Re-Introductions and Research Update

Photo by Michael Brinton on Savary Island (Tla’amin territory, I’Hos)

I want to re-introduce myself and my research. Mostly because, after 2-and-some-years, I’m finally starting to be able to articulate what my whole PhD thing is about. And I’m *super* excited.

So hi 👋

I’m Lauren. I’m a human aiming to bring my whole self (and the vulnerability that comes with that) to science outreach, life-in-general, and social media platforms. I’m a conservation scientist, adventure enthusiast, and Ph.D. candidate at the University of Victoria (in British Columbia, Canada) - and I believe in and want to work toward a world of multi-cultural, multi-species flourishing.

My early research experiences around the globe exposed me to the complexities of interrelated social and ecological systems (and all science still has to learn), and motivated me to delve into conservation science that upholds local and Indigenous knowledge and human rights. My M.Sc. work allowed me the opportunity to work as part of an Indigenous-led research project tracking change in marine species through multiple knowledge systems.

As a PhD student, I’ve had the massive challenge and super adventure of expanding what I learned and building it into what will be a five(!) year project. Basically - all of my PhD work focuses on conflicts surrounding conservation (or “conservation conflict”). I’m analyzing these conflicts (and seeking solutions) across scales and knowledge types in Canada.

My PhD research looks into conflict that occurs at the policy level (between Indigenous knowledge and Canadian Environmental Policy), between people in B.C. regarding how to manage endangered wildlife, and between humans and black bears in coastal B.C. This diversity of case studies means I get to rely on a ton of diverse scholarship and disciplines - social psychology, ecology, social-ecological systems theory (to name a few) - and hopefully walk away with new insights into conflict and how to transform it.

I’m SO STOKED for forthcoming data collections and this (Spring’s!) field season.

Indigenous Knowledge and Environmental Assessment: New research reveals obstacles to equitable engagement in Canada

The following is a press release released by The University of Victoria and Raincoast Conservation Foundation February 13, 2020.

Against a backdrop of British Columbia’s recent consideration of UNDRIP into legislation, and visible conflict between Canada and Indigenous Nations/hereditary leaders over pipeline development (e.g. Coastal Gas Link and Trans Mountain projects), a new peer-reviewed analysis of Canada’s recently passed Bill 69 (now the Impact Assessment Act) in the journal FACETS details how federal decision-making processes are ‘inherently at odds’ with authentically engaging Indigenous Knowledge (IK).

“Indigenous knowledge systems are extensive, complex, and deeply rooted in the land. Canada’s environmental assessment processes must engage with Indigenous Knowledge,” said co-author Nick XEMŦOLTW̱ Claxton, Assistant Professor at the University of Victoria, and elected Chief of the Tsawout Nation. For Dr. Claxton, who represented Tsawout Knowledge Holders in federal environmental assessment processes related to proposed Northern Gateway and Trans Mountain pipelines, this work also included recounting of professional and personal experience as he faced federally-appointed panel-members.

Infographic: Obstacles and limitations to engaging Indigenous knowledge in federal environmental assessment processes equitably and authentically.

Lauren Eckert, Raincoast Conservation Foundation Fellow and Vanier Scholar, University of Victoria (UVic) PhD candidate, and lead author of the study, added: “Environmental Assessment processes have the potential to generate environmentally-sound, socially-equitable decisions across Canada. But without fundamental shifts in the way current policy relates to, engages, and recognizes the rights of Indigenous peoples and their knowledge, outcomes may continue to lead to conflict between federal and Indigenous governments.”

The review concludes by acknowledging the growing list of environmental assessments in Canada that were led by Indigenous Nations themselves, citing these and collaborative environmental assessment efforts as potential ways forward.

“Indigenous Nations that are leading their own environmental assessments are able to do so according to their own laws, beliefs and worldviews and are able to make decisions about their lands,” added Claxton.

Background

Researchers at the University of Victoria, Raincoast Conservation Foundation, West Coast Environmental Law, and the University of Guelph analysed the newly-passed Bill C-69, now the Impact Assessment Act, as well as 19 peer-reviewed papers that had examined previous environmental assessment acts in Canada. The team identified some “surmountable” obstacles, recommending for example technical and cross-cultural training programs and timeline accommodations. Other obstacles, such as the enduring effects of colonization and perceived knowledge incompatibilities, they concluded to be fundamentally limiting to the meaningful inclusion of IK in environmental assessment processes.

