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Failing institutions: the challenge of governing natural resources in Zimbabwe

A field near Chikombedzi devastated by elephants

The much-lauded book, Why Nations Fail, argued that sustained economic progress only occurs when institutions work. This means enforcement of legal rules, clear secure access to land, regulations that are transparent, bureaucracies that function and of course – emerging out of this – a lack of debilitating corruption. In Zimbabwe, these conditions do not hold.

Like all other domains, this applies to natural resource governance, including the co-management of wildlife. Resource governance in Zimbabwe is largely a decentralised function, with local councils being key players, despite overarching legislation and a national environmental management agency. The functioning of local government is therefore crucial, especially around policies aimed at benefit sharing of wildlife and other natural resources that are on state land.

But with local government failing to deliver and institutions failing, can effective, accountable local management of resources and benefit-sharing with communities function? Can CAMPFIRE – the great Zimbabwean experiment centred on the sustainable use of wildlife – be revived?

CAMPFIRE: sharing the benefits of wildlife resources

The pioneering CAMPFIRE programme (Communal Area Management Programme for Indigenous Resources) emerged in mid 1980s (formally launched in 1989) as a solution to the classic conflict between environmental protection (through national parks) and human needs and sustainable use. At the centre was a commitment to benefit sharing from the sustainable harvesting of wild animals – through hunting concessions – when they were killed on communal land, so reducing incessant human-wildlife conflict (see photo).

Revenues from hunting were then shared with local communities so that they too benefited from the parks estate and wildlife that spilled over. It was seen as a win-win solution, with community-based approach hailed as the alternative to ‘fortress conservation’. Conventional approaches had repeatedly failed by often violently excluding local people, who built up resentments to national parks and did not buy into conservation efforts.

In Zimbabwe, the CAMPFIRE programme started very much as a community-based enterprise and the state was barely presented. In places like Mahenye on the edge of Gonarezhou, hunters under the direction of a local official would hand out cash to local people and local leaders. This rather paternalistic model later became institutionalised under the Rural District Councils that were established in the late 1980s.  Councils would then handle CAMPFIRE revenues, investing them in the area through particular local development programmes.

However, of late, this system has become largely non-functional. There are limited payouts due in part to declines in hunting revenue, but in particular due to embedded corruption in the system. Hunters rarely declare their full income, council officials are in on deals and money gets diverted to other projects and people are not happy. Today CAMPFIRE is an example of a failed institution, reflective of a wider malaise in the Zimbabwean state.

When we were in the southeast Lowveld recently, including visiting Gonarezhou national park (see previous two blogs in this series, here and here), talking to hunters, parks officials and local communities, the debate about the future of CAMPFIRE was frequently mentioned. Should it be abandoned, accepting that it doesn’t work, or should there be a concerted investment in rebuilding the institutional mechanisms? Which position is taken very much depends on where people sit in the wider debate and how they interact with the park, hunting concessions and the degree to which they suffer conflicts with wildlife. All agree that CAMPFIRE is not working as it once did.

Those who argue for its abandonment have a vision of a protected park (some would say a return to a ‘fortress’ model) with buffer zones where ‘development’ projects could function. While they claim they are not against hunting, they are not keen on it either and have many complaints against the hunting fraternity in the area. Their view is that local government oversight will never work, as almost inevitably budgets are constrained and, even if not appropriated for private gain, the likelihood of local communities benefiting will be limited as resources will be diverted elsewhere. This was a pattern seen through the 1990s when economic structural adjustment hit state revenues hard and CAMPFIRE payouts dwindled, resulting in much disgruntlement.

Those who are in favour of a revival argue that only with genuine revenues – from hunting, but also tourism – coming to the areas around the parks will the long-term sustainability of the resource be secured. The sort of ‘alternative livelihood’ projects being proposed are not enough, as the benefits are small and uncertain. If communities are seen as genuine ‘shareholders’ in the park and the wider natural resource asset – as the traditional inhabitants of the area – then benefits from high value activities need to be shared for wider development. There are many debates about how this should happen, and a general negativity about the state, including local government, is expressed, but the basic CAMPFIRE principle is one that such actors subscribe to.

Reviving community-based resource management means resuscitating the local state   

I want to argue for the revival of CAMPFIRE (or something equivalent), in the name of both conservation and development. Having recently been in Kenya where no such options are available (in part because of the banning of hunting), the alternatives such as ‘community conservancies’ – more the buffer zone community development option – appear to generate conflict and uncertain benefits.

