Landscape, Leisure and Tourism

For Prof. Dr. Jaap Lengkeek

Landscape, Leisure and Tourism

Socio-spatial Studies in Experiences,Practices and Policies

Henk de Haan

René van der Duim

editors

Eburon Delft

2008

ISBN 978-90-5972-299-6Uitgeverij EburonPostbus 28672601 CW DelftTel.: 015 – 213 14 84 / Fax: 015 – 214 68 88info@eburon.nl / www.eburon.nl

Cover design and layout: Henk de HaanTypeset in FF Scala 10/13Cover: Painting by H.J.M.R. de HaanEnglish language editor: Jeremy RaynerEditorial assistance: Katharina ZellmerPublished with the support of Wageningen University,Department of Environmental Sciences,Chairgroup Socio-spatial Analysis

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© 2008 The authors. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechani-cal, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission in writing from the proprietor(s).

Contents

Introduction

1. Henk de Haan and René van der Duim 3Socio-spatial studies in experiences, practices and policies

Part 1: Experiencing nature, landscape and heritage

2. Dmitri Karmanov 17Research methods in landscape perception and experience

3. Maarten Jacobs 31 Emotional responses to animals

4. Arjen Buijs 43 Immigrants between two cultures: Social representations theory and images of nature

5. Jelle Vervloet 63The position of cultural history and heritage management in a complex society

Part 2: Leisure practices and public space

6. Henk de Haan 73Social interaction and neighbourhood control. The significance of walking and narratives

7. Karin Peters 97Leisure in a multicultural society

8. Ramona van Marwijk 113Walkers’ perspectives on nature management strategies: Nature restoration in a National Park

Part 3: The state of the art of tourism research

9. Irena Ateljevic and Linda Peeters 129The hybrid specialities and interdisciplinarity of social science: A case of the tourism studies field

10. Valentina Tassone 159Systematizing scientific knowledge in sustainable tourism, poverty reduction and nature conservation

11. René van der Duim 179Exploring pro-poor tourism research: The state of the art

Part 4: Landscape policies, management and design

12. Marlies van Hal 199Collaborative management in national parks: The case of Retezat National Park, Romania

13. Marleen Buizer 215Local initiatives challenging mainstream policies: Signs of sub-politics?

14. Marlies Brinkhuijsen 229Designing landscapes for leisure: Reconsidering a Dutch design tradition

15. Martijn Duineveld 245The socio-political use of environmental perception, interpretation and evaluation research

Introduction

1 Socio-spatial Studies in Experiences,

Practices and Policies

Henk de Haan and René van der Duim

The environment constitutes the everyday living space for people. People use spatial settings for mobility, work, leisure, dwelling, and so on. Socio-spatial

analysis focuses on these people–environment interactions; that is, on how people and organizations act upon the spatial contexts in which they find themselves, and how space has an impact on their practices and experiences.

This book describes and analyses many different ways in which people interact with the environment, as tourists, policy makers, nature or animal lovers, visitors to urban parks, and citizens walking in their neighbourhood or a natural park. It highlights their environmental practices, experiences and representations and the way in which spatial environments structure these practices and experiences. It also reveals how people and organizations order and structure space (or at least try to), as well as the processes of institutionalization and appropriation that accom-pany such ordering and structuring. It discusses how design, planning, policies and regulation influence people’s behavioural and experiential world.

It is far beyond the scope of this introduction to present a comprehensive over-view of the broad theoretical and thematic domain of the papers. That would be an impossible task. Instead, this introduction explains the aim of the book and clarifies the context from which the contributions originate. This is followed by an overview of the different parts and chapters of the book.

This book is the result of a common effort by the staff members of the So-cio-spatial Analysis chairgroup of Wageningen University, the Netherlands; it presents an overview of current and recent work related to landscape, space, tourism and leisure. The book is dedicated to Jaap Lengkeek, who was appoint-ed professor of the chairgroup in 2002. Between then and his retirement at the end of 2008, he realized a remarkable achievement – as witnessed by this col-lection of papers.

The Socio-spatial Analysis chairgroup originates from the interdisciplinary Working Group on Outdoor Recreation, which was founded in 1984. The working group became a ‘chairgroup’ in 1997, and in 2002 it offered one of the first MSc programmes at Wageningen, entitled ‘Leisure, Tourism and Environment’. In 2003, the group also began participating in the BSc and MSc programmes Land-scape Architecture and Planning, with its own MSc specialization Socio-spatial

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Analysis. In doing so, the study fields of socio-spatial analysis, leisure and tour-ism became increasingly intertwined, not only in education but also in research.

The working group, which had a relatively narrow thematic focus on outdoor recreation, was transformed into a multidisciplinary social-science group, with a broad focus on people–environment interactions. It has always been clear to Lengkeek that leisure and tourism cannot be considered as isolated domains in people’s livelihoods, and that an academically interesting approach should fo-cus on the meanings people attribute to tourist and leisure places and to how they experience leisure and tourism activities. He positioned the Wageningen perspective as a social-science approach, with an emphasis on the integration of tourism and leisure in everyday life-worlds, on the significance of place and the environmental setting, and on the importance of studying experiences and signifying practices.

As such, this approach not only opened up an interesting window on tourism and leisure, but also broadened the thematic focus of the chairgroup to much wider, more fundamental fields of scientific inquiry, more specifically to peo-ple–place interactions. In real life, people are not merely concerned with tem-porary escapes from everyday environments, becoming tourists or consumers of leisure facilities; instead, they look for spatial qualities as part of their general livelihood strategies. They have outspoken environmental demands concerning the quality of residential environments, green spaces, public spaces, landscapes, transit and commercial areas, office spaces and workplaces. The issues studied in tourism and leisure – such as producing and managing attractive destina-tions, where people can enjoy environmental and staged qualities – are not fun-damentally different from the more general focus on place-making, design and planning, and the use and experiences of our everyday environments. Moreover, as Lengkeek was also a fervent supporter of linking tourism, landscapes and cul-tural heritage, heritage studies and heritage experiences also gained an impor-tant position within the chairgroup.

In order to understand tourism and leisure, a scientific approach should look at people–environment interactions from a much broader theoretical perspective. Thus, landscape and nature preferences and attitudes, sense of place, and issues concerned with participative policies and governance can be applied to a wide va-riety of themes, including tourism and leisure. Moreover, the fact that many tour-ism and leisure attractions are not merely the domain of visitors but are an inte-gral part of people’s environment, implies intensive study of the socio-environ-mental effects. What does it mean if an area is dependent on income from tour-ism, or how can tourism play a role in employment and income policies? Or, what happens to farmers and local inhabitants when landscapes are transformed for leisure purposes? Broadening the perspective to the structuration and experience of environmental qualities in general has diversified considerably the theoretical and thematic foci of the chairgroup. The broadening of theoretical and thematic perspectives is well reflected by the scope of the contributions to this book.

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As stated, this volume is dedicated to Jaap Lengkeek. This collection of pa-pers is therefore different from most of the edited volumes that appear nowadays. An edited volume is usually based on carefully selected and often invited papers that are written by a geographically dispersed group of authors on a specialized, narrow theme. The authors of this book are all associated with the same scien-tific group. They are colleagues on a daily basis, commonly responsible for the group’s research and teaching programme. Secondly, the book’s theme represents the wide spectrum of scientific work that is done within the context of the group. This does not mean that the papers are an eclectic selection; on the contrary, each paper touches on fundamental research approaches and themes, and the relation-ships between themes as promoted by Lengkeek. The unity of the contents mir-rors Jaap Lengkeek’s academic heritage.

The result is a collection of papers that range from emotions towards the animal world to poverty-reducing tourism projects, and from landscape experi-ences to ethnic leisure patterns. Despite this variety, all the papers are inspired by the same objective of establishing systematic relationships between people’s spatial preferences, patterns of spatial behaviour, and their effects on social and physical environments. They ref lect the variety of scales and levels of abstrac-tion that characterize the group’s research. The book contains an analysis of global ordering mechanisms of tourism and development paradigms, as well as a precise empirical study of collaborative park management; highly abstract methodological considerations about how to study people’s environmental pref-erences are mixed with a critical approach to how experience research is min-gled with political and policy agendas. There is a remarkable diversity also in a methodological sense. Quantitative research, based on the hypothetical-deduc-tive model, exists side by side with a more social constructivist and symbolic-interactionist approach.

Overview of the book

Part 1 – Experiencing nature, landscape and heritage – comprises four chapters. Karmanov provides a general overview of methods of studying landscape percep-tions, illustrated by a wide variety of mainly experimental psychological research. Jacobs asks why we like or dislike animals, and introduces fundamental emotion theory as a basis to unravel the possible causes and mechanisms that bring about positive or negative feelings towards animals. Buijs presents a conceptual and em-pirical study of how different ethnic groups perceive nature, thereby touching on the problems of a multicultural society and hybrid cultural backgrounds. Finally, Vervloet presents the results of research on the differential perception of cultural-historical landscapes. These papers use a range of perspectives on psychological states, emotions, social representations and images, and landscape visions. How-ever, they all focus on explaining individual, social and cultural differences, thus illustrating the significance of a multilayered reality

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In the first chapter – Research methods in landscape perception and experience – Dmitri Karmanov presents a review of the psychological research into landscape perception and experience, with a particular focus on the methods and techniques used. According to Karmanov, experience studies are confronted with the major methodological problem of how to access an individual’s perceptual, cognitive and affective representations of an environment. His review is based on research pa-pers published in Environment and Behavior and Journal of Environmental Psychol-ogy. The five clusters of methods that in recent decades have been consistently ap-plied in the psychological research into landscape experience are questionnaires, psychometric tests, psychophysical methods, psychophysiological methods, and observation. After discussing these methods, Karmanov raises the problem of the measurement of psychological states. He argues that there is no direct access to mental characteristics and that properties of the mind do not lend themselves to simple physical measurement. Although attempts have been made to develop em-pirical measures that do approximate psychological characteristics, the imperfec-tion of the relationship between psychological characteristics and their assumed empirical manifestations has not yet been resolved. The application of a combina-tion of various methods and techniques seems to be the best way forward. How-ever, landscape experience will never be exhaustively accounted for.

In the second chapter – Emotional responses to animals – Maarten Jacobs ar-gues that human relationships with animals, including ‘instant’ short-term rela-tionships such as encountering a wild squirrel, are often characterized by strong feelings. Liking or disliking animals results from those feelings, which are always accompanied by a positive or a negative emotion. In this theoretical paper, he ex-plains the possible causes of why we like or dislike animals by describing dif-ferent types of emotional responses to animals and elucidating the underlying mechanisms. Fundamental insights into the workings of emotions provide good reasons to assume three types of emotional responses, namely evolutionary devel-oped innate responses, unconsciously learned responses and consciously learned responses. These different emotional responses may account for instances of lik-ing or disliking animals as found in the scientific literature and derived from an-ecdotal evidence. According to Jacobs, the study of our emotional relationships with animals and the underlying mechanisms can contribute to our general un-derstanding of people’s attitudes, norms and values with respect to, for instance, wildlife management, the keeping of companion animals, agricultural produc-tion, animal-related tourism, etc.

In the third chapter in Part 1 – Immigrants between two cultures – Arjen Buijs fo-cuses on the images of nature held by different ethnic groups. According to Buijs, environmental psychology does not pay sufficient attention to the dynamics of the human–nature relationship. To understand the dynamics of how individual im-migrants look upon nature, he suggests using social representations theory. Rep-resentations are primarily produced in our contacts with other people and institu-tions. As consensual representations, they form the agreed set of values, beliefs,

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images and metaphors that are attached to a specific object. Buijs emphasizes that individual cognitions – which he coins as ‘images of nature’ – cannot be equated with social representations, which provide people with a repertoire of views and ideas and are internalized in individual minds. Images of nature are ‘enclosing frameworks that direct and structure the perception and appreciation of nature’. When individuals incorporate conflicting elements from different social represen-tations, this leads to ‘cognitive polyphasia.’ These theoretical perspectives are used to show how and why immigrants and native Dutch people differ in the way they look at nature and nature management. Dutch people support a wilderness image of nature, while immigrant groups show massive support for the functional im-age and only very limited support for the wilderness image. These results suggest that both first-generation immigrants and the native Dutch construct their images of nature based on the social representations that are dominant in their own cul-tures. Interestingly, second-generation immigrants (persons born in the Nether-lands but raised in an immigrant culture) seem to take a middle position between the two groups. Their adherence to the different images of nature is a result of a combination of the functional images that are dominant among first-generation immigrants and the wilderness images held by many native Dutch persons. These results seem to reflect the complex cultural situation of these second-generation immigrants: they clearly belong to two different social groups that are related to very different cultures. Buijs’s observations raise interesting questions about the phase of acculturalization among second-generation immigrants, who seem to draw simultaneously on two social representations of nature.

In the last chapter of Part 1 – The position of cultural history and heritage man-agement in a complex society – Jelle Vervloet approaches the position of cultural his-tory and heritage management in relation to the complex society in which we live. He reports on a research project that analysed the perception of cultural-historical landscapes by different social groups, namely local and regional historical associa-tions, local people and various interest groups. Each group has its own apprecia-tion of specific phenomena in cultural-historical landscapes. Aspects that play an important role in the perception of landscapes are knowledge, emotional commit-ment, susceptibility to aesthetics, satisfaction of functional needs, and economic dependence. Glasses (spectacles) are used as a metaphor to express specific social groups’ views of cultural history. Vervloet distinguishes, for instance, policy glass-es, expert glasses, sunglasses and market glasses. Given this perceptual differen-tiation, the question is how to use this variety of information in heritage manage-ment. What kind of solution can be recommended in the confrontation between expert knowledge and actor knowledge? Vervloet clearly demonstrates one of the complexities of contemporary policies that are related to landscape and heritage management in general. Different actors – ranging from local people to profes-sionals, and from academics to tourists – have diverging perceptions of the his-torical landscape, and this often makes it difficult for policy makers, who prefer to deal with more uniform representations of reality, to take decisions.

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In Part 2 – Leisure practices and public space – the emphasis shifts from environ-mental experiences, attitudes and emotions, to environmental practices. Three papers study people’s leisure-related behaviour in residential areas, public spaces, parks and protected natural areas. De Haan explores the neighbourhood setting as an arena of social control and interaction, arguing that architectural and plan-ning principles have a huge impact on human interaction. Peters studies urban public spaces and more formal leisure zones from the perspective of the multi-cultural society, while in the last chapter of Part 2, van Marwijk studies landscape preferences in a protected National Park. Interaction between people and between people and the environment, and the focus on behaviour, show how attitudes and preferences are based in practical experiences and cannot always be studied in an experimental way, removed from the concrete bodily experiences.

In his paper Social interaction and neighbourhood control, Henk de Haan fo-cuses on the residential area as an important setting for people’s leisure time. His point of departure is the vulnerable position of the home: in a neighbour-hood context it is exposed to the effects of all kinds of human activities. The ex-perience of dwelling is determined not only by the quality of the time spent in-doors but also by the environmental qualities outside the house. According to de Haan, most neighbourhood residents are fully aware of their neighbourhood’s qualities and the need to control the external impact on their private dwellings. He describes this extension of the personal domain into the public domain in terms of social, cognitive and material appropriation. ‘Control tactics’ are not al-ways consciously practised as instrumental and functional tactics. Welcoming new inhabitants, having an informal chat in the street and taking a walk around the block are basically leisure activities that people undertake primarily for so-cial or physical reasons. Establishing social relations with neighbours and gain-ing extensive knowledge of neighbourhood space and events are natural out-comes of people’s inherent openness to their environment. The fact that social networks and neighbourhood knowledge are important preconditions for exer-cising control and for creating a sort of collective moral space reveals the dou-ble meaning of leisure time: it is the time experienced as socially and physically pleasant, but also as time that is useful for maintaining and improving the con-ditions for leisure and pleasure. In conclusion, de Haan argues that self-regula-tion, social regulation and environmental regulation are fascinating concepts to be explored in different types of neighbourhood. Neighbourhoods offer a living laboratory for researching the intersection between the personal, the social and the environmental.

Karin Peters, in her paper Leisure in a multicultural society, discusses ethnic di-versity and leisure from three perspectives. She first looks at the leisure patterns in terms of ethnic participation. Based on theories of marginality and ethnicity, she argues that both socio-economic and sociocultural aspects partly explain dif-ferences in leisure behaviour. The second perspective considers the significance of leisure activities for inter-ethnic integration. Peters describes the outcome of

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her research at a number of urban parks, where different ethnic groups are most likely to meet and interact. She concludes that although ethnic minority groups do indeed visit the same places, there is not much evidence of ‘mixed’ encounters. The third part deals with ethnicity as a commodified product. Based on various ex-amples, she shows that ethnic diversity can and is used to attract people, and that ethnic groups frequently interact in themed and staged environments. According to Peters, leisure studies can contribute significantly to an understanding of so-cial integration. In leisure activities, which mostly take place in the public sphere or in relatively open institutional contexts, people are relatively free from the re-strictions they encounter in educational systems or the labour market. Her find-ing that even in leisure activities the ethnic divisions of society are reproduced is therefore remarkable.

The last chapter of Part 2 was written by Ramona van Marwijk. Her paper Walk-ers’ perspectives on nature management strategies is part of a bigger research project on time–space behavioural patterns in a landscape where nature development and recreational values are combined. As the title indicates, she is interested in what walkers in a Dutch National Park think of interventions in the landscape that are intended to restore the original local natural features. Nature managers face the dual task of conserving and restoring nature, and offering opportunities for rec-reationists to enjoy nature. Their nature restoration interventions regularly draw criticism from various groups, such as residents and recreationists. The research focused on people with in situ experience, and although they were asked to partici-pate in a more distanced research methodology, they were capable of referring to the landscape in which they had walked. The respondents were divided into two groups. The first received information about the restoration project, while the sec-ond did not. The research question was: what is the effect of knowledge on pref-erence and perception? The results show that recreationists perceive the restored nature sites more positively than the traditionally managed ones: bogs and wet forest were preferred to coniferous and deciduous forest. In addition, the presen-tation of information about the ideas behind the restoration plan positively influ-enced the desirability of restored nature sites.

Part 3 discusses The state of the art of tourism research. Socio-spatial analysis at Wageningen University has a strong empirical focus on international tourism and its relation to sustainable development through its international MSc pro-gramme in Leisure, Tourism and Environment, the appointment in 2009 of a special professor focusing on tourism and sustainable development, and an ex-tensive portfolio in applied research focusing on tourism, nature conservation and poverty alleviation and on tourism and socio-economic transformation. We therefore decided to devote the third part of this book to the state of the art of tourism research. First, Ateljevic and Peeters provide a historical map of tourism studies for the last four decades, namely from the late 1960s until the late 2000s. The analysis of tourism studies in general is followed by a more detailed map-

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ping by Tassone of the development of research in the field of tourism, nature conservation and poverty reduction. She provides an indication of the direction of past scientific research work in this field. She also explores research trends, gaps and opportunities, and concludes that there is a dire need to develop new research concepts and frameworks and innovative ways of combining existing approaches. In the third chapter, van der Duim discusses the origin of the con-cept of pro-poor tourism in a historical perspective. He also examines the current state of research in the field of pro-poor tourism and discusses the way forward for research on pro-poor tourism.

In the first chapter – The hybrid specialities and interdisciplinarity of social sci-ence – Irena Ateljevic and Linda Peeters examine 40 years of tourism knowledge production by linking the phenomenal world of ‘tourism per se’ with the ‘knowl-edge force field,’ that is, where a researcher ‘sits’ to gaze upon the phenomenon, research it and write about it. Despite the maturation signs, the three most im-portant challenges faced by tourism studies are: 1) to deepen the efforts of greater dialogue between business and non-business studies approaches in order to bring together pure theoretical preoccupations and empirical concerns of necessary so-cial change; 2) to change the image of tourism, which is still seen as a frivolous service industry that mostly creates negative environmental, social and cultural impacts; and 3) to move beyond the still dominant Eurocentric perspectives and develop conceptualizations of tourisms that include multiple cultural differences, worldviews and research activities that reflect and recognize the plurality of all practices, positions and insights.

In her paper Systematizing scientific knowledge in sustainable tourism, poverty re-duction and nature conservation, Valentina Tassone presents an analysis of 67 scien-tific papers on tourism, poverty alleviation and nature conservation issues that ap-peared in 15 social-science journals in the period 2003–2006. Her study provides an indication of the direction of past scientific research work and explores research trends, gaps and opportunities, also taking into account societal need. Her findings suggest that research on poverty issues is very much overlooked and that there is a clear need to investigate the effectiveness of tourism strategies for the poor (see also van der Duim, this volume). Distribution of resources, equity issues, commu-nity involvement, group cohesion, and potential partnerships and arrangements should be carefully examined. Researchers must also deepen their understanding of the interconnection and interdependency between poverty, tourism and nature conservation issues. According to Tassone, problem-oriented research should be less fragmented and more broad in its scope. Case studies should be more spread among regions and especially focus on less-researched topics, such as poverty and sustainability issues in developing countries. Concept-oriented research should be put higher on the research agenda, also because it provides the philosophical, con-ceptual and methodological grounds upon which practical research can be imple-mented. The development of new concepts and frameworks and innovative ways of combining existing approaches is very much needed.

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In his paper Exploring pro-poor tourism research: the state of the art, René van der Duim stresses the need for more comparative and longitudinal research projects to assess the impacts of pro-poor tourism strategies and interventions in order to substantiate the promises of pro-poor tourism, and to further the theoretical, methodological and conceptual underpinning of this type of research. He first discusses the origin of the concept of pro-poor tourism in a historical perspective, showing that liberal and neoliberal, critical and alternative development approach-es have all contributed in some way to the growth of interest in pro-poor tourism. Second, he examines the current state of research in the field of pro-poor tourism and discusses the way forward for research. Van der Duim argues not only to do more and especially better research on pro-poor tourism, but also to critically an-alyse how people and organizations (and especially development organizations) construct or have constructed pro-poor tourism and initiated research to substan-tiate pro-poor tourism.

The fourth and final part of this book – Landscape policies, management and design – concerns the way in which interventions influence people’s behaviour and expe-riences and how, vice versa, people try to influence policies and interventions. Van Hal examines a collaborative management project in Retezat National Park, Roma-nia. Buizer links up three private, local initiatives to influence policy making with the concept of ‘sub-politics’ as introduced by Beck. Brinkhuijsen examines to what extent leisure approaches in the context of the Dutch design tradition are still rele-vant and suitable in the twenty-first century. In the last chapter, Duineveld examines the extra-scientific uses of environmental perception, interpretation and evaluation research, and argues that social scientists should become more aware of the con-texts in which they produce knowledge and they way it can be used and misused.

In the first chapter – Collaborative management in National Parks: the case of Re-tezat National Park, Romania – Marlies van Hal examines a collaborative manage-ment project in the named National Park. Managers of protected areas increasing-ly recognize that protected area management needs to take a cooperative and col-laborative approach with local stakeholders in order to share the responsibility for management. In this chapter Van Hal develops a framework, or a set of criteria, for examining the conditions for creating collaborative management processes in protected areas. Her assessment criteria are derived from a comparison of the relevant literature. The resulting framework consists of five dimensions: stake-holder characteristics, relationships and communication, process and structure, resources, and external environment. Based on this, the study then examines the collaborative management of RNP. The framework allowed the identification of a number of issues that have an effect on that collaborative management.

In her paper Local initiatives challenging mainstream polices: signs of sub-poli-tics?, Marleen Buizer shows how citizens, societal organizations, private enter-prises or combinations thereof attempt to influence policy making in their own time, regarding their own ‘place’ and on their own conditions. Her qualitative

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analysis of three private, local initiatives and particularly of what exactly happens in their interactions with ‘established’ policies is an attempt to answer the ques-tion in which sense these initiatives are ‘sub-politics in the making’. She suggests that exploring the interconnections between discourses and institutional prac-tices may be a particularly fruitful way to uncover in what sense these initiatives could be characterized as ‘sub-political’ in terms of discourse as well as in terms of institutional practices.

