

Decher, J. 1997. Conservation, small mammals, and the future of sacred groves in West Africa. Biodiversity and Conservation 6: 1007-1026.

Devagupta, R. 2001. The magical grove. Parabola: Myth, tradition and the search for meaning. Spring 2001 Special Edition: The Garden.

Dorm, AC, O Ampadu-Agyei and PG Veit. 1991. Religious beliefs and environmental protection: The Malshegu sacred grove in northern Ghana. Washington DC: World Resources Institute and African Centre for Technology Studies.

Fellowship of the Sacred Grove Web site: www.vais.net/phoenix/sacredgrove/welcome.html See also Order of the Sacred Grove: www.orderofthesacredgrove.com

Ferguson, M., M J Salter and J Stallworthy. 1970. The Norton anthology of poetry. New York: WW Norton and Co. All poems are from this volume.

Gellner, E. 1995. Anthropology and politics: Revolutions in the sacred grove. Oxford and Cambridge MA: Blackwell Publishers.

Gomez-Pompa, A, JS Flores and MA Fernandez. 1990. The sacred cacao groves of the Maya.

Latin American Antiquity 1/3: 247-257.

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Frazer, JG. 1963 [1922] The golden bough: A study in magic and religion. New York: The Macmillan Company (paperback edition).

Gaisseau, PD 1954. The sacred forest: The fetishist and magic rites of the Toma. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson.

Harrison, RP 1992. Forests: The shadow of civilization. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Khiewtam, RS and PS Ramakrishnan 1993. Litter and fine root dynamics of a relict sacred grove forest at Cherrapunji in north-east India. Forest Ecology and Management 60/3-4: 327-344.

Kudumbigala Heritage Trust Web site: http://xlweb.com/heritage/skanda.ht.htm

Malhotra, KS, S Stanley, NS Herman and K Das. 2000. Biodiversity conservation and ethics: Sacred groves and pools. In Bioethics in Asia edited by N Fujiki and DRJ Macer; Eurobios Ethics Institute.

Nipunge, DS, MS Kumbhojkar and VD Vartak. 1988. Studies on sacred groves of Maharashtra Part 1: Observations on Sagdara Grove in Pune District. Indian Journal of Forestry 11/4: 282- 286.

Pandey, DN, 2001. Sacred forestry in Rajasthan. Sent to Indigenous Knowledge listserve in 2001. (Pandey of the Indian Forest Service is at [email protected])

Ramakrishnan, PS 1996. Conservation the sacred: From species to landscapes. Nature and Resources 32/1: 11-19.

Rival, L. 1998. Trees, from symbols of life and regeneration of political artefacts. In Rival (ed.) The social life of trees. Oxford: Berg Publishing

Smoley, R. 2001. Cultivating the field of images: exorcising the phantasms of the uncontrolled mind. Parabola: Myth, tradition and the search for meaning. Spring 2001 Special Edition: The Garden.

UNESCO Courier 09/01/97: Cultural Landscapes.

Van Lennep, E. Death: A return to the sacred grove. www.globalideasbank.org/creend/CRE- 23.HTML