However, before making the case for a CAMPFIRE revival, we first have to look into what went wrong. It means looking at the sorry tale of the decline of the state – and wider institutional capacity – in Zimbabwe over the last decades. In respect of local government, we can see four phases.

  • At Independence, Zimbabwe inherited the colonial model, with a separation of administration of communal areas (formerly ‘African’ Tribal Trust Lands) from what were the former white, European areas. The focus on communal area development was serious in the early years, with a new cadre of district administrators, many ex-combatants from the liberation war, recently retrained in places like Birmingham in the UK. There was a deep commitment and passion for development and the early ideas around CAMPFIRE emerged in this context. Through a number of experimental initiatives, such as Mahenye, CAMPFIRE gradually grew and became more institutionalised. Commitment, trust, local networks and a sense of doing something different – and proudly Zimbabwean -drove the effort. These were all firm bases for a later institutionalising of a successful model.
  • The colonial anomaly of rural administration was addressed in 1988 through the formation of Rural District Councils, with jurisdiction over both communal areas and the large-scale farms. This potentially offered a larger tax base, boosting the limited revenue that local councils had beyond the subventions from government – such as beer halls and the like. In the districts where wildlife use was possible, CAMPFIRE became an additional and important revenue stream. With major capacity building efforts occurring with local government (from the UK government and others in places like Gokwe), local government took on a new lease of life and professionalism. This was the hey-day of CAMPFIRE as the system moved from an often informal and highly context specific arrangement to one that was more institutionalised. In this period, institutions of the local state seemed to be (largely) working.
  • This gradually changed from 1991, when the government agreed the economic structural adjustment programme with the IMF. The restructuring of the state meant that revenues flowing to local government declined dramatically. Just to cover recurrent costs, many councils diverted any revenues – including those from CAMPFIRE. This meant that dividends paid out to communities declined too, with many commenting on how the system was not supporting local commitments to natural resource management. At the same time, of course, resources linked to national parks declined too, and despite the quasi-privatisation and the creation of the National Parks Authority, things barely improved. With limited poaching controls, commercial poaching increased (particularly following de-mining efforts and the end of the hostilities in Mozambique) and local people were able to use the parks for small-scale hunting and grazing. Hunting operations meanwhile flourished, with high-paying customers enjoying the Zimbabwe experience, but the use of such revenues for benefit-sharing among local communities was very patchy.
  • By the late 1990s, this pattern had become embedded in the functioning of local government. With the economic crisis that has stretched from this period until the present, exacerbated by ‘sanctions’ and continued economic mismanagement by the state (and what some dub the party-military complex), the operation of CAMPFIRE has almost ceased on the ground. The struggle now was not just to cover recurrent costs, but many council officials sought to supplement increasingly unrealistic salaries by corruptly making use of funds. Alleged deals between council officials and hunters on concession terms and bid arrangements have meant that money once destined for CAMPFIRE communities was diverted. Today there is no systematic pattern of payouts and although there may be ‘projects’ funded from government sources, combined with donors and others, these are isolated, not sustained and ineffective. In other words, the core institutional capacities that allowed CAMPFIRE to thrive before have been lost. It is a sorry state of affairs, but a pattern replicated across government.

What are the reasons for this state failure? It is not just greedy venality of government officials – the usual narrative about ‘corruption’ – instead, we have to look deeper, especially if the aim is to revive the state and its functioning. The forced restructuring, the decline of state funds, sanctions affecting aid flows and the lack of accountability and transparency in the system all contribute, and this has accreted now over 30 odd years. There is much petty corruption, widely sanctioned, that is just for survival (you cannot survive off a government salary), but this is small compared to the larger diversion of funds. The problem is that the wider acceptance of taking a little in order to make things happen (and keep people alive) seeps into a broader lack of accountability, allowing the big fish, protected by political patronage, to get away with it.

Rebuilding the state from below

It sounds like a hopeless situation, beyond a solution. Some continue to argue for moving functions of the state to (quasi-)private arrangements hoping for an efficient, technocratic solution. But experience suggests that this does not provide the answer. Rebuilding the state from below will be a slow, difficult process but it is vital, as only the state can provide the forms of accountability and reach that successful resource governance (alongside many other functions) requires. For CAMPFIRE to be revived there has to be capacity to oversee tenders and contracts, offer distributions and regulate wildlife in clear, transparent ways. And this requires trust, representation and accountability mechanisms, alongside broad coverage, which only a state-led system can offer.