In her paper Designing landscapes for leisure: reconsidering a Dutch design tradi-tion, Marlies Brinkhuijsen examines the extent to which leisure approaches in the Dutch design tradition concerning rural landscapes are still relevant and suitable in the context of current new leisure demands and landscape challenges. She anal-yses operational and strategic landscape designs to uncover the underlying design concepts, tools and ideas. These are compared and critically reviewed from an ac-ademic and a practical point of view. According to Brinkhuijsen, a marked short-coming in the reconstructed design tradition is the negligence and underestima-tion of sociocultural aspects. Landscape has been approached as an ecological, functional and economic system. Landscape designers can overcome this short-coming by making use of extensive theoretical and empirical knowledge. They need to familiarize themselves with the specific leisure knowledge produced by leisure and tourism studies, environmental psychology, cultural geography and cultural anthropology. Brinkhuijsen urges landscape designers to include people in their landscape studies and to treat their needs and desires with the same pas-sion and sensitivity as they do other demands, in order to instigate a flow of new (or renewed) design concepts, tools and images.

Finally, in the last chapter – The socio-political use of environmental perception, interpretation and evaluation research – Martijn Duineveld examines the extra-sci-entific uses of environmental perception, interpretation and evaluation research. Extra-scientific use refers to all those types of research that attempt to acquire insights into the ways people perceive, construct, value and evaluate their envi-ronment. In its many forms – from psychological analyses to interpretative an-thropological approaches – it is a type of research that has recently gained popu-larity in the Netherlands, partly because it is regarded as relevant to politics and policy making. Within these extra-scientific practices, the results of perception, interpretation and evaluation research are and can be used for various purpos-es. Duineveld distinguishes seven uses of research: the democratization of policy and decision-making processes; policy evaluation; management and resolution of conflicts; support and formation of policies; improvement of communication strategies; deconstruction of policy assumptions; and the legitimating of existing policies and political action. Although this use in research tenders and scientific reports is hardly ever explicated as an extra-scientific goal, a brief analysis of the actual uses of perception, interpretation and evaluation research shows that the results are frequently used as means to achieve these goals. This particular use of research becomes problematic when it leads to undemocratic practices in which

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certain groups use research results to legitimize their own facts and values and leave aside or exclude others. To tackle this problem, social scientists should be-come more aware of the contexts in which they produce knowledge (the scientific field) and of how knowledge can be used and misused outside the academic field. For this, Duineveld explores the concept of reflexivity (or participant objectivation or auto-analysis), which stems from the French sociologist Bourdieu.

The future of socio-spatial analysis

This book illustrates the way in which socio-spatial analysis and leisure and tour-ism studies have gradually managed to amalgamate within the context of one par-ticular chairgroup during the last decade. As Ateljevic explains in this volume, in the efforts to build a more integrated interdisciplinary field of tourism studies, works have emerged that are innovative in that they analyse tourism and leisure as powerful agents that are related to critical socio-political and economic issues of sustainability, heritage, governance, migration, urban–rural relations, nature con-servation, human and spatial marginalization, globalization, representation, cul-tural commodification, consumption, and social identities and experiences. In or-der to theorize and examine these issues, insights from socio-spatial analysis have been employed to give greater impetus to the social science trajectory. On the oth-er hand, it has become clear to the chairgroup that socio-spatial analysis has a lot to gain from the innovative works within the realm of leisure and tourism studies. As stated above, the issues studied in tourism and leisure – such as producing and managing attractive destinations, the way people experience landscape and nature during their leisure time, or the way tourists or recreationists and tourism and leisure organizations order and structure space – are not fundamentally differ-ent from the more general issues of place-making, design and planning, and the use and experiences of our everyday environments. It is the ambition of the chair-group to further connect these two worlds at a theoretical level, in education and in research, by incessantly studying experiences, practices and representations within the realms of everyday spaces, as well as leisure and tourism landscapes. As this book illustrates, the link between tourism and leisure studies and socio-spatial analysis, and consequently the chairgroups’ empirical focus on everyday, leisure and tourism landscapes, will continue to contribute to the societal and po-litical debates on the importance of the environment for sustainable development; planning, design and landscape architecture; liveability, health, social and mental well-being; and – last but not least – entertainment and leisure.

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Part 1

Experiencing Nature,Landscape and Heritage

2 Research Methods in Landscape

Perception and Experience

Dmitri Karmanov

Over the last decades researchers into the experiential qualities of landscape have developed a variety of theoretical perspectives, concepts and research

methods. This paper presents a review of the psychological research into land-scape perception and experience with a particular focus on the methods and tech-niques used rather than on theories or empirical results. Although the ideas, con-ceptual frameworks and theories that drive research are of primary importance, we should not underestimate the importance of the research methods and tech-niques (questionnaires, tests, physiological measures, observation, etc.), as they determine the nature of the data collected in support of these theories. Discuss-ing methodological issues separately from any theoretical framework may be con-sidered a rather artificial undertaking. As a rule, the nature of the theory restricts the range of research methods that can be meaningfully used. For example, for a theory explaining the stress-reducing capacity of natural environments it is nec-essary to estimate stress levels, using some sort of physiological measure. On the other hand, the number of ideas and theories about landscape experience that are worth investigating is potentially limitless, whereas the number of available methods is restricted.

The focus on methods is prompted by the observation that operationalizing research questions – that is, translating ideas into feasible research strategies – may be as difficult as generating the ideas in the first place. A variety of methods are available for testing psychological theories. In fact, it is wise to test a theory using different methods in order to prove that it is not the application of some spe-cific method that results in the theory being supported or rejected. A synopsis of the methods that have been applied in the investigation of landscape perception and experience can therefore be quite useful. For then the characteristics of the method and the nature of the resulting data can already be considered in terms of their suitability to answer the research question. The subject of this review is not the strengths and weaknesses of specific methods; rather, the emphasis is on providing guidance for the selection of methods. The choice of a method is also determined by a number of questions generated by the theory of measurement. These will be discussed. In this review I draw a distinction between methods and techniques: ‘methods’ refer to general strategies of data collection and analysis,

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while ‘techniques’ refer to specific measures (skin conductance or heart rate) or strategies of data collection (the use of specific types of observational techniques).

Systems of inquiry

The fundamental task of psychological research is to explain differences. These may be the differences between experimental conditions, groups of people or en-vironments. The research methods used to investigate differences have tradition-ally been divided into quantitative and qualitative ones.

The ontological and epistemological foundations of quantitative and qualita-tive frameworks are rather different. A quantitative approach presupposes the ex-istence of an objective reality in which the researcher is independent of the subject of inquiry. The assumption behind a qualitative approach is that reality is subjec-tive and the researcher and the subject of inquiry interact with each other (Groat & Wang, 2002: 27–28). This difference is reflected in the methodologies of each approach. Quantitative research is described as a “deductive process of inquiry that seeks cause-and-effect explanations,” and qualitative research as an “inductive process that seeks clarification of multiple critical factors affecting the phenome-non” (ibid.). In quantitative research the emphasis is on internal and external valid-ity, reliability and objectivity; qualitative research highlights the historical and so-cial context of research, that is, its political, gender, ethnic and racial connotations.

The representation of qualitative and quantitative methods as innately op-posite approaches may, however, be an oversimplification. In the practice of re-search, qualitative and quantitative techniques are complementary, as they focus on different aspects of reality. Qualitative methods can be used to describe a phe-nomenon, its nature and its development in time, while quantitative methods are used to describe the frequency of its occurrence, the range of its distribution, etc. Thus: “. . . participant observation in the hands of a positivist may be used to doc-ument the number and length of interactions within a setting, but in the hands of an action theorist the technique may be used to explore the realms of subjec-tive meaning of those interactions.” (Morgan & Smircich, cited in Groat & Wang, 2002: 31)

At a theoretical level both qualitative and quantitative techniques categorize phenomena, the former emphasizing words and the latter numbers. In practice, research would profit from the elimination of any sharp boundaries between qualitative and quantitative approaches. For example, it should be customary to use some qualitative technique (e.g. an unstructured interview) as a first stage in an otherwise quantitative inquiry. It goes without saying that qualitative methods are important in their own right. Consider, for instance, the wealth of informa-tion that has come from a study into the landscapes of childhood that was based on the interpretation of personal experiences (Sebba, 1991), or a study of personal experiences of natural landscapes by elderly Japanese that was assessed by means of in-depth interviews (Ohta, 2001).

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As most psychological research into landscape experience has been of a quan-titative nature, in this review I will not discuss techniques associated exclusive-ly with qualitative research, such as action research, ethnographical research or diary techniques. After reviewing the methods and some of the techniques of quantitative research, I will discuss a number of theoretical questions related to the choice of methods and the analysis of research data from the perspective of measurement theory.

The categorization of psychological methods

This review of psychological methods is based on research papers published in two journals that comprehensively cover the spectrum of theories and methods of research into landscape perception and landscape experience. The two journals are Environment and Behavior and Journal of Environmental Psychology.

Five clusters of methods can be distinguished that in recent decades have been consistently applied in the psychological research into landscape experi-ence: questionnaires, psychometric tests, psychophysical and psychophysiologi-cal methods, and observation. Theories of landscape perception and experience (e.g. the theory of ‘restorative environments’) usually rely on a combination of methods. Different methods are sometimes applied within one study, for in-stance a combination of behavioural and cognitive map analysis (Holahan & Do-browolny, 1978).

Questionnaires

It is no surprise that questionnaires are the most widely used technique in land-scape perception and experience research. Although there are many established psychometric tests (see below), researchers often need to create their own meas-ures to investigate their specific research questions. Questionnaires became such a popular research technique because of their versatility and the possibility of customizing them. The use of questionnaires is virtually indispensable as an ini-tial step in gathering information about phenomena in order to formulate specif-ic hypotheses. A vast number of research topics have been explored using ques-tionnaires, from the aesthetic and emotional experiences of wilderness hikers (Shafer & Mietz, 1969), through the dimensions of wilderness solitude (Ham-mitt, 1982), to the analysis of preferences for urban nature (Herzog, 1989) and the determinants of recreation satisfaction in camping (Dorfman, 1979).

Psychometric tests

Psychometric testing is a very common method of data collection in psychologi-cal research. Psychometric tests are fully developed questionnaires, with known reliability, validity and population parameters; an example is the Minnesota Mul-

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tiphasic Personality Inventory (Graham, 2006). Most psychometric tests are norm referenced, which means that data exist about the range of scores that can be expected from the population under consideration (Hammond, 1995). There are also criterion (performance) referenced psychometric tests with known ex-pected standards of performance. Exact, operationally defined concepts under-lie these tests. Psychometric tests have been developed to measure an extremely broad range of mental characteristics: aptitudes, competencies, personality traits, mood states, psychopathologies and attitudes. Researchers into landscape expe-rience have applied a variety of psychometric tests: personality tests, the Seman-tic Differential (Osgood et al., 1957), the Profile of Mood States (POMS) (McNair et al., 1971), the Zuckerman Inventory of Personal Reactions (ZIPERS) (Zucker-man, 1977), etc.

Using a popular test with known characteristics saves time and facilitates the comparison of results between different studies. Whereas using an existing test may appear a better option than designing a questionnaire, it is essential to bear in mind that the content of the instrument of measurement must be relevant to the environment or psychological state under consideration. This is not always the case, as many tests will have been developed for a different purpose in a dif-ferent situation. In such cases, it may be advisable to design a questionnaire.

Psychometric tests are usually divided into four categories: projective tests, self-report inventories, objective tests and ideographic measures. Projective tests are primarily used in psychiatry (e.g. the Rorschach test). Such tests were devel-oped to bring to the surface pathological processes that may not be accessible to a subject’s consciousness. It is unlikely that projective tests can be applied outside the clinical context. Self-report inventories, on the other hand, have been com-monly used in landscape perception and experience research to measure environ-mental attitudes (Milfont & Duckitt, 2004), personality factors (Stamps & Nasar, 1997), mood states (Karmanov & Hamel, 2008), etc.

Objective tests include tests of knowledge and performance. For instance, a performance test was applied in a study of affective restoration in which a proof-reading task (i.e. finding misspellings and errors) was used as a measure of affec-tive restoration (Hartig et al., 1991). Shibata and Suzuki (2002) applied an associ-ation task (the generation of words for given items) and a sorting task (the sorting of 180 index cards into Japanese alphabetic order) to the investigation of the effect of the presence of leafy plants in a room on the subjects’ task performance. Ob-jective tests have also been applied in studies of unconscious processes. Affective priming is a technique that has proved to be effective in the exploration of uncon-scious influences on the perceived experiential qualities of natural environments. Stimuli that are thought to be of functional importance to the organism may elicit unconscious emotional reactions without a subject becoming aware of them. The presence as well as the type of ‘hidden’ emotional reactions may be deduced from participants’ faster reaction times to affectively similar stimuli, for instance faces that express specific emotions (Korpela et al., 2002; Hietanen & Korpela, 2004).

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Ideographic tests focus on individual respondents. A widely applied strategy is that of a repertory grid. The technique in its simplest form requires the par-ticipants to compare and contrast sets of three elements (people, environments, objects, etc.) using their own words and criteria. The method allows the respond-ents to choose their own concepts for the categorization of perceived experiential qualities of, for instance, built environments (Leff & Deutsch, 1973). The result-ing descriptions are further analysed using multidimensional scaling technique (MDS) in order to discern patterns of relationships between the elements (Gär-ling, 1976). An advantage of the grid method is that it combines the ideograph-ic assessment of an individual’s constructs with the possibility of generalization across groups of people through the use of statistical techniques.

Another ideographic measure is the analysis of cognitive maps, a measure that was initiated by Lynch (Lynch, 1960). Cognitive maps are hypothesized rep-resentations of the environment, embodying people’s knowledge, beliefs, concep-tions and misconceptions about the spatial organization of the environment. Ask-ing people to draw a map of their physical environment reveals individuals’ rep-resentations of it, which can subsequently be examined for inaccuracies and dis-tortions (Kitchin, 1994).

Ideographic tests have frequently been used to study preferences for natural scenes, particularly by means of a multiple sorting task (Zube et al., 1983; Kap-lan, 1987; Scott & Canter, 1997). Respondents are usually asked to categorize a set of elements (photos of natural scenes) according to perceived similarities and differences. Kaplan (1987) used a multiple sorting task to find a relation-ship between preferences for natural scenes and specific physical characteris-tics of these scenes. He notes the relative inaccessibility of landscape preference to conscious introspection. Participants tend to be unaware of the properties of natural scenes (mystery, coherence) that proved effective in predicting their preferences.

Psychophysical methods

Psychophysical methods have been of distinct importance to the research into landscape experience and perception. These methods were developed as tech-niques for measuring the parameters of sensory and perceptual systems. In psy-chological research these methods are commonly used to find the minimum dif-ference in the physical intensity of a stimulus that is still recognized as difference in perceived experiential quality (two frequencies of sound that are still detected as two different sounds). This technique of threshold detection can be applied to determine various types of thresholds: between sounds, colours or words.

The methods of visual threshold detection have rarely been used in landscape research, with the notable exception of Shang and Bishop’s (2000) study. Psy-chophysical research into landscape perception and experience uses techniques that allow exploration of the relationship between experiential qualities of land-

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scapes and their physical characteristics. Photographs of landscapes are generally used. The physical features of the depicted scenes are either described accurately or measured. These features are subsequently related to preferences or to judge-ments of scenic beauty by means of regression analysis (Calvin et al., 1972; Abelló et al., 1986). For instance, Shafer (1969) developed a mathematical model of land-scape preferences for use in the assessment of the recreation potential of land-scapes. Preferences were determined by means of the combined effect of specific landscape properties: the perimeter of vegetation, the presence of water, the area of non-vegetation, the total area covered by clouds, etc. In a similar study, Patsfall and Feimer (1984) examined the physical properties of landscapes that contribute to their perceived scenic quality.

The effect of specific physical characteristics of landscapes on perceived ex-periential qualities (safety, preference, scenic quality) can also be investigated by manipulating the physical characteristics of landscapes using photographs (e.g. by adding or taking away trees or varying tree size) (Sheets & Manzer, 1991). Variations in specific physical properties can then be related to changes in the experience of landscape. Many landscape perception studies make use of this technique, such as a study of preferred tree shapes in which different shapes and heights of trees were related to preference judgements (Summit & Sommer, 1999; Herzog & Flynn-Smith, 2001). Another example is a study of the emo-tional experience of parks in which scenes representing different levels of three physical characteristics – namely tree spacing, density of understorey growth (brush, shrubs and grasses) and presence of paths – were correlated with meas-ures of affect, that is, pleasure, beauty, activity, satisfaction, etc. (Hull & Harvey, 1989).

Psychophysiological methods

Research into landscape perception and experience has also been characterized by an interest in the interactions between psychological and physiological phe-nomena. The physiological impact of environments has been seen as an impor-tant complement to subjective psychological data. Another rationale behind the use of psychophysiological methods was the fact that physiological measures are much more successful in motivating governmental action (Ulrich, 1981). The field of psychophysiology is concerned with the manipulation of psychological variables while observing the effects of such manipulation on physiological proc-esses (Barrett & Sowden, 1995). Additionally, the behavioural consequences of physiological states (e.g. the avoidance of stress-inducing environments) and the effects of behaviour on these physiological states have been investigated.

Much research has been done into the physiology of emotion, stress, cognitive task performance, personality, etc. The vast array of physiological measures in-cludes muscle activity (electromyographic; EMG), galvanic skin response (SCR), electro-oculography (EOG) (eye movements), cardiac response (ECG), the electri-

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cal/magnetic activity of a mass action of neurons within the cortex (EEG/MEG) and functional brain imaging (fMRI), to name but a few. The potential of these techniques has barely been touched upon within landscape perception and ex-perience research. There are limits to their utility, however, since as a rule such techniques were developed in a very different research context. They may be high-ly specific in terms of data presentation and format and many are associated with specific psychological parameters. For instance, skin conductance is particularly useful as a measure of arousal, facial electromyography and cardiac response as measures of emotional states, EEG as a measure of attentional focus and cogni-tive performance, etc. Therefore, finding a physiological measure suitable to the goals of landscape research may be a challenge.

Nevertheless, some of the measures have been successfully applied by re-searchers into landscape perception and experience. For instance, Ulrich (1981) used heart rate and EEG (alpha waves) as measures of cortical arousal and found that natural environments have beneficial, stress-reducing effects. In a different study (Ulrich et al., 1991), stress recovery during exposure to natural and urban environments was measured by a battery of physiological measures, namely heart period, muscle tension, skin conductance and pulse transit time (a non-invasive measure that correlates with systolic blood pressure). In a study into stress recov-ery after exposure to various roadside environments, measures of blood pressure, electrodermal and facial electromyographic activity (EMG) were used (Parsons et al., 1998). In a study of preferred tree shapes preferences for shapes and heights of trees were related to measures of blood pressure and skin temperature (Lohr & Pearson-Mims, 2006). Another example of the application of psychophysiologi-cal techniques is the research into the memorization of views seen when driving along a road (Carr & Schissler, 1969). In this study, the car passengers’ eye move-ments were recorded and compared with the data from free recall of the journey. Finally, a study of the beneficial effects of gardening made use of salivary cortisol as a measure of arousal (van den Berg et al., 2006).

Observation

A traditional and still very popular technique is that of observation. It enables a researcher to study behaviour as it takes place in a variety of situations. Behaviour can sometimes be sampled by constructing simulated situations (e.g. role play). However, simply watching and listening in combination with the recording or counting of phenomena generates a rich source of data. Observational techniques have now been enriched by the use of covert observation at a distance using GPS or radio-wave tracking devices (Shoval & Isaacson, 2007). The problem generally associated with behaviour observation techniques is the difficulty of explaining the underlying mechanisms of and motivation behind observed behaviour, as these require insights into the cognitive and emotional aspects of human func-tioning. This limits their value.

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The measurement of psychological states

The quality of experience is not easily categorized or expressed in words; its caus-es are often not accessible to conscious scrutiny. The aim of this short theoretical exposition is to borrow ideas from the theory of measurement in psychology and apply them to the experience of landscape. The vast array of methods applied to psychological research into landscape experience allows the exploration of a va-riety of psychological processes that underlie the experience of landscape. Such exploration requires the quantification and measurement of psychological states. Measurement has been defined as “an essentially representational activity, that is, a process of assigning numbers in such a manner as to preserve basic qualitative relations observed in the world” (Narens & Luce, 1986, cited in Borsboom, 2005: 86). The problem with the measurement of psychological states is that there is no direct access to mental characteristics; properties of mind do not lend themselves to simple physical measurement.

Two approaches can be distinguished in the theory of measurement, namely a realist and an anti-realist approach. These approaches differ fundamentally in how they understand the relationship between abstract scientific concepts – such as intelligence, depression, stress – and concrete observations (Borsboom, 2005: 6). From the realist perspective, theoretical constructs such as intelligence or ex-traversion, as well as experiential qualities such as attractiveness, are described as unobservable but nonetheless real phenomena that possess causal power. For instance, the experience of a garden’s attractiveness is thought to exist irrespec-tive of whether anybody attempts to measure it or express it in words. From the anti-realist perspective, theoretical constructs or experiential qualities have no referents in reality (ibid.: 7); they have no existential status independent of ob-servations. From this perspective, the experience of attractiveness is not merely estimated by means of numbers or words but is constructed in the process of its estimation.

The distinctions made in the theory of measurement do not apply in the prac-tice of psychological inquiry. The measurement of experience usually involves a number of steps. To begin with, experiential states must be conceptualized in terms of specific experiential qualities (attractiveness, interestingness). Then the experiential qualities must be made measurable by relating them to an observable entity, such as verbal description or physiological or behavioural records. Finally, the observable entities are measured by means of a technique of measurement, such as scales, test scores or physiological records. The hypothetical property be-ing assessed (e.g. intelligence) is linked to the measured property (e.g. score on intelligence test) by common sense only. “Considering the inexactness of deno-tations of words defining constructs, it is impossible to prove that any collection of observables measures a construct” (Nunnally, 1994: 106). This observation ap-plies both to measurements of theoretical constructs – such as intelligence – and to the measurement of specific experiential qualities, such as attractiveness.

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The objectivity of measurement seems to be even more compromised when we attempt to explore people’s experience of a garden by asking them to score it on a number of such vague qualities as attractiveness, friendliness or boringness, than when we attempt to measure their intelligence. In this respect, Nunnally (ibid.: 50) makes a distinction between ‘judgements’ – when a correct response can be given – and ‘sentiments,’ when a preference is pronounced. In both cases, however, it remains fundamentally uncertain whether (and if so, to what extent) the quality to be measured is actually present in the measurements, or whether it is at all possible to express the quality to be measured in numbers. It seems that tests that have ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’ responses, such as tests that measure in-telligence, do not suffer from this problem. By counting the number of correct answers we can differentiate between people on the grounds of an objectively de-termined score on an intelligence test. Assessing the scoring of a garden’s attrac-tiveness or novelty raises the question whether and, if so, to what extent the par-ticipants’ judgements describe similar qualities of experience. Yet, the problem of the relationship between construct and empirical observations is the same, whether it concerns psychological characteristics (e.g. intelligence) or experien-tial qualities (e.g. attractiveness).

Attempts have been made to develop empirical measures that do approximate psychological characteristics. Embertson, for instance, proposes using a substan-tial number of distinct cognitive sub-processes as building blocks for psychologi-cal constructs that are suitable to direct measurement. (Embertson, 1983, cited in Borsboom, 2005: 81) For the time being, however, it seems unavoidable to accept the imperfection of the relationship between psychological characteristics and their assumed empirical manifestations. A pragmatic solution to the problem is needed. Measures are tools that can be used for specific purposes, such as the prediction of behaviour, differentiation between individuals or the elucidation of complex psy-chological phenomena. As a consequence, the data obtained should be judged on their utility and not on their capacity to truly represent any underlying psychologi-cal characteristics. Such a pragmatic approach to measurement makes it possible to concentrate on the practical problems of measuring psychological properties.

A holistic experience can only be explored through its categorization into sub-processes, as no quantitative methods are available with which to research the ho-listic experience itself. This state of affairs is not unique to the research into ex-perience: it is just as impossible to measure an object without taking recourse to the measurement of its attributes, its particular features, for instance its length, weight or colour. It is quite legitimate to reduce a holistic experience to specific experiential qualities that are suitable for empirical inquiry. One needs to take into account, however, that the partition of an experience limits the interpreta-tional and predictive power of experiments or tests. There may be a multitude of determinants of an experience that cannot be accounted for when only a limited number of sub-processes are being explored. The interpretation of results must therefore proceed with caution.

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When can we assume that the reduction of experiential states to specific expe-riential qualities has been successful? The reduction can be considered valid and good only when it encompasses central and essential properties of experience. Only a practical solution can be proposed here, as there are no solid theoretical grounds on which to found the partitioning of a holistic and continuous phenom-enon into discrete experiential qualities. It is the conceptual framework within which the research takes place that to a large extent determines the appropriate-ness and meaningfulness of the specific experiential qualities to be measured. In the absence of rules, the choice in the end is made by common sense.