World Wide Fund for Nature/India Web site: http://index.nic/in/wwf

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ENDNOTES

Constituencies and ecosystems in DRC i It might seem like there are insurmountable barriers to collaboration, but there were some hopeful signs. The Zoological Society of Milwaukee, which concentrates on research and conservation of the bonobo (formerly the pygmy chimpanzee) teamed up with the Congolese Baptist Church and a local comic-book publisher to put together a booklet for schools in the bonobo habitat area. This collaboration remains heavily weighted toward the concerns of external constituencies, however, as it is not known what the communities in the bonobo habitat area might want or need. ii CARPE is a consortium of several major conservation organizations and US Government Agencies (www.carpe.umd.edu) with advisors such as David Wilkie, a bushmeat expert, who help shape allocation of the $3 million a year budget. iii (300 x 100 (haàkm2) x 1.1 million) or 16.5 Pg, (33 billion MT/ ½ x 1,000,000 (MTàgrams) =16, 500,000,000,000,000 or 16.5 x 1015) iv During the colonial era, a railroad was built to carry goods from Stanley Pool, the last navigable downriver port, to Matadi on the coast. Upriver, Kisangani is the last navigable port, and a railroad was built to connect it with the rich agricultural and mining areas of Kivu and Katanga. v Other high-profile economic options include expanding and rehabilitating smallholder coffee plantations, expanding and intensifying mining operations, and safari/cultural tourism. Expanded food crop cultivation would occur with economic development as well and this could have an important impact on the forest, hence the carbon and hydrological cycle. vi This hydroelectric potential has not been realized because the existing Inga Dam was constructed almost entirely for the purpose of providing energy to the mining areas in Katanga. The electrical lines cross thousands of kilometers from Bas Congo to Katanga without supplying electricity to the population along the way. Indeed, Kananga and Mbuji-Mayi, in the Kasai Provinces, are two of the largest cities in the world with no electricity grid aside from that supplied by diamond mining enterprises. Thus domestic need for energy is huge. vii Damming did not happen with the Inga dam because it relies on the force of the water going through the narrow gorges in Bas Congo. viii Cf. case of World Bank funded dam in Tanzania that threatens the spray toad. ix There was talk a couple of years ago of building a pipeline to provide water to Sudan and perhaps Arab nations but since the one article in a local newspaper I have heard no more talk of this scheme. The impact of such a scheme on the hydrological cycle would need to be assessed. x The population density map in Singh et al. shows clearly that the Kasai river is the most heavily populated area among the Congo River and its tributaries. xi When I asked the opinion of Prof. Repetto on this issue, he scoffed at the WCS argument saying that he could see no economic or environmental benefit to large concessions, given the very slim chance that any company in central Africa would engage in sustainable forestry. xii Remeasurement of the 40 ha plot in the Ituri forest that is scheduled for 2001should give an indication of trends in the central forest area (Hart, pers. comm). xiii Plantations Lever au Congo (PLC) has a 12,000 ha dwarf palm plantation in Province Orientale on 99 year lease but this has perhaps been pillaged by the “rebels” that took over the area in 1998. xiv All figures on the DRC are subject to extreme skepticism. xv WRI’s Global Forest Watch together with NASA/University of Maryland aim to obtain these data within the next year. xvi While the high consumption of bushmeat in the Congo Basin is often remarked upon, it is much less well known that in savanna areas there are huge protein deficits. In the mid-1980s I visited villages in Bandundu province with kwashiorkor rates as high as 40%. Thus the population is desperate for protein. xvii Some argue that this species is good for soil fertility because it produces a lot of biomass quickly while others say that because it crowds out the regeneration of other species until the tree crowns overtop (about six years), it impoverishes the forest soils over time. xviii Intensification and “improved” agriculture took place under coercion in the colonial era but totally disappeared afterwards because low crop prices made investments in labor uneconomic.

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xix Rebecca Hardin (2000) and Tamara Giles-Vernick (2000) argue that the populations in central Africa view protected areas as another form of concession. xx There are reports on climate change in the Congo Basin (from NASA for example) but they are largely interpretations of satellite images. Land use data are extremely poor and the river ecosystem has received little attention. xxi Another question is whether the large amount of fresh water in the DRC acts as a significant carbon sink. xxii Liengola (1999: 5) finds that the population under-estimate the market value of most NWFPs because: NWFPs do not have enough retail outlets (transport is a particular problem); The sector is not particularly profitable; This population has other, more profitable income generating activities; NWFP gathering requires a lot of energy and effort for transportation and conversion; The laws concerning NWFP exploitation are very strict; There are no appropriate conservation techniques; The population has lost its ancestral customs and knowledge of the utilisation of forest natural resources. xxiii Jute sacks were replaced when Bangladeshi sacks were dumped on the market and also because the manufacturers were not able to get to the areas in the countryside where jute is produced. xxiv Research on non-timber forest products has been sponsored by IITA, CIFOR, Afrirattan, Limbe Botanical Garden (LBG), US Forest Service through the Central African Regional Program on the Environment (CARPE), Forest Peoples Support Project (APFT) based in Belgium and London, Tropenbos, and CIRAD/FORAFRI. US Forest Service cut its NTFP program and FORAFRI is winding down. xxv Wildlife Conservation Society actively collaborates with the logging company, Congolaise Industrielle du Bois, around protected areas in Republic of Congo and feels that this is one the best ways to achieve sustainable management (see Stoll 1992), while others reject this reasoning (see Prof. Repetto’s reaction in endnote ix above). xxvi Interestingly, the Solomon Islanders believed that pigeons were becoming rare because they were “hiding” and not from overhunting. New technologies such as guns, fine mesh fishnets and lights for night fishing and hunting can quickly overdeplete resources before knowledge can catch up.