Citation

Eckert LE, Claxton NX, Owens C, Johnston A, Ban NC, Moola F, and Darimont CT. 2020. Indigenous knowledge and federal environmental assessments in Canada: applying past lessons to the 2019 impact assessment act. FACETS 5: 1–23. doi:10.1139/facets-2019-0039

A Conservation Scientist in the Anthropocene

Two weeks ago, I sat quietly in evening golden-hour sunshine on a cedar-wood bench, staring contemplatively out at a golden sand beach and working through a plate of vegetarian lasagna. Out of the corner of my vision, I caught sight of a blurry brown figure dashing across the shore; a yearling grizzly bear (Ursus arctos) was making haste across the beach to escape an angry interaction with an older male bear, his rapid gait sending white flurries of shorebirds into flight.

The moment was one of those remarkable, albeit clichéd, instants that suspend your breath. In the unusually warm October sun, surrounded by friends, eating warm homemade food, physically tired after a day of hard work, and watching the spectacle of a young grizzly dash across a beach, I was filled with the utmost gratitude to be a Conservation Scientist lucky enough to be hosted by the Hailzaqv (Heiltsuk) Nation at Koeye Camp, a place where youth come to learn about culture, the land, and science (among other things).

Sunny views from my vantage at Koeye Camp.

Yesterday, I thought back to those experiences at Koeye. After hastily-consumed-espresso-number-two and between reading academic articles in the ACS Lab, I poured over the media summaries of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change’s (IPCC) most recent report.  For those who may have missed it, the report outlines the varied and severe consequences that face global ecosystems, and consequently humanity, should we continue on our rapid collective path forward towards 1.5- or 2-degree Celcius temperature increases. My head spun as I considered the implications for the ecosystems and social systems – or otherwise the species, friends, colleagues, and everyone who calls The Great Bear Rainforest (and the rest of this world) home.

Such, perhaps, is the life of a Conservation Scientist in the Anthropocene. We are granted the joy and responsibility of having one foot in the field, and one foot in the office, eyes partially trained on the narrow questions and systems that define our research, and yet aware of the global realities that increasingly impact both. Experiences in the territories of the Heiltsuk, Kitasoo/Xai’xais, Wuikinuxv, and Nuxalk Nations of BC’s Central Coast, and those during various field projects worldwide, have allowed me to glimpse the complexity, diversity, and beauty within functioning socioecological systems. They provide the fuel that compels me to continue pursuing research that informs ecosystem management, social justice, and Indigenous rights on local scales, despite the immense challenges we all globally face.

Traces of neighbours on the beaches of the Koeye River estuary. Human and non-human animals alike rely on functioning ecosystems and liveable climates to thrive.

To engage in research that seeks to answer complex questions about environmental policy, human values, and ecosystem management in complex systems is daunting; to do so in the face of the forthcoming consequences of climate change is even more so. To be fortified by moments surrounded by friends and colleagues, with vistas of the incredible biodiversity and life-sustaining resources we risk losing, however, is to believe in our collective power to adapt and overcome.

This post first appeared on the ACS Lab Blog

Knowing What We Don’t Know: Accepting a diversity of knowledge for a sustainable future

This blog post first appeared on the National Geographic Explorer’s Blog on December 19th, 2017. See the original here. 

If you ever wish to contemplate modern human inadequacy, I challenge you to spend time trundling through the remaining fragments of the Mata Atlântica Rainforest of Brazil. Don’t get me wrong; the dense canopy of green within a rainforest more ancient than the Amazon is stunning even in its heavily modified form. In the remaining parcels of the forest, gowns of green cascade from the dense overgrowth, while capuchin monkeys watch bipedal passersby with charismatic sneers. The montane terrain, dense and ever-wet, is steep, and the forest constantly fighting to reclaim human-made trails.

BIOLOGISTS AND LOCAL GUIDES MAKE THEIR WAY THROUGH THE UNDERSTORY OF THE MATA ATLÂNTICA FOREST IN SEARCH OF NORTHERN MURIQUI MONKEYS. PHOTO BY LAUREN ECKERT.

A budding ecologist stumbling through this rainforest in search of one species of Critically Endangered monkey may, faced with kilometers of steep hikes, pouring sweat, and fruitless searches, begin to question the utility of ecological inquiry. But this story is neither about this grand, montane rainforest of Brazil, which has suffered more deforestation than any other tropical rainforest on Earth  – nor does it truly begin there.

A MOUNTAIN-TOP VIEW OF THE FOREST, COVERED IN EARLY MORNING FOG. BY MID-DAY, THE LOW-LYING CLOUDS ARE REPLACED BY SCORCHING HEAT AT THIS ELEVATION. PHOTO BY LAUREN ECKERT.

This story is about knowledge. Particularly, it’s about my slow realization that, in a world of rapidly expanding human pressure, we must mobilize and recognize many types of knowledge, should we seek to understand, and thus conserve, what matters most.

