Merriam’s provides a lengthy introduction into ‘Grammar and Usage in the Dictionary’ (30a), yet at the outset they seem to dissuade users from using the dictionary as a comprehensive or authoritative source in this field, “…we may see, at least briefly and occasionally, in the dictionary is the grammatical system,” (Merriam’s, 30a). However, unlike Collin’s or Longman’s, Merriam’s provides a very comprehensive section on punctuation and capitalization.

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Page meaning of page in Longman Dictionary of

Somewhat paradoxically, while ideas about the exploitation of nature moved with the colonizers from the centre to the periphery of old empires, ideas about the conservation of nature circulating in the periphery were brought back to the centre. However, it is important to recognize that both the exploitation of nature in the colonies and the impetus to conserve nature for longer-term human use were a product of the colonial mindset, which was shaped by the interaction between colonial experiences in the centre and periphery. The colonial mindset can only be understood by looking at this interaction; but it was fundamentally rooted in European values, which constructed nature as nothing more than a resource for human use and wildness as a challenge for the rational mind to conquer.


REFERENCES Adams, W M (1992) Wasting the Rain: Rivers, People and Planning in Africa. Earthscan, London Adams, W M (2001) Green Development: Environment and Sustainability in the Third World.

Whilst not impinging upon the topic per se’, a few notes must be made to justify the research for it is submitted any teaching involving a dictionary or dictionaries as is required by the question needs a sound methodological base or the results/findings are without basis and lay no foundation for subsequent inquiry. Various user-type research has been carried out, (Cowie, 1999:177) yet it is submitted that a critical component of user research in Korea, for example, or in any non-English speaking country must include preliminary research questions enunciated by Saville-Troike (1989) or the research may be seriously flawed. Swann (1994) mentions the qualitative quantitative distinction is not always clear cut in practice as applied to education research; the distinction is more on the continuum than the dichotomy, and it is often useful to draw on a combination of methods that may complement one another and provide a more complete picture of language. From the viewpoint of mixed methods, some studies employ a quasi-experiment and observations as a major source for data collection, along with questionnaires as an auxiliary method for the following reasons.


NAMING AND CLASSIFYING NATURE The classification of nature was a critical element in the rationalizing gaze of colonialism: the ‘othering’ of nature in science, art and society is ‘the ideological practice that enables us to plunder it’ (Katz and Kirby, 1991, p265). In her book Imperial Eyes, Mary Pratt (1992) discusses the significance for imperial consciousness of the work of the Swedish taxonomist Linnaeus during the 18th century. The Linnaean system of classifying organisms not only drew upon biological collections from colonial explorers; it also ‘epitomized the continental, transnational aspirations of European science’ (Pratt, 1992, p25). Arguably, northern European taxonomic science (of which Linnaeus was the most famous practitioner) – the naming and classifying of unknown organisms – ‘created a new kind of Eurocentred planetary consciousness’ (Pratt, 1992, p39). More critically, taxonomy both represented and brought into being a new understanding of the world, one that had profound implications for human relations with nature, and with each other. Natural history ‘asserted an urban, lettered, male authority over the whole of the planet; it elaborated a rationalizing, extractive, dissociative understanding which overlaid functional, experiential relations among people, plants and animal’ (Pratt, 1992, p38). The scientific definition of species locked them into colonial patterns of global exploitation. New knowledge was a catalyst to intellectual enquiry and speculation in the colonial metropole; but it also stimulated imperial ambition. For Joseph Banks, for example, ‘new wonders bespoke not only new knowledge, but also, perhaps primarily, new economic and spiritual opportunities’ (Miller, 1996, p3). Colonial scientific discourses about nature drew on pre-existing views of nature in the colonial periphery (Pratt, 1992; Grove, 1995), taking possession, institutionalizing and re-exporting them to the colonized world (Loomba, 1998).

In what I call ‘deep naming’, names connect with a narrative, as they so often do in Aboriginal patterns of naming. In deep naming, a narrative gives depth, meaning and a voice to the land and its non-human inhabitants. Walking in the upper stretches of Baraolba Creek during Yegge (the early dry season), I encountered the kunbak, a small waterplant whose fine green fronds represent the hair of the Yawk Yawk sisters (Nawakadj Nganjmirra, 1997, p172). The Yawk Yawks live in the slowly moving water along the edges of this little stream, which drains a huge area of the stone country. In the narratives of the Kunwinkju people of the western part of Kakadu, these sisters are little spirit mermaids with fish tails instead of legs. They dwell in the holes beneath the banks and come out to sing and play where the pandanus plants grow. From underneath the water, they watch women swimming, ever on the lookout for one ready to become their mother, to birth them as human.


A much deeper dialogue between indigenous and nonindigenous conservationists, Mulligan contends, is one way in which conservation work can be re-enchanted. Inevitably, this book raises more questions than it answers and some of our starting assumptions have been challenged along the way. There are, of course, no universally appropriate conservation strategies or models. Contradictory ideas are expressed between, and discussed within, some of the chapters in this volume. We are pleased with the way the book has grown out of our initial idea, and with the way that contributors have expanded on our initial themes without losing sight of our central concerns. In the deliberate diversity of the contributions it contains, this book seeks to contribute to the vital, ongoing discussions that are needed in order to revitalize conservation during a period of considerable uncertainty and change. New thinking is urgently needed, and it is to this need that this book is addressed.

If European colonialism had begun in the 17th century with the extraction of ‘surplus’ commodities (such as gold, ivory, skins, spices and slaves), the version of colonialism that was taken furthest by Britain in the 19th century meant that the economies of the colonies were captured and re-ordered to serve the interests of the colonial power. European colonizers had moved from trade to territorial annexation, and they dug in for a long stay. In some places (for example North America, Argentina, Australia and New Zealand), the Europeans created settler societies. These were stocked with various cadres of European society, from convicts to yeoman farmers, who brought with them an array of diseases and economically productive organisms that formed the basis for ‘neo-Europes’ (Crosby, 1986). In others (for example, West Africa or India) the colonial powers inserted political managers into preexisting, or merely imagined, indigenous governance systems, and exerted control by indirect rule (see, for example, Shenton, 1986). Colonized peoples were variously coerced and taxed into engagement in the formal economy, often as migrant labourers in mines or plantations. As Val Plumwood explains in Chapter 3, European colonial power came to be based upon a series of separations and exclusions that cast colonized peoples and nature as being outside the ‘ideals’ of ‘civilized’ Europe and, therefore, inferior. The colonized were denied their individuality and diversity and treated as belonging to stereotyped classes; they were both marginalized by, and incorporated within, the colonial project, which was, in turn, driven by an overriding desire for order and control. Increasingly, the biological sciences were recruited to the task of rationalizing nature to make it more amenable to human exploitation. Not surprisingly, the experience of colonialism abroad entrenched the separation between people and nature at home, and further undermined the possibility of diverse development paths within the UK itself.