We can assume that the terms attractiveness and interestingness refer to real qualities of the experience of landscape. Environments are commonly judged to be attractive and interesting and people seem to be sensitive to differences in at-tractiveness and interestingness between environments. We can deduce from ob-servation that their judgements are ref lected in their behaviour. We can also as-sume some consensus as to the interpretation of the terms attractiveness and in-terestingness. Finally, attractiveness and interestingness refer to distinct, one-di-mensional properties of experience. ‘Cool’ is an instance of a common term that, when used to describe a person’s characteristics, does not refer to a distinct and one-dimensional psychological characteristic; it therefore cannot be a topic of sci-entific investigation.

We must not forget that we cannot measure subjective experience directly: it is always mediated through language. If verbal description is to be the instru-ment for the investigation of experience, then the choice of which descriptions of experience to use is of primary importance. There are many other words to describe a quality of experience, such as attractiveness. It is not clear whether semantically associated adjectives – attractive, beautiful, inviting, picturesque, enjoyable – refer to the same or to slightly different experiential qualities, and which of the adjectives should be chosen to represent the quality in question. Again, only a practical solution can be proposed. For instance, the attractiveness of an environment can be represented by a combined score on all of the adjec-tives mentioned above.

As perceptual and experiential qualities are non-verbal by nature, their ver-balization may run up against the limits of language. It may well be possible that the description of an experience of an environment generated by means of a grid method (using participants’ own words and criteria) does not represent the qual-ities of the experience but expresses a network of verbal associations. Surpris-ingly, very little theoretical or empirical research has been done to elucidate the relationship between language and experience. However, Lowenthal and Riel (1972) found that experiential judgements of an environment ref lect real-world experiences and not just verbal associations: in the judgements of an environ-ment (e.g. a garden), its perceived beauty was associated with order, smoothness and richness, while the word ‘beauty’ was associated with natural, open, quiet. More research into this topic is urgently needed.

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Language allows us to express the quality and intensity of an experience through adjectives – unattractive, attractive, very attractive, etc. The empirical variation in attractiveness can then be measured within a numerical relational system. Measurement is possible only because there is some correspondence be-tween the properties of experience and the properties of the numerical system.

Self-report measures rely on the participants’ capacity to consciously access and verbalize their experience; they can only explain a fraction of all that they per-ceive and of their behaviour. Many aspects of experience are either inaccessible to consciousness or not easily verbalized. It therefore seems appropriate to supple-ment self-report data with data obtained by means of non-linguistic methods of research, namely objective tests of performance, physiological measures and be-havioural observations. Then self-report data on, for instance, the experience of stress can be correlated to the level of stress hormones in the blood, or verbal rat-ings of a landscape’s interestingness can be correlated to arousal levels measured by means of skin conductance. Such a combination of data strengthens the evi-dence in support of the ideas and theories under investigation.

Conclusions

A major methodological problem that experience studies encounter is that it is difficult to access an individual’s perceptual, cognitive and affective representa-tions of his or her environment. The analysis of landscape experience and the de-velopment of a taxonomy of experiential qualities and of measures suitable to the research in question are ongoing processes. A variety of methods and techniques have been developed to measure the perceived experiential qualities of land-scapes. The application of a combination of different methods and techniques seems to be the best way forward. For instance, verbal methods of data collection with their emphasis on conscious ref lection can be supplemented with objective tests (e.g. affective priming) and physiological measures of experience (e.g. skin conductance) that are not dependent on the conscious verbalization of experience.

Landscape experience is a holistic and constantly changing phenomenon; it will never be exhaustively accounted for. Specific properties of experience can be explored in a systematic way. Verbal descriptors must be selected that do justice to the experiential qualities under investigation. We must accept imperfections in the relationship between words and experience, as well as imperfections in the re-lationship between the theoretical conceptualization of experiential qualities and their observed empirical manifestations.

One of the aims of this paper was to describe the variety of theoretical per-spectives, concepts and research methods that are characteristic of psychological inquiry into landscape experience. Research into the psychological dimensions of experience – the attitudes, perceptual and cognitive processes, personality traits, unconscious processes and the perceived experiential qualities of landscapes – is essential for the understanding of human–landscape interaction.

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3 Emotional Responses to Animals

Maarten Jacobs

Fids is a nickname invented by an unknown bird-fancier to describe his or her ‘feathered children’ that is now commonly used by American bird-fanci-

ers (Anderson, 2003). The portrayal of companion birds as family members is a manifestation of a deep, positive feeling towards animals. It is easy to find exam-ples of positive emotions that animals can evoke in humans. The popularity of wildlife-based tourism is increasing around the world (Reynolds & Braithwaite, 2001), and viewing wildlife is a predominant theme in tourism brochures about sub-Saharan Africa (van der Meer, 2006). The birth of Knut (a polar bear) in the Berliner Zoo led to a European media hype in 2006 and 2007. Many people are fascinated by TV documentaries about animals.

In a series of cross-cultural studies into people’s views on wildlife, many stories were collected that express a positive emotional bond with wildlife, such as com-passion for, attraction to or caring about wildlife (Jacobs, 2007; Kaczensky, 2007; Raadik & Cottrell, 2007; Tanakanjana & Saranet, 2007; Zinn & Shen, 2007). There is mounting evidence to suggest that those who keep pets are likely to benefit from various improvements in health, and that the use of pets in therapy has consider-able positive mental effects (Brodie & Biley, 1999; Jorgenson, 1997). On the other hand, negative feelings with respect to animals are also ubiquitous. Snake and spi-der phobias are widespread across different cultures (Cook & Mineka, 1988), and for many people, a confrontation with a barking dog is an unpleasant experience.

Amongst the total set of objects, events and situations we can encounter, ani-mals belong to the extremists when it comes to the potential emotions, positive or negative, evoked in humans, although there is great variance in the quality and strength of the accompanying feelings. Notwithstanding the variance, a phenom-enal quality of every experience is that it takes, so to speak, a position on the lik-ing-disliking or pleasure-displeasure dimension (Searle, 1997, 2000), a feature that psychologists call core affect (Barrett, Mesquita, Ochsner & Gross, 2007). Lik-ing or disliking is a revelation of our capacity to respond emotionally to objects, events or situations: we generally like those objects that evoke positive emotions, and dislike those that evoke negative emotions. Since the core aim of science is to explain, a logical question follows from these observations, namely: why do we like or dislike animals?

In the context of tourism studies, Larsen (2007) argues that scholars who are engaged in the applied sciences should make an effort to build bridges with the

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more fundamental sciences. This recommendation also pertains to the study of emotional relationships with animals. Liking or disliking animals are specifica-tions of the general working of emotions, within a specific context. Fundamen-tal emotion theory, then, provides a good basis to unravel the possible causes and mechanisms that bring about positive or negative feelings towards animals.

Emotions and brains

In order to give an account of emotions, it is useful to make a distinction between emotional stimuli, emotional bodily reactions and emotional experiences (Brin-da, 1970; Kleinginna & Kleinginna, 1981). Emotional stimuli are events, situa-tions or objects that are the immediate external causes of emotions. Emotional reactions to those stimuli involve bodily reactions, some of which are overt – such as blushing, sweating, facial expressions or stuttering – and some of which less overt, such as changes in heart rate, skin conductivity or the increase in hormonal levels in the blood system. Emotional experiences are the contents of conscious-ness during and immediately after an emotional reaction. Emotional experiences include but are not limited to feelings.

Vygotsky (1978) contends that the human mind and human behaviour result from three basic processes of development: phylogenesis (biological evolution), sociogenesis (cultural development) and ontogenesis (individual development). This division into fundamental categories also applies to the working of emo-tions: evolution, culture and individual biographies exercise inf luence on differ-ent aspects of emotions (Jacobs, 2006, Ch. 11). In this chapter, I give instances of the various inf luences.

Since emotions, like all psychological phenomena, are constituted in the brain, neuroscientific studies provide valuable information about the working of emo-tions. A brief explanation of some essential aspects of the working of the brain might be useful in order to appreciate the contribution of neuroscientific knowl-edge to the understanding of emotions (for a good introduction to neuroscience, see Kandel, Schwatz & Jessell, 1995).

The brain consists of many different regions that are specialized for different functions. These regions often operate simultaneously. For example, specialized brain regions analyse the form, colour and motion of visual stimuli (Grill-Spec-tor & Malach, 2004). Other brain regions are organized hierarchically. The brain regions that analyse form, colour and motion send their output to visual associa-tion regions that match properties of the stimuli with existing visual knowledge. Psychological functions often cannot be equated with the working of a single brain region. As a rule, a psychological function is constituted by a set of various cooperating brain regions. Information is constantly exchanged between various regions; this is the principle of recurrent loops (Edelman, 1993; Koch & Crick, 2001). These feedback loops also occur between regions that are organized hier-archically, thus instantiating bottom-up as well as top-down influences on ongo-

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ing neural processing. The operations of many brain regions cannot be grasped by introspection. We are not aware that form, motion and colour are analysed separately in the visual system. Only a subset of brain operations, especially op-erations that occur at the higher end of the hierarchy, give rise to consciousness. However, unconscious neural processes can greatly inf luence the contents of the conscious mind.

These principles – that is, the parallel and hierarchical working of brain re-gions, the widespread occurrence of feedback loops, the constitution of psycho-logical function by different cooperating brain regions and the non-awareness of many brain operations – also apply to the neural underpinnings of emotions. It is also worth mentioning that the emotional system and the perceptual system are separate but interacting systems in the human brain. Information about stimuli as received by the senses is sent simultaneously to the emotional system and the perceptual system (LeDoux, 2000). These systems, however, exchange informa-tion perpetually and at different stages of emotional and perceptual processing.

Emotional bodily reactions as adaptive responses

In the course of biological evolution, emotional bodily reactions have emerged as automatic adaptive responses to situations of life importance, and serve the sur-vival and well-being of the organism (Damasio, 2001: 60; LeDoux, 1996: 40). Var-ious empirical observations justify this proposition. Darwin (1965) noted that a number of emotional expressions are exhibited similarly across cultures. Ekman asked subjects in twenty-one countries to match six photographs of human faces exhibiting different emotional expressions with six emotion words. The studies re-veal that facial expressions of happiness, anger, fear, disgust, surprise and sadness are universally recognized (Ekman, 1992, 1999b; Ekman & Friesen, 1971). Other emotion researchers have employed different methods to demonstrate cross-cul-tural invariable aspects of emotions (for an overview, see LeDoux, 1996: 113).

The convergent conclusion is that all humans share some basic emotional re-sponses for which learning is not needed; at least fear, anger, disgust and joy are shared responses. This is why people who were born blind exhibit the same facial emotional expressions as people with proper vision. Some emotional responses are innate and predisposed by our genetic make-up. Many of these responses are shared not only by humans but also across different species. As Darwin (1965) ob-served, The erection of body hair during a fear response is to be found in dogs, li-ons, hyenas, cows, pigs, antelopes, horses, cats, rodents, bats and humans. And an increased heartbeat as part of the set of emotional bodily reactions can be observed in any organism that has a heartbeat. Many of these built-in emotional bodily re-sponses occur automatically, without any voluntary control. We do not decide to increase our heartbeat or to release adrenalin into the blood system: it just hap-pens in fear responses, controlled by brain regions that are genetically coded to do so. We are not introspectively aware of the working of these brain regions.

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The inherited nature of bodily emotional responses suggests that, within the framework of evolution theory, these responses are beneficial to survival. Indeed, emotion theorists argue that emotional reactions are adaptive in dealing with fundamental life tasks (Damasio, 2001: 60; Ekman, 1999a; LeDoux, 1996: 40). The erection of body hair in fear responses makes the organism look bigger and may therefore help to deter a predator from attacking. The tendency to freeze in such responses also reduces the chance of being spotted by a predator. The re-lease of adrenalin results in a tendency to focus on the current situation. An in-creased heartbeat enhances the bodily conditions for fight or f light behaviour.

Sharing a reasonable part of the set of automatic emotional bodily responses with many animals is probably a strong constituent, if not an essential one, for many forms of engagement with animals. To a certain extent, we are able to recog-nize the emotional expressions of animals because elements of those expressions are similar to our expressions. Many pet owners recognize the emotional states of their companion animals. Russell (2003) found that humans are reasonably able to recognize the emotional expressions of horses. Recognition of animal behaviour, compassion for animals and bonds with animals are probably partially rooted in the similarities in emotional expressions across species. Moreover, the tendency to anthropomorphize animals (that is, to assign human traits and states to animals) can be partially explained by the possibility of recognizing the same emotions in animals. On the other hand, humans are sometimes animalized (this has been the case especially since the dissemination of Darwin’s evolution theory). The felt dis-tance between humans and animals has probably decreased over the last century.

Emotional bodily reactions evolved as adaptive responses, in the sense of pre-paring the body for dealing with life-threatening or life-enhancing situations, and also have a communication function. Two kinds of emotional communication can be distinguished. First, communication towards the organism that is the external cause of the emotional response. The erection of a prey’s body hair communicates to the predator that it is not an easy catch. A dog wagging its tail communicates to the owner: ‘I like you.’ It is of course possible to misinterpret another species’ emo-tional communication. A famous Dutch example is the story of Bokito, a male zoo gorilla who is the alpha of his group. A regular visitor to the zoo had stared straight into the eyes of Bokito many times, under the impression that Bokito’s response was a sign of affection. One day, however, Bokito managed to jump over the ditch that separated him from the visitors and violently attacked the visitor. Bokito saw the staring as a challenge to his leadership, as primatologists contend, and decided it was time to meet that challenge. Notwithstanding misinterpretations, one-to-one understandable emotional communication between animals and humans often oc-curs. If such communication is positive, it may be a cause to like animals and con-stitute intense bonds with animals, especially pets. By the same token, this mecha-nism can be a cause to dislike animals, such as disliking dogs that bark at people.

The second kind of emotional communication is informing other animals of a common dangerous or beneficial situation. For example, if an antelope spots a

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lion and exhibits a fear reaction, other antelopes infer from the emotional expres-sion that the current conditions are not safe, without the need to spot the lion them-selves. We generally have an innate tendency to become sad when we encounter sad expressions or happy when we encounter happy expressions, a tendency that is processed unconsciously. Everybody can probably recall seeing a bad film but nev-ertheless being emotionally affected by it. Here, this innate tendency is exploited by the film makers: we become happy or sad when we see that the protagonist is happy or sad, and our conscious judgements about the film have little influence on this event. This mechanism permits animals to make us feel good. For example, cows that are grazing peacefully in a meadow communicate to us that the situation is safe, and thus might induce in us a positive emotional state. We may therefore like cows – not because they make us consciously think or decide that the situation is safe, but because they give us a positive feeling on the basis of an unconsciously processed innate tendency to interpret animal bodily expressions this way.

Emotional triggers

Emotional bodily responses can be adaptive only if they occur in specific situa-tions or, in psychological terms, as reactions to specific stimuli. We have an in-nate tendency to react with an emotional response to certain stimuli. Newborn babies start to cry in reaction to sudden loud sounds. Laboratory raised rats that have never seen a cat or a fellow rat, immediately stop whatever they are doing when exposed to a cat; they will either freeze or try to escape, depending on their distance from the cat (Blanchard & Blanchard, 1988). LeDoux (1996) uses the term natural triggers to refer to stimuli to which we have an innate tendency to react emotionally. For our remote ancestors, from whom we inherited our genes, animals were crucial to survival, for example, as sources of food and sources of danger. We probably have an innate tendency to react emotionally to animals.

It is often assumed in the literature on emotions that snakes and spiders are strictly natural triggers for humans; that is, no previous learning is involved in ex-hibiting emotional reactions to those stimuli, since snake and spider phobias are common and distributed across cultures. The preparedness theory (Seligman, 1971) offers an alternative explanation for the ubiquity of snake and spider pho-bias. According to this theory, we might have an innate predisposition to rapidly acquire emotional responses to certain stimuli. Hence, the predisposition to react emotionally to some stimuli might not be innate; instead, we might have a kind of quick learning programme that, once it has been fed with only a little experience, will result in a disposition. Cook and Mineka (1988) tested this theory by showing young rhesus monkeys a film of a rhesus monkey exhibiting fear in response to either a toy snake or a toy f lower. The young monkeys had had no previous expe-riences with snakes and had been pre-tested to ensure they were not afraid of the toy snakes prior to the experiment. The monkeys acquired a fear of snakes simply by watching videotapes of the model monkeys reacting fearfully to toy snakes. In

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contrast, monkeys that viewed films showing exactly the same fear performance but this time directed towards brightly-coloured artificial f lowers did not acquire a significant fear of f lowers. Hence, rhesus monkeys are born with a prepared-ness to acquire a fear of snakes very quickly.

Snake phobias in humans are probably a result of an inborn preparedness. A film on YouTube (2008) shows a baby approaching and then grabbing a snake without any sign of fear, thus indicating that the newborn infant does not have an innate fear of snakes. It is of course still possible that we have an innate predispo-sition to react emotionally to some animals, while we have an innate preparedness to learn these reactions quickly for other animals. For example, we might have an innate fear of big predators; this however is an empirical question that can only be answered by conducting experiments. Either way (innate predispositions or preparedness that is easily activated to become a mental disposition to react emo-tionally), many animals are strong natural triggers to us. Most people exhibit fear responses to big predators or potentially harmful animals, such as snakes or spi-ders that may be deadly poisonous. And it is possible that we react emotionally to animals that our ancestors used to eat. These dispositions give rise to our liking animals (positive emotional response) or disliking animals (negative response).

The brain regions in which those innate dispositions are stored can be modi-fied by learning. Conditioning is a mechanism in which a previously neutral stim-ulus gets associated with an emotional stimulus (Damasio, 2001: 66; LeDoux, 1996: 141). Thus, if a person has an emotional experience with an animal, this animal might become an emotional trigger. It is not necessary to consciously re-member the experience: the learned disposition is stored in brain regions that op-erate unconsciously. By means of conditioning, any animal can become an emo-tional stimulus. Conditioning can be a source of variance between people with respect to the animals they like or dislike. For example, person A may have had a frightening experience with a dog at a very young age and thus dislike dogs for ever, without remembering the event at all, while person B may have had a bad experience with a cat, and by the same token be disposed to dislike cats for ever.

The story thus far – about automatic emotional responses, the inborn tenden-cy to extract information from emotional expressions of other species, and natu-ral and unconsciously learned triggers – is one about unconscious operations of the human brain. We respond emotionally to big predators or snakes not because we know that these animals are dangerous, but because biological evolution has equipped us with a predisposition or quick learning programme to do so, a fea-ture that is materialized in brain regions that have nothing to do with knowledge. The innate dispositions cannot simply be equated with consciously liking or dis-liking animals: the dispositions are hard-wired in brain regions that do not direct-ly give rise to consciousness. The outcomes of these operations are transferred to other brain regions that interpret information about bodily responses and give rise to conscious emotional experiences. And knowledge can interfere with these later stages of emotional processing, as will be explained.

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Feelings as perceptions of bodily states

A feeling is a conscious awareness of an emotion, such as sadness or anger. Damasio (2003) states that feelings are essentially perceptions of bodily emo-tional responses. At first sight, this may seem an odd statement. The concept of perception is often used in the sense of being consciously aware of something out there, for example a professor in a suit in front of you or, for that matter, an-other animal or any material object. Conscious feelings are, however, very simi-lar to perception. The only difference lies in the source of the input for perceptual processing. In the case of perception, the information that gets interpreted comes from our senses, while in the case of feelings, the incoming information comes not from the senses directly, but from brain regions that are constantly mapping the body. An organism has to survey the state of the body in order to adjust the bodily conditions to react properly to a dynamic environment. Sometimes it is hot and sometimes it is cold, and if the body does not react appropriately the organ-ism will die almost instantly. The regions involved in surveying the bodily state also send information to regions in the cortex (the outer layer of the brain, right under the skull). Apart from information about the bodily states, the cortex also receives information from brain regions in which innate dispositions and quick learning programmes to respond emotionally are stored. In the cortex, the incom-ing information is interpreted into conscious feelings.

A condition for perception is the possession of mental concepts, which are ac-quired during the course of life (Jacobs, 2006: 125). Our perceptual experiences are not meaningless chaotic dances of shapes and colour; on the contrary, per-ception is an organized, structured experience of objects and events that are to a certain extent familiar to us (Kriegel, 2004). Mental concepts are the organizing units in the interpretative processes that result in a perceptual experience. This can be inferred from, for example, our ability to perceive a tree that we have never seen before, as a tree. Without a mental concept of tree-ness, every tree would be something totally new to us. All meaningful perceptual experiences are perme-ated with concepts (Strawson, 1992: 62).

The same goes for conscious feelings: mental concepts are employed in the interpretative processing of information about bodily states. We possess mental concepts of happiness, sadness, etc. If the incoming information matches with these concepts, we feel happy or sad. We are probably not born with the capac-ity to feel happy or sad. A newborn baby is not capable of recognizing a tree, be-cause it does not possess the appropriate concept to do so. The baby gradually develops this concept on the basis of recurring patterns in the visual stimuli it receives. Likewise, the concepts necessary for conscious feelings are gradually developed. A baby reacts with an emotional bodily response, bodily states are mapped, the information is sent to cortical regions and in these regions emotion concepts emerge on the basis of recurring patterns in information about bodily states. Because we are born with a limited set of basic emotional bodily respons-

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es, we all develop basic emotion concepts. Liking or disliking as part of the emo-tional experience comes into being during the construction of feelings based on feedback from the body.

A negative emotional bodily reaction will often be interpreted as a negative feel-ing, and a positive reaction as a positive feeling. A fear reaction to snakes, which is a result of an unconsciously processed mental disposition, might thus lead to a negative feeling about snakes. A positive bodily emotional reaction following from encountering relaxed cows – a reaction that is based on unconsciously processed in-formation that the situation is safe – might give rise to a positive feeling about cows.

Still, some inherited features other than predispositions to react emotionally can exercise inf luence in this interpretative process. For example, our visual sys-tem contains an innate tendency to attend to biological motion. Simion, Regolin and Bulf (2008) found that two-day-old babies preferred to look at biological mo-tion rather than non-biological motion. They showed the babies two films. One depicted a dozen spotlights representing the joints and contours of a walking hen. The other film depicted a dozen spotlights that moved with the same character-istics (in terms of angles and speed) but was generated randomly. Most of the ba-bies preferred the film that represented the walking hen. This innate tendency prefigures a fascination for all moving animals, whether pets or wildlife.

Knowledge and feelings

Since the production of conscious feelings is an interpretative process, there is not always a one-to-one relation between emotional bodily reactions and conscious feel-ings. All kinds of learning processes, based on culturally shared knowledge or indi-vidual experiences, can influence the production of feelings: the cortex is very open to learning. In the interpretative process, our knowledge can come into play. For ex-ample, rabbits might evoke in most humans an innate positive emotional reaction, as a result of a predisposition that has evolved because rabbits are excellent food for us and because grazing rabbits communicate to us that there is no danger present. Nevertheless, a farmer may dislike rabbits because they damage his crops. The knowledge will not prevent the farmer from reacting with an initial positive bodily emotion to rabbits. Rather, this knowledge interferes with the interpretation of the bodily emotional reaction into a feeling. A positive emotional bodily reaction may then lead to a negative feeling. Owing to feedback loops in the brain, this negative feeling can in turn suppress the positive emotional bodily reaction.

While a bear is probably a natural trigger for a fear reaction, encountering a bear in the zoo gives many people a pleasant feeling. The initial negative emotion is interpreted into a positive feeling, because our contextual knowledge that the bear is behind bars allows us to do so. Even encountering a bear in the wild can be interpreted into a positive feeling, if we feel reasonably safe on the basis of our knowledge about bear behaviour (bears are generally not interested in people and if they are not approached too closely and do not have young cubs with them, they will simply shuff le away).

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As well as interfering with the interpretation of an initial emotional bodily reaction into a conscious feeling, acquired knowledge can influence emotional processing in another way. For example, the word ‘fear’ will not be judged by the emotional appraisal system as emotionally relevant, because the system neither has an innate tendency to do so (it was not beneficial for our remote ancestors to become afraid of the word ‘fear’) nor is it conditioned to react emotionally to this stimulus. Still, if subjects who have mastered the English language read the word ‘fear,’ an emotional bodily reaction is measurable, even though it is not very in-tense (Isenberg, Silbersweig, Engelien, Emmerich, Malavade & Beattie, 1999). In this case, the perceptual system detects the meaning of the word and gives feed-back to the brain regions that initiate a bodily fear reaction. The bodily fear reac-tion in turn can give rise to consciously felt fear.