Rethinking Encroachment xxvii This paper does not attempt to address the question of “are PAs in fact the best way to conserve biodiversity?” xxviii World Wildlife Fund and The Nature Conservancy have adopted “ecoregional-based planning” with an emphasis on maintaining the ranges of top predators and large mammals and minimizing habitat fragmentation. Schwarz 1999:94 discusses the pros and cons of different scales of protection for different conservation objectives, including increasing the area of PAs. xxix See for example Abbot and Mace 1999 on fuelwood gatherers, BCN 1999 on cocoa plantations in Lore Lindu Park in Sulawesi, and Geisler 1993 on squatting in parks. Heinen 1996: 681 discusses how populations around PAs can be differentiated. An example of resettlement in a PA comes from the Democratic Republic of Congo where people where given land in a National Park by Governor of Katanga Province in 1999, wreaking havoc on elephant migration (USAID-DRC Web site: www.info.usaid.gov/congo). xxx For example by choosing younger, educated people who speak English to be guides and paying them above the “daily rate” for community jobs (Russell and Stabile forthcoming). xxxi These projects, called Integrated Conservation and Development Projects (ICDPs) are now out of favor, as perhaps they should be, since they do not provide enough benefits to stop encroachment and typically target the wrong groups. For a comprehensive review of ICDPs see WWF 1997. Localized sustainable development around PAs (e.g, salt industry described in Ortega-Rubio et al. 1998) is not to be discouraged but it is no substitute for economic transformation and political reform on a wider scale. xxxii Barriers to co-management include lack of transparency with respect to finances, cultural barriers with respect to how to use resources and how to monitor species, and institutional barriers such as competing agencies and organizations within one PA. See Zube and Busch 1990 for a survey of attempts at local participation in National Parks around the world. West and Brechin 1991 and Wells and Brandon 1992, among others, review the people-park relationship in depth. xxxiii For the case of Togo, see Lowry and Donahue 1994. The case of Rwanda is more complicated, as the conquering RPF (Rwandan Patriotic Front) resettled Akagera National Park with returnees and their cattle A Year in the Grove 101