There was a sustained effort to change that perception. Ecology provided ample contributions to colonial aspirations of power and control over territory and nature. As a science it was able to produce rational stories in the face of novel environmental complexity (for example, the ‘useful purpose’ served by surveys that ‘properly analysed and classified vegetation’: Shantz and Marbut, 1923, p4). Ecology also provided a highly applicable model of the wider relevance of the rationalizing and ordering power of science for planning and structuring action. In Australia, scientific research that addressed limits to settlement and productivity had particular importance, especially agricultural and veterinary science, applied entomology and ecology. Federation (in 1901) brought renewed interest in the development of a scientific approach to agriculture and the problem of pests. Plant ecology began with a visit by R S Adamson to the University of Adelaide. Adamson had worked with the pioneer ecologist Arthur Tansley in the UK, and had published the British Empire Vegetation Committee’s first regional monograph, on the vegetation of South Africa, in 1938 (Adamson, 1938; Sheail, 1987). The Department of Botany at Adelaide subsequently developed an applied science tradition, working, in particular, with the Waite Agricultural Research Institute (Robin, 1997). The national Council for Scientific and Industrial Research was founded in 1926, partly funded by the Empire Marketing Board.

Nature and the colonial mind 23 Raymond Murphy argues that thought since the Enlightenment has been characterized by ‘a radical uncoupling of the cultural and the social from nature, that is, by the assumption that reason has enabled humanity to escape from nature and remake it’ (1994, p12). The acquisition of colonies was accompanied by, and to an extent enabled by, a profound belief in the possibility of restructuring nature and re-ordering it to serve human needs and desires. Colonial enthusiasm for the large-scale re-ordering of nature is seen most clearly in the area of water resources. Mike Heffernan describes the plans of the French topographer and surveyor Élie Roudaire to flood the vast salt depressions of southern Tunisia, (named the Chotts) in the 19th century. He comments that European military and commercial expansion in Africa and Asia during the 19th century was driven by technical self-confidence and ‘an almost limitless ambition’ (1990, p94). These lands seemed underdeveloped, unmanaged and underexploited, and on the strength of the achievements of the Industrial Revolution, European faith in the power of science to control and manipulate nature found a significant challenge. Roudaire conceived of a project on a scale ‘designed consciously to convey the monolithic power and authority of European rule in Africa’ (Heffernan, 1990, p109). The Chotts are vast salt pans that lie below sea level, and reach from very close to the Mediterranean coast far into the Sahara. During the 1870s, Roudaire began surveys to investigate whether canals could be built to flood them in order to recreate a vast inland sea (6700km2 in area and up to 30m deep). Roudaire led two survey expeditions.


This chapter’s title speaks of ‘a colonial mind’; but did such a thing ever exist with respect to conservation? The rapidly growing literature on environmental history suggests not. There has been enormous diversity in the ways nature has been understood, and the ways conservation has been practised, in colonial countries. There is no consistent ‘colonial mind’, and no simple account to be given of colonial ideologies of nature. There is, in particular, now recognized to be considerable complexity in the interplay of environmental ideas from the colonial metropole and periphery. The work of Richard Grove, for example (1990; 1992; 1995; 1997) has challenged the conventional wisdom that environmentalism was an AngloAmerican concern, merely ‘a local response to Western industrialization’, that was exported around the colonial world (Grove, 1990, p11). Indeed, he argues that the reverse was the case, with the development of global trade from the 15th century onwards yielding ideas and knowledge that themselves transformed European ideas of nature. The colonized world should be seen as the hearth of ideological innovation, with ideas forged there during the 17th and 18th centuries (in the West Indies, in the islands of the Indian Ocean and in India) being relayed to the metropole through international scientific networks (Grove, 1995; 1997; MacKenzie, 1997). There is plenty of evidence of diversity in the historical emergence of ideologies of nature and conservation under colonialism. One risk of postcolonial analysis is that it homogenizes this diversity in both space and time, inventing a single discourse without geography or history as a logical source of a hegemonic colonial gaze.

Assimilation This is synonymous with what Mazama (1994) called incorporation. In androcentric culture, the woman is defined in relation to the man as central, often conceived as lacking in relation to him, sometimes crudely (as in Aristotle’s account of reproduction), sometimes more subtly.


Nature and the colonial mind 35 economies. In some places (particularly the plains of East Africa), the first colonial governments encountered landscapes recently artificially cleared of their populations by disease and war. Elsewhere, slaving and colonial annexation had disrupted economy, society and environment before settled colonial reflection could begin. Such landscapes (like those in North America) perhaps genuinely seemed empty, and were ‘running wild’ like the garden of an abandoned house. To an extent, people could be airbrushed from the imagined landscape because they were in a sense seen to be ‘natural’ themselves – close to wildness in their primitive use of technology and ‘savage’ customs (Neumann, 1998). Africans living ‘traditionally’ were therefore an acceptable part of nature, at least until the advent of development planning during the middle of the 20th century, when rural population growth began to close around the vast tracts of land set aside by the colonial state in game reserves and national parks. Then those same people began to be seen as unnatural, threatening the natural balance of nature (as discussed above), hunting in unacceptable ways for unacceptable reasons and without a sense of sustainable harvest (see below). In Africa, as in the US, the idea of nature as wilderness made hunters into poachers, woodcutters into law-breakers, and farmers into the enemies of conservation (Jacoby, 2001). In colonial neo-Europes, wilderness could be important to emergent national identity (Dunlap, 1999). The existence of vacated (or empty) landscapes, ‘new lands’ and a frontier between them and settled, sown and developed country was important to the national psyche.

Decolonizing relationships with nature 75 relationship with the land. We need to construct new naming practices to replace, or at least provide alternatives for, the problem categories of power names, feral names and monological names, and we need to rethink our relationship to stolen names.