Thus, mental dispositions that result from conscious learning (other than conditioning) can not only modify the interpretation of emotional bodily respons-es into feelings, but also turn on the emotional system. An example of this mech-anism can be found in children who visit zoos that exhibit the common clownfish (Amphiprion ocellaris). Most children tend to become very happy and excited upon seeing this fish. While it is a pretty little fish, its physical appearance does not ex-plain the children’s reaction. Nemo – the lead character in the popular animation film Finding Nemo – is a clownfish, and it is the conscious association with Nemo that makes children react exuberantly.

Consciously acquired mental dispositions account for much variance across cultures and individuals in feelings towards animals. People born in India may like cows because they have learned that cows are sacred animals. When these people encounter or think of a cow, the knowledge is activated and may turn on the emotional system, which produces a positive emotional reaction. Knowledge can thus become a cause of feelings, and therefore a cause of liking or disliking animals. This mechanism can also reinforce and intensify innate tendencies. For example, we might like cows because we have an innate preference for biological movement, and because we have an inherited predisposition to react positively to peacefully grazing cows since they communicate that the situation is safe. We are not introspectively aware of these causes: they consist not of explicit knowledge but of implicit dispositions that are unconsciously processed in subcortical brain regions. We can still assign reasons for liking cows (e.g. cows in meadows make the landscape more vivid), but these reasons have nothing to do with the initial causes. The reasons can, however, become causes in the future: in the form of ex-plicit knowledge, they operate as enforcing powers to the emotional system.

Conclusion

Six mechanisms that can explain causes of liking or disliking animals have been identified. (1) We have an innate sensitivity to biological movement, as is dem-onstrated by newborn babies’ preferences for films that depict biological move-ment. This innate fascination is probably a feature not of the emotional system

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but of the visual perception system. Indirectly, this sensitivity contributes to our liking or disliking animals by focusing attention on animals and thus increasing the likelihood of spotting and emotionally responding to animals. (2) We proba-bly have innate predispositions and certainly have quick learning programmes to respond emotionally to some animals. These inherited predispositions or quick learning programmes have emerged in the course of biological evolution, because animals were important to the survival of our remote ancestors. These predispo-sitions or quick learning programmes result in positive or negative emotional re-sponses to some animals, and may give rise to liking or disliking animals when interpreted into conscious feelings. (3) As a result of conditioning, we have men-tal dispositions to respond emotionally to animals. (4) We tend to react emotion-ally to the emotional expressions of animals. In the case of one-to-one emotional communication from an animal to a human, this mechanism is probably very important for developing bonds with pets. (5) Acquired knowledge about animals can influence the way we interpret a bodily emotional reaction to an animal into a conscious experience, including core affect. This knowledge can enhance and reinforce feelings that are constructed out of bodily emotional reactions, but can also transform these feelings: an initially negative bodily emotion may be inter-preted into a positive feeling. (6) Acquired knowledge about animals can activate emotional reactions to animals. Even if the emotional system does not detect an animal as emotionally relevant, output of cognitive processing may be sent to the emotional system, resulting in an emotional reaction. Through this mechanism, we may for example like encountering an animal that is rarely seen, because we know it is a special event. Different instances of liking and disliking animals may be caused by different combinations of these mechanisms.

The study of our emotional relationships with animals and the underlying mechanisms can contribute greatly to our general understanding of people’s re-lationships with animals (Manfredo, 2008), for example understanding the atti-tudes, norms and values with respect to animals in various contexts (wildlife man-agement, the keeping of companion animals, agricultural production, etc.), social conflicts with respect to the treatment of animals, and leisure and tourist behav-iour that is related to animals. The nature of emotional experiences – that is, the contents of consciousness during and immediately after an emotional reaction – is often underemphasized in emotion studies, which tend to focus on the mecha-nisms that constitute these experiences or the stimuli that are the external causes of emotions.

Liking or disliking is just one aspect of emotional experiences. A feeling is another aspect. This may be a feeling connected to a basic emotion (happiness, sadness, anger, etc.) or it may be a non-basic feeling (e.g. a particular mixture of anger and fear) that is culturally acquired and applies to a particular context only. Feelings are often directed towards a situation, event, object or person that is seen as the immediate external cause of the feeling. Furthermore, emotion expe-riences have a particular level of intensity or arousal, which is a feeling of being

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wound up or active. Emotional experiences also involve psychological appraisals of the situation in terms of novelty, being conducive or destructive to one’s goal, being compatible with one’s norms and values, or perceiving oneself as being the person in a position of responsibility. Emotional experiences are often accompa-nied by particular thoughts. It is for example likely that sad anecdotes or associa-tions enter the conscious mind of a person who is in a sad state. Studying these different phenomenological aspects of emotional experiences can enrich our un-derstanding of our emotional relations with animals.

Note

This chapter is a modified version of: M.H. Jacobs (2009) Why do we like or dislike ani-mals? Human dimensions of wildlife 14 (1), pp. 1–11

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Africa’s promotional imagery in tourism (Wageningen: Wageningen University)Vygotsky, L. (1978) Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes (Cam-

bridge: Harvard University Press)Zinn, H.C. and X.S. Shen (2007) Wildlife value orientations in China. Human Dimensions

of Wildlife 12 (5) pp. 331 – 338

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4 Immigrants Between two Cultures:

Social Representations Theory and

Images of Nature

Arjen Buijs

Different cultures, different natures. How we look at nature is to a great ex-tent related to the culture in which we live (Bang, Medin & Atran, 2007).

And as cultures change, so do conceptualizations of nature; this is evidenced by Western culture, where throughout history nature has been conceptualized in different ways (Schama, 1995). Also, new conceptualizations may only gradually spread through society. For example, since the 18th century, the well–known Ro-mantic or Arcadian view on nature held by a small elite has gradually permeated the whole of society. Landscape paintings, popular books, outings organized by socialist ‘educational’ groups and, more recently, the mass media have promoted the symbolic meanings of nature as beautiful, healthy and worthy of protection, and such meanings have become acknowledged by the large majority of Western citizens (Schama, 1995; van Koppen, 2002; Schouten, 2005).

This chapter, however, deals with another source of change in how people re-late to nature and the environment: the dynamics of migration. Increasing migra-tion between different cultures is one of the most important characteristics of the globalization of late modern societies (Castles & Davidson, 2000). This physical mobility implies cultural mobility, also in relation to the views on the human–na-ture relationship: immigrants bring their cultural views with them. In their new country, they may be confronted with other views and need to cope with contra-dictions between both cultures. This also holds for different cultural views on na-ture and the environment.

This chapter deals with the relationship between the cultural and the individ-ual level of the human–nature relationship. It consists of a theoretical and an em-pirical section. In the former, I suggest a theoretical approach that may allow us to understand how individuals develop their individual images of nature based on the resources available to them in their particular culture. In the empirical sec-tion, I examine whether this theoretical approach can be useful to understand the differences between individuals from different cultures. The focus is on differ-ences between the images of nature held by native Dutch people and those held by immigrants, especially the ‘in-betweens,’ namely the second-generation immi-

43

grants who can draw from two different cultures: that of their ancestors and that of the country in which they were born.

To understand the dynamics of how individual immigrants look upon and participate in nature, I suggest using social representations theory (Moscovici, 1961/1976; Halfacree, 1993). Social representations theory is a social psychologi-cal theory that focuses on the sociogenesis of cognitions. It acknowledges and in-vestigates the social processes that cause dynamics in these cognitions. As such, it is well equipped to deal with the dynamics in views on nature that are related to immigration processes and the effects of encounters between different cultures. Here, I suggest considering social representations as cultural resources for the development of individual cognitions. I show how immigrants and native Dutch people differ in the way they look at nature and nature management, and espe-cially focus on how second-generation immigrants are positioned between two different cultures; that is, how they try to cope with their relationship to two dif-ferent cultures: the rural and Islamic culture of their ancestors and the urban and hedonistic culture of the country in which they were born and educated.

In the second half of the chapter, I use these theoretical considerations to em-pirically investigate how individual images of nature held by native Dutch people and by first- and second-generation immigrants are related to culturally deter-mined social representations of nature. In this, I pay special attention to the ques-tion whether we can witness a process of acculturalization of second-generation immigrants in relation to their view on nature, or whether it would be better to speak of ‘cognitive polyphasia,’ namely the internalization of seemingly conflict-ing values and beliefs from two conflicting social representations.

Theoretical observations

Social representations theory

The theory of social representations is a social psychological theory that focus-es on the content and production of common sense in modern societies, that is, on how people understand the social and material world around them and what meanings they attach to that world. The theory describes how social groups devel-op common sense knowledge (or ‘practical knowledge’ or ‘folk knowledge’; Mos-covici, 1961/1976). Therefore, Wagner and colleagues (1999, p. 96) define social representations as “the collective elaboration of an object by the community for the purpose of behaving and communicating.” Inspired by the ‘cultural turn’ in rural studies, Halfacree (1993) introduced the concept of social representations in spatial studies in a plea to include the symbolic meanings of ‘rurality’ as ob-ject of study in rural studies. According to Halfacree, rurality should no longer be defined solely through socio-economic variables, like population density or eco-nomic activities; instead, it should be seen as a symbolic concept that is defined in communication between people or groups of people and institutions. This ac-

44

knowledgement of the symbolic and social aspects of rurality is especially impor-tant if one wants to grasp lay people’s understanding of rurality (Halfacree, 1993; Jones, 1995; Haartsen, 2002) as well the widespread use of the Dutch cultural landscape for leisure activities, a use that is related to a wide variety of motives (Elands & Lengkeek, 2000; Lengkeek, 2001).

Social representations are not produced individually in our personal encoun-ters with nature and through a process of perception and interpretation. Repre-sentations are above all produced in our contacts with other people and institu-tions, such as the media, nature protection organizations and nature policy prac-tices. As such, social representations are consensual representations. They form the agreed set of values, beliefs, images and metaphors that are attached to a spe-cific object. Social representations are produced in a wide range of social practices based on communication between groups of people as well as in social practices directly related to encounters with our natural environment. Figure 1 illustrates how social representations of nature are produced between individuals, nature and the social group in which they are embedded.

Figure 1: The production of social representations of nature as the result of the interaction of an individual (‘I’), the social group to which he or she belongs (‘Others’) and the physical environ-ment (‘Nature’) (adapted from Moscovici, 1984, p. 9)

Our understanding of the world is not just a matter of automated perception of this world. Understanding is an activity in which meanings are actively attribut-ed to the outside world (Hall, 1997). Social representations are examples of such meanings. To be more concrete, social representations are the meanings we at-tribute to material and social objects.

Social representations serve several functions in our society. First, they help us to understand the outside world and to ‘cope’ with that world. They help us to ‘familiarize us with the unfamiliar’ (Moscovici, 1984). Our social representa-tions suggest what meanings of an object are important and should be respond-ed to, and help us distinguish important messages from less important ones. When encountering a rural area, we use the representation to give meaning to that area.

Others NatureSocial

representation

I

45

Second, social representations serve as a common base for communication. As such, the symbolic aspects of the social representations of our environment are important not only for the individual understanding of our environment, but also as mutual ‘frames of reference’ (van den Brink & Metze, 2006) – or more precisely, ‘frames of meanings’ – used in communication about social objects. Through referring to the mutually agreed social representations, they function as a common code for communication and define the vocabulary that can be used to talk about the objects involved.

Third, they function as impetus for actions. Our actions are informed by our social representations of the world (Moscovici, 2000). The physical spread of houses in a rural area may be affected by social representations of rurality. Sev-eral studies have shown that people not only use social representations to give meaning to rural environments, but also act towards these environments based on such representations (e.g. Voelklein & Howarth, 2005). Studies show that the trend of ‘counter-urbanization’ in several European countries can to a great ex-tent be explained by the positively connoted social representations of rurality, also known as the ‘rural idyll’ (Halfacree, 1993). Many people move to such areas be-cause they want to enjoy these symbolic meanings of rurality, and tourist images of the environment profoundly inf luence the spatial configuration of rural areas (Lengkeek, Kloeze & Brouwer, 1997).

The stability and dynamics of social representations

Social representations can be conceived of as group-related sets of meanings used and produced in a complex mix of different kind of social practices. For example, social representations of nature are used and produced in media practices; for in-stance conservation agencies promote the beauty of ecosystems and stress the im-portance of protecting those that are under threat. However, the same represen-tations may be used and reproduced in political discussions about nature, land-scape or agriculture. They are reproduced in literature and paintings, and even in advertisements, or in very concrete and bodily practices of nature recreation and tourism. Also the ecological sciences play an important role in the develop-ment of social representations of nature. Through the dissemination of ecological knowledge by the popular media, the sciences contribute to the dominant social representations of nature (van Koppen, 2002). Because social representations of nature are reproduced in such a complex mix of social practices, they exceed any specific social practice. Not every social practice produces its own meaning of na-ture, but the meaning of nature is produced in the combination of all practices that are related to nature, landscape, biodiversity and so forth.

These representations have shown a remarkable stability through time. For example, the Romantic meaning of nature that has been produced in landscape paintings since the seventeenth century has diffused into nature protection prac-tices since the late nineteenth century through socialist movements’ campaigns

46

to uplift lower classes, and has been further popularized through media practices in the twentieth century. As a result, on an average Sunday afternoon, traffic jams develop on Dutch motorways when families return from their Sunday afternoon walk in an enjoyable forest. This is why social representations of nature often show a ‘remarkable stability.’ According to Moscovici (2000), the stability of a represen-tation across different social practices is as least as dominant as the dynamics of that representation. Unless a radically new phenomenon or conflicts with another social group emerge, a social representation will hardly change (Moscovici, 1984).

Social representations theory considers the meaning of nature (and other ob-jects) as less context dependent and more stable than do most discursive theo-ries. This relative stability is also related to another important difference from dis-course theories: although discourse theories and social representations theory ac-knowledge the role of the negotiation of meaning in social practices, social repre-sentations need not always be negotiated. Social representations may become a form of consensual knowledge that is taken for granted (Moscovici, 1984). When all members of a social group or culture share the same social representation, they no longer need to be negotiated. In such a situation, social representations may even become ‘fossilized’ (Moscovici, 2000; Voelklein & Howarth, 2005): they have become an uncontested (and often unreflexive) element of a specific culture (Mo-scovici, 2000). They become part of the social ‘stock of knowledge’ of a group or society (cf. Schutz, 1962); for example, the notions that one can enjoy nature, that it is beautiful and healthy are elements of dominant social representations of na-ture that are recognized by all social groups in Dutch society. In their daily conver-sations, people use elements of the representations to position themselves in rela-tion to nature, without needing any explicit justification of these representations.

Social representations as cultural resources

Social representations are closely related to culture; they can be seen as one of the elements that constitute a certain culture or subculture. In this section, I investi-gate the relationship between social representations and culture, and then devel-op further the function of social representations in our society, based on a view on culture as resource (Swidler, 1986).

Related to the constructivist turn in sociology and related disciplines, also the conceptualization of culture has changed (Wuthnow, 2008). Culture has often been conceptualized as the backdrop of human behaviour, for example as the pub-licly shared meanings or conceptual maps (Hall, 1997). Culture is then viewed as a ‘seamless web,’ unitary and internally coherent across different groups and situ-ations (DiMaggio, 1997). This view of culture as a closely knit web of meanings influencing human conduct is criticized by Ann Swidler (1986). She replaces this view on culture as a ‘latent variable’ by a much more eclectic and idealist view on culture as a ‘toolkit.’ She defines culture as a toolkit packed with the skills, hab-its, values, myths and metaphors that people use as a resource to construct strate-

47

gies of action (Swidler, 1986). Culture then is no longer conceptualized as a more or less unified set of habits, values or symbols; instead, every culture contains diverse and sometimes conflicting elements. It is a heterogeneous collection of meanings, fragmented across groups (DiMaggio, 1997). Consequently, culture does not simply provide a set of values that inform people’s actions. The essence of culture lies much more in providing a repertoire on which people may draw to develop their actions. Depending on the specific context, people choose different elements of a culture to pursue their actions. When people visit a national park with their family, they mobilize other symbols and values than they would were they there on a work-related outing. According to Swidler, it is especially in un-settled practices that the dynamic aspects of cultures come to the fore. Culture is then sometimes used more as something to which actors refer to in order to justify their values or actions. In more settled practices, people’s conduct is more routinized and dominant cultural values and beliefs may be drawn upon in a more unconscious and unreflexive way (Swidler, 1986).

This interpretation of culture as a repertoire on which people may draw to pursue action (or to justify their action) is very much in line with the view on social representations I described above. As social representations are the sets of meaning of a society or a specific social group, they are an important part of the culture of that group or society. Therefore, in my view, we can conceive of so-cial representations as a cultural resource that actors may use to develop specific views and behaviour towards the object of a representation. Specific elements of social representations are then used to make sense of the situation. They provide people with a repertoire of values, beliefs, metaphors and icons that may be used to understand a phenomenon and act towards it. As individuals may select specif-ic elements and exclude others in their considerations, social representations are not simple sources of behaviour; instead, they provide people with a cultural rep-ertoire on which they can build their ‘strategy for action’ (Swidler, 1986)

Because social representations function as cultural resources, they both en-able and constrain people’s thoughts and actions. By providing a set of values, beliefs, metaphors or icons, they enable individuals to define a rural area as an idealized place to buy a nice house. Alternatively, people may strategically select specific elements from a social representation to discursively pursue valued ends (DiMaggio, 1997). At the same time, social representations constrain actors. For example, they constrain people’s capacity to imagine alternative ways of looking at the world. Alternative interpretations of reality and alternative strategies for ac-tions are often not accounted for, because these alternatives are not part of the dominant cultural elements, which include social representations.

Social representations of nature and individual images of nature

The theory of social representations is a fruitful theory in the field of human–en-vironment studies because it relates the social level with the individual level. Con-

48

trary to environmental psychology, cognitions are treated not as individual elabo-rations of the world, but as individual ref lections of socially constructed mean-ings. As such, social representations theory shares with discursive psychology the focus on social practices (Potter & Wetherell, 1987), but contrary to discursive psychology, the existence (or knowability) of individual cognitions is not denied. Social representations are conceptualized as the resources from which individu-als may draw to develop individual cognitions. People internalize the social rep-resentations, or elements thereof, of the group(s) to which they belong. They be-come part of the cognitive system of an individual and are stored in individual memory. Social representations thus reside not only across the minds of mem-bers of a social group, but are also represented within individual minds (Jovch-elovitch, 1996, p. 125). Social representations can be seen as mediators between social practices in which representations of nature are produced and the cognitive world of the individual.

Although social representations are internalized in individual minds, these individual cognitions cannot be equated with social representations. According to Moscovici (2000), an individual does not simply internalize a social represen-tation of an object; rather, he or she develops an individual representation of that object. This development of an individual representation involves the incorpora-tion of specific elements of a social representation that are available to the indi-vidual. Not all elements of a social representation need be adopted by an individ-ual (Voelklein & Howarth, 2005); depending on personal experiences, some ele-ments may more be relevant than others.

Because individual representations cannot be equated with social represen-tations, I also explicitly differentiate social representations of nature from indi-vidual representations of nature. Having referred to the literature on individual images of nature (e.g. Buijs, 2000; Rink, Wächter & Potthast, 2004; Stamou & Paraskevopoulos, 2004; van den Berg, de Vries & Vlek, 2006), I choose to call in-dividual representations of nature ‘images of nature.’ Individual images of nature are thus based on the social representations of nature that are available to that in-dividual.

Conf licting social representations of nature may lead to ‘cognitive polyphasia’

A second reason why social representations should not be equated with individual representations is that social representations may become mingled. In late mod-ern societies, people are no longer related to only one social group. The links be-tween people and their social group are often much weaker than they were a few centuries ago. But even more importantly, people are often members of many dif-ferent social groups. Because of this fragmentation of identity, individuals may also encounter different social representations of nature in the different groups they relate to. For example, a city dweller who moves to the countryside is con-fronted with a new social representation of nature: the representation of the farm-

49

ers and ex-farmers. If after some years the newcomer starts to identify with that new social group, he or she will have to cope with two different social representa-tions of nature; for example an ‘urban’ representation of nature – one that is fo-cused on the ecological and recreational value of nature – and a ‘rural’ represen-tation, one that is related to a more experiential and instrumental relationships with nature and the need to balance ecology and economy. In such a situation, an individual may draw from two different representations in developing his or her own image of nature.

If an individual incorporates elements from different representations, he or she may also incorporate conflicting elements. Moscovici (1961/1976) called this situation ‘cognitive polyphasia.’ Cognitive polyphasia has been shown to exist in several situations and has been used to explain why different attitudes are exhib-ited in different contexts (e.g. Wagner, 1998). Cognitive polyphasia may occur es-pecially in fast changing cultures; in India, for example, many individuals com-bine modern with tradition representations of health. This has led to cognitive polyphasia, in which people turn to modern medicine for some diseases while re-lying on traditional medicine for others (Wagner et al., 1999).

Table 1: Cognitive polyphasia when people combine views related to a high level of confidence in science with views related to a high level of prudence (based on Castro & Lima, 2001)

The concept of cognitive polyphasia has also been used to understand the ex-istence of contrasting attitudes towards the environment. Especially Castro and Lima (2001) have developed this concept further. Using Dunlap and van Liere’s New Environmental Paradigm scale, they show that people sometimes combine ecocentric with anthropocentric values to develop specific attitudes (Castro & Lima, 2001). Based on Portuguese research, they conclude that ‘new’ represen-tations of nature related to, for instance, the fragility of nature, the negative im-pact of human conduct and distrust in the scientific solutions for environmental problems have spread throughout society. These ideas have sometimes replaced old, more anthropocentric representations of nature. However, this process of re-placing one representation with a newer one is not unproblematic: new ideas do not simply replace older ones; instead, old values and beliefs tend to coexist and interact with new values and beliefs, and some people try to combine elements of

Table 1: Cognitive polyphasia when people combine views related to a high level of confidence with views related to a high level of prudence (based on Castro & Lima, 2001)

Low level of confidence in

science and human conduct High level of confidence in

science and human conduct

Low level of prudence:

Nature is robust and humans may use it as they seem fit.

Disbelievers

(27%)

Confidants

(26%)

High level of prudence:

Nature is fragile and humans should observe prudence in relation to ecology

Prudents

(27%)

Paradoxicals

(cognitive polyphasia)

(20%)

50

both representations into ideas that conciliate seemingly contradictory beliefs and values (Castro, 2006). According to Castro and Lima, cognitive polyphasia occurs in a significant group of respondents (20%) who try to combine confidence in sci-ence and in human capacity to treat the ecology with care with prudence towards science and especially towards the environment (see table 1). According to Castro (ibid.), this situation of cognitive polyphasia, in which individuals combine con-trasting values and beliefs from different social representations, may explain the often reported lack of correspondence between pro-environmental attitudes and behaviour or between different types of pro-environmental behaviour.

Empirical observations: differences between the images of nature held by immi-grants and those held by native Dutch people

Having looked at how individuals draw from social representations of nature to develop their individual images of nature, I now focus on one specific example: the social representations and images of nature held by Turkish and Moroccan immigrants. The focus in the remainder of this paper is on an empirical example of the different images of nature held by immigrants and by native Dutch people, and on whether conflicting social representations of nature may lead to cognitive polyphasia among especially second-generation immigrants.

In the following, I describe – based on the literature – the similarities and dif-ferences between the social representations of nature held by those whose culture of origin is Islamic (here, Turkish and Moroccan immigrants) and those whose culture is Dutch. As theorized above, these social representations of nature may function as a cultural resource for people to develop their individual images of nature. The empirical focus is then on the similarities and differences between the images of nature held by immigrants and those held by native Dutch people. Having been born and educated in the Netherlands but raised in often very tra-ditional immigrant cultures, second-generation immigrants may belong to two different cultures: Islamic culture and Dutch culture. The question is whether these second-generation immigrants indeed draw from two different social rep-resentations to develop their individual image of nature. Reformulated in an em-pirical hypothesis: do the images of nature held by native Dutch people and by first- and second-generation immigrants differ? And what is the position of sec-ond-generation immigrants related to these two groups? A final question is: do second-generation immigrants show signs of cognitive polyphasia, related to the incorporation and combination of elements from both native Dutch culture and from immigrant culture?