from Uganda and other countries. Hence the park was degazetted. On attitudes of local people to specific PAs, see e.g., Newmark et al. 1993 and Raval 1994. xxxiv The local coordinator of the Central African Regional Program on the Environment, N. Tchamou (personal communication) reports for example that guards of PAs in Cameroon routine use them as personal hunting grounds. xxxv The Burns et al. paper was not focusing on PAs but on deforestation. Nevertheless, they are looking at encroachment into forests and as such their findings should be applicable to PAs. xxxvi “Population-related pressures on protected areas do not necessarily fade away with development and enforcement of reserve boundaries,” Cincotta and Englement argue. They note that impacts are shifted because even it if a particular piece of land is protected it may suffer impacts from development around it. This was also true in the India case described by Khotari et al. 1995. Yet the will to maintain protected areas will depend upon an educated elite and lack of severe social tensions from inequality. xxxvii This is the impression given by conservation science departments at World Wildlife Fund over the last few years for example. xxxviii This research could draw on studies that show that population pressure in itself is not always the prime mover in environmental degradation (Repetto and Holmes1983, Silliman and King 1999) as well as on findings on the relative poverty and marginization of forest dwellers (Peluso 1992, Tsing 1993). “Most residents, whether living within or outside the Park, do not consider the Park to be beneficial. About two-thirds of the respondents believed that neither the Park nor Park employees helped the community. More people living outside the Park believed that ‘the park provides people with new opportunities for employment’ while three-quarters of the residents living within the Park believed that the Park was not providing employment opportunities” (Fiallo and Jacobson 1995: 244). Newmark et al found that local residents in five protected areas in Tanzania held more negative attitudes towards the protected area staff than towards the protected area “The incorporation of people into a park management strategy, however, is not without danger. Problems such as population pressure and overexploitation of resources must be averted in the development of adequate policies for management human populations in protected areas.” P. 247 “In Ecuador, where rural poverty is increasing, the improvement of citizens’ living conditions is crucial for the conservation of its natural resources” p 248. “A strategy to address the human presence within the Park must take care of the specific situations of each community, as is evidenced by the different livelihoods and interactions with the Park administration among the five communities studied.” p. 248 Geisler 1993: in Corcovado national Park in Costa Rica, the tradition of legal squatting on public lands resulted in the protected park status increasing rather than maintaining human population numbers. In other countries, such as the Dominican Republic’s Los Haitises National Park, protected areas attract illegal immigrants. Geisler concludes that, as extraction is permitted in protected areas within poorer countries, immigration by rural poor to such zones may overwhelm conservation efforts. Kothari et al. 1995: 189: “Countless human communities depend on India’s protected areas for their sustenance and livelihood (animal grazing and NTFP gathering).” A1972 Act severely curtails human activity in national parks and sanctuaries. This has led to displacement and relocation, or extinguishing or curtailing rights. Lists several cases of relocation of local people for conservation. In Rajaji National Park in UP “ bitter conflict has developed over the Forest Department’s moves to evict local nomadic pastoralists, the Gujjars. The nearby cities of Dehradun, Haridwar and Rishikesh have expanded around the Park: factories, power lines and army camps have now cut off elephant migrations routes, thus increasing conflicts between animals and people. The state government has scapegoated the Gujjars for overgrazing in the park while industrial expansion, backed by powerful vested interests, continues.” P 191 Thus there is a potential common adversary of Gujjars and Park authorities: urban- industrial economy. “local forest-dwelling communities are denied their traditional rights and access to forest resources in the name of wildlife conservation, while the same areas are being opened up to commercial uses and elite tourism” p 192. Martin 1996: In Biosphere Reserves: “the conservation role had been kept prominent, and the logistical and development roles largely forgotten One criteria for choice of the smaller experimental reserves had been their close association with economic interests and decision-makers in the region” but there had been no public participation relating to any US

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biosphere reserve. P 647. It is widely recognized that many biosphere reserves, in the United State and other countries, were—even if they were representative of biogeographical regions—initially established primarily for political reasons. P 651. Additional sources Marks 1984: 5-6: “the creation of most national parks has incurred restrictions on the rights of local human populations without compensatory actions on the part of the government…Wildlife protection, like other imposed policies, has always carried with it the implications of force, of quasimilitary operations, and of sanctions….for the West to persist in its support of preservationist policies that hold vast acreages of land hostage its myths is to ensure their certain destruction through African needs and perspectives.” Heinen 1996: “Because of the societal heterogeneity imposed by high population densities, different ethnic groups coexisting within relatively small areas, and economic disparities in developing countries, various perverse incentives may cause resource depletion.” The social variables to consider with regard to reserve management are population density, degree of ethnic heterogeneity, and degree of economic disparity. Population density is important because as densities around protected areas increase, there are likely to be heavier pressures to extract resources and law enforcement is likely to be more difficult. P 681. Abbot and Mace 1999: Law enforcement patrols have little effect on wood collection practices.

Land registration xxxix I am using the term land registration here to mean various processes such as titling and formal registration to an individual or family and not the processes whereby common property may be formally recognized as belonging to a social group (such as indigenous people). xl There is an extensive literature on pros and cons of land registration in Africa, especially in Kenya where the government instituted land registration as a policy on the advice of donors. Some of the best analyses are from University of Wisconsin’s Land Tenure Center. If the examples of speculative land registration from Zaire and Cameroon seem extreme, other examples include Indonesia and the Philippines where elites and better-off migrants have taken land from indigenous people for inefficient plantations and timber concessions. xli I observed this phenomenon in Garhwal India at the foot of the Himalayas where farmers were tilling very small and narrow strips of land. Discussions with farmers revealed that there was a lot of land borrowing and leasing and that certain areas of the land (this is a steeply sloped region) were better than others for certain crops. xlii A corollary question is: when individuals have the right to alienate land from common or customary tenure, what do they do with it? Do they invest in timber species that take generations to reach maturity, use it more intensively (cutting down the forest and planting tomatoes as in the area north of Yaoundé Cameroon), lease it to timber companies, or sell it and move to town? Again, these decisions are likely to be shaped by many forces: access to markets, area of land available, options with respect to inputs (e.g., availability or lack of seedlings), internal debates within the land-holding unit (land registration rarely leaves one person fully in charge of the land) and overall condition of the economy. xliii An argument made by, for example, Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS), in their dealings with a large timber concession in northern Republic of Congo. World Resources Institute forest policy experts have disagreed with WCS on this rationale, at least in the context of central Africa. See also ix above. xliv Orstrom 1999 and in other later works looks at nesting of common property institutions, but I hold that the nesting approach can raise transaction costs and confusion level (as in the Kalimantan example above). Also the swift changes to common property systems have to be dealt with. xlv In terms of national accounting, the NRC report notes that “as accounts move further away from the current market boundary line, the quality of the data becomes increasingly suspect and the cost of obtaining the data becomes increasingly large” (NRC 1999: 37). Thus community reports could fill a data gap. xlvi These are just two measures: they also monitor lawn size, chemical use and other development trends. xlvii They also collected comprehensive socioeconomic data, of much higher quality than the national data, on population, savings, debt and use of natural resources.