We must mobilize and recognize many types of knowledge, should we seek to understand, and thus conserve, what matters most. Tweet this

I found myself in the Mata Atlântica rainforest during the summer of 2013. I was an overly keen research technician pursuing a career in conservation ecology. My interests and lifelong love of wild places and species had afforded me field experiences across North America – studying kit fox (Vulpes macrotis) demographics in the deserts of Colorado, deer mice (Peromyscus maniculatus) in northern forests of Michigan and Wisconsin, and whatever other wonders I could find in my backyard in the U.S. Midwest.

THOUGH HEAVILY IMPACTED BY DEFORESTATION AND HUMAN-SETTLEMENT, THIS REGION OF THE MATA ATLÂNTICA STILL REMAINS DISTANT FROM MOST SOURCES OF LIGHT POLLUTION. THE MILKY WAY DAZZLES THROUGH AN OPENING IN THE CANOPY. PHOTO BY LAUREN ECKERT.

In the rainforest, I was newly interned with a team of Brazilian scientists studying northern Muriqui monkeys (Brachyteles hypoxanthus). The primates are Americas’ largest New World monkeys. They are captivating as well as Critically Endangered; their social structure is egalitarian and, notably, they frequently utilize (admittedly adorable) hugs as communication and stress-relief tactics. Our team was tasked with continuing a Muriqui demography study – we were to track and photograph individuals, and contribute to understanding the behavioral patterns of the monkeys to benefit local conservation goals.

But many days into my time in the rainforest, we hadn’t caught sight of the monkeys. It’s hard to keep your spirits up during long hikes after many days of futility, and even harder to study a population of Endangered monkeys you can’t find. This sort of challenge isn’t inconsistent with the realities of ecology field work – but at the time it was certainly new to me.

It’s hard to keep your spirits up during long hikes after many days of futility, and even harder to study a population of Endangered monkeys you can’t find. Tweet this

UNLIKE ITS HUMAN COUNTERPARTS, THIS BLACK CAPUCHIN (SAPAJUS NIGRITUS) MONKEY NAVIGATES THE DENSE RAINFOREST WITH EASE. PHOTO BY LAUREN ECKERT.

One typical we-probably-won’t-find-the-monkeys-today morning, gearing up for our hike to a lookout above the trees, I was greeted by a cheerful new friend and local station employee, São Pedro (name changed for the purposes of this article.) He arrived with a fresh bag of home-grown coffee beans, and a burly confidence that he could assist us in finding the Muriquis. Although both the coffee and finding the monkeys were sorely needed, I was skeptical that we would be successful with the latter.

TWO AVOCADOS SIT PRECARIOUSLY BY A PAIR OF WORN WORK BOOTS; A SNAP SHOT OF HUMAN HABITAT IN THE MATA ATLÂNTICA. PHOTO BY LAUREN ECKERT.

Pedro’s ecological training was radically different from my own – he had grown up in the rapidly changing fragments of the Mata Atlântica, and his wealth of knowledge stemmed not from rigorous scientific proficiencies nor university degrees, but prolonged and continuous experiences in one geographic location. My training in academia – a time when I was largely dismissive of non-academic knowledge forms – left me ignorantly wary of such knowledge, as I bounded to keep up with Pedro’s quick steps through the forest. Within mere hours of trekking through dense underbrush, over countless streams, and up tortuous hill after tortuous hill, we sighted the elusive Muriquis. Pedro had a hardy, knowing chuckle at my simultaneous elation and disbelief.

Our first vista of the Muriquis was of them atop a particularly steep hill. In that first of many exposures to the monkeys, I watched them bound through the treetops and shouted my astonishment at every particularly daring leap between branches. I learned a central lesson during that first sighting. It had been slowly emerging, interweaving and condensing consistently as I explored new ecosystems, continents, and species as a research technician and budding ecologist.

A NORTHERN MURIQUI MONKEY TAKES A BREAK FROM SUN-BATHING TO WATCH A GROUP OF HUMAN PASSERS-BY. PHOTO BY LAUREN ECKERT.

My realization was this: scientific data are often limited in scope; some of the most diverse systems (tropical rainforests, for example) lack historical scientific data and are a challenge to study for even the most experienced scientists. Local and Indigenous peoples, however, are ancient keepers of complex knowledge systems, in which consistent, long-term observations and oral history create, maintain, and transmit a profound understanding of scientifically “data-poor” ecosystems.

Local and Indigenous peoples are ancient keepers of complex knowledge systems, in which consistent, long-term observations and oral history create, maintain, and transmit a profound understanding of scientifically “data-poor” ecosystems. Tweet this.