The task will not be easy, as the decay has been allowed to persist for so long, but rebuilding state functions is not impossible. Starting small, building on existing relationships, focusing on successful efforts, encouraging participation from the people and rewarding those who make things happen are all requirements. Why not start with the revival of CAMPFIRE, focusing on marginal areas where wildlife resources are rich, such as in the southeast Lowveld near Gonarezhou where it all started? Just maybe this can be an example for the revival of state functioning in Zimbabwe more broadly. Whatever happens in the elections in 2023, this has to be the major challenge for the future.

This blog was written by Ian Scoones and first appeared on Zimbabweland

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The trouble with elephants: why limits on culling are bad for conservation

Elephants are some of the most majestic animals in African savannahs, but they can also be the most destructive. This is witnessed dramatically if you travel to Gonarezhou National Park (appropriately, the ‘place of the elephants’) in the far southeast of Zimbabwe, as we did recently at the kind invitation of Hugo van der Westhuizen, Director of the Gonarezhou Conservation Trust. As we saw, the areas around water sources are completely hammered, with mopane woodlands destroyed. It is a sorry sight, and the elephants must wander further, including outside the park, to find food.

Too many elephants

Elephant populations have increased dramatically in Gonarezhou (as has indeed been the case across Zimbabwe), with the park populations increasing to around 10,000 animals (some say more). This is around three times the maximum number the park can hold sustainably; although as park ecologists argue they spread over much wider areas, including across large areas of Mozambique to the east. Simple ‘carrying capacity’ estimates don’t work well, but you only have to look at the damage in certain parts of the park to see that there is a problem.

Take a look at the three photographs below of mopane trees, taken on our recent trip to the area, and guess where the vegetation is. One is a protected area, part of a massive conservation effort supported by international money; one is a communal (small-scale) African farming area; and one is a resettlement area, settled by small scale farmers following land reform. The full answers are below, but you probably will have guessed already that the most deforested landscape is in the national park. And the reason is elephants.

Overpopulation of elephants can cause multiple problems. Not only is tree cover destroyed but the whole ecosystem is changed, with knock-on effects for other species, from beetles to birds. Blind ‘protection’ of what is supposed to be an endangered species makes little conservation sense. In these areas, elephants are more of a pest than a protected species.

There are so many of them and they are not happy animals – as we found out close-up when they charged our vehicle (twice). They reputedly become more agitated as they return to the safety of the park in Zimbabwe from Mozambique where poaching is intense. Mines from the liberation war existed along the border for a long time, although most have been cleared, but these also caused elephant rage (and death) when stepped on. And the new electric fence that borders the park within Zimbabwe apparently also gets them jumpy, as they break through to find food in the farms beyond.

Elephants destroy crops and livelihoods

As villagers told us in our study areas near Chikombedzi, just a few kilometres from the park, elephants regularly break through the fence (notionally a foot-and-mouth veterinary fence) or come up the dry riverbeds as the fence does not cross or through the small-scale farms nearby where there is no boundary fence with the park.

Elephants love crop fields and will destroy a whole area in hours. The area along the river is where farmers must eke out a living on small fields, farming sorghum and maize or irrigating vegetables. In this extremely dry area, this is the only place where agriculture is feasible, especially when the rains fail as this year. But this is also where elephants (and buffaloes, hippos, crocodiles and other animals) assemble and cause havoc.

Villagers complain that there is no ‘problem animal control’ efforts by the parks authorities these days, and there is no compensation paid in Zimbabwe, as animals in communal areas are the responsibility of the locals, not the parks, as they can be harvested in line with a quota system as part of the now largely defunct CAMPFIRE scheme (as discussed in a forthcoming blog).

We met Mrs KP, who had moved to her fields in this area to protect her crops. Her young children were staying in the village with relatives, but she was alone defending the last of her sorghum from the nightly raids by elephants. After yet another incursion into her field the previous night, there was little left.

She stays in a makeshift shelter and builds fires at night to ward off elephants. She also has a large torch, which she says sometimes worked to frighten them off. It is a lonely and dangerous life, and she was losing the battle. She told us that there were others nearby doing the same, while others had given up, resigning themselves to hunger or hand-outs instead of getting anything from the fields.

Historical estimates of elephant populations in these areas are a bit shaky, but everyone agrees that today’s numbers are the highest ever, at least since records began in 1975 when the park was established. In the past years populations have been growing at 6% per year, although this may be plateauing.