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Certification xlviii FSC UK claims that “both the environmental management system standards (EMS) of the ISO14000 series and the European Eco-Management and Audit Scheme (EMAS) have been discussed as alternatives to the FSC system. However, this is based on incorrect information. FSC is compatible with EMAS and the ISO14000 series. A number of companies are now using the two systems together: They choose FSC requirements as their target of performance and certification to ISO14000/EMAS to ensure that they have a management system in place to achieve that target. In their environmental management system FSC provides the external, independent performance criteria and provides a product label for consumers. The two systems complement each other to meet the needs of businesses and consumers.” But this complementarily did not come out in the US industry Web sites. xlix British Columbia is where there is hot debate on logging old-growth forests. Current priority issues of COFI with regard to markets are (from their Web site) • reduction of non-tariff trade barriers in all markets • elimination of all wood products tariffs • advocacy of wood usage in Japan • adjustment of discriminatory building codes in Japan • broader acceptance of wood products in Japanese products standards • environmental issues in Europe and other markets • Eurocodes development and implementation in Europe • resolution of plant health issues, particularly related to pinewood nematode concerns in Europe l The timber industry generates many wood and wood product sub-sectors. Certification does not cover the ecological effects of the manufacturing process for products such as pulp and paper. However, end products of certified timber are identified. Other environmental regulations apply to the pulp and paper industry in developed countries but there may be much less regulation of these sub-sectors in developing countries. “[Such a] cradle-to-grave approach…is seen as critical in most consumer-oriented programs, such the European eco-label scheme” (Kiekens 2000). Werner et al. (1999) point out that it is not certain that wood products are better in general for the environment (apart from carbon storage) than other materials. li FSC/UK notes that it “recognises the cost implications per cubic metre wood sold that this entails for small and medium sized properties. For almost two years FSC has been working on finding practicable solutions. In conjunction with the certification bodies it has developed 'group' certification schemes. They are dependent on some consistency between the different properties in terms of management, and some internal monitoring so that the certifiers can inspect only a sample of the sites each year. Ideally, the certificate is issued to an umbrella organisation such as an owners’ or marketing association. Several Group Certifications in the UK and Sweden have already proven that costs for the whole group can be reduced to the level of a single forest certification.” Ham (2000) reports the same situation and solution for South Africa. vi The amount that consumers pay for certified timber may be a good indicator of the perceived value of forests. Perceived value will change with pressure from interest groups and information

Hardwood and Confier Tracheids liv Panshin and De Zeeuw echo Bailey’s caution that the secondary wall model refers primarily to conifer tracheids, but it also applies to many hardwood fibers as well. lv The presence and degree of encrustation in tracheids was related to their distance from the ray parenchyma cells in Sequoia sempervivens and Libocedrus decurrens (in Wheeler 1983: 80). lvi Although not terribly surprising as a photo of margo and torus in C. laevigata appears in Mauseth 1988! lvii Wheeler’s samples of Ulmus and Celtis were direct carbon replicas of tangential and radial surfaces. lviii C. laevigata and C. occidentalis, among the Ulmacae with tori, grow big enough for commercial harvesting and one wonders if the form of their fiber-tracheids have an effect on growth (Wheeler 1983:80).

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