Dictionaries Usage in EFL and Learner Development

This conception of wilderness was principally forged in the US. In his classic book Wilderness and the American Mind, Roderick Nash suggests ‘a society must become technological, urban and crowded before a need for wild nature makes economic and intellectual sense’ (1982, p343). As the US industrialized and urbanized, as the ‘open’ frontier of the West was progressively settled and harnessed to agriculture, as forests were progressively fed into the industrial machine, the loss of the wild seemed a threat to American manhood. Ruggedness, self-sufficiency and hardihood were to be found in the wilderness, not in the effete lifestyles or degraded working conditions of the urban and industrial economy. This was the tenor of the arguments of eastern lobby groups, such as the Boone and Crockett Club (formed in 1887), and, in a different way, that of the Romantic conservation movement associated with John Muir (for example the Sierra Club, founded in 1892). Concern to secure wilderness was an important element in the foundation of the first US national parks during the closing decades of the 19th century, and became the leading issue in debates about their management in the 20th (Nash, 1982; Runte, 1987). For many Europeans, both in the colonial era and after, the open savanna landscapes of Africa have been understood as ‘a lost Eden in need of protection and preservation’ (Neumann, 1996, p80). The survival of great numbers of large mammals (whose Pleistocene equivalents in Eurasia, the Americas and Australasia had been extirpated) contributed to the sense that Africa was a place apart, where nature persisted in a more complete and damaged state.

Routledge, London Berg, L, Fenge, T and Dearden, P (1993) ‘The role of aboriginal peoples in national park designation, planning and management in Canada’ in P Dearden and R Rollins (eds) Parks and Protected Areas in Canada. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp225–252 Boardman, R (1981) International Organisations and the Conservation of Nature. Indiana University Press, Bloomington, IN Brockington, D (2002) Fortress Conservation: The Preservation of the Mkomazi Game Reserve, Tanzania. James Currey, Oxford Brooks, F T (ed) (1925) Imperial Botanical Conference, London 1924: Report of Proceedings. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Bryant, R L (1996) ‘Romancing colonial forestry: the discourse of “forestry as progress” in British Burma’, Geographical Journal, vol 162, pp169–172 Bunce, M (1994) The Countryside Ideal: Anglo-American Images of Landscape. Routledge, London Burnett, G W and wa Katg’ethe, K (1994) ‘Wilderness and the bantu mind’, Environmental Ethics, vol 16, pp145–160 Carruthers, J (1995) The Kruger National Park: A Social and Political History. University of Natal Press, Pietermaritzberg Carruthers, J (1997) ‘Nationhood and national parks: comparative examples from the post-imperial experience’ in T Griffiths and L Robin (eds) Ecology and Empire: Environmental History of Settler Societies. Keele University Press, Keele, pp125–138 Collins, R O (1990) The Waters of the Nile: Hydropolitics and the Jonglei Canal 1900–1988. Clarendon Press, Oxford Croll, E and Parkin, D (1992) ‘Cultural understandings of the environment’ in E Croll and D Parkin (eds) Bush Base: Forest Farm; culture, environment and development. Routledge, London, pp11–36 Cronon, W (1995) ‘The trouble with wilderness, or, getting back to the wrong nature’ in W Cronon (ed) Uncommon Ground: toward reinventing nature.


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Keele University Press, pp102–121 Pratt, M L (1992) Imperial Eyes: travel writing and transculturation. Routledge, London Pyne, S J (1997) ‘Frontiers of fire’ in T Griffiths and L Robin (eds) Ecology and Empire: environmental history of settler societies. Keele University Press, pp19–34 Rajan, R (1998) ‘Imperial environmentalism or environmental imperialism? European forestry, colonial foresters and the agendas of forest management in British India 1800–1900’ in R H Grove, V Damodaran and S Sangwan (1998) (eds) Nature and the Orient: the environmental history of South and Southeast Asia. Oxford University Press, New Delhi, pp324–371 Rangarajan, M (1998) ‘Production, desiccation and forest management in the Central provinces 1850–1930’ in R H Grove, V Damodaran and S Sangwan (eds) Nature and the Orient: the environmental history of South and Southeast Asia. Oxford University Press, New Delhi, pp575–595 Ranger, T (1999) Voices from the Rocks: nature, culture and history in the Matopos Hills of Zimbabwe.

However, even when conservation action has involved resistance to imperial, utilitarian views of nature, it has rarely been sensitive to local human needs and a diversity of world views. It has often been imposed like a version of the imperial endeavour itself: alien and arbitrary, barring people from their lands and denying their understanding of non-human nature. In countries such as the UK and Australia, the ‘modern’ conservation movement reached a high point in social and political influence during the late 1980s (Pepper, 1996). Since that time, concern for nature has waxed and waned along with broader environmental concerns. Meanwhile, in countries such as South Africa and Zimbabwe, conservation and development have become entangled in messy post-colonial transitions. Despite the global reach of conservation concern, widespread popular support for formal conservation measures is confined to industrialized countries, and is hence widely dismissed as a ‘Western’ (that is, neo-colonial) preoccupation in the context of nonindustrialized countries.


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This survey was carried out in government schools. Issues pertaining to confusion of translation were substantially overcome so as not to be an issue.


Nature and the colonial mind 49 Nash, R (1982) Wilderness and the American mind. Yale University Press, New Haven, Connecticut (first published 1967) Neumann, R P (1996) ‘Dukes, earls and ersatz Edens: aristocratic nature preservationists in colonial Africa’, Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, vol 14, pp79–98 Neumann, R P (1998) Imposing Wilderness: struggles over livelihood and nature preservation in Africa. University of California Press, Berkeley Norton, B C (1991) Toward Unity Among Environmentalists. Oxford University Press, London Oates, J F (1999) Myth and reality in the Rain Forest: how conservation strategies are failing in West Africa. University of California Press, Berkeley Packer, C (1994) Into Africa. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Pankhurst, R and Johnson, D H (1988) ‘The great drought and famine of 1888–1892 in Northeast Africa’ in D Johnson and D Anderson (eds) The Ecology of Survival.

The specific question is now addressed in two parts. First is a summary of usage as seen academically. Secondly, specifics of actual classroom usage are listed.


These sounds do not occur in Korean. There is no similar sound position. Like the southern Chinese, (Chang, 1987:225) Koreans adults sometimes have difficulty distinguishing/l/ and /r/.