In the past, elephants could move more easily when fences didn’t exist and population densities were lower. The advent of the ‘transfrontier’ conservation ‘peace park’ area between South Africa, Zimbabwe and Mozambique was supposed to encourage ‘connectivity’, and so larger ranges for migratory and larger animals, but there have been limits to this ambition due to poaching, settlement barriers and geopolitics.

Restrictions on culling are causing major ecological damage

So why have elephant populations got so out of control? The major reason is that they are no longer managed as they once were through culling or relocation programmes that helped balance populations with resources. Although Mrs KP is not one of them, there is a clamouring global advocacy on behalf of elephants.

Organisations such as ‘Save the Elephants’ – along with all the major conservation outfits – raise very large amounts of money on the back of the argument that African elephants are endangered and must be protected and that culling  – and worse, hunting for trophies – is inhumane. If your experience of elephants is mostly derived from wildlife TV programmes watched from the comfort of your living room in London or New York, then you can see why such campaigns exist. But this is far from the experience of those living on the edge of Gonarezhou national park, as we discovered.

The result of such lobbying has been a dramatic decline in the ability of ecologists in parks to manage elephants, with devastating consequences as we saw. Currently CITES – the international body that regulates trade in endangered species – only allows for the culling of 500 elephants per year in the whole of Zimbabwe. For Gonarezhou, the quota is only 25. With trophy hunting imports now banned from the UK and elsewhere, the demand for hunting (made worse by the pandemic) has taken a hit too.

In the past, southern Africa was a major hotspot for hunting. However distasteful the practice, the ecological and economic benefits were significant when attention was paid to the distribution of benefits. Hunting revenues – especially from the trophy fee – were large and were (in theory at least) shared with local communities. With quotas carefully designed, the offtake was sustainable and geared to management of the wider ecosystem for conservation and biodiversity benefits.

Poorly conceived bans on trophy imports and hunting therefore are having major negative consequences on conservation in Zimbabwe. The result in Gonarezhou is widespread deforestation and loss of biodiversity. This in turn has dire consequences for poor people’s livelihoods, increasing poverty and hunger in highly marginal places, as elephants continue to ravage their limited subsistence crops.

This is not what CITES planned for, nor I am sure what those who spend their hard-earned cash on conservation organisations would want either. But somehow these perspectives – and the real, tragic situation of the likes of Mrs KP – are not heard in the air-brushed, positive spin of conservation lobbying.

New thinking needed

What then is the likely consequence of this strategy of protection at all costs, banning hunting and trophies and restricting culling? It is not pretty. We have seen what can happen before when elephant populations get out of control: when their food runs out, populations crash, with major consequences for the wider ecology. This is what happened in Tsavo National Park in Kenya in the early 1970s when around 5,000 elephants died of starvation over several years. It took decades for the ecosystem to recover. Without management, this may well happen in Zimbabwe too.

The mass starvation of large, intelligent animals is not a pleasant sight, and not a good look for the outcome of ill-thought out global conservation strategies. This is why new thinking about protected areas – and the role of elephants within and beyond them – is urgently needed, a theme picked up in the next blog in this short series.

The answer to the mopane tree quiz (from left to right): A: Communal area near Chikombedzi, with distinct browse line; B: Gonarezhou National Park near Chipinda Pools; C: Edenvale A1 resettlement area. And apologies to regular readers of this blog for the gap in posts. There are quite a few lined up for the next weeks, based on recent fieldwork in Zimbabwe, including two more in this series on dilemmas for conservation policy.

This blog was written by Ian Scoones and first appeared on Zimbabweland

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What will the inauguration of President Trump bring to Africa?

 trump-photo1

Later this week Donald Trump will be inaugurated as president of the US. There has been much speculation about his foreign policy position, assuming oil industry boss, Rex Tillerson, is confirmed as Secretary of State. An ‘America first’ position will certainly mean a more inward-looking stance, focusing on domestic concerns. Globalisation and compassionate, liberal internationalism will not be on the agenda. The aid agency, USAID, will probably look very different, and preferential trade arrangements, such as under AGOA, will be given short shrift. Gone will be the spreading of ‘good governance’, democracy, the ‘rule of law’ and food security; instead support for US business interests will dominate (although these of course were hardly absent before).

Some have argued that the Trump presidency will see the end of the idea of ‘the West’ – that great post-war alliance of political, commercial and military interests, generated under globalised neoliberal policies, that have helped forge multilateral institutions, trade pacts and environmental/social policy agreements.

Is this all under threat? Somehow I doubt it. No matter the undoubted power of the US presidency there are plenty of other forces at play that will see such alliances hold, even if transformed in their objectives, membership and support. But what is certain is that geopolitics will look different.