I present here data from a quantitative survey amongst ethnic minority groups from Islamic cultures (Turkey and Morocco) and native Dutch people. Because most Dutch immigrants are urbanites, we focused on three cities: Arnhem, Utrecht and Haarlem. To improve the comparability of immigrants and native Dutch people in terms of socio-economics and living environment, in each of

51

these cities we focused on one district that has a high percentage of immigrants. In each city, data from 100 native Dutch people and 100 immigrants were collect-ed (response rate 46%). The questionnaire consisted of two scales (2 x 8 items) to measure images of nature, as developed in earlier studies (Buijs, 2000), and questions on the socio-demographic background of the respondents.1 Additional-ly, landscape preferences were measured using pictures of the twelve most typical Dutch landscapes. The result of the measurement of landscape preferences are described elsewhere (Buijs, Elands & Langers, submitted).

Social representations of nature: the example of Islamic immigrants

Social representations of nature differ between Western and Islamic cultures. Turk-ish and Moroccan cultures are strongly based on the Koran (Makhzoumi, 2002). As the Koran and the Bible have common roots, Islamic representations of nature share certain characteristics with Christian representations in Western countries. Both have a monotheistic worldview: although God’s influence is visible in nature, nature itself is not divine and animals and trees are not to be worshipped. The con-cept of stewardship is also important in both cultures (Ammar, 1995).

A functional view on nature, focusing on the use of nature to fulfil human needs within the boundaries of a general attitude of responsibility and respect for nature, has long been dominant in both cultures. Since the Renaissance, and especially since the rise of Romanticism, representations of nature in Christian cultures have shifted from this functional image of nature towards what has been called an Arcadian representation of nature. The Arcadian representation puts a particular focus on a combination of experiencing the beauty of natural land-scapes, the moral obligation to protect nature and the importance of the emo-tions evoked by nature. At the same time, nature became represented as frag-ile and human influence was seen as a threat to the ‘balance of nature’ (van Ko-ppen, 2000). Furthermore, and influenced by European landscape paintings, landscape as scenery and the symbolic meanings and emotions evoked by such scenery became an important aspect of the representation of nature in western European culture (Andrews, 1999). These symbolic meanings came to be an im-portant source of inspiration during the grand tours made by the cultural elite (Lengkeek, 1994, 1996).

Such a shift towards Arcadian representations of nature and a focus on scenic landscapes has not occurred in Islamic cultures (Schouten, 2005). There are also other differences in modern representations of nature between Islamic cultures and most Western Christian cultures. For example, in Islamic cultures, nature is seen as the manifestation of the almighty God (Allah). Through nature, man-kind can learn the word of God and can discern God’s truth, beauty and compas-sion (Makhzoumi, 2002). Because nature is a ref lection of God’s word, nature is represented as well organized and well managed, without disorder or discord (Maasen, 2004). Therefore, humans are supposed to manage the land and take

52

good care of it. To bring wild lands into culture is seen as celebrating God’s work (Makhzoumi, 2002). Furthermore, the modern Western focus on scenic land-scapes is not very dominant in Islamic cultures; Arab languages even lack a word for the concept of landscape (ibid.).

Not only religious differences but also the rural background of immigrants may influence the subsequent representations of nature. The vast majority of im-migrants from Turkey and Morocco originate from small villages located in re-mote agricultural areas. Differences in nature practices between the remote, ru-ral places of origin and the highly urbanized Dutch society could hardly be great-er. Research has shown important differences in values associated with nature between people from rural and those from urban backgrounds (Manfredo, Teel & Bright, 2003). In agrarian-based cultures, social representations of meanings are based on the direct material interaction with the natural environment. In ur-banized cultures, the symbolic meanings of nature have become more important. These symbolic meanings are often based on idealized representations of nature and landscape related to hedonistic values and the construction of nature as the antithesis of human culture (van Koppen, 2000). As a result, nature is often as-sociated with autonomy, spontaneity and naturalness (Ulrich, 1983). This is in sharp contrast to the view held in many rural cultures that nature is something that needs to be controlled; nature is sometimes even regarded as threatening (O’Rourke, 2000).

The conclusion of this short stroll through cultural differences is that social representations of nature do differ significantly between Dutch culture and Turk-ish and Moroccan cultures.2 In the following section I describe how these social representations are ref lected in people’s individual images of nature.

Images of nature held by immigrants compared to those held by native Dutch people

Images of nature can be defined as “enclosing frameworks that direct and struc-ture the perception and appreciation of nature” (Keulartz, van der Windt & Swart, 2004). As described above, images of nature are the cognitive ref lections of social representations of nature. We have seen that the social representation of nature differs between Islamic cultures and native Dutch culture. Therefore, also the in-dividual images may differ between native Dutch people and people originating from Turkey or Morocco.

Previous studies have conceptualized images of nature as consisting of two dimensions: people’s beliefs regarding nature and their normative views on the relationship between humans and nature (Buijs, in press). An important belief is the assumed relationship between nature and culture. Are nature and culture seen as opposites, or is nature closely related and inseparable from culture? Sev-eral studies have shown that beliefs about the nature–culture dichotomy may differ among the general public (Hull, Robertson & Kendra, 2001) and between different cultures (Bang, Medin & Atran, 2007). The normative elements of im-

53

ages of nature relate to ethical-normative cognitions concerning the relationship between humans and nature. Normative elements are related to, for example, an-thropocentric or ecocentric views on the relationship between human and nature, or views on the appropriate goals of managing natural areas. Other topics include the view on human interventions in nature versus the autonomy of nature.

Factor analysis of people’s beliefs about nature, focusing on the assumed pro-totypically of nature-related instances, revealed three factors:3 independent nature (e.g. marshes) was seen by most respondents as the most typical of nature, while domesticated nature (e.g. cats and dogs) was seen as the least typical. Productive nature (e.g. old farms) was mostly not seen as typical nature (see table 2).

Table 2: Factor analyses of prototypicality rating: means and factor loadings (>0.4) N=573

Factor analyses on the items belonging to values also revealed three factorial di-mensions. The first factor (‘the perceived need for autonomy of nature’) is relat-ed to the view of many respondents that nature should develop as independently from humans as possible. The second factor was related to anthropocentric val-ues. Support for the items related to this factor was much lower. The third factor refers to the appropriate intensity of management of nature areas (‘management intensity’). The items constituting this factor showed the highest variation. While 38% felt that ‘dead trees in the forests need to be cleared away,’ another 25% disa-greed with this policy (see table 3).

Based on the above-mentioned conceptualization of images of nature as be-liefs, values and value orientations, we investigated the different images of nature held by immigrants and by native Dutch people. This investigation showed that there are significant differences: the immigrants expressed a more anthropocen-tric view on the human–nature relationship, they preferred a high level of man-agement of nature, the autonomy of nature was less important for them, and they

Mean score (1 – 5)

(5=typical nature)

Percentage ‘typical’ or ‘very typi-cal’ nature

Indepen-dent nature

Productive nature

Domesti-cated nature

Floodings 3.6 55% .827

Marshes 4.0 70% .789

Weeds between pavement

2.7 29% .570

Old farms 3.2 40% .875

Farmer on his tractor

2.8 30% .860

Large corn fields 3.4 38% (.418) .445

Humans 3.1 40% .842

Domestic animals 2.7 27% .838

54

used a broader definition of nature and less often conceptualized nature and cul-ture as oppositional concepts. Most native Dutch people supported a wilderness image of nature, related to ecocentric values and the autonomy of nature. Support for the functional image (related to anthropocentric values and intensive manage-ment) was very limited within this group of native Dutch people. However, im-migrant groups showed massive support (almost 50%) for the functional image, while the wilderness image received only very limited support. The inclusive im-age – which focuses on ecocentric values and a broad definition of nature – was supported by both groups (see table 4).

Interestingly, second-generation immigrants (i.e. those born in the Nether-lands but raised in an immigrant culture) seem to take a position between both groups. Their adherence to the different images of nature is a combination of the functional images that are dominant among first-generation immigrants and

Mean score 1=disagree

5=agree

Percentage ‘agree’

Perceived need for

autonomy of nature

Anthro-pocentric

values

Manage-ment

intensity

To protect nature, some areas need to be closed to visitors

3.7 57% .744

The longer a natural area is left un-touched, the greater its value

3.8 63% .663

Wind turbines and electricity pylons make nature less valuable

3.6 52% .598

Nature is less fragile than some people think

3.0 29% .850

Not every single rare plant needs to be protected

2.8 26% .617

Humans may use nature as they see fit

2.0 11% .461

Road verges should be decently mowed

3.6 57% .789

Dead trees in the forests should be cleared away

3.1 38% .744

Table 3: Factor analyses of values and value orientations: means and factor loadings (>0.4) N=561

55

the wilderness images held by many native Dutch people. These results seem to reflect the complex cultural situation of these second-generation immigrants: they clearly belong to two different social groups, related to very different cultures (in-cluding possibly different social representations of nature). To develop their own view on nature, they can draw from two different social representations of nature, related to two very different cultures. Consequently, their individual images of na-ture may incorporate elements from both social representations of nature, includ-ing possibly conflicting elements. In the remainder of this chapter, I explore both this situation of the acculturalization of immigrants and the possibility of cogni-tive polyphasia in the images of nature of second-generation immigrants.

Table 4: Images of nature held by native Dutch people and by first- and second-generation

immigrants

Second-generation immigrants: drawing on two different cultural resources?

We used this empirical study of images of nature to investigate the relationship between the images held by second-generation immigrants and those held by first-generation immigrants and native Dutch people. From which social repre-sentation of nature do second-generation immigrants draw their individual im-ages of nature? Do they draw on the Dutch representation of nature – with its strong focus on ecocentric values and the view that autonomous processes in na-ture should be strengthened and thus management intensity should be as low as possible – or do they draw more on the social representation of their parents’ culture, which is related to more anthropocentric values of nature and nature as a well-kept garden to celebrate the perfect order as established by Allah? Further-more, do they adhere to the narrow definition of nature – in which only nature independent from human influence is considered true nature – or to the broader definition in the social representation of their parents’ culture, in which the na-ture–culture divide is less prominent? In short, which cultures and which social representations are the prime resource for their individual images of nature?

Images of nature

Wilderness image

(N=207)

Functional image

(N=170)

Inclusive image

(N=180)

Origin (Cramer’s V=0.33***)

Native Dutch people 51% 15% 34%

Immigrants 25% 44% 31%

Within immigrants (Cramer’s V=0.23***)

First-generation immigrants 18% 47% 35%

Second-generation immigrants 40% 38% 22%

*** p < .001

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To investigate the elements that second-generation immigrants have incorpo-rated from the representations available to them, we compared the six sub-dimen-sions of images of nature held by second-generation immigrants with those held by native Dutch people and first-generation immigrants. Interestingly, there is a clear divide between the cognitive and the normative dimension. Within the cog-nitive dimension, second-generation immigrants seem to draw mainly on the na-tive Dutch representation. And just as it is to native Dutch people, the independ-ence of nature is an important characteristic of nature. Independent nature (like marshes) is considered the most typical form of nature, while domesticated na-ture is often not considered as nature. This is in contrast to first-generation im-migrants, who do not seem to draw a clear difference between independent na-ture, domesticated nature and productive nature. However, on the normative di-mension, second-generation immigrants seem to draw much more on the social representation of their (Turkish or Moroccan) culture. Their normative view on the human–nature relationship is very much in line with that of the first-genera-tion immigrants, and differs significantly from the views of native Dutch people. They adhere more to anthropocentric values, they prefer higher levels of manage-ment of nature and they are less anxious to interfere with nature (see table 5). We can thus conclude that second-generation immigrants draw from two different social representations of nature: one grounded in native Dutch culture, the other grounded in the Islamic and rural cultures of their ancestors.

Table 5: Cognitive polyphasia of second-generation immigrants?

Conclusions

I have argued for the use of social representations theory as a means to relate in-dividual cognitions about nature with the social construction of these meanings. Based on Swidler’s conceptualization of culture as a ‘toolkit’ or a ‘repertoire’ that

Dimensions of images of nature

1st-generation immigrants

(N=211)

2nd-generation immigrants

(N=88)

Native Dutch people (N=318)

Cognitive dimension

Independent nature 3.2a 3.5b 3.5b

Productive nature 3.1 2.8 3.0

Domesticated nature 3.2a 2.8b 2.8b

Normative dimension

Need for autonomy 3.6a 3.5a 3.8b

Anthropocentric values 2.8a 2.7a 2.4b

Management intensity 3.7a 3.5a 3.0b

Differences of the dimensions printed in bold differ significantly from each other (p<.05). Means with unequal letters differ per column at p<.05.

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individuals may draw on in a creative manner, I have also argued that individuals draw on the social representations that circulate in society to construct individu-al cognitions about nature (which I have named ‘images of nature’). I then used this theoretical approach to understand the differences in images of nature held by immigrants and those held by native Dutch people, focusing especially on the position of second-generation immigrants in-between their culture of origin and native Dutch culture.

Immigrants and native Dutch people differed significantly as regards the im-ages of nature they hold. While most native Dutch people supported the wilder-ness image, almost half of the immigrants supported the functional image. Im-migrants expressed a more anthropocentric view on the human–nature relation-ship, they preferred a high level of management of nature, the autonomy of nature was less important for them, they used a broader definition of nature and they less often conceptualized nature and culture as oppositional concepts. The differ-ences between the images of nature held by immigrants and those held by native Dutch people found in this study are to a large extent in line with more general cultural differences between Islamic and Christian cultures regarding the per-ception of nature. These results suggest that both first-generation immigrants and native Dutch people construct their images of nature based on the social rep-resentations that are dominant in their own culture. As these social representa-tions of nature differ significantly, these people have developed different images of nature. For example, the fact that many first-generation immigrants support the functional image of nature – with its focus on utilitarian values and intensive management – may be related to the divine task in Islam for humans to manage nature and to bring wild areas into culture. Prior research has shown that that these different images of nature are related to a relative preference for managed landscapes among many immigrants (Buijs, Elands & Langers, in press).

Second-generation immigrants are related to two different cultures, namely the immigrant culture of the parents who raised them and the culture of the so-ciety in which they were born. The results suggest that these second-generation immigrants draw on both cultures to construct their individual images of nature. They draw especially on the cognitive elements of Dutch social representation of nature, related to a clear nature–culture divide. However, to construct the norma-tive elements of their images of nature, they draw more on the social represen-tations that are dominant in the (Turkish or Moroccan) culture of their parents. They expressed relatively anthropocentric values and the autonomy of nature was not very important. They also seemed to hold a less romantic view of the Dutch landscape, as they felt that the construction of electricity pylons through agrarian landscapes does not threaten the landscape quality of such areas.

How should this result be interpreted? Does the fact that second-generation immigrants seem to draw on two social representations of nature simultaneously mean that they are in a phase of acculturalization? It is too early to tell. To draw such a conclusion, we need to conduct longitudinal studies or inter-generational

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studies in which we can show how the images of nature develop through time and/or through different generations and age groups. The results do suggest that second-generation immigrants show signs of cognitive polyphasia (Moscovici, 1961/1976; Wagner, 1998). They seem to have implemented elements of the rep-resentations of nature held by native Dutch people and those held by Turkish/Moroccan people. Some of these elements may be in conflict with each other. For example, the fact that they define nature as complementary to humans and hu-man culture seems contradictory to their view that nature should be intensively managed and that the maintenance of autonomous processes in nature is not very important. These contradictions may imply, as Castro (2006) suggests, that the implementation of cultural changes in environmental views is not as straightfor-ward as is sometimes suggested. Old and new ideas may coexist and interact, de-pending on individual experiences and identities. As a result, ambivalence about values and attitudes may occur in a time of cultural change, and the replacement of old ideas about nature by new ideas should be seen as complex and iterative, and not as a simple linear process.

Notes

1. For a more extensive description of the methods used in this study, see Buijs et al., 2006.

2. For a more extensive elaboration of cultural differences in the representation of na-ture, see e.g. Schama, 1995; Schouten, 2005.

3. To prevent possible ‘cognitive polyphasia’ among second-generation immigrants from interfering with this factor analysis, we conducted the analysis based on the na-tive Dutch people and the first-generation immigrants. The results were comparable

with the analysis of the full dataset (Buijs, Elands & Langers, in press).

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5 The Position of Cultural History and

Heritage Management in a Complex

Society

Jelle Vervloet

Cultural history and the preservation of monuments and historical buildings have a regular place in the decision-making process concerning spatial plan-

ning in the Netherlands. For several decades, all sorts of government agencies have been looking into this subject. Every province and municipality has a department or a civil servant charged with attending to this theme. A national institute – the National Service for Archaeology, Cultural Landscape and Built Heritage (RACM) – oversees the quality of the policy. The civil service designates protected land-scapes and publishes policy documents. Reviews of the condition of nature and landscapes are issued annually, e.g. Natuurverkenning, Natuurbalans, Archeologieba-lans). Landscape architects and planners make great efforts to incorporate cultural history into their designs; when requested to do so, they even make ‘cultural-his-torically inspired’ plans and designs (Nota Belvédère 1999). All these activities and products stem from official legislation and rules. Government politicians assume that ‘people’ are in need of a high-quality landscape. Nature, peace and quiet along with clean water, soil and air are important items in spatial planning.

In the Netherlands, cultural history has been regarded as one of the central qualities of the landscape since the mid 1970s (Nota CRM 1975). It was believed that the unique character of our national culture emerged from the historically developed landscape. The Dutch national character – our identity – was specifi-cally expressed in the manner in which former generations shaped the landscape. What remained of this was worthy of preservation.

The underlying thought was that the bond with the past should not be cut too abruptly, despite all the dynamic developments in the landscape. For the sake of the citizens’ quality of life, the environment should ref lect as many of the nation’s characteristics as possible. People were obviously aware that this ambition could not be realized at the same level of intensity in all places. Building on the tradition that had already been developed in the preservation of buildings, archaeological objects and nature reserves, it was decided to select a limited number of areas in which the main focus was to be on the conservation of the landscape, that is, on preserving as much of the existing situation as possible (de Klerk, 1987).

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The government employed historical geographers to make scientifically sound choices on behalf of the policy. The extent to which it was possible to read the development of the landscape from the current situation (i.e. to extract the ‘information value’) was an important starting point for such assessments (de Bont & Renes, 1988). This should not come as a complete surprise: Dutch histori-cal geographers considered landscape genesis research to be their core business. Putting the measure of information first was in perfect keeping with their scien-tific perception.

How the inhabitants experienced the historically developed landscape that surrounded them was hardly mentioned, if at all. The scientists’ approach did not really fit in with the way the local inhabitants looked at the landscape, and this created a distance between the two groups. The values that the scientists attached to areas and objects were not always recognized or acknowledged as such by the population itself (van den Berg & Casimir, 2002). Many inhabitants, and especial-ly farmers, felt that their existence was threatened by all these areas the scientists were designating. In their opinion, to freeze the situation the landscape was in would result in stagnation, and stagnation leads to decline. They not only feared for their income, but were also suspicious about the subsidies offered by the gov-ernment to overcome the deadlock they were in; subsidies imply a financial de-pendency and a restriction of free enterprise. People would rather not be stigma-tized as ‘park keepers’ (Denig, 1975). As it was, many of the arrangements did not last very long. Each new government introduced new arrangements, which rarely turned out to be much of an improvement. This did not offer the farmers much to hold on to in the long run, and this prospect did not promote a healthy opera-tional management.

Independent of our judgement of the motives and principles of those who de-veloped the policies and carried out the inventories, it makes sense to ascertain how the population itself experiences the cultural history of the landscape and how this can be implemented in future policy concerning the landscape (Vervloet, 2007). Here, we are talking about such questions as: what arouses the interest of the population? Upon what standards do people base their choices, and what are their motives? From this follow further questions: which kinds of objects and are-as do they prefer? Does this correspond with the ideas and plans of the scientists, or do different opinions and preferences come to the fore? (van Assche, 2004; Coeterier, 2000; van Duineveld, 2006; Koedoot, 2004).

This process of change is not new. It started with the introduction of the term inspraak (participation). This was followed by the establishment of draagvlak (public support), and now people are busily engaged in participatieve planvorming (participative planning), whereby the population is directly involved in ref lecting upon the future town and country planning (de Poel et al., 2000). A gradual shift from top-down to bottom-up can be discerned in planning, as shown by the way the policy on town and country planning is structured in the Netherlands. These plans used to be drawn up by central government, but nowadays this administra-

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tive rank is responsible only for setting general planning guidelines; it is now the lower administrative ranks, which are closer to the public, that formulate concrete planning proposals (Woltjer, 1992; Hendrikx, 1999).

We see a similar shift at the successive conferences of historical geographers. The number of contributions on landscape genesis and the assessment systems based on a positivistic perspective on science is decreasing in favour of contribu-tions that have a more post-modern slant, which puts first the manner in which the inhabitants experience the historical aspects of the landscape. Next to histori-cal geography, other disciplines and approaches – such as cultural anthropology, sociology and environmental psychology – are playing a steadily more important role in this (Schavemaker, 2008).

It is no longer a matter of dating as precisely as possible the objects and struc-tures that adorn the landscape, nor of a technically intrinsic evaluation based on f lawlessness, rarity or distinctive characteristics; instead, it is a matter of, for in-stance, which parts of the landscape are considered by the inhabitants or land-us-ers as having a historical aura and thus warrant being preserved in some form or another (Duineveld, 2006; Koedoot & Lengkeek, 2004). In addition, these days many people want to preserve an object because there is a nice anecdote attached to it. The biographical backgrounds are becoming increasingly important. His-torical geographers must transform themselves into storytellers. An object or an area counts only if it is supplied with a historical narrative that appeals to the im-agination (Kolen, 2005).

Key questions

In order to fathom the consequences of this paradigm change for our cultural his-tory and the preservation of monuments and historical buildings, we addressed three related questions that might help us to gain a clearer understanding of the way in which people experience the historical landscape. These questions are: 1) What is the role of local historical associations in the striving for landscape pres-ervation? 2) To what extent is the local population aware of the existence of cultur-al-historical values in the landscape? 3) How do the various actor-groups perceive the cultural history of the landscape?

What is the role of local historical associations in the striving for landscape preservation?

For quite some time it was claimed that the natural backing for the preservation of cultural-historical phenomena in the landscape should be sought in the circles of local historians, namely the local and regional historical associations (Rooyakkers, 2000). In order to substantiate this claim, research was carried out in the eastern part of the Netherlands to systematically take a closer look at four associations that have been active on a local and regional level for a considerable time. The research comprised a meticulous analysis of the articles that had appeared in the associa-

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tions’ magazines in recent years and of their other activities. Further, prominent members of each association’s committee were interviewed to find out whether any information had been missed or misinterpreted (Groot, 2008).

The results were remarkable. In only a very limited number of cases did the associations actually react to the plans proposed by the government. The clubs for local and regional historical studies hardly functioned (if at all) as platforms for protests against changes in the landscape; in general, they adopted a neutral atti-tude. Within this type of association, the unity of the village community or the re-gion they claim to represent is of primary importance. Interventions in the land-scape – for example, through house or road building – could all too easily develop into a subject that would cause discord between the members, for example, be-tween local politicians who represent several parties but are not infrequently also members of the committees, or between farmers and shopkeepers. They would therefore rather look into the past than into the future. The associations will only contact the town council if they expect that virtually all members will see eye to eye on a certain matter. This explains the protest against the felling of a certain kroezeboom (an age-old tree with a highly symbolic value): village meetings are still held under it on special occasions.

What the local clubs are interested in is the history of individual farms. This is tied up with the history of generations of farmers, whose descendants are of-ten still living in the village. At a local level, genealogical research is central. As people search for their roots, they come across farmsteads that carry their family names. These farmsteads are the point of departure of the research. For local his-torians, they are the stepping stones to their family trees.

The landscape formed by farmsteads receives a lot less attention. For historical geographers it is also interesting to investigate how much land was owned, where this land was situated and which field names were borne by the various parcels, as this helps them to form an image of the historical rural land use. However, the local researchers in the region we selected were hardly interested in that particu-lar knowledge. Most of them have no understanding of the cohesion of the land-scape and thus no reason to dwell on the future of the landscape.

To what extent is the local population aware of the existence of cultural-historical val-ues in the landscape?

Our respondents in the municipality of Rheden, which is situated on the edge of the Veluwe, were asked to point out objects and/or structures in their surround-ings that, in their opinion, were of cultural-historical interest. They were also asked to indicate the objects and structures on a ‘mental map’ (Pikkemaat, 2006).