This realization is a simplified revelation of complex theory in the world of “socio-ecological systems” — in which Indigenous knowledge and the exercise of traditional rights are key. My continued recognition and increased understanding of local and Indigenous knowledge marked a fundamental shift in my career path and, eventually, in the way I think and talk about ecosystems and conservation.

Science isn’t a panacea. It is a critical tool used by humans to understand our world and our ever-changing role in it. Western science is a culturally embedded, systematic undertaking that rests on the haunches of objectivity, rigor, and repeatability. A scientific pillar is a crucial structural component when answering questions in the conservation sciences. But my experiences in ecological field work in Brazil (and beyond) showed me that scientific knowledge should not function as a stand-alone pillar in the framework of conservation sciences and conservation action.

Indigenous and local ecological knowledge are increasingly accepted and invoked not only as valid and complementary to scientific data, but as additional and equally important components of ecosystem understanding. While scientific knowledge can provide us with accurate snapshots of data in a limited window of time, local knowledge is accumulated over decades, and Indigenous knowledge often over millennia. Local and Indigenous knowledge is often held by individuals, communities or nations, who rely on local ecosystems for physical and cultural sustenance; thus, continual observations of ecosystem changes result in complex stewardship and management strategies with valuable lessons for scientists and ecosystem managers.

AN OOLICHAN POLE STANDS PICTURESQUELY AT THE BANKS OF THE BELLA COOLA RIVER IN BELLA COOLA, BRITISH COLUMBIA — HOME OF THE NUXALK FIRST NATION. PHOTO BY LAUREN ECKERT.

My experiences in Brazil, and the revelations that followed, catapulted me to work in a much more temperate rainforest with many new lessons in store. Now, I spend my field days in The Great Bear Rainforest of Western Canada. With its stunning ocean vistas, red-cedar forests crashing into rugged coastlines, and ghostly white “Spirit Bears,” this partially protected temperate rainforest has been heralded by National Geographic as “The Wildest Place in North America.”

But to Coastal First Nations (as many Indigenous peoples of Canada are called), who have inhabited their traditional territories and actively stewarded local ecosystems in this rugged rainforest for millennia, the place is anything but wild – it is home. While these Nations’ ancient and continuing stories are not mine to relate, they deserve wider scientific and global recognition.

A YOUNG KERMODE BEAR (URSUS AMERICANUS KERMODEI) WADES THROUGH A SALMON-BEARING STREAM NEAR KLEMTU, BRITISH COLUMBIA. ALSO KNOWN AS THE SPIRIT BEAR, THE SPECIES IS WIDELY APPRECIATED AND AT THE HEART OF THE KITASOO/XAI’XAIS FIRST NATION’S ECOTOURISM VENTURES, AS WELL AS EMBEDDED IN FIRST NATION CULTURES. PHOTO BY LAUREN ECKERT.

I LEARN ABOUT CHANGES TO LOCAL ROCKFISH POPULATIONS WITH WUIKINUXV NATION FISHER, HEREDITARY CHIEF, AND ELDER TED WALKUS. PHOTO BY NATALIE BAN.

Through partnering with the Kitasoo/Xai’xais, Heiltsuk, Wuikinuxv, and Nuxalk Nations in the region, I continue to learn critical lessons. I’ve learned just how powerful Indigenous fishers’ knowledge can be to shed light on historical changes to a long-lived and at-risk fish species. I’ve learned about the power of story and human observation to encode complex stewardship responsibilities that allow humans, and ecosystems they rely on, to flourish for millennia. I’ve also learned that Indigenous knowledge isn’t simply “complementary” or “useful” to scientific knowledge. Rather, Indigenous knowledge represents a continuously adapting body of knowledge that culturally encoded successful environmental management practices long before western science conceived of the need for conservation or ecosystem management. Perhaps most importantly, I’ve been humbled by all that I don’t know: about Indigenous knowledge and the reassertion of Indigenous rights, about complex ecosystems, and about true environmental stewardship.

This story is not about the Mata Atlântica rainforest, nor, I guess, is it really about my journey to accepting new and diverse knowledge types. This story is, perhaps more accurately, an attempt to scrape the surface of human understanding about our complex natural world; a modern natural world so multifaceted, that it invokes many forms of human knowledge to properly understand and steward.

THE HEILTSUK NATION GUARDIAN WATCHMEN BOAT RESTS IN SCENIC WATERS DURING A ROUTINE SURVEY NEAR BELLA BELLA, BRITISH COLUMBIA. PHOTO BY LAUREN ECKERT.

Featured Research: Indigenous Knowledge and Marine Management

This week, collaborative work led by Dr. Natalie Ban and the Central Coast First Nations via the Central Coast Indigenous Resource Alliance (CCIRA) was spotlighted by the University of Victoria! Check out the fantastic coverage of the work here.