At a time when the prospects for the old world order look threatened, and many fear the consequences for global trade, peace and stability, new arrangements will have to be forged. Already, Trump has alarmed the world with connections with Putin’s Russia, by praise for Pakistan, and by engaging directly with Taiwan, as well as threatening commitments to hard-won agreements on trade and climate change. For sure, the status quo is about to be seriously disrupted.

Opportunities for Africa?

For some this may be a positive thing. The meddling in foreign lands by western powers, led by the US, has often been challenged by those arguing for a new post-colonial order, where aid is not seen as a route to imposing liberal, western values. Instead a greater independence and geopolitical and commercial autonomy may open up new avenues. Of course many in Africa, including Zimbabwe, have been ‘looking east’ for both cash and political support. China as the great competing superpower of the twenty first century has many ambitions in Africa. China sees the long game, and is investing in social, cultural, political and economic capital across Africa. Already the US’ standing in Africa looks different, and this will change again.

Yet there may be opportunities for Africa from a new US stance. Despite the belligerent rhetoric, Trump is clearly a well- practised pragmatist, born of his experiences of building his business empire. Working from instinct, direct personal connections and relations are crucial, and high-flown policy is secondary. In many ways, he is more similar to most African presidents than his predecessors, who also share some of his less than liberal views.

Surrounded by family, senior military officials, and with politics firmly linked to business interests, there are striking, if not always positive, similarities. Trump is associated with a different type of political dynasty, far from the more familiar Clinton and Bush version, perhaps more akin to those seen in Africa, where business and politics mix easily. Such family and business connections may be important for Africa, as suggested below.

As African governments have got used to a different type of relationship with the other major superpower, China, new forms of engagement have emerged, very different way to the standard diplomatic and aid connections of western powers. Business is central, geo-political interests are clear, and deals are struck based on often quite personal connections. Just look at how the late Meles Zinawe and of course President Mugabe cultivated China, often to good effect.

Trump’s inconsistent and rare commentaries on Africa reveal little of his policy position. He has called South Africa ‘a mess’ (but few would argue about that), and has challenged President Museveni of Uganda, arguing that he should be locked up for corruption (well he may have a point too). But overall there is little to be gleaned beyond the usual Twitter-led knee-jerk commentary that has characterised Trump to date.

The Zimbabwe connection: sport hunting and golf?

So what are the implications for Zimbabwe? Robert Mugabe in his usual mischievous style has both backed Trump – as a challenger of western liberal hegemony – and castigated him – arguing that Adolf Hitler must be his grandfather! Trump has said that, along with Museveni, he will personally see that he is imprisoned. Beyond the campaign rhetoric and political posturing, Zimbabwe though has more direct and positive connection with Trump, via his sons. This suggests an interesting set of common interests, arising from a slightly bizarre route.

The new US President’s sons – Eric and Donald Jr., now in charge of the Trump business empire – are very fond of Africa, and indeed in 2010 visited Zimbabwe on a high-end trophy hunting trip organised by an exclusive South African company, Hunting Legends. Their time in Matetsi safari area near Hwange was much enjoyed.  During their hunting safari they hunted leopard, elephant, buffalo and waterbuck and more, and paid huge sums in trophy fees, as well as their no doubt luxurious bush accommodation and safari services. A small media storm occurred, with outrage at the horrors of hunting from the usual quarters (check out the photos – you can see why), although it was completely above board.

trump-hunt

So perhaps Zimbabwe can make the connection to Trump through his sons and via the promotion of sport hunting? Trump Senior prefers golf (he has his own golf course in Scotland, but I am told some of Zimbabwe’s are world class), but as a route to promoting US business and African development, sport hunting may be a win-win. Personally I don’t like hunting or golf, and many will no doubt object to the idea that hunting can result in development gains, as in the outraged global reaction to the death of Cecil the lion at the hands of a hapless dentist from Minnesota.

Nevertheless, there are good arguments for the sustainable use of wildlife, and trophy revenues are the ones that usually make it economically profitable, as I argued in a blog on Cecil. So perhaps the relevant ministers need to get on a plane to the US, and be the first in the queue to make the case for Zimbabwe as an investment destination.

Last time the Trump brothers came to Zimbabwe they were escorted by a white-owned South African company; perhaps next time they can engage with a community-led business, with more benefits to local people from the significant fees paid. Perhaps the Save Valley Conservancy can get involved, along with their outreach schemes; and maybe the long-lost ‘wildlife-based land reform’ can be revived, with dividends spilling over to support development in some of the most disadvantaged areas of the country.