To see whether social division played a role here, we looked at the respondents’ education, income and background. The results show that castles and churches score points with everyone. These are often the only objects mentioned by people with lower incomes and little education. The higher the level of education and in-

66

come, the more objects were mentioned and mapped; this group even indicated such landscape elements as lanes, hedges and wooded banks.

The commuters living in the municipality scored the highest; many of these people did not originate from Rheden. They were more aware than the others of the precious landscape setting in which they live. Perhaps this is not that surpris-ing: especially commuters prefer to live in an attractive environment. Nor is it a surprise that they were generally able to relate the most about the historical con-text of their surroundings. The fact of the matter is that they have the highest lev-el of education. However, their knowledge of these kinds of subjects is also related to the fact that they consciously want to attach themselves to their new environ-ment and, as a result, deliberately go in search of its history.

Another result of this research is that an expert report on cultural values in the countryside around Rheden (Bootsma, Derks & Scholte Lubberdink, 2004) emphasizes subjects not mentioned by the inhabitants. The report takes a typi-cal technical approach based on the study of maps. The members of the Rheden community are more devoted to the perception of their place of residence. Be-cause they speak different ‘languages,’ the locals do not recognize most of the cul-tural historical values designated by the officials.

How do the various actor groups perceive the cultural history of the landscape?

The experience of cultural history is connected to the education, income and back-ground of the persons interviewed. In order to shed more light on the way peo-ple perceive the cultural history in the landscape, we studied how different actor groups experience the cultural history in the landscape. We understand actors as representatives of groups that are involved with the cultural-historical aspects of the landscape (de Keijzer & van der Wal, 2006).

The study looked at the relationship between the experience of the landscape in a part of the east of the Netherlands and the cultural-historical phenomena in it. Here, experience is understood as information-processing leading to the attri-bution of meaning. This process is all about the attribution of the correct mean-ing to the incoming information, so that a proper behavioural reaction can be selected. This study was about the perception and valuation of the landscape by various groups in society. To be able to conduct this analysis, we formulated three research questions: 1) Which actor groups are present in the cultural-historical landscape of the eastern part of the Netherlands and what is their relation to this landscape? 2) What are the motives and incentives of these groups with regard to the cultural history in the area; that is, which viewpoints do they have? 3) Do the portrayed viewpoints match the actual situation?

The experience of cultural history and landscapes stems from deeper motives and incentives. Next to knowledge, income and such like (which we touched on in the previous study), experience also stems from the emotional involvement, the susceptibility to aesthetics, the functional fulfilment of needs and the de-

67

gree of economic dependence. By making a distinction based on these motives and incentives, we formulated a typology of the ‘glasses’ worn by various social groups. These are policy glasses, expert glasses, sunglasses, market glasses, sur-vival glasses, identity glasses and crackle-ware glasses. The following are some examples of these glasses.

Policy glasses are focused on the degree to which the cultural history in the landscape can be fitted in with other policy sectors. The actors in this group are policy makers and the people who implement the policies. Each of these actors wears glasses with a different focus. Schoolteacher glasses are worn by the policy makers; they ask themselves which phenomena are of cultural-historical value and which can be fitted into the policy. Reading glasses fit the people who imple-ment the policies; to them, cultural history is valuable when it is in line with the intended policy.

Expert glasses are focused on the content. The actor wearing these glasses ex-periences the landscape primarily out of the desire to discover more about the genesis of the landscape through research. There are two kinds of experts: the ac-ademic scientist and the applied researcher. The first observes the world through a telescope. It is his or her objective to amass knowledge for the sake of knowledge. This actor is not interested in the de facto preservation of cultural-historical ele-ments; instead, publishing is his or her main objective. The applied researcher mostly uses binoculars. His or her objective is to conduct brief studies and pass the results on to, for instance, policy makers.

Sunglasses are worn by holiday-makers. They consume cultural history. They are mainly interested in ‘beautiful stories,’ whether or not these are offered by travel guides. Their main goal, however, is peace and quiet. No matter how rich the landscape is in cultural history, if it lacks tourist infrastructure (e.g. hotels and campsites), the tourists will not turn up. We distinguish two types of peo-ple in this category, namely those who wear grandmother’s glasses and those who wear blinkers. The first group is interested in the past and visits an area in order to learn something about its history; the second group seeks entertainment in the landscape without really caring about the environment. This latter group is in it for the activity, not for the area in which the activity takes place.

Market glasses are worn by people who view cultural history from a purely eco-nomic perspective. These glasses fit many different people. For example, there are profiteer’s glasses and gold-digger’s glasses. People who profit from cultural histo-ry without offering anything in return wear profiteer’s glasses. Examples of these people are hotel keepers, property developers and estate agents, who extol the vir-tues of their goods based on the presence of cultural-historical remnants but leave the preservation thereof to the public domain. Gold-digger’s glasses are worn by people who use their metal detectors to search for valuable finds in the soil in or-der to sell these to antique dealers or to collectors of antiquities.

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Discussion

The results of the above studies illustrate the point we were trying to make: the groups and individuals we interviewed vary greatly as regards their commitment, experiences and preferences. However, it is not entirely clear how we should pro-ceed from here. Nevertheless, we hope that the results of these studies will, for example, contribute to solving problems related to communication and under-standing between the various actors in spatial planning and the handling of the cultural landscape in its broader context.

The research offers an opportunity for those who make decisions about the de-velopment of the cultural-historical landscape to understand the appreciation oth-er parties in society have of the landscape they work with: “Experts with their cool approach are not always impressed with emotional and subjective meanings. Be-cause of this, they might pass over essential conditions to embed and anchor the preservation of heritage” (Duineveld, Koedoot & Lengkeek, 2004). On the other hand, an attempt can be made to foster some knowledge among the population for the stories the experts are able to tell.

More consultation between and more openness by both parties (who them-selves are divided) could help to eliminate misconceptions and prejudices. This, however, will take a lot of time – and people are already complaining about slow procedures in spatial planning. The problem is therefore far from being solved. Perhaps this contribution can be a modest starting point for a fruitful discussion between the groups and the individuals involved.

References

Assche, K.A.M. van (2004) Signs in time. An interpretive account of urban planning and de-sign, the people and their histories (Wageningen: Wageningen University) PhD Thesis

Berg, A.E. van den and T. Casimir (2002) Landschapsbeleving en Cultuurhistorie; een theo-retische en empirische verkenning van de invloed van cultuurhistorie op de beleving van het landschap (Wageningen: Alterra Research Institute)

Bont, C.H.M. de and J. Renes (1988) De historisch-landschappelijke kaart van Nederland, schaal 1 : 50.000. Legenda en proefkarteringen (Wageningen: Reeks Landschapsstud-ies 11)

Bootsma, J, G. Derks and H. Scholte Lubberdink (2004) Cultuurhistorische Gebiedsbeschri-jving Gemeente Rheden. Gelders Genootschap i.s.m. RAAP. (Arnhem:Archeologisch Ad-viesbureau)

Coeterier, J.F. (2000) Hoe beleven wij onze omgeving? Resultaten van 25 jaar omgevingspsy-chologisch onderzoek in stad en landschap (Wageningen: Alterra Research Institute)

Denig, C. (1975) Boer of parkwachter: enige gedachten over nationale landschapsparken (Den Haag: Ministerie van Landbouw and Visserij)

Duineveld, M. (2006) Van oude dingen, de mensen die voorbij gaan. Over de voorwaarden meer recht te kunnen doen aan de door burgers gewaardeerde cultuurhistories (Delft: Eburon)

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Duineveld, M, M. Koedoot and J. Lengkeek (2004) Constructies van beton and iemand die

tegen zijn hond zegt: ‘vlieg.’ Zes beschouwingen over de omgang met en de betekenissen van

‘erfgoed’ in de context van maatschappelijke processen, landschap en ruimtelijke ordening

(Wageningen: Wageningen Universiteit)Groot, M. (2008) Het verleden telt in het heden. Verkenning naar heemkundekringen en hun

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Stichting Matrijs)Keijzer, M. de and D. van der Wal (2006) Ik zie, ik zie, wat jij niet ziet! Onderzoek naar de

beleving van cultuurhistorie in Salland en de Achterhoek door verschillende actorgroepen (Wageningen: Wageningen University)

Koedoot, M. (2004) Het Neolithicum van nu. Over de alledaagse betekenis van archeologisch erfgoed in de polder De Gouw en de Groetpolder (Wageningen: Wageningen University)

Kolen, J. (2005) De biografie van het landschap. Drie essays over landschap, geschiedenis en erfgoed. (Amsterdam: Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam) PhD Thesis

Lauwerier, R.C.G.M and R.M. Lotte (2002) Archeologiebalans 2002 (Amersfoort: Rijksdi-enst voor het Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek)

Ministerie CRM. (1975) Nota betreffende de relatie landbouw en natuur- en landschapsbe-houd: gemeenschappelijke uitgangspunten voor het beleid inzake de uit een oogpunt van natuur- en landschapsbehoud waardevolle agrarische cultuurlandschappen (Den Haag: Ministerie CRM)

Nota Belvedere (1999) Beleidsnota over de relatie cultuurhistorie en ruimtelijke inrichting (Den Haag: VNG)

Pikkemaat, M. (2006) Het verhaal van de gemeente Rheden. Een verkennend onderzoek naar richtinggevend cultureel ruimtelijke identiteitsdragers (Wageningen: Wageningen Uni-versity)

Poel, K.R. de, N.P. van der Windt, J. Kruit, J.N.H. Elerie and T. Spek (2000) Essen in per-spectief. Een interactieve planningsbenadering in Spier, Wijster en Drijber (Wageningen: Alterra Research Institute)

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Samson)Rooyakkers, G. (2000) Mensen en dingen. Materiële cultuur. Pp. 110–172 In: T. Dekker,

H. Roodenberg and G. Rooyakkers, eds, Volkscultuur: een inleiding in de Nederland-se etnologie (Nijmegen: SUN )

Schavemaker, H. (2008) Een analyse van ‘The permanent conference’ for the study of the rural landscape (Wageningen: Wageningen University)

Vervloet, J.A.J. (2007) Some remarks about the changing position of landscape assess-ment. Pp. 433–438 in Z. Roca, T. Spek, T. Terkenli, T. Plieninger and F. Höchtl, eds, European Landscapes and Lifestyles. The Mediterranean and Beyond (Lisbon: Edições Universitárias Lusófonas)

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Part 2

Leisure Practices andPublic Space

6 Social Interaction and Neighbourhood

Control: The significance of Walking and

Narratives

Henk de Haan

Leisure, dwelling and the housing environment are closely related. Research by Breedveld and colleagues (2006) reveals that in the Netherlands in 2005, each

person had an average of approximately 45 hours of free time per week. This time is predominantly spent in and around the house or in the neighbourhood. Accord-ing to Harms (2006), about 60 per cent of the total time people spend on social contacts, recreation, sport and culture is spent in the residential environment.

The importance of home-bound forms of leisure activities corresponds with contemporary trends in home culture in the Netherlands. The dwelling is not merely a place for physical and social reproduction. According to Kooijman (2004, p. 7), individual development and freedom of choice are concepts that are central to dwelling. In the past, the kitchen, the garden and the interior decoration were strictly functional; now these are spaces for the expression of personal taste and status, where an optimal experience of dwelling as a form of consumption can be realized. This is clear, for instance, from the enormous popularity of home decoration and DIY shops, lifestyle magazines and TV programmes on home im-provement. More than ever, the house is a leisure domain, where people spend ‘quality time’ and in which they invest a lot of time and money in order to main-tain the necessary standards. According to Galle (2004, p. 74), “. . . the house is liable to the all-embracing inclination to turn everything into an ultimate experi-ence . . . The decoration of the ‘normal’ house should be not only functional, but also attractive, thrilling, romantic and trendy.” King (2005, p. 93) states that the house is essentially a dull, boring structure: a simple box that often fails to excite us. Hence the wish to give our dwellings a ‘makeover’ and turn them into some-thing more exciting and personal.

In the Netherlands, most people live in compact, densely populated neigh-bourhoods. This means that one not only has neighbours very close-by, but also that the residential environment must be shared with a large number of other oc-cupants. Hence, when people are looking for a house they not only judge the qual-ity of the house and the neighbourhood facilities, but also do their best to find out what kind of people live in the neighbourhood and especially who and what

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the closest neighbours are. A fundamental issue nowadays is people’s wish to find a neighbourhood that corresponds with their lifestyle. In general, people can choose from a wide range of housing types and neighbourhoods, but they cannot choose their neighbours. A house can be transformed and decorated according to personal taste, but the social and physical characteristics of the neighbourhood are outside the power of private control and regulation.

Annoying neighbours and other environmental nuisances such as crime, pol-lution, vandalism and asocial behaviour can significantly disturb the experience of private spatial quality. This predicament is well described in an article about neighbourhood mediation in the Dutch newspaper Trouw (31 August 2005): “The Netherlands is jam-packed, especially in the cities, where we live almost on top of each other. Moreover, there are almost as many households as there are lifestyles, which perhaps do not always agree with one another. Our houses and our gardens are places where we withdraw, where we recover from our stressful life. At home, it must be it quiet and clean, peaceful and relaxing. Sometimes these aspirations cannot easily be matched with the neighbour’s hobbies, which can be the start of something small and insignificant, but may quickly develop into straightforward irritation.” The residential environment is a significant factor in the enjoyment of not only the private domain: people also want to enjoy nearby outdoor spac-es and social contacts, and the neighbourhood is a potential setting for and fa-cilitates leisure time outside the home. The presence of walking possibilities, playgrounds and meeting places is of major importance to people who seek en-tertainment and social contacts in their immediate neighbourhood. The neigh-bourhood is in fact an extension of the home (see Augoyard, 2008). The home and the residential environment are two interconnected domains, with dialecti-cal and symbiotic relations that are especially expressed in the tension between the private and the public domain. The private field is the primary location for experiencing dwelling, but that experience does not stand apart from the inf lu-ence of the environment.

This chapter is about the way in which local residents protect and defend their private domain by controlling outside inf luences, and about the need to establish social relations with the outside world in order to make possible these kinds of so-cial regulation mechanisms. In order to protect their privacy and personal integ-rity, people have to establish public interactions and enact public social control. I focus on relatively insignificant, everyday events in order to grasp the nature of the neighbourhood and to discover how people react to an infringement of the normative order. I show that everyday ways of being in the neighbourhood con-ceal and articulate fundamental questions of social and normative order.

The everyday life-world of the neighbourhood is an exceptional setting for people to express themselves simultaneously as private, social, moral and envi-ronmental persons. Such social control mechanisms are particularly urgent in a social spatial environment in which many people have to cope with the fact that they live in close proximity to others. Close proximity, as we know from Hall’s

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(1966) research, entails the need to control others in order to defend personal integrity. In a neighbourhood environment, this comes down to protecting the home environment from unwanted interference, and the public environment from undesirable developments or invasion.

In the following pages, I analyse why social control is necessary in order to protect the home and the environment from factors that have a negative impact on the dwelling experience. I start with a short analysis of proximity in neigh-bourhoods in order to establish why and how the private dwelling is vulnera-ble and needs protection from external inf luences. I then theoretically explore these protective mechanisms in the context of such concepts as appropriation, domain formation, territorial behaviour and boundaries in order to gain a better insight into the specificities and more general aspects of control mechanisms in the neighbourhood. After these generalities on territorial control, I focus more specifically on how people exercise social control through walking practices. Fi-nally, I conclude my observations on neighbourhood social control by drawing some comparisons between neighbourhood space and public space.

At home: leisure and social regulation

In the West, ‘at home’ is associated with freedom, security and comfort. Although one can feel at home in many places and under a variety of circumstances, the feel-ing is especially associated with the private family dwelling. ‘At home’ is closely linked with the concept of privacy, which refers to both personal and territorial in-tegrity: “ . . . home is a private, often familial realm clearly differentiated from pub-lic space and removed from public scrutiny and surveillance … the private realm of the home is typically understood as a space that offers freedom and control, secu-rity, and scope for creativity and regeneration.” (Mallet, 2004 p. 71. See also King, 2004, 2008; Blunt & Dowling, 2006; Marcus, 1995).

This seclusion and the associated significance of the private domain is in sharp contrast to the ‘outside world,’ over which people do not have similar levels of con-trol and where public norms and openness characterize space. In this respect, the boundaries between public and private are important. The dwelling is always part of a wider territory in which it shares space with other dwellings and public life has its own logic. At home, the occupant may be lord and master, but he or she is very dependent on others with respect to what happens in the neighbourhood. Ac-cording to Cuff (2005, §3): “The main reason neighbour relations are charged is sheer proximity. Unlike other social relations . . . space is inherent to neighbour-ship. Residential neighbours live their daily lives near one another over extended periods of time. … Their actions impinge upon one another, and at some levels, are mutually dependent … we are locked in relation with them to some degree.”

Most houses are very transparent and liable to environmental influences. What happens inside the dwelling may ‘leak’ into the environment, and vice versa. With the rise of the domestic ideal and the meaning of the home as a safe haven, these

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outside influences are increasingly considered an infringement of the private do-main. According to Stokoe (2006, §1.4), dwellings nowadays are meant to offer people an experience of privacy, but “The fact that most dwellings have shared boundaries … means that the private relationships of people and their neighbours can be somewhat transmitted to people who are not in that relationship.” Physi-cal proximity means that neighbours know details about one another’s private life and doings that they are not supposed to know; they know each other’s daily rou-tines, holiday periods, the whereabouts of the children, dinner times (even what is eaten), musical taste, and so on. What should be private, what should belong to the intimate sphere, becomes a form of public intimacy: the ultimate experience of being on your own is not only exposed to neighbours, but these neighbours may also interfere with your life. The sheer transparency of the private dwelling ex-poses privacy in the public sphere, while privacy itself is limited by environmental disturbances (see Stokoe & Wallwork, 2003; Stokoe & Hepburn, 2005; Bär, 2008).

Many activities in and around the house are intended to ensure the inhabit-ants’ privacy. This is most evident in new residential areas. When the new inhab-itants arrive, there is intense activity as people mark their territory by putting up fences, planting hedges, building walls, etc. People build a protective wall in order not only to demarcate the boundary, but also to make the private domain as invis-ible as possible to the neighbours.

But these protective measures are by no means sufficient. Although visual privacy is perhaps easy to realize, it is much more difficult to control the impact of the environment on the private dwelling or to control the general environmen-tal qualities of the neighbourhood. People are very sensitive about what they can hear, smell and see in their immediate surroundings. All kinds of things can hap-pen in a neighbourhood to significantly disturb the experience of dwelling. Teen-agers hanging out on the corner, busy traffic, dirty streets, noisy neighbours, an-tisocial behaviour, crime, the lack of maintenance of public green and many other things can make life a nightmare. Protecting the dwelling in a physical and visual way is far from sufficient: what is actually needed is control over public space and public behaviour, as well as over the behaviour of immediate neighbours. In or-der to experience private neighbourhood time maximally, people need to take in-dividual and collective action: they need to socially appropriate the environment in order to protect their privacy and individuality (see Haumont & Morel, 2005).

This phenomenon of people trying to control the environment receives a lot of attention in theoretical literature about domain formation, territoriality and the appropriation of space. Such concepts refer to people’s tendency to individually or collectively control the spaces that they find important for everyday life. Spaces in which people spend a lot of time and that they cannot easily or spontaneously ex-change for other spaces are not passively endured. On the contrary, the more im-portant spaces are in everyday life, the more people are inclined to exercise both social and physical control over these spaces. Although there are several kinds of regulation as far as residential areas are concerned, in this paper I focus only on

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those that are informal, non-formalized and not based on externalized control (such as in gated communities). In ordinary neighbourhoods, there are no for-malized codes of conduct: how neighbours behave depends on their moral stand-ards and the extent to which they feel socially inhibited. As far as the condition of public space is concerned, it is mostly the state or the local government that is responsible for safety and management. Neighbourhood control thus depends largely on both individual and collective forms of regulation. On what general principles is this desire to control everyday living environments based, and how does it manifest itself empirically?

According to Sibley (1995), the construction and regulation of boundaries are fundamental processes in group interactions and in the interaction between per-sonal identity and the identities of others. By exercising control and imposing moral standards, people try to gain command over the spaces that they find im-portant for their own life-world. They apply criteria on the basis of which certain forms of behaviour or spatial events and phenomena are considered inappropri-ate. People draw real and symbolic boundaries around the spaces they wish to con-trol, and guard these boundaries against any form of trespassing and invasion. In this context, Sibley uses the concept of purification and such related terms as pol-lution and contamination. Regulating space and defending against transgressive behaviour can be considered purification rituals. Whatever does not belong or is out of place should be excluded (see also Cresswell, 1996, 2004; Morris, 2007).

In this respect, we can distinguish between weakly and strongly classified environments. In the words of Malone (2002, p. 595): “Within weakly classified environments, boundaries between inside and outside are soft. The organizing principles of such environments are heterogeneity and permeability to the exter-nal world. … Within strongly classified environments, by contrast, mixing is gen-erally treated as a territorial violation. In this highly ordered context, boundaries with the outside tend to be sharply drawn and impermeable.” While public neigh-bourhood space is in principle a weakly classified environment, because it encap-sulates the strongly classified environment of individual dwellings, inhabitants tend to want to extend the power over their home into public space, thus trans-forming it into space with clearly identifiable levels of boundary control.

These thoughts can also be found in other territoriality and privacy theories. Sack (1983), for instance, describes territoriality as a spatial strategy “to affect, in-f luence and control.” Territoriality and purification are mechanisms to appropri-ate space, as a form of domain formation in a socio-political sense. Some groups can thus imprint their identity on space to such an extent that space is trans-formed in both a material and a social-normative sense (for the concept of ter-ritoriality, see Delaney, 2005). In environmental psychology, the principle that people do their utmost to bring their everyday living environment into harmony with their own principles and functional demands is well researched (see Moore, 2005). Implicitly, this refers to a basic principle in an actor-oriented approach, namely that people consciously assess and tactically try to shape their environ-

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ment in order to achieve what is sometimes called ‘environmental fit,’ synomor-phy or compatibility (for more on these concepts, see de Haan, 2005).

With respect to the residential environment, especially such authors as Alt-man and Taylor (Altman, 1975; Altman & Chemers, 1985; Taylor, 1988) have ap-plied the concept of territoriality. Taylor, for instance, distinguishes several ways in which actors exhibit territorial behaviour. Here, I pay attention to marking be-haviour and territorial cognition. Marking behaviour refers to the material per-sonalization of house and garden, and is an important non-verbal form of com-municating who you are, how you position yourself in the neighbourhood and how highly you value private seclusion. Maintenance of the garden, decorative elements, hedges and fences are all visible signs that communicate taste, status and lifestyle. A house with an open garden, windows without curtains and no clear demarcation between private and public space, for instance, shows that the occupants of the house are open to the outside world and want to show who they are. Good maintenance is a sign of conformity, while rubbish strewn around the house, bad paintwork and so on show that the occupants are indifferent to or too poor to keep up with neighbourhood standards. These material signs are very important visual sources for studying the everyday semiotics of neighbourhood communication. For people who live in the neighbourhood, these are an inex-haustible source of information, gossip and, sometimes, intervention (for more on non-verbal communication, see Rapoport, 1982; Abu-Ghazzeh, 2000; Law-son, 2001; Garvey, 2005; Harris & Brown, 1996).

Territorial cognition is a second, less visible mode of territorial behaviour. Peo-ple who have been in a neighbourhood for a long time develop intensive knowl-edge about what is going on in that neighbourhood. Inhabitants build up a rich local experience by taking frequent walks, communicating with their neighbours and keeping an open, observant mind. Looking, listening or just being there re-sults in a mental construct that consists of numerous facts, perceptions and mor-al positions. Appropriating the neighbourhood in a cognitive sense results in a form of ownership, one that is based on superior knowledge and a bundle of rights to use that knowledge for intervening in neighbourhood events.

Marking behaviour in a broad sense can be seen as the sum of the total actual behaviour by which actors communicate their moral standards, while territorial cognition refers to the receiving end of the communication: it is the total impres-sion that people have of social and material spaces.

Territorial behaviour and regulation of public space as mechanisms through which people protect their primary personal space and integrity are closely asso-ciated with people’s need for ontological security. This security is achieved not by isolating themselves but also by expanding the personal sphere of inf luence. In their article ‘Home as a territorial system,’ Märtsin and Niit (2005) show how peo-ple appropriate space in several ways. Following Heidmets, they refer to the ‘envi-ronmental person’: “This type of expansion involves both the social and mental, as well as the physical environment . . . Through the personalization of the envi-

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ronment people take control over the external world” (p. 151). By viewing the per-sonalized part of the environment as an extension of the self, someone is capable of and entitled to control this space and to use it for personal expression.