COLONIALISM’S IMPACT ON NATURE There has been much debate about the extent of the destructive impact of colonialism on nature. The environmentalism of the last three decades of the 20th century took as its conceptual premise the unprecedented scale and significance of the impacts of industrial technology on nature. The roots of this view lie deep within Western popular consciousness; but romantic opposition to industrialism, to nuclear weapons, to urbanization and to landscape change are all significant (Veldman, 1994; Bunce, 1994). As Meredith Veldman points out, C S Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is, like The Lion King, a tale of balance destroyed and restored; the pastoral world of Tolkein’s Middle Earth is threatened by Sauron’s dark arts. Alfred Crosby’s Ecological Imperialism (1986) gives this rather vague environmentalist oppositionism a geography and a history. He describes the success of ‘neo-Europes’ in Australasia, and in North and South America, where greedy but marginally competent Europeans were able to gain colonial footholds. In these countries, Europeans became numerically dominant, as did elements of European biota and production systems. European settlers ‘used guns, traps and poison to kill the wildlife, steel axes and ploughs to clear the land and turn the soil’; they also placed bounties ‘on almost anything that walked, flew, swam or crawled’ (Dunlap, 1999, pp49, 51). The reason for the success of this invasion in some places, and its sapping failure in others (notably Africa), was not the limited range of developed technologies (whether domestic livestock or guns).


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University of Chicago Press, Chicago Smith, L Tuhiwai (1999) Decolonising methodologies: research and indigenous peoples. Zed Press, London Stebbing, E P (1935) ‘The encroaching Sahara: the threat to the West African Colonies’, Geographical Journal, vol 85, pp506–524 Sutton, J (1990) A Thousand Years of East Africa. British Institute in Eastern Africa, Nairobi Thompson, E P (1977) Whigs and hunters: the origin of the Black Act. Penguin, Harmondsworth Trapnell, C G and Clothier, J N (1937) The Soils, Vegetation and Agricultural Systems of North-Western Rhodesia. Government Printer, Lusaka Veldman, M (1994) Fantasy, the Bomb and the Greening of Britain: romantic protest 1945–1980. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Waller, R T (1988) ‘Emutai: crisis and response in Maasailand 1883–1902’ in D Johnson and D Anderson (eds) The Ecology of Survival. Lester Crook, London, pp73–112 Weiskel, T (1988) ‘Toward an archaeology of colonialism: elements of ecological transformation of the Ivory Coast’ in D Worster (ed) The Ends of the Earth: perspectives on modern environmental history. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp141–171 Withers, C W J (1999) ‘Geography, enlightenment and the paradise question’ in D N Livingstone and C W J Withers (eds) Geography and Enlightenment. Chicago University Press, Chicago, pp67–92 Worster, D (1985) Nature’s Economy: a history of ecological ideas. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Worthington, E B (1938) Science in Africa: a review of scientific research relating to tropical and southern Africa.

Alfred Runte (1987) comments that they were ‘born of romanticism and cultural nationalism’ (p236): Americans might lack the great artistic and archaeological treasures of Europe; but in the waterfalls and geysers of Yellowstone, and the incomparable mountains of Yosemite, they had natural monuments that were world-beaters. Cultural insecurity was the catalyst for national parks, and only later did they start to be re-imagined as places for tourism. Where America led, others followed, and national parks were established during the 1880s and 1890s in Canada, Australia and New Zealand; in 1892, the Sabie Game Reserve (later the Kruger National Park) was established in the Transvaal (Fitter and Scott, 1978). In the Canadian Rockies, what became the Banff National Park was first established (in 1885) to regulate commercial exploitation of the hot springs. However, national parks in the Rockies (Banff, Yoho, Jasper, Waterton) soon became vehicles for development, particularly in response to the need of the Canadian Pacific Railway for tourist traffic (McNamee, 1993). Luxurious hotels were built, and the mountains packaged as Alpine resorts, European Alpine guides being recruited to see visitors safely into, and out of, the wild (Sandford, 1990). In colonial Africa, conservation protected areas predominantly took the form of game reserves for the first half of the 20th century, although in 1925 King Albert of Belgium created the gorilla sanctuary that became the Parc National Albert (now the Virunga National Park: Fitter and Scott, 1978; Boardman, 1981). Kruger National Park was created in South Africa in 1926 (Carruthers, 1995). During the 1940s and 1950s, South Africa provided a model (in many ways a most unhelpful one) for the rest of British colonial Africa. As a whole, Africa was the chief concern of colonial lobbyists for conservation.


Eberkeley.org Online-Resources-for-ESL: Longman Online Dictionary of Contemporary English

Nature and the colonial mind 27 and grazing were banned, resulting in a long history of hardship (and protest against state forest policy: Guha, 1989). In Burma, forests were reserved for the production of timber (especially teak), effectively making alternative uses invisible (and illegal). Existing use rights for timber and non-timber forest products were extinguished (Bryant, 1996). In French-controlled Madagascar during the 20th century, a ‘rational’ approach to forest management included forest reserves and an attempt to suppress indigenous shifting cultivation practices. This effectively removed indigenous institutions that regulated how and where the forest could be cleared; and forest cover fell dramatically due to an uncontrolled mixture of cultivation (especially for coffee), grazing, burning and timber extraction (especially for the railways: Jarosz, 1996). Above all, agriculture was the most favoured means of organizing ‘nature’s government’, whether in Tudor England, Irish or American plantations, or (during the mid-20th century) in the intricately jumbled fields of African peasant farmers (Drayton, 2000). Under the doctrine of improvement, agriculture could reclaim wastelands and make barbarous peoples civilized. Improvement demanded science and planning, and in its 20th-century guise of ‘development’ it became an all-powerful ideology for modernization and change: a ‘selfconscious or planned construction, mapping and charting [of] both landscapes and mindscapes’ (Croll and Parkin, 1992, p31). In Africa, formal development initiatives by colonial governments following World War II (the ‘second colonial occupation’: Low and Lonsdale, 1976) drew extensively on scientific ideas. Ecologists found a ready audience in the powerful but scientifically untrained officers of the colonial state who were charged with development, and scientists found new and important roles in applied fields, such as fisheries, livestock management and agriculture.