Just as diamonds were the platform for Chinese engagement with Zimbabwe (see next week’s blog), perhaps sport hunting could provide the same starting point for new political relations and joint business ventures with the US; although hopefully – but far from guaranteed – without all the murky corrupt, politics that ensue when investments in valuable resources occur in Africa.

This all may be grasping at straws. I suspect so, as the more serious global challenges are more fundamentally about Trump’s challenge to rights, democracy and the global political order. Certainly, we are about to enter a new era, where old rules don’t apply. Thinking out of the box, and developing a new discourse for African engagement with the US will definitely be necessary; and this must start from Friday.

Further reflections of mine from last year: http://steps-centre.org/2016/blog/trump-and-brexit-whats-the-alternative/

This post was written by Ian Scoones and appeared on Zimbabweland

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The political ecology of land and disease in the Zambezi valley

In addition to migration discussed in last week’s blog, the changing politics of land use in the Zambezi valley is another dimension that has affected the incidence of trypanosomiasis over time.

Over the last century, the people of Hurungwe have been subject to numerous external interventions. The Korekore were the original inhabitants of the area, prior to the waves of migration discussed last week. The reasons the Korekore are settled where they are today is a result of the massive engineering project of the Kariba dam, and the creation of the Mana Pools national park in the 1950s and 60s.

Colonial visions of modernity and the need for electricity to supply the growing industries and urban centres of Rhodesia resulted in a major eviction of people who had traditionally made a living along the Zambezi river. Colonial economic imperatives reshaped the landscape, and pushed people into new territories. In the subsequent decades, the Mana Pools area became a significant tourist attraction, generating revenues for the state and for elite ecotourism operators, as well as a symbolic site of ‘wild’ Africa for white residents of Rhodesia.

Surrounding the park a series of hunting/safari areas were established, and particularly after Independence, these became the location for high-end hunting operations. Some of these activities generated some employment for locals, but not much. Ecotourism and hunting was by and large the preserve of a white elite, and money did not find its way back into the local economy.

The Zambezi valley was a major front during Zimbabwe’s liberation war, with frequent incursions of fighters from Zambia and regular battles with the Rhodesian forces. In this period, tsetse control efforts were abandoned, and the fly encroached into once cleared areas. With peace and Independence in 1980, aid programmes supported clearance efforts once again, and the tsetse fly retreated. Combined with migration from other areas of the country (see last week’s blog), and the mid-1980s cotton boom, the habitat for tsetse flies also declined.

But there were countervailing drivers, encouraging an expansion of tsetse habitat too. From the late 1980s, Zimbabwe was at forefront of ‘community-based conservation’ and the CAMPFIRE programme became a world-famous experiment. Revenues from hunting were to go back to the community, and provide much needed support. But CAMPFIRE was premised on generating revenue from animals shot (or sometimes photographed) in the communal areas, where people lived. While providing an economic basis for conserving wildlife, it encouraged wild animals to be closer to people. And since such wildlife are significant hosts of trypanosomiasis, and their habitats the same as those of tsetse fly, the disease consequences of CAMPFIRE were potentially significant.

With the decline in hunting operations with the collapse of the economy and the failure of bankrupt Rural District Councils to share revenues, CAMPFIRE has declined in significance. But there is a new kid on the block, focused not on wildlife, but on carbon. A massively ambitious project – Kariba REDD – was established notionally over thousands of hectares, including in Hurungwe, and in our study area. Making use of international markets for carbon, and linking to the UN REDD programme (Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Forest Degradation in Developing Countries), the project aimed to put a value on carbon, and reverse the decline in forested area across the Zambezi valley.

Through protecting – and indeed expanding – forests against a notional baseline, other values could be marketed, including an expanded trade in ecotourism and wildlife hunting. Like the interventions that went before, carbon is restructuring disease landscapes too. As carbon has acquired value, the project is increasing incentives both the plant and protect trees. These may expand the habitat of tsetse flies, including into the formerly cleared areas.

Understanding disease incidence, spread and risk requires looking at the underlying structural drivers. These are not just the proximate ones of changing climate, habitat, demography and so on, but can be traced back to much deeper causes. Whether these are the factors that drive migration or incentivise investments in hunting or carbon, these can be linked to wider political economy processes. These may often reach to the global political economy; way beyond the confines of the fields and forests of the Zambezi valley.