Here, Altman’s conceptualization of privacy is important. Altman (1977) de-fines privacy as the selective control of access to the individual or the group. This process of privacy regulation is actually about controlling the permeability of boundaries: what do you want to show to the world, and what do you allow to en-ter the private world from the outside world? The openness–closedness dichoto-my is about the interaction between the private and the public world, and all the gradients between the two (see Margulis, 2003). In the residential environment, this principle is translated into a variety of neighbourhood lifestyle strategies.

This brief discussion of concepts associated with individual behaviour and privacy in the public context of a neighbourhood shows that a neighbourhood is not simply a cluster of houses that are in more or less close proximity to one an-other, but that it consists of a complicated interaction between the private and the public domain. People need to be conscious of the fact that their behaviour im-pinges on other people and vice versa, and that there are collective interests in controlling these interactions. The existence of this awareness among the major-ity of residents is both at the heart of neighbourhood control strategies and a cen-tral element in many neighbourhood conflicts. In the following section, I empha-size the fundamental role of knowledge as a resource for control.

Social practices, knowledge and regulation

“To live is to live locally and to know is first of all to know the places one is in” (Ca-sey, 1996, p. 18). Here, Casey draws attention to the fact that human activities al-ways take place somewhere, and that the accumulated experience of being in the same place results in extensive knowledge of that place. In the literature on space and place, a lot of attention is paid to embodied lay geographies and how they dif-fer from disembodied kinds of knowledge that are not based on in situ experienc-es (see Crouch, 1999, 2001, 2003, 2006). Local residents spend a lot of time in their neighbourhood, and depending on their practices and social interactions, have a lot of neighbourhood knowledge. This knowledge comprises not only prac-tical knowledge – such as how to find your way around, who lives where, which places to avoid or where you can go for a pleasant walk – but also knowledge about people’s behaviour in the neighbourhood, neighbourhood events and processes of change. This knowledge consist not only of facts but also of explanations, feel-ings and judgements. Neighbourhood knowledge is an accumulation of memo-ries, a stock of practical devices, that help people to orient themselves in practical, social and moral situations.

How do people achieve this knowledge, and why are knowledge and the as-sociated interpretative frame important for coping with the inherent tension be-tween privacy, the dwelling and the residential environment?

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Following Foucault, it is important to observe that social control, as a form of everyday exercise of power, depends on knowledge. Active local residents ob-serve their environment, identify and interpret threats, identify actors, and take preventive or interventional action. Residents who observe transform the neigh-bourhood into a sort of panopticon, and therefore into an arena for exercising dis-ciplinary power. According to England, neighbourhood communities thus ‘map’ their territory in order to be able to identify unwanted developments: “Communi-ties rely upon the power/space/knowledge trifecta in order to map out and enforce their community boundaries. Bodies and spaces are mapped through observation and reports designating between orderly and disorderly, citizen and non-citizen” (England, 2006, p. 44).

The kind of knowledge local residents build up differs from scientific or pol-icy-oriented knowledge. Everyday knowledge is based on in situ experiences, whereby people are both participants and observers and knowledge is applied to their own environment. The utilization of knowledge is restricted to the lo-cal situation and cannot be extended to other neighbourhood contexts. Scientific knowledge, in contrast, is based on general principles and applications, independ-ent of specific situations. Policy-related knowledge is knowledge that is collected and then used by government agencies to develop regulation guidelines in order to solve problems that are defined within a policy agenda. The kind of knowledge the government collects and uses can best be characterized as spatial knowledge: “Spatial knowledge is more formalized, abstract and generalized knowledge. It strips emplaced knowledge of its local particularities and its social and personal content” (Christensen, 2003, p. 16).

Local residents dispose of emplaced knowledge (ibid.), but how this knowledge is used shows similarities with government ambitions. It serves local people to exercise control, define problems, find solutions and develop intervention strate-gies. In order to be able to control the neighbourhood, people need exact knowl-edge about what is going on and who is responsible for what. Instead of policy pro-grammes and formal decision-making, neighbourhood intervention is based on the application of individual and collective normative principles, although it also happens that local residents take legal or political action. If local residents experi-ence trouble with certain residents, or if public space management and order are not what residents want, a process is set in motion. This process begins with the exchange of knowledge and experience, evolves into an intensive neighbourhood discourse during which normative principles are discussed, and then develops into purposive action in order to actually do something about the situation. Neighbour-hoods do not have a programme or formalized normative standards. However, through communicative interaction and neighbourhood narratives, there is a kind of common understanding about what is and what is not acceptable behaviour.

Local (or emplaced) knowledge is based on concrete local experiences and in-teractions, and is generally developed by maintaining an observant, open attitude towards the environment. ‘Doing’ and ‘feeling’ the neighbourhood are embedded

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in activities that are mainly practised during leisure time. When people are relax-ing at home, going for a walk or participating in neighbourhood events, they are not only trying to have a good time: they are simultaneously recording, observing and exploring what people in their environment do and say, and what is happening in the street and around people’s houses. Before I enter into this process of cogni-tive appropriation, I first give an example of a sociable neighbourhood activity that was organized so that people could get to know each other and show who they are.

In Amersfoort’s Kruiskamp neighbourhood (one of the city’s ‘problem’ neigh-bourhoods), the local government is implementing restructuring plans that are aimed at improving the housing conditions and bringing more variety to the neighbourhood. Old houses are being demolished and new houses for better-off middle-class groups are being built. Thus, relatively rich newcomers are settling in a neighbourhood that is well known for its poverty, crime and segregation.

The first newcomers moved into the area with a certain amount of hesitation. One of the first things they did was organize a neighbourhood party: they wanted to meet the ‘old’ local residents and thought that a street party with music, drinks and food would be a good way to establish social contacts. This initiative reflects not only the fact that many newcomers in regenerated city neighbourhoods have ideal-istic ideas about urbanity and that these specific newcomers wanted to become in-tegrated into their new neighbourhood, but also that the latter had taken a first step towards collecting strategic knowledge in order to set up protective control mecha-nisms. It is essential for newcomers to show who they are, to be recognized as per-sons and to give faces to their anonymous front doors. They want to be known as ‘nice’ people who have good intentions. They do not want to be seen as strangers; they want to get to know the people they will meet regularly in the future.

Why is it so important in a neighbourhood to show who you are and to know who the others are? This exchange of information has everything to do with so-cial control, or perhaps better in this context, with a strategy of neutralizing the potentially risky situation of stranger-to-stranger interaction. The party was an entertaining event, and chatting with other local residents made the newcomers feel much more secure about their property, their cars and their personal safety (see the report in NRC-Handelsblad, 27 June 2007).

Both the way in which people behave in an environment and how they experi-ence it very much depend on their personal relation with that environment. The intensity of local observations, the interaction with others and reactions to what happens are determined by the significance of the environment for everyday life. The more important the environment, the more people are involved with it, and thus the need to control the environment increases. Someone who walks around in his or her own residential environment observes more intensively and is like-ly to think about what happens in a more concerned and evaluative way; if that person walks along a random street somewhere else in town, he or she will see messy streets, sinister characters or pleasant things like fine buildings in a dif-ferent way. The personal relations with such anonymous environments are most-

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ly purely functional or instrumental: a person knows that he or she is there only temporally and that the only necessity is to safeguard his or her personal integrity.

The same sights – messy streets, sinister characters or fine buildings – have a totally different meaning in the residential environment. Here, the environ-ment is an extension of the dwelling, and all pleasant and unpleasant experienc-es have a direct impact on one’s feeling of well-being and sense of place. People’s close relationship with their residential environment makes them more sensible, more concerned and, in the end, more inclined to do something about negative phenomena. Local residents are not simply passers-by; they are both materially and socially embedded in the environment. Personal and material integrity are bound up with permanent or semi-permanent interdependence with the neigh-bourhood. The fragile boundaries between the private dwelling and the environ-ment, and the strong feeling of infringement that people experience when things they do not like are happening in their neighbourhood, are recurrent themes in the endless stories told about neighbourhood problems. This is illustrated by the following examples, all of which are drawn from the Dutch context.

In the village of Rietmolen (pop. 550), the local residents protested against the local authorities’ plans to build a football and a training field immediately behind their houses. They argued that it would cause a lot of noise and light pollution, negatively affect their privacy and drastically reduce the market value of their houses. They also objected to the fact that a large number of old oak trees would have to be felled to make way for the sport fields (Tubantia/Twentsche Courant, 23 February 2007).

In Veldhoven (pop. 43,500), the residents are furious with the local authorities because the latter plan to build a cable railway near their houses. One of the resi-dents: “There are plenty of alternative locations for children’s playthings.” He ar-gues that the clattering of the pulleys will cause a lot of disturbance, especially in the summer when people are sitting in their gardens. He also expects that it will attract a lot of young people and that their hanging around will be a big nuisance (Eindhovens Dagblad, 23 February 2007). In Dronten (pop. 38,00), the locals are protesting against plans to cut down a small forest to make room for a new hous-ing project. The neighbourhood very much values the forest: many people use it for walking and for enjoying nature, the fields and the trees. They refuse to give up this valuable space in their everyday environment.

As the above examples illustrate, local residents are very alert when it comes to changes in their neighbourhood. In order to be able to prevent plans from be-ing implemented, or to improve the conditions, residents need to have knowledge, they need to be able to assess the consequences of changes and they must formu-late legitimate arguments, which are mostly based on moral grounds (privacy, out of place, nature). Knowledge is acquired by experience, by being in the locality and through communication. Walking around is a particularly significant activ-ity in this respect. According to Demerath and Levinger (2003, p. 226), a number of specific qualities characterize walking: “The sights, sounds, smells and kinetic

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feelings we encounter walking are more numerous than those we encounter driv-ing, which gives walking more breadth as an overall experience. Because of that greater breadth of experience we will encounter more diverse perceptions as pe-destrians, and our senses will be more stimulated.” Walking is not only a pleas-ant way of moving around, but also a unique way to experience the environment both physically and socially.

Walking the neighbourhood: territorial cognition and narratives

Social-spatial theorists have recently paid a lot of attention to walking as a spe-cific manner of relating to the environment (see Morris, 2004; Ingold, 2004; Anderson, 2004; Macauley, 2007). Although most of the walking literature is re-lated to design (see Isaacs, 2000, or Forsyth, 2008) or to issues of health/physi-cal activity, some attention is also paid to the experiential and sociability features (see Wunderlich, 2008; DuToit, 2007; Demerath, 2003). According to Augoyard (2008), people draw figures in the landscape, and from these figures one can read the rhetoric of walking: walking is a way to inscribe preferences and avoidances in space. In his The Practice of Everyday Life, De Certeau (1984) argues that people map and conceptually appropriate the world while walking. He emphasizes the narrative landscape that people create by frequently moving around in the same space. When people familiarize themselves with space, spatial objects become in-vested with memories of people and events. When people move through space, such memories are triggered by visual and other sensual perceptions. The con-nection of events, people, objects and places transforms spatial experience into a person’s individual narrative (see Leach, 2002).

This embodied cognition, or cognitive appropriation of space, is not only an individual experience: through communicative interaction these experiences are shared by storytelling. These stories often carry a moral message: the storytell-er is also talking about him– or herself, about others, about moral values. Many neighbourhoods exist as a collection of all these stories and personal memories, as a sort of neighbourhood narrative: an endless string of facts and opinions about people, events and places. The collective narrative of a neighbourhood holds very strong moral messages (see Modan, 2007). A story is way to communicate knowl-edge that is derived from intensive exploration, and is part of a narrative reper-toire. Stories communicate the identity of the teller and are extensive comments on neighbourhood realities. As Bird (2002, p. 544) formulates it: “Through sto-ries, people continue to make aesthetic and moral sense of places, at the same time endowing these places with a sense of their own cultural identity.”

By walking around in the everyday living environment, local residents expe-rience the environment in different ways. They see houses, people, streets, trees, cars and gardens, feel the texture of space, hear noises and voices, smell pleasant and unpleasant smells. The chosen pathway brings the walker into contact with unexpected events and people, as well as with the unchanging, reassuring, every-

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day sameness. An attentive walk is a sort of inspection, an opportunity to check out a couple of places that are in the process of change. Regular neighbourhood walks result in an image of gradual change and of stability. The accumulated image of change among the regular neighbourhood watchers contributes to the overall view of the nature of these changes, as well as to an assessment of whether or not these changes are acceptable.

Not all local residents are equally interested in the neighbourhood. Seamon (1979) refers in this respect to an awareness continuum, referring to the fact that people not only look in different ways and see different things, but that there is also a significant difference among people in terms of how observant they are. Some people live in a neighbourhood for years without realizing what types of houses there are or noticing the layout of their neighbours’ gardens, while others know and see every detail. Every neighbourhood has its so-called specialists: they know every inch of the streets, they know all the people and they know what is go-ing on, and they are capable of structuring all this knowledge in a coherent moral story about people’s behaviour and neighbourhood facts.

A walk around the neighbourhood is an interactive event. The environment has an effect on what people experience and how it contributes to their cognitive, narrative image: this is the neighbourhood in the mind. However, their pres-ence also transforms the environment. The process of cognitively appropriating a neighbourhood transforms the neighbourhood by mentally reconstructing it. Objects, people and places are mentally amalgamated into significant practical and experiential ‘units,’ as a result of which actors contribute meaning and con-nectivity to space in a unique way. Thus, for the individual observer there is much more than meets the eye, and this explains why people can become quite upset when connectivities and meanings are destroyed, erased by physical transforma-tions. For instance, when shops are closed, trees cut down or houses demolished, what people deplore is not the loss of the physical objects, but the mental pain of no longer being capable of reading these objects as signs of meaningful events, people and other memories.

The stream of associations that are engendered by spatial interaction are not the same for all local residents, although places very often do have the same meanings and evoke the same feelings. In that way, a neighbourhood is part not only of a resident’s personal biography but also of a collective biography. The more people in a certain location share personal and spatial biographies, the stronger the implantation of a collective sense of place. People often do have an individual sense of place and belonging, but as they become aware of the fact that other peo-ple in the same locality share fundamental place histories and memories, and that these are valued in more or less the same way, a collective sense of place and be-longing arises. Sense of place arises from and consists of people’s capacity to con-nect material objects – the everyday things that make up space – with practices, events, stories and people, and is evidenced by collective outrage when seemingly insignificant things are erased to make space for change.

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According to Kusenbach (2003), people’s capacity to code and decode their en-vironment as a collection of signs resembles looking at a collection of family pho-tographs. Our everyday living environment becomes “ . . . a sort of personal biog-rapher as it preserves parts of our life history. Navigating familiar environments full of personal landmarks in many ways resembles going through the pages of a personal photo album or diary.” Meyerfeld (1997) refers to the memorable every-day spaces as the ‘ghost of place,’ the congealed memories that are invisible and imperceptible to those who do not have the same relationship with space. The fact that people in a neighbourhood appropriate neighbourhood space cognitively means that it becomes a personalized environment, an extension of the self and the dwelling. It is therefore no surprise that this environment needs protecting, just as the domestic domain does. Exploring the neighbourhood as a leisure ac-tivity thus results in personalization and attachment, which in turn increases the need for forms of control that are related to defence and protection. Such control not only reproduces the structures of neighbourhood attachment, but also serves as a way to protect the private domain.

Newcomers to a neighbourhood do not yet have this sense of place. Their at-tention is initially focused mainly on neighbourhood space as public space, but in order to optimize their dwelling experience, most are willing to invest time in get-ting to know people and learning about the values and moralities that are embed-ded in the neighbourhood. In order not to be excluded, and not to be vulnerable, new residents very often take the initiative in introducing themselves. The impor-tance of such integration rituals is widely recognized, even to the extent that a re-cent book (Sikkel & Witter, 2007) on new rural residents has a whole chapter on behavioural guidelines for newcomers.

The importance of knowing one another is regularly emphasized in the news-paper reports I studied when preparing this paper. Many neighbourhoods organ-ize acquaintance meetings to welcome new people, or to bring new people into contact with one another. Especially neighbourhoods that have a large turnover are very keen to prevent the creation of a community of strangers. The social ac-tivities associated with these rituals are popular forms of entertainment, but they have a deeper meaning as well. Hardly knowing the neighbours or not being able to distinguish neighbours from non-neighbours makes many people feel very uncomfortable. Knowing the people who live around you creates a feeling of on-tological security; it means that you have a potential option for communication and therefore control. Being surrounded by familiar people obviates a feeling of isolation and alienation.

The above was brought up by a man at a neighbourhood association meeting in a village in the south of the Netherlands. He said that he felt ignored and that nobody cared about him; he knew his immediate neighbours, but that was about it. Other people recognized this feeling and the idea was born to put together a book of neighbourhood portraits. All the inhabitants of the neighbourhood were sent a letter asking them to submit one page of information about their house-

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holds (Brabants Dagblad, 8 December 2006). In another neighbourhood, the in-habitants organized communal cooking sessions and meals. As one of the partic-ipants said: “When you’re no longer strangers to one another, the living environ-ment automatically becomes better” (De Gelderlander, 13 November 2003).

Although there are many different styles of neighbourhood behaviour and at-titudes, there seems to be a dominant discourse on the importance of having so-cial contacts. People who completely ignore the neighbourhood are often seen as outsiders and are often not appreciated or trusted. Why is it important to show your identity and to develop a relationship of trust with your co-residents? I think that social networks and trust are mainly important as collective forms of social control. To know people means that you can talk to them, discuss and negotiate problems and annoyances, ask for favours, and develop respect and a common understanding. A research report (TNS NIPO, 2004) reveals that one million people in the Netherlands are regularly disturbed by their neighbours’ behav-iour. However, being disturbed by someone with whom you have good contact is completely different from being disturbed by someone you do not know. Can you expect respect or consideration from a stranger, who has no idea who you are? The research shows, for instance, that people tend to be more tolerant of neigh-bours they know, and that knowing the neighbours also means that the frequen-cy of disturbances is much lower: only 5 per cent of the people who said that they knew their neighbours very well sometimes experienced troublesome behaviour. Of those whose who did not know their neighbours, 20 per cent regularly expe-rienced annoying behaviour. Knowing the neighbours seems to be a very good way not only to control their behaviour but also to learn to respect it. Most people who live in a densely populated housing environment realize that in order to en-joy their privacy, they have to invest in social relationships.

I mentioned earlier in this section that people invest in other people in order to protect their privacy, and I emphasized that through personalization people also cognitively appropriate neighbourhood space. To conclude this section, I give some examples of how people react when they feel that this personalized environment is threatened, and how they organize collective action in order to restore the image of the neighbourhood. Local residents see the neighbourhood in personal terms, as an environment they ‘own’ and as a context that should have a minimal nega-tive impact on the privacy of their homes. I have argued that walking around in the neighbourhood is a complex activity of appropriation, knowledge building and sur-veillance, but what happens when one is confronted with public space annoyances?

In Loppersum (pop. 11,00), as in so many other places, seemingly small issues sometimes develop into major disturbances. The inhabitants of one of the neigh-bourhoods complain that the local government is making ‘a big mess.’ The prob-lem is that the local government is responsible for the f lower beds, but does noth-ing to maintain them. They are overgrown with weeds, look wild and rough, and are a complete eyesore. A local resident: “It’s one big jumble. Passers-by make re-marks about it and point at it. It’s the talk of the day in the street.” The weeds are

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spreading into the tidy gardens of the neighbourhood. People are ashamed, and very irritated by the fact that the local government does not assume its responsi-bility (Dagblad van het Noorden, 5 October 2006). Here we see a clear example of how the tidiness of some green elements in public space affects people’s dwell-ing experience. They do not want to be identified with the chaos. What if visitors think that they made the mess? It is a question of reputation. Neighbourhood con-trol in this case is directed not towards correcting the moral standards of the in-habitants, but towards mobilizing people against the standard of the government and protecting the neighbourhood identity

Another example shows a more direct form of neighbourhood intervention. In Steenwijk (pop. 43,000), a town in the north of the Netherlands, the inhabit-ants of a chic neighbourhood have teamed up against one of their neighbours. The residential environment consists of individual, private plots on which the in-habitants have built their own houses. All the houses look different, but they can be typified as posh villas, representing the taste of respectable people from the higher middle class.

One of the plots was bought by Jan Husslage, a well-known pioneer in the field of ecological building, mainly using recycled materials. Jan bought the plot and started building his dream house all by himself. His neighbours were very annoyed right from the start. The building site was constantly littered with rub-bish and the hammering, sawing and drilling went on seven days a weak. When the result finally became visible, the neighbours were furious: to their eyes, it looked terrible – like a shack, a prairie house – and was totally incongruous with the civilized appearance of the other houses. According to the inhabitants, it is a disaster, something that belongs in a shanty town. Everybody agreed that it should be demolished as soon as possible. One neighbour: “If we’d known this, we’d never have bought the land and built a house here. The value of our house has dropped dramatically because of this.” Local residents’ protest is a good ex-ample of how people want to control the environment in order to maintain its appearance and social standing in accordance with their own moral standards. The neighbourhood should ref lect personal values, taste and status, and if some-thing happens that is ‘out of place,’ it has to be removed. The final decision has not yet been taken, but the local authorities seem to be in favour of removing the house because Jan Husslage did not respect the legal formalities.

These organized forms of neighbourhood control are expressed in many dif-ferent ways. In structural terms, however, they have a lot of similarities. They are always about public space discontents. Local residents complain about the state of the maintenance of public or private green spaces, about bullying teenagers, noise, visual pollution and various other nuisances. The reasons for their dissatis-faction vary from a fear of loss of privacy, disturbance of the peace, infringements on recreational facilities, shame, or sheer moral outrage about people and events with which local residents do not want to be associated. Neighbourhood control is aimed at correcting the behaviour of people and institutions, in order to defend the

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moral and material standards that are associated with an undisturbed private do-main and a public environment that corresponds with personal taste and beliefs.

The moral character of the neighbourhood: from fleeting to embedded relation-ships

Going outside represents an opportunity par excellence to get into contact with one’s neighbours. A casual encounter in the street or an organized neighbour-hood activity enables local residents to meet each other, to get to know one anoth-er and to exchange information. Social interaction between neighbours can take the form of intensive, friendly relationships or simply a greeting or a chat eve-ry now and then. Social interaction and being familiar with each other are fun-damental for exchanging information and developing moral standards, and for forming a social network for security and help.

In that sense, neighbourhood social interaction differs from interaction in the public space. In previous sections, I mainly focused on how people explore the en-vironment and accumulate and exchange knowledge, and how cognitive territorial appropriation transforms the environment into a personal domain that needs to be protected and defended. At another level, people are simultaneously involved in social appropriation. By establishing social contacts, they are capable of organ-izing themselves to combat public annoyances; such contacts also allow them to build up networks of trust and respect in order to directly protect their privacy. If the visual, material world is perceived as a system of signs of social behaviour, it is crucial for a sense of belonging to act on social space as well. This section focus-es on public encounters and their importance for social neighbourhood qualities.

The character of public space receives a lot of attention in the social-spatial literature (see Watson, 2006; Morrill, 2005). Ever since the trailblazing work by such authors as Goffman and Lofland, it has become clear that encounters be-tween strangers in public spaces are based on a number of fundamental princi-ples. According to Goffman (1963), civil inattention is a mixture of public respect and private protection, typical of public contexts in which anonymity, diversity and f leeting relationships dominate. Lofland (1998) chooses to use the concept of public realm in order to emphasize that we can only understand the differentia-tion between spaces by focusing on the moral standards that regulate social inter-action. Public space cannot be defined in political or material terms, but only on the basis of self-imposed, commonly shared standards of behaviour.

Private control mechanisms, or the dominant appropriation of public space by cultural subgroups, may exclude people from entering certain spaces and thus deprive those spaces of their public character. In this context, Lofland introduces the concept of the parochial realm, namely spaces in which most people know one another. Such social spaces obviously engender different types of interaction. Not only are people familiar with each other but they are also frequently present and expect more than f leeting, anonymous relationships.