The insensitivity and humancentredness of the Western framework of human–nature relationships are amplified in the colonial context. Lifestyle factors collude with symbolic ones to promote relationships with place and land that are primarily instrumental. Sensitivity to the land seems to require a deep acquaintance with a place, or perhaps a group of places. It also requires an ability to relate dialogically to the more-than-human world, a crucial source of narratives and narrative subjects defining the distinctiveness of place. The mobility and urbanism of modernity combines with the ethical and perceptual framework of colonization to disempower both place and the more-than-human sphere as major constituents of identity and meaning. Western moderns mostly do not relate dialogically to the non-human sphere and have come to believe that the land is dumb, that culture and meaning are ‘exclusively an interaction of man on man’ (Thoreau 1862, p655), thus strengthening both ‘placelessness’ and what David Abram (1996) calls ‘the project of human self-enclosure’. As a result, there are several different kinds of reasons why many of us now lack sensitivity to place and land. One reason is that mobile modern urban life-ways do not allow the necessary depth of familiarity; but another, more basic, reason is that our perceptions are screened through a colonizing conceptual sieve that eliminates certain communicative possibilities and dialogical encounters with the more-thanhuman world. Such an analysis suggests that our main problem lies not in silence, but in a certain kind of (constructed) deafness.



Nature and the colonial mind 33 lobbying was persistent and highly specific (Fitter and Scott, 1978; Neumann, 1996). Six years later, an international organization to promote conservation was proposed at an International Congress for the Preservation of Nature, held in Paris in 1909. Such ideas were buried by World War I, but they resurfaced between the wars. In 1928, the Office International de Documentation et de Corrélation pour la Protection de la Nature was established, becoming the International Office for the Protection of Nature in 1934, and eventually the International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources (IUCN) in 1956 (Holdgate, 1999). Concern about the threat of extinctions in the tropics, and particularly in Africa, was widespread in Europe and North America during the 1950s and 1960s. By the 1960s, African countries were winning independence from colonial rule and the prospect of poachers turning gamekeepers caused disquiet in Europe and North America. Conservation in Africa was seen by IUCN as a critical challenge, and in 1961 it therefore joined with the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) to launch an African Special Project with the aim of influencing African leaders (Boardman, 1981; Holdgate, 1999).

What is relatively unusual about this book is that we also seek to make sense of the post-colonial era by discussing the former imperial metropole. The UK has its own internal colonial history with regard to Ireland, Scotland and Wales. Moreover, it was affected by the cultural backwash and economic profits of British imperialism overseas. The same colonial mindsets created similar damaging illusions about human ‘mastery’ over nature. Imperial ideologies of nature were important to understandings of nature within the UK, and to the way that ideas about conservation emerged (Sheail, 1976; Evans, 1992; Adams, 2001). Like Richard Grove (1997), we are interested in how complex political, economic and ideological interchanges between the centre and periphery have been important to conservation, both globally and nationally (within the UK, as well as between the UK and the colonies). Organizations that aimed to conserve nature began to emerge in both the centre and periphery of the British Empire during the second half of the 19th century. However, not surprisingly, they reflected ideologies of nature that grew out of utilitarian and reductionist ‘natural’ sciences. Even the more aesthetic and ecocentric ideologies about nature sought to ground themselves in ‘rational’ scientific frameworks. Western ideas about conservation were disseminated by state bureaucracies, scientific networks and passionate conservation advocates through colonized and metropolitan societies alike – through Scotland, as well as Africa; the English Lake District, as well as the Australian outback.


Gimson in the 13th edition (published 1967). Gimson’s system is now used, with certain modifications,in nearly all English dictionaries (https://yacsssdm.ru/hack/?patch=2392) published in the UK.

Turning to guidance from Merriam’s, we find that T is transcribed as /th/ and receives little guidance apart from examples, thin and ether. The explanation goes on to confuse the reader, namely that it is a single sound, not two, but when they appear in sequence, as in knighthood, this dictionary will place a hyphen between the /t/ and /h/. Looking for guidance from the book for D is also vague, with a similar description of two examples and that it is a single sound. Collins provides no advice but many more examples, and Longman provides one example for each class.


Decolonizing relationships with nature 63 relationships. In the present context of crisis in our relationships with nature, colonial and centric relationships of the sort outlined in this chapter are especially dangerous because they are monological rather than dialogical. Humans are seen as the only rational species, the only real subjectivities and agents in the world, and nature is a background substratum that is there to be exploited. This is the rationality of monologue, termed monological because it recognizes the Other only in one-way terms. It is a mode of interaction where the Others must always hear and adapt to the One, and never the other way around. Monological relationships block mutual adaptation and its corollaries in negotiation, accommodation, communication and attention to the Other’s needs, limits and agency (see Plumwood, 2002b). The colonizing task is to make the land accommodate to us rather than we to it, leading to the rejection of communicative and negotiated ecological relationships of mutual adaptation in favour of one-way relationships of self-imposition. Thus, the Eurocentric colonization of nature insists that the land be adapted to European models.

Instead of treating the land dialogically as a presence in its own right, colonizing namings speak only of the human, or of what is of use to the human as resource, and of certain kinds of humans at that. The outcome is a reduction and impoverishment of Australian land culture that parallels the extinction and impoverishment of its biodiversity. However, through decolonization strategies, there are possibilities of opening this land culture to change and enrichment – of creating places in our culture so that the empty, silent land can begin to speak in many tongues and reveal some of its many names. The significance of names and of naming is often underestimated in the modern West. Different cultures have different bases for ownership of the land: these differences can be so radical that they amount to different paradigms of land relationship, which are incomprehensible to those from a different framework. In some cultures, it is the paradigm of expenditure, or mixing in, of human labour that validates the claim to own the land. As we have seen above, this formula – which corresponds to John Locke’s criteria for forming property from land conceived as ‘wilderness’ by adding human labour – validates capitalist and colonial models of appropriation and ownership. It creates a one-way, monological form of relationship in which nature’s agency and independence are discounted and the land is conceived as an adjunct to, or raw resource for, human projects. An alternative paradigm of ownership and belonging is communicative, relying upon narrative methods for naming and interpreting the land through telling its story in ways that show a deep and loving acquaintance with it, and a history of dialogical interaction. In terms of this second paradigm, non-indigenous Australians have a long way to go in achieving ownership and belonging.