A political ecology of disease must therefore take these factors into account. Any appraisal of intervention – whether for forest protection, carbon sequestration, wildlife protection or infrastructure development – must look at these wider webs of power and influence. Without looking at the political drivers of disease, we may never understand underlying causes, or define the most appropriate interventions. As the blogs in this series have shown, ‘control’ interventions may miss their target, if wider questions of land access, migration, economic opportunity and the politics of competing land values are not addressed.

The Dynamic Drivers of Disease in Africa work was supported by ESPA (Ecosystem Services for Poverty Alleviation) programme funded by NERC, ESRC and DFID, and the Zimbabwe study was led by Professor Vupenyu Dzingirai (CASS, UZ), working with William Shereni (Ministry of Agriculture), Learnmore Nyakupinda (Ministry of Agriculture), Lindiwe Mangwanya (UZ), Amon Murwira (UZ), Farai Matawa (UZ), Neil Anderson (Edinburgh University) and Ewan McLeod (Edinburgh University), among others.

This post was written by Ian Scoones and appeared on Zimbabweland.

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Cecil the lion: a lens on land, wildlife and elite politics in Zimbabwe

A lion called Cecil from Zimbabwe hit the headlines this week. He had been shot by a dentist from Minnesota as part of a high-end bow hunting trip to Gwaai Conservancy on the edge of Hwange National Park. A huge uproar has been generated. Walter Palmer (the dentist) has been condemned by the general public, politicians, including the UK PM David Cameron, and countless ‘celebrities’. The Zimbabwean government has demanded his extradition for trial alongside the landowner, one Honest Trymore Ndlovu, and the hunting guide, Theo Bronkhorst from Bushman Safaris. Bronkhorst had helped bait the animal and draw it out of the park where it could be killed on private land, apparently though without the appropriate quota. There have been calls for a ban on hunting, tough restrictions on trophy imports and a flood of money being pledged for lion conservation.Cecil-the-lion-ap-640x480

The whole episode is for me a fascinating lens into Zimbabwean land politics, and the relationship between humans and ‘wild’ nature, at the centre of debates about conservation and development. A number of things have struck me while trawling through newspaper articles, social media and other commentary (some of it really weird – just check out #CecilTheLion for a flavour).

First is the relationship between people in the (urban, middle class) west and ‘wild’ Africa, and particularly its charismatic wildlife. The outpouring from everyone from Mia Farrow to Ricky Gervais to Newt Gingrich has imposed a strange anthropomorphism on poor Cecil. He had a name because he was famous for his large black mane. But why Cecil? Surely not linked to the other famous Cecil (John Rhodes) associated with Zimbabwe? Was this the tragic slaying of the imperial master, who had gained dominion over nature and people as the head of the pride? But Cecil also has another side to him. He is also constructed as one more of the cuddly toys – the Disney Lion King image of nature – that are stacked up outside the beleaguered dentist’s surgery. Walter Palmer did not fit in with the conservationist view – hunting and killing for pleasure is regarded widely with disgust, and the massive $50,000 fee seen as indulgent, arrogant extravagance.

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Second, it raises questions about how hunting revenues can contribute to development. From the 1980s, Zimbabwe was at the forefront of an international movement away from a preservationist position on conservation to one that emphasised conservation for development through ‘sustainable utilisation’. Hunting it was argued could be seen as a form of management, as long as careful cull quotas were adhered to (apparently not in this case). Alongside Cecil, many lions (presumably without names) have been killed in the past years as part of regulated quotas. According to Peter Lindsay and colleagues in a 2013 PLOS One article, the annual lion quota for Zimbabwe is 101 across 38,000 square kilometres of hunting area on a mix of land-use types. On average 42.5 lions – less than half the quota – were killed each year between 2008 and 2011, presumably due to the drop in hunting visits to Zimbabwe in recent years. Along with other southern African countries, Zimbabwe pioneered an approach linking game hunting with development, and the famous CAMPFIRE programme from the late 1980s became a flagship, with hunting concessions offered on communal lands nearby parks and safari areas. The revenues raised were quite considerable, especially for the big five. Around 90 per cent of CAMPFIRE revenues were from sport hunting, not other forms of tourism. Funds were ploughed back into development projects with dividends going to both the local community and Rural District Councils. CAMPFIRE did not always work as planned, and there have been many critiques, but the principle of making use of local resources for local development has been widely acknowledged in the region – if not in East Africa where a more preservationist strand of conservation persists.