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Residential areas in the Netherlands, especially those built after the 1940s, are mostly monofunctional subdivisions. There may be some sort of centre with some shops and other facilities, but the dominant zoning principle has always been that residential areas are not integrated into a wider urban infrastructural, economic and service network. The infrastructural network in residential areas is purely local, while first category roads are mainly structured on their periph-ery. Because of this, non-mixed residential areas are predominantly the domain of the people who actually live there. Of course, there are also more cosmopolitan residential areas that attract a lot of visitors and commuters, but here my focus is on the large majority of Dutch housing districts, which are characteristically en-claves, isolated from the mixed urban fabric. Although these neighbourhoods are public and freely accessible, in practice neighbourhood appropriation strategies have transformed them into parochial, or collective, spaces.

What are the interaction patterns in the parochial sphere, and on what sort of moral principles are they based? According to Lofland, interaction patterns in public space are characterized by what she calls cooperative motility. In public space, people try to avoid any behaviour that would disturb the smooth function-ing of public activities. We can see this clearly in busy pedestrian areas, where people’s movements resemble the performance of a street ballet. People tend not to interfere in each other’s business, to avoid problems and to behave as though they are not interested in what is happening around them. Although they prob-able have their thoughts about what is going on, as passers-by they do not have to think about it in terms of their own living environment.

In a residential area, however, things are different: people have an identity, a dwelling and a private shelter; they are on sedentary territory, where indiffer-ence, escape or avoidance is not possible. In the neighbourhood you are a spatial person, not just anyone. In a recent article, Kusenbach (2006) explores the differ-ences between public and parochial space by focusing on interaction. Lofland’s public realm terminology is transferred to the neighbourhood setting. Here, I use her fine observations in order to describe these differences, and use some Dutch material on neighbourhood life as an illustration.

According to Kusenbach, an elementary part of neighbourhood morality is expressing ‘friendly recognition.’ This means that neighbours greet each other, even if in a minimal way. Ignoring this rule is a sign of indifference or disre-spect and can be taken as a very serious insult. Take, for instance, a neighbour-hood in the city of Gouda. Here, the inhabitants assert that one of the most im-portant facets of neighbourhood liveability is greeting each other in the street. One of the local residents: “I enjoy living here, because most people still say hel-lo.” There are also residents who never say anything when they meet someone in the street. That is taken as an offence and is deeply disapproved of (‘It feels as though they look down on you’). According to the local residents, a sort of bounda-ry crosses the neighbourhood, with on one side people who are hiding themselves, mostly the well-educated people, and on the other side the ‘ordinary people.’ Ordi-

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nary people like to do things together: most of the fences between their houses are so low that they allow neighbours to see each other’s gardens and have the occa-sional chat, while the houses on the other side of the neighbourhood are protected by high hedges and fences, showing that those people want to be left to their own devices. One of the residents said: “You create a good atmosphere by having a chat in the street, by saying hello. It is a natural, good feeling to know your neighbours and how they are doing. I find it important and nice to talk with everybody, but there are always people who do not seem to want that; they say nothing, and I have stopped trying to get something out of them.” (Trouw, 29 May 2004).

According to Kusenbach (2006, p. 291), greeting has not only a high symbolic significance but also its consequences: “Any deeper involvement between locals quickly ends or never even develops when friendly recognition is not given or re-ciprocated. In sum, it is the normative, minimum principle of interaction among people who consider each other neighbours.”

Although people in the public realm tend not to interfere with one another, Lofland (1998, p. 32) mentions ‘restrained helpfulness’ as an import principle. If people get into difficulty and help can be given without risk, this is normally done. It is considered quite natural to show someone the way, to help a person cross the street, to hold a door open, and so on. But this help is not based on reci-procity. You do not build up credit or trust by frequently assisting different people in public. Relationships are f leeting and finite.

The equivalent in parochial space goes much further: helping is embedded in a network of reciprocal relationships and trust, and deeply penetrates the per-sonal sphere. In the Netherlands, for instance, half of all the inhabitants have the key to their neighbour’s house. Giving a key is the ultimate symbol of trust, and is necessary for people who like to have someone keep an eye on the house while they are away. During holidays and short breaks, domestic animals are taken care of, plants are watered, and the neighbour’s house is regularly checked in or-der to immediately alert the police if there are signs of intruders.

Good contacts with the neighbours therefore guarantee a sort of protective and surveillance network during absence. Kusenbach calls this ‘parochial helpfulness.’ It is based on enduring relationships of trust and characterized by reciprocity. No payment is required: what people want in exchange is help if they need it, thankful-ness and sociability. Parochial helpfulness is one of the key factors in creating social cohesion, because reciprocal relationships can always be called upon. It is an excuse for contact, without fear of rejection or being considered pathetic.

The third aspect of typical neighbourhood interaction is what Kusenbach calls ‘proactive intervention.’ While people in public space are often reduced to the self-imposed role of passive spectator and do not feel the need to intervene in environ-ments where they are outsiders, in the neighbourhood context indifference con-tradicts self-interest. As I have shown in previous sections, social control by sur-veillance and narrating moral values is not sufficient to stop or prevent unwanted developments. By individual and collective intervention, local residents often take

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physical, legal or other kinds of action to actually intervene. Neighbourhood proac-tive intervention occurs in the case of severe conflicts between neighbours. What happens does not seem to be very shocking, but for personal relationships and well-being the events are usually far-reaching. The following example illustrates this.

The people living in what at first sight is a peaceful street in the town of Wezep (pop. 12,000) are involved in a profound conflict; some of them even refer to it as a ‘war.’ The cause of the conflict is the large number of cats that roam the neigh-bourhood. One resident had had enough of it and thought up a radical solution: he put a cat trap in his garden, but the trap had a sharp spike in it that seriously injured the cats. He used the trap to catch a number of cats, and subsequently disposed of them. The cat owners in the neighbourhood were understandably fu-rious when they found out what he was doing. They reported him to the police, and he was charged with cruelty to animals. He, however, was convinced of the legitimacy of his behaviour: “What else can I do? Should I have a barbed wire fence around my garden? I am completely fed up with it. Do you have any idea how much trouble these cats cause? We love gardening, but we do not want to con-stantly get cat shit on our hands.” (Zwolse Courant, 30 May 2007)

A very popular Dutch TV programme on neighbourhood conflicts reveals some of the incredible irritation and suffering that some neighbours experience. The programme usually focuses on a case in which one or more local residents took action against other residents, which led to a long period of quarrel and con-f lict. The programme then brings the case to the ‘people’s judge,’ who studies all the legal documents, hears all the people and investigates the situation. At the end of the programme, he passes judgement. Although he tries to persuade peo-ple to come to a friendly agreement, he never succeeds.

The extent to which local residents care about each other’s behaviour or about what happens in their environment varies from neighbourhood to neighbour-hood. It very much depends on housing conditions, the level of heterogeneity of lifestyles, and the extent to which people are capable of establishing relations of trust, tolerance and respect. The parochial character of a neighbourhood is not something that is self-evident: people have to put time and effort into creating so-cial networks of control and common normative standards.

Conclusion

I have emphasized the significance of the home and the neighbourhood for lei-sure activities. Inhabitants relax in their gardens, children play in the street, and people go for walks, chat with their neighbours or organize neighbourhood activi-ties. All these activities contribute to the experience of neighbourhood time. Al-though I did not look at indoor activities at home, I did point out that the private domain is the ultimate place for relaxation, self-expression and intimate private relationships. Here, people experience autonomy, non-interference and freedom. Although the time that people spend at home – and the importance of that time

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varies during the lifecycle and according to the chosen lifestyle – even those who spend a lot of leisure time with others outside their dwelling need such a relative-ly undisturbed location to rest and to shelter their belongings.

My point of departure was the vulnerable position of the home: in a neigh-bourhood context it is exposed to the effect of all kinds of human activities. The experience of dwelling is determined not only by the quality of the time spent in-doors, but also by the environmental qualities outside the house. A sense of place, and with it a positive feeling about where you are, is dependent on how much you identify with other residents and with the physical and material charm of the neighbourhood. Most neighbourhood residents are fully aware of their neigh-bourhood’s qualities and the need to control the external impact on their private dwellings. I have described this extension of the personal domain into the public domain in terms of social, cognitive and material appropriation. It should be em-phasized that these ‘control tactics’ are not always consciously practised as instru-mental and functional. Welcoming new inhabitants, having an informal chat in the street and taking a walk around the block are basically leisure activities that people undertake primarily for social and physical reasons. Establishing social relations with neighbours and gaining extensive knowledge of neighbourhood space and events are natural outcomes of people’s inherent openness to their en-vironment. The fact that social networks and neighbourhood knowledge are im-portant preconditions for exercising control and for creating a sort of collective moral space reveals the double meaning of leisure time: it is the time experienced as socially and physically pleasant, but also as time that is useful for maintaining and improving the conditions for leisure and pleasure.

From this perspective, I have argued that voluntary forms of social control and intervention are based on social cohesion, as well as on conflict. In neighbour-hoods where housing conditions and spatial design guarantee people’s privacy, and where public space is not or only barely threatened by unpleasant events, so-cial interaction and control are not necessary in order to ensure a positive neigh-bourhood experience. Conflicts are unlikely to occur, because the residential en-vironment lacks the potential to encourage social interdependencies. This raises the interesting question of the relationship between social cohesion and social control on the one hand, and the physical and material characteristics of a neigh-bourhood on the other. And what is the relationship between external neighbour-hood threats and the intensification of neighbourhood contacts and explicit moral standards? In concluding this paper, I argue that the combination of self-regula-tion, social regulation and environmental regulation are fascinating concepts to be explored in different types of neighbourhood. Only neighbourhoods offer a sort of living laboratory for researching the intersection between the personal, the social and the environmental (spatial). It is likely that close proximity and socio-environ-mental vulnerability result in neighbourhood styles that are quite different from residential environments in which people are physically and socially less vulner-able and much freer in creating modes of interaction with their neighbours.

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7 Leisure in a Multicultural Society

Karin Peters

Most Western societies have become multi-ethnic. The change from an agri-cultural to an industrial economy coupled with the economic boom of the

1960s and 1970s created a labour shortage in Western countries. In response, workers from countries such as Morocco, Tunisia and Turkey were invited to Western Europe. Many people – mainly Africans and Asians – set off for Europe or the USA in search of better places to live. For years, people thought that most of these migrant workers would return to their home countries, but this was not the case and multicultural societies were born. The Netherlands is now home to 1.7 million people with a non–Western background; this represents about 11% of the country’s total population (16.5 million). Of this group, over 40% were born in the Netherlands. Four immigrant groups form the majority, namely Turks (2.3%), Moroccans (2%), Surinamers (0.8) and Dutch Antilleans (0.3).

This chapter looks at the multicultural society in relation to three aspects of lei-sure. The first concerns the leisure patterns of ethnic minority groups, including the influence of religion and gender and the role of immigration in leisure behaviour. The second concerns the role of leisure in integration. In this section I first present a brief description of the ethnic minority policy of the Netherlands in order to provide the context of integration. I then use multicultural spaces, sport associations and ur-ban public spaces as examples in an analysis of the meaning of leisure for integra-tion. Further, I argue that leisure plays a role in acquiring social capital through fa-cilitating inter-ethnic contact. The third aspect concerns ethnicity as a commodified product, namely ethnic diversity as an attraction. I end the chapter with some con-cluding remarks about the meaning of leisure in a multicultural society.

Ethnicity in leisure practices

One of the main subjects in leisure research is the leisure behaviour of various groups of people based on their gender, age, social-economic position and level of education. Although much research has been done on leisure behaviour and the meaning of leisure for participants and non-participants, the leisure behaviour of different ethnic groups has only lately been researched (e.g. Stodolska, 2000; Martin & Mason, 2004; Ward, 2000).

A few studies have recently been carried out into the leisure patterns of dif-ferent ethnic groups in the Netherlands (e.g. Jokovi, 2003). These studies looked

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at the differences in various ways. For example, van den Broek and Keuzenkamp (2008) show that ethnic groups engage in fewer different leisure activities during their free time than do the native Dutch. Especially Turks and Moroccans engage in leisure activities that are much less varied than those of the native Dutch. The Netherlands Social Cultural Planning Office (2005) has shown that Turks, Mo-roccans, Surinamers and Antilleans less often visit nature areas, recreational ar-eas, urban parks and entertainment parks than do the native Dutch.

Buijs and colleagues (2006) demonstrated that immigrants appreciate the ex-isting Dutch landscapes less than the reference group; they visit green areas less often and are more indifferent about the future development of such areas. The researchers explained this by saying that immigrants have a less ‘romantic’ im-age of nature. Another difference between these four ethnic groups and the na-tive Dutch is that the former make fewer visits to museums and pop concerts; however, they go to parks for picnics more often and pay more visits to their fami-lies. According to Yi (2000), Chinese people in the Netherlands also find family-based leisure activities (e.g. visiting friends, or playing tennis or such games as solitaire) the most important of all leisure activities. The same applies to the Pa-kistanis who live in the Netherlands, for whom the family is the primary source of leisure (Ahmad, 2004).

For sport activities, the participation rates of Surinamers and Antilleans are lower than those of the native Dutch but higher than those of Turks and Moroc-cans (Lagendijk & van der Gugten, 1996). Differences are found by generation, with higher participation rates in sport activities for the second generation. The trends are unfavourable as well: the percentage of immigrants who are members of sport clubs was 52% in 1995 and only 43% in 1999. Also the percentage of im-migrants who engage in sports on a weekly basis decreased, namely from 34% in 1995 to 24% in 1999 (de Haan & Breedveld, 2000).

Another aspect within this field of research is related to the use of the mass media. Van den Broek and Keuzenkamp (2008) show that differences in the use of the mass media between ethnic and native people are not that great. Most eth-nic people read Dutch newspapers, watch Dutch television and use the Internet, albeit less so than native people. The use of the mass media by Turks deviates the most from that of the native Dutch: they read more Turkish newspapers and watch more Turkish TV programmes. These results show that there are differenc-es between the leisure practices of different ethnic groups. The question is, why?

Explaining differences in leisure participation

Three main theories can be applied in order to explain the differences in leisure participation (Stodolska 2003; Thompson, 2002; Jokovi, 2003; Juniu, 2000; Pe-leman, 2003). The first – the marginality thesis – states that differences can be explained by looking at socio-economic characteristics. Marginality, poverty and unequal access are named as factors that explain differences in leisure participa-

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tion. The second most prominent theory in the literature – the ethnicity thesis – focuses on “cultural differences in ethnic leisure styles due to micro-cultural var-iations in values, norms and socialization patterns that differ considerably from the majority population” (Juniu, 2000: 360).

A third perspective – perceived discrimination – pays attention to the con-straints on immigrants that are related to their ethnic background. Perceived dis-crimination is seen as one of the factors responsible for differences in leisure be-haviour. It explains differences between a mainstream population and ethnic/ra-cial minorities (Floyd, 1998; Philipp, 1999; West, 1989).

Jokovi (2000, 2001) discusses the marginality and the ethnicity thesis in her study on the leisure participation of immigrants in the Netherlands. Her re-search focused on people with different ethnic backgrounds in Rotterdam. She concludes that such socio-economic factors as income, age and education have more influence on the participation of people than does their ethnic-cultural background. Although this conclusion is valid for most leisure activities, there are exceptions. Second-generation immigrants participate more in such activities as visiting pavement cafes in city centres or recreational areas and other natural areas outside the city than do first-generation immigrants. Nevertheless, the par-ticipation level of the second-generation immigrants is lower than that of the na-tive Dutch. For other activities it can be concluded that first- and second-genera-tion immigrants participate at the same level. Thus, ethnic-cultural background has no significant effect on such activities as visiting playgrounds or walking around or shopping in inner cities. Also Aizlewood and colleagues (2005) dem-onstrate in their study on immigrants in the Netherlands and Canada, that issues related to education and employment status are more dominant determinants of participation than those of ethnocultural minority status, immigrant status or re-ligious affiliation.

In the ethnicity thesis, the role of religion has an important relation to dif-ferences in leisure behaviour. VandeSchoot (2005) states, based on Thompson (2002), that although there is little literature on the role of Islam in determining leisure behaviour, it has been found that, in general, religion influences leisure participation, sometimes through overt religious practice, and sometimes as a tra-ditional or background element in activity choice. Brooks (2003) concludes that Islam traditionally prioritizes work. But as long as the enjoyment of these activi-ties does not interfere with a person’s Islamic obligations, there is nothing against leisure in the form of rest or recreation. Almost all Turks and Moroccans living in the Netherlands see themselves as Muslims. Especially Moroccans are actively en-gaged in their religion: more than half of all second-generation Moroccans in the age group 15–12 pray more than five times a day, and over 90% have fasted during Ramadan. A pattern can be seen in which those who identify themselves as Mus-lim or ‘other religion’ have the lowest recreational participation rates (10% and 9%, respectively) in sports, singing and hobby organizations, and those who report no religion have the highest participation rate (29%) (Aizlewood et al., 2005).

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For Muslim women, religion and gender are interrelated and collectively con-strain leisure participation. Peleman (2003) showed in her research that both gender and religion partly determine the leisure patterns of Moroccan women in Belgium. Restrictions related to their gender lead to certain leisure behaviours. Swimming with men is not allowed, nor may they be in the company of male friends in public spaces. Furthermore, women seek spaces in which to spend their leisure time that are not controlled by men. The creation of temporary eth-nic spaces is used to broaden the opportunities for immigrants to spend their lei-sure time. The main reasons to seek out these spaces are to escape from restric-tions and to be able to be oneself – and not to be questioned about wearing a veil or about other cultural and religious signs. According to Verma and Darby (1994), South Asian girls in Britain are significantly constrained in their recreational participation, particularly in those activities that take place outside the home, and in sports participation. The main reasons for this are a lack of parental approval to engage in these activities, parental enforcement of strict dress codes, inadequate availability of single-sex facilities, and their own religious beliefs about the proper behaviour of females. According to Duyvendak and colleagues (1998), the lower rates of participation in sports clubs in the city of Rotterdam for such ethnic mi-norities as Surinamers, Moroccans and Turks compared to the native Dutch are primarily explained by different levels of participation by women of these minori-ties relative to native Dutch women. Particularly Moroccan women have very low participation rates. This shows the interrelation between gender and religion in explaining leisure participation.

In the Netherlands, hardly any research has taken the third perspective – that is, perceived discrimination – as a starting point. The only places in which re-search in this field has been done are pubs and discos (Komen, 2004; Geldrop & van Heewaarden, 2003). This research showed that some younger members of ethnic groups find themselves in a position in which they cannot enter all the clubs and discos they wish to enter. Komen (2004) found that discrimination af-fects the leisure participation of immigrant youth. Especially Moroccan and Turk-ish boys state that they are refused entry to certain places. Other studies (Pele-man, 2003; Bruin, 2006) show that immigrants use more spaces of their own in order to be in control. Immigrants organize ethnic parties, soccer events and other activities and decide on the rules for them, for example no drinking alco-hol, no mixing of genders and starting early so that the women can return home at a respectable time.

No religion Christian Islam Other Eastern Other religion Total

Total 2025 1253 1814 275 74 5441 Yes (%) 29 20 10 19 9 20 No (%) 71 80 90 81 91 80

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The role of immigration itself has received limited attention in these three perspectives (Stodolska, 1998). If we look at the constraints on leisure participa-tion, it is clear that immigrants face not only the constraints that are commonly encountered (lack of time, money and transport, etc.), but also constraints that are related to their minority status and to the fact that they have to adjust to a new environment (Stodolska, 2002). Constraints that hinder leisure participation are problems with language, unfamiliarity with the ways of life in the host country, insufficient access to known and desired forms of recreational activity, and ex-periences with discrimination. In addition, immigrants may not have social net-works or know about the opportunities (Stodolska, 2002). Stodolska and Alexan-dris (2004) found that immigrants, whatever their ethnocultural or socio-demo-graphic background, do not undertake much voluntary physical activity after they have settled in the host country, because “sport and physical recreation are typi-cally quite low on the priority list of immigrants who struggle to adjust to a new environment, who often hold several low–wage but physically demanding jobs, and who have hardly any free time available” (ibid., 392–93).

Yu and Berryman (1996) analysed the leisure patterns of Chinese immigrants in terms of constraints on leisure, self-esteem and acculturation. They conclud-ed that leisure was used as a way to integrate into their new societies. Stodolska and Yi (2003) found that leisure participation rates and patterns are highly relat-ed to the level of acculturation among Mexican-Americans. In the Netherlands, the role of immigration in leisure behaviour has not explicitly been a part of re-search activities. Although it can be concluded that the leisure behaviour of sec-ond-generation immigrants differs for certain activities from the first generation, not much can be said about the inf luence of immigration.

In short, the research executed in the Netherlands shows that the two theo-ries mutually explain leisure participation. Both socio-economic and sociocultur-al aspects partly explain differences in leisure behaviour. While looking for gen-eral conclusions that can be drawn from this range of research, it became clear that the leisure patterns of non-Western immigrants differ from those of Western people: they are characterized by less variety, less use of facilities that are located at a greater distance from home, a greater family orientation, the use of more plac-es close to their homes and the spending of leisure time in larger groups.

Inter-ethnic interactions during leisure: creating mutual understanding?

In this section, I discuss the intersection of ethnicity and leisure by looking at var-ious developments with regard to social interaction. The main question is wheth-er leisure plays a role in stimulating contact between people with different cul-tural backgrounds. I give examples of initiatives that are aimed at stimulating contact between ethnic groups through sport and other leisure activities. First, though, I present a brief overview of the ethnic minorities policy in order to con-textualize these initiatives.

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Ethnic minority policy in the Netherlands

The Netherlands’ ethnic minorities (EM) policy first appeared at the beginning of the 1980s in the form of a welfare state policy that was intended to stimulate the equality and equity of vulnerable groups in society (Bruquetas-Callejo, 2007). To-wards the end of the 1980s, public and political discourse began to look critically at EM policy: it had “failed in important areas of labour and education” (Scientific Council, 1989, in Bruquetas-Callejo, 2007), with criticism falling on its “overem-phasis of cultural aspects” (ibid.).

This led to the formulation of further republican integration policies through-out the 1990s, in which the emphasis was on the individual rather than the group, and on the socio-economic rather than the cultural and religious aspects of inte-gration. The beginning of the twenty-first century was primed for a new shift in policy orientation; the dominant view came to be that integration processes and policies had fundamentally failed and that the social cohesion of Dutch society was in danger (Bruquetas-Callejo, 2007).

In line with this, tensions increased between ethnic groups (mainly between second-generation immigrants from Turkey and Morocco and the native Dutch). These tensions increased even more after 9/11 and the murder of the film maker Theo van Gogh in 2004. New ways of dealing with integration problems were in-troduced. Instead of focusing only on the socio-economic aspects of integration (employment, education, housing), more attention was paid to shared sociocul-tural values, which meant that learning the Dutch language and having shared values became important. In order to achieve this, people with different ethnic backgrounds had to get to know and understand each other. Meeting each oth-er became a policy issue: people with different ethnic backgrounds should meet each other in schools (mixed schools are the best), in neighbourhoods (segrega-tion should be combated) and during their leisure time. Sport and multicultur-al festivals became vehicles for stimulating integration. In 2007, the Space for Contact (www.ruimtevoorcontact.nl) initiative was launched in order to stimulate informal contacts between different ethnic groups by subsidizing pertinent ac-tivities. Many applications for subsidies for leisure projects were submitted and accepted. This shows that leisure is seen by policy makers as one of the ways to stimulate inter-ethnic understanding. Whether this is indeed happening, howev-er, is discussed in the following section.

Leisure as a vehicle for mutual understanding

Leisure settings can be ideal environments for inter-ethnic contact because of such characteristics as free choice and self-determination (Shinew et al., 2004). How-ever, research shows that leisure spaces are sometimes racially demarcated (Floyd and Shinew, 1999). Brasse and Krijnen (2005) show that in the Netherlands, im-migrants meet people of their own ethnic group for sports, music and other activi-

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ties. About a third of Turkish and Moroccan people in the Netherlands state that they never have any contact with Dutch people in their free time. More than half of the Surinamers and Antilleans in the Netherlands say that they do have regu-lar contact with native Dutch persons. For Moroccans, the figure is 37%, and for Turks 29%. Only 15% of native Dutch persons do not have regular contact with other native Dutch persons (van den Broek & Keuzenkamp, 2008). These percent-ages have hardly changed in the last 15 years (Gijsberts & Dagevos, 2007). Although these results can be partly explained by the fact that in the areas re-searched there are more native people than ethnic people and that some neigh-bourhoods are segregated, they do indicate that there is a cultural distance be-tween the groups (Gijsberts & Vervoort, 2007). Jokovi (2000) also draws the con-

clusion that both Turks and Moroccans spend their leisure time with their ‘own’ people. The Chinese people interviewed in