This social simplification was accompanied by similar views of nature. Simplification allowed ‘a high degree of schematic knowledge, control and manipulation’ (p11). Scott describes the rise of scientific forestry in Prussia and Saxony during the 18th century. This was developed and exported under colonial rule (for example, to India), and persisted in government forest policy in many countries through the 20th century (see, for example, Fairhead and Leach, 1998). The 20th century saw a steady expansion in scientific exploration of the living world. This took place under the wing of colonial administrations, and increasingly it served colonial purposes. Ecologists classified nature and charted its boundaries, providing categories for its effective exploitation. In this, colonial attitudes to nature strongly reflect the progressive idea of conservation as controlled or wise use, which developed in the US at the end of the 19th century under President Theodore Roosevelt and the administrator Gifford Pinchot (Hays, 1959). The pattern of scientific knowledge of nature being accumulated at the metropole so that its value could be assessed and amassed continued into the second half of the 20th century. Robin (1997) comments that the International Biological Programme was ‘the last great imperial exercise in ecology, with information from the periphery being sent to the metropolitan centre to be converted into “science”’ (p72).

COUNTERING CENTRIC STRUCTURE The injustice of colonization does not take place in a conceptual vacuum; rather, it is closely linked to these desensitizing and ‘othering’ frameworks for identifying self and other. The centric structure imposes a form of rationality, a framework for beliefs, which naturalizes and justifies a certain sort of selfcentredness, self-imposition and dispossession. Dispossession is what Eurocentric and ethnocentric colonization ventures accomplish, as do anthropocentric frameworks.


Nature and the colonial mind 19 scales; between different kinds of actors; and subtle inter-plays between individuals within them. There is every reason to expect colonial ideologies of nature to be as diverse, confused and contested as those of the present day (Norton, 1991). Grove comments: ‘the ideological and scientific content of early colonial conservationism as it had developed under early British and French colonial rule amounted, by the 1850s, to a highly heterogeneous mixture of indigenous, romantic, Orientalist and other elements’ (Grove, 1995, p12). However, within this diversity there are common themes in colonial discourse. This chapter tries to demonstrate this, exploring some key themes among the many dimensions of colonial thought about nature. It discusses colonialism’s impact on nature and the importance of rationality and science in underpinning colonial ideas about nature. It explores the roles of ecology and applied science in the service of development planning, and the nature of colonial environmentalism. It then considers three particular obsessions of colonial views of nature: the idea of wilderness, the issue of hunting and the desire to separate nature off in protected areas. The chapter’s argument is that ideas forged under colonial rule still fly, like a comet’s tail of ideological debris, behind contemporary thinking on conservation.

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THE BOOK In Chapter 2, Bill Adams reviews the ways in which nature was understood and treated in the British Empire. He discusses, in particular, the role of science and ideas of the rational exploitation of nature, the nature of colonial impacts on the environment, colonial fears about environmental degradation, the importance of hunting and the rise of formal conservation. He assesses the significance of this colonial inheritance for conservation. In Chapter 3, Val Plumwood extends this account with a theoretical analysis of the dynamics of European colonialism before turning her attention to language and conservation discourse and practice. Val ends her contribution with a challenging proposal about decolonizing place names in order to begin a more ‘dialogical’ relationship between people and places. In Chapter 4, Marcia Langton (writing primarily from the perspective of indigenous Australians) outlines the features of new, globalized forms of colonization before offering some insights on sustainable resource use based upon her research and consultations with Australian indigenous communities. In Chapter 5, Hector Magome and James Murombedzi (writing about conservation in post-apartheid South Africa) discuss negotiations between local people and the state conservation agency over land rights and national parks.


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Their nature is essentially simple and knowable (unless they are devious and deceptive), not outrunning the homogenizing stereotype (Said, 1978). The Other is stereotyped as the homogeneous and complementary polarity to the One. Edward Said writes: ‘The Oriental is irrational, depraved (fallen), childlike, “different”; thus, the European is rational, virtuous, mature, “normal”’ (Said, 1978, p40). Homogenization is a major feature of pejorative slang – for example, in talk of ‘slits’, ‘gooks’ and ‘boongs’ in the racist case, and in similar terms for women. Ronald Reagan’s famous remark ‘You’ve seen one redwood, you’ve seen them all’ invokes a parallel homogenization of nature. An anthropocentric culture rarely sees nature and animals as individual centres of striving or needs, doing their best in their conditions of life. Instead, nature is conceived in terms of interchangeable and replaceable units (as ‘resources’), rather than as infinitely diverse and always in excess of knowledge and classification. Anthropocentric culture conceives nature and animals as all alike in their lack of consciousness, which is assumed to be exclusive to the human. Once nature and animals are viewed as machines or automata, minds are closed to the range and diversity of their mind-like qualities. Human-supremacist models promote insensitivity to the marvellous diversity of nature, since they attend to differences in nature only if they are likely to contribute in some obvious way to human interests, conceived as separate from those of nature.

Nature and the colonial mind 41 ‘there is still opportunity to catch up, and to provide in each of the countries a sound administrative and scientific structure, ready to be taken over at the appropriate time by independent governments’ (p23). The importance of national political identity is well demonstrated by the creation of the Kruger National Park in 1926. Jane Carruthers (1995; 1997) describes how the mostly English-speaking advocates of the park successfully linked the memory of Boer leader Paul Kruger to the history of the game reserves from which the park was created. In fact, he was no enthusiast for preservation; but by implying that the idea was his, the park’s future was secured. Indeed, ironically, it became a shrine to Boer nationalism. This may be a special case, but many protected areas in former colonial territories exist because they served a political purpose. It was the extinction of the large African mammals upon which calls for national parks were founded (Hingston claimed ‘it is as certain as night follows day that unless vigorous and adequate precautions be taken, several of the largest mammals of Africa will within the next two or three decades become totally extinct’, 1931, p402). The main reason for that extinction was seen by colonial commentators to be hunting by Africans. The irony of this view is considerable, since the most vocal advocates of protected areas that excluded Africans were, of course, themselves hunters: colonial white men, ‘penitent butchers’, as the members of the SPWFE were labelled (Fitter and Scott, 1978; Neumann, 1996). Their voices (Hingston’s is a prime example) dominate contemporary colonial statements about conservation; but, in practice, colonial views of the need for national parks, and especially of the fairness of excluding rural people, were very mixed.