Third, while for Westerners lions are either Disney style characters in charge on the African plains or potential trophies to show off machismo and hunting prowesss, for many Africans living in areas near national parks, lions are dangerous predators and pests. They kill their stock, and sometimes people too. Last year there were a number of reports of lions terrorising people in the press in Zimbabwe. And no doubt many, many more where they killed livestock. Hunting as pest control is often valued, especially if the benefits are shared locally, and the hunting replaces the inadequate Problem Animal Control operations from the National Parks and Wildlife Agency. Walter Palmer might have been a saviour to some poor villagers, rather than the devil incarnate.

Fourth, the Cecil story exposes some of the racial dimensions of the relationships between wildlife, land and hunting in Zimbabwe. The hunting business has a long pedigree going back to the establishment of hunting blocks in various parts of the country in colonial times. Hunting was always seen as central to the colonial conquest of taming wild Africa. Many white farmers turned their properties over to private game hunting reserves in the 1980s and 90s, sometimes as part of large blocks of land where the fences were removed, called ‘conservancies’ – such as Gwaai in the west, as well as many others, notably the well-known Save Valley conservancy in the southeast. These blocks and conservancies became the playgrounds of a rich, white elite; some local but many international, with Americans and Europeans being regular customers. Unlike the CAMPFIRE arrangements, the benefits from conservancies to surrounding populations were minimal, beyond a few concessionary ‘outreach’ efforts. Grand visions of connecting conservancies with national parks across borders have recently been promoted in the ‘transfrontier parks’ movement, with the wildlife estate extending over massive areas, very often to the exclusion of people and their livelihoods. Conservation – and hunting – has been long associated with white privilege and colonial expansion, and a European construction of landscape as wilderness. Cecil (and the name becomes more appropriate with this lens) is also about issues of race, colonialism and the control over land.

Fifth, the case however also reveals a new elite land politics in Zimbabwe. The extensive game ranches and conservancies were mostly subject to land reform in the early 2000s. Many of the former owners were evicted, along with their safari operations. But these lands, unlike many of the agricultural areas elsewhere in the country, were not handed over to land-hungry peasants or unemployed urbanites, but to elites. For a time there was an argument that conservation areas were not to be part of the land reform, and that a separate wildlife-based land reform would be instituted. This was to be under the control of the Ministry of Environment, and not the Ministry of Lands, and so would guarantee the sanctity of the wildlife estate as a good source of revenue – from hunting, but more especially tourism. However this soon got overridden by politics and many of the conservancy lands and other game farms were allocated as part of A2 (medium to large scale) land reform. And, as with a lot of A2 allocations – and particularly in the conservancies that many assumed to be very lucrative businesses – to well-connected elites. The list of ‘beneficiaries’ of some of these areas reads like a who’s who of the ZANU-PF political-military elite. Wikileaks offered details of who was in the Gwaai area where Cecil was shot, and there are many recognisable names. Honest Trymore Ndlovu was one such beneficiary (a Mugabe ‘land grabber’ in some people’s parlance). The new land owners in search of income from their land have hooked up with white safari operators, some who had formerly operated on the same areas. Some are legit and above board, sadly many are less so – and Bronkhorst it is alleged is one of the less reputable crowd. Wildlife is once again perpetuating a new elite land politics linked to wildlife, excluding wider populations from the benefits. This time it’s with new (black) faces, but with many of the same unsavoury connections of the past, with links between politicians, poachers and hunting business entrepreneurs never far from the surface.

So what should we make of the sad demise of Cecil? Knee-jerk reactions resulting in bans on hunting or trophy imports will not solve anything. Indeed, past bans elsewhere have made things worse, with a rise in poaching, and decline in conservation protection. But while the posturing rhetoric about extraditing an American dentist dominates now, Zimbabweans should look harder at who benefits from wildlife. If revenues are to be generated from hunting quotas (and I am a great supporter of this route to conservation), they should not just benefit a narrow elite – a new pact between white hunters and their safari companies and the new politically-connected black elite, as exposed in the case of Cecil. If Cecil and his other 100 odd fellow lions are to be part of a regulated hunting quota, and so creating a resource for development, then the conservancies and game ranches need to be opened up for wider use to generate broader benefit. Only then will the wildlife assets of the nation be properly shared and the habitats preserved for Cecil and his relatives. Perhaps the outcry over Cecil can result in a proper wildlife based land reform, so such wildlife can benefit everyone, not just elites – black or white.

This post was written by Ian Scoones and first appeared on Zimbabweland

 

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