This feature enables exploitation of the denied class via expropriation of what they help to produce; but it also carries the usual problems and contradictions of denial. Denial is often accomplished through a perceptual politics of what is worth noticing, what can be acknowledged, ‘foregrounded’ and rewarded as achievement, and what is relegated to the background. Women’s traditional tasks in house labour and child-raising are treated as inessential, as the background services that make ‘real’ work and achievement possible, rather than as achievements or as work themselves. Similarly, the colonized are denied as the unconsidered background to ‘civilization’. They become the ‘other’ whose prior ownership of the land and whose dispossession and murder is never spoken or admitted. Their trace in the land is denied, and they are represented as inessential because their land and their labour embodied in it are taken over as ‘nature’ or as ‘wilderness’. Australian Aboriginal people, for example, were not seen as ecological agents, and their land was taken over as unoccupied, terra nullius (no-one’s land), while the heroic agency of white pioneers in ‘discovering’, clearing and transforming the land is celebrated. Nature is represented as inessential and massively denied as the unconsidered background to technological society. Since anthropocentric culture sees non-human nature as a basically inessential constituent of the universe, nature’s needs are systematically omitted from account and consideration in decision-making. Dependency upon nature is denied, systematically, so that nature’s order, resistance and survival requirements are not perceived as imposing a limit upon human goals or enterprises.

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REFERENCES Abram, D (1996) The Spell of the Sensuous. Pantheon, New York Benhabib, S (1992) Situating the Self. Routledge, New York Berndt, R M and Berndt, C H (1989) The Speaking Land: Myth and Story in Aboriginal Australia. Penguin Books, Melbourne Beston, H (1928) The Outermost House. Ballantine, New York Bolton, G (1981) Spoils and Spoilers. Allen and Unwin, Sydney Callicott, J B and Nelson, M (eds) (1998) The Great New Wilderness Debate. University of Georgia Press, Athens, Georgia Commonwealth of Australia (1996) The Australian State of the Environment Report. Canberra Cronon, W (1983) Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists and the Ecology of New England. Hill and Wang, New York Cronon, W (1995) ‘The Trouble with Wilderness: or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature’ in W Cronon (ed) Uncommon Ground: Toward Reinventing Nature. W W Norton and Co, New York, pp69–90 Crosby, A W (1986) Ecological Imperialism: the Biological Expansion of Europe.

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COLONIALISM, RATIONALITY AND NATURE The colonial period saw a distinctive pattern of engagement with nature: a destructive, utilitarian and cornucopian view of the feasibility of yoking nature to economic gain. Where did these ideas come from? The bedrock of colonial ideas about nature was the European Enlightenment, and the fundamental Cartesian dualism between humans and nature. The idea that ‘man’ and nature were separate formed the world view of the pioneers of imperial trade, and of the annexation of the tropics and the new worlds in Asia, the Americas and Australasia. In his book Nature’s Government (2000), Richard Drayton traces the idea that knowledge of nature allows the best possible use of resources. This idea emerged in medieval England (as an argument for the enclosure of common land), and was progressively exported to Ireland, to the plantations of the New World, and then worldwide. It was the driving force of imperialism and colonialism, and of the universal ideology of developmentalism that dominated the 20th century as the age of empire waned and died.


The further encapsulation of indigenous societies by the global complex, to which nation state formations are themselves subservient, has resulted in continuing loss of territory as a result of large-scale developments, urban post-colonial population expansion, and ongoing colonization of the natural world by the market. This last point is illustrated, for example, by the bioprospecting and patenting of life forms and biota by new genetic and chemical engineering industries. Coincidental with the new colonization is the crisis of biodiversity loss – a critical issue for indigenous peoples, particularly hunting and gathering societies. The massive loss of biota through extinction events, loss of territory and species habitats, and environmental degradation, together with conservationist limitation of indigenous harvesting, constitute significant threats to indigenous ways of life. While Aboriginal rights to wildlife are restricted to ‘non-commercial’ use, the pressures increase for indigenous peoples to forge unique economic niches in order to maintain their ways of life.

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There are many ways of doing this. Through local education, activists can stress the importance and value of nature in practical daily life, enabling people to keep track of the ways in which they use and impinge upon nature. This can create understandings of the fragility of ecological systems and relationships. Those activists prepared for long-term struggles can work to change systems of distribution, accounting, perception and planning so that these systems reduce remoteness, make our dependency relationships more transparent in our daily lives, and allow for nature’s needs and limits. Bringing about such systematic changes is what political action for ecological sustainability is all about. Countering a hegemonic dualism, such as that between nature and culture, presents many traps for young players. A common temptation among those who mistake a hegemonic dualism for a simple value hierarchy is to attempt a reversal of value that fails to challenge the hegemonic construction of the concepts concerned (see also Langton, 1993, p41). For example, we may decide that traditional devaluations of nature should give way to strong positive evaluations of nature as a way of fixing the environmental problem, but fail to notice the polarized meaning that is commonly given to ‘nature’. Dualistic concepts of nature insist that ‘true’ nature must be entirely free of human influence, ruling out any overlap between nature and culture. This reversal, which suggests that only ‘pure’ nature (perhaps in the form of ‘wilderness’) is valuable or has needs that should be recognized and respected, leaves us without adequate ways of recognizing and tracking the agency of the more-than-human sphere in our daily lives, since this rarely appears in a pure or unmixed form.


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Like other once-imposed Western ideas, some conventional notions widely accepted in conservation might need to be rejected, while others are accepted as decolonization is worked through. Conservationists have much to learn about their past, and much of it will be painful. Many ideas that are commonly taken to be intuitive will be seen to be baseless dogma. Many practices will be seen to be dramatically unfair to some groups of people. It will be recognized that many views common in the West seem bizarre to those living alongside wild nature on the ground who are trying to wrest a living from the land. Learning these lessons is vitally important. The challenge of decolonizing the mind is urgent and of huge significance to the future of conservation. However, recognizing these truths is not enough. This new understanding will not necessarily tell conservationists what to suggest in the future. The real work of re-imagining conservation for a post-colonial era is just beginning.

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Decolonizing relationships with nature 55 Anthropocentric culture often endorses a view of the human as outside, and apart from, a plastic, passive and ‘dead’ nature, which lacks agency and meaning. A strong ethical discontinuity is felt at the human species boundary, and an anthropocentric culture will tend to adopt concepts of what makes a ‘good’ human being that reinforce this discontinuity by devaluing those qualities of human selves and human cultures that it associates with nature and animality. Thus, it associates with nature ‘inferiorized’ social groups and their characteristic activities. Women are, therefore, historically linked to ‘nature’ as reproductive bodies and through their supposedly greater emotionality, while indigenous people are seen as a primitive, ‘earlier stage’ of humanity. At the same time, dominant groups associate themselves with the overcoming, or mastery of, nature, both internal and external. For all those classed as nature, as Other, identification and sympathy are blocked by these structures of ‘othering’.


The continuity of human occupation and management of the Matopos has been expunged from official (although not local) memory. Western conceptions of wilderness had, by the end of the 20th century, become global in the sense that they were very widely recognized. They have, however, never been uncontested. They were opposed from both within and outside the colonial governments. Within government, the idea of the preservation of ‘wild’ nature seemed bizarre to many actors.

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Forest protection began to be institutionalized in British Caribbean territories from 1764, while during the 19th century environmentalist ideas were developed and disseminated through the coercive bureaucracy of the Indian Forest Service (Rajan, 1998; Rangarajan, 1998). In South Africa, conservation legislation was passed during the 19th century (Grove, 1987; McCormick, 1992). Concern about the depletion of forests led to the appointment of a colonial botanist in 1858; legislation to preserve open land near Cape Town was passed in 1846, and acts were passed concerning the preservation of forests (in 1859) and game (in 1886: Grove, 1987; MacKenzie, 1987). By contrast, in Australia, settlers struggled through the 19th century to ‘tame’ and ‘civilize’ what they saw as wild and primitive nature (Lines, 1991). Few ‘allowed themselves to be diverted from the task of chopping down trees long enough to absorb the beauty of what they were destroying’ (Mulligan and Hill, 2001, p27). It was predicted in 1847 that it would take five or six centuries to clear the ‘Big Scrub’ in northern New South Wales; but it was gone within 20 years of clearance starting in 1880 (Flannery, 1994). However, even in settler societies profoundly wedded to the transformation of landscapes in the name of ‘civilization’, there were early examples of latent conservationist sensibilities. One such was Georgina Molloy, a settler in the 1830s at Flinders Bay, south of Perth, whose enthusiasm for introduced plants was succeeded by an intelligent and sensitive interest in the plants of the local bush (Mulligan and Hill, 2001). A larger-scale conservationist shift in opinion in Australian settler society began much later, in Victoria, during the 1860s and 1870s, as part of a rising interest in ‘natural history’ (Griffiths, 1996). It was in the middle of the 20th century, on the back of formal environmental science (as described above), that it reached beyond a few stalwart ecological pioneers (Mulligan and Hill, 2001).


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COLONIALISM’S LEGACY FOR CONSERVATION The ‘fortress’ approach to conservation is a significant and enduring legacy of colonial conservation in the former British Empire. However, contemporary thinking about nature in former colonial territories bears the imprint of colonial ideas in a variety of ways. While the phenomenon of colonialism is, at one level, one of uniformity, experiences are diverse. Nonetheless, the colonial legacy exhibits a series of common features that reflect the ideological ordering of the colonial mind. Firstly, there is the way knowledge has been acquired, formalized, stored and passed on. Colonialism favoured modern techno-scientific knowledge over folk knowledge, and privileged centralized and formalized ways of knowing nature over localized and informal ways.

The protection of biodiversity may therefore be seen to be one of the most pressing issues in development. With the recognition that conservation often fails to achieve its goals when local people are unsupportive, or are not meaningful partners, the question of local participation is now firmly on international conservation and sustainable development agendas. As a result, many people involved in the conservation, development and academic communities, as well as local people themselves, are involved in the search for sustainable futures. Posey and Dutfield (Posey, 1996; Posey and Dutfield, 1996) have offered comprehensive accounts of the nature of the rights of local traditional peoples in resources and cultural and intellectual property, and the protection of such rights in the context of sustainable traditional use of resources. They observe that environmental concerns increasingly focus upon the roles of indigenous peoples and local communities in enhancing and maintaining biological diversity. Detailing the provisions of each of the relevant conventions, statements and case laws that impact upon traditional peoples, they provide a wealth of knowledge for local groups wanting to pursue their rights. They must do so in the context, however, of an absence of effective measures.


Yamada, T. & Tohkura, Y. 1992, Perception of American English /r/ and /l/ by Native Speakers of Japanese. In Y. Tohkura, E. Bateson & Y. Sagisaka eds.

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The idea was born of seeking contributions to a book from writers and practitioners already engaged in trying to overcome the legacy of colonialism in thinking about nature conservation, or in conservation work. It is important to stress that we come to this project with an active commitment to conservation. In highlighting a need to rethink conservation strategies, we have no desire to decry the important work of conservation pioneers and the movements they were able to build, or to dismiss conservationists’ present-day aspirations. We take it as self-evident that without the legacy of conservation work that has been built in countries such as the UK, Australia, Zimbabwe and South Africa, there would be little or no basis to work from – no thinking to be rethought. However, we do believe that the current discourse about nature conservation needs to become much more inclusive (particularly of the peoples who were colonized) and more dynamic in the face of complex global socio-political changes.

Nature and the colonial mind 39 when under the ‘Black Act’ poachers were transported to penal colonies or hanged, was recreated in Africa (Thompson, 1977). African rural landscapes were conceptually (and sometimes physically) cleared of peasants as unthinkingly as any village moved to enhance the picturesque landscape of an English stately home. Viceroys and governors (mostly recruited from the aristocracy) hunted, as did the lesser ranks of colonial officials, each (mostly) obeying the written laws of the colony and the unwritten laws of hunting etiquette. The majority of these self-styled sportsmen railed against the poverty, ignorance and canny cruelty of African hunters, except when reformed and recruited as game scouts. In time, a major industry developed in the plains of East and Central Africa, as specialized tour companies, increasingly employing the classic ‘white hunter’, took wealthy clients into the wilds to claim their trophy (Packer, 1994). The American obsessions with wilderness and hunting made Africa a natural destination for millionaire sportsmen, Hollywood stars and playboys. Roderick Nash comments: ‘Africa became the new Mecca for nature tourists like Roosevelt, who were wealthy enough to import from abroad what had become scarce at home’ (1982, p343). In practice, big game hunting often lacked the noble qualities of the inheritance it claimed; but it was lucrative, and until the rise of the car-borne tourist in South Africa, and eventually the airliners, package holiday hotels and zebra-striped tour buses of the photo-safari, hunting provided the most visible purpose of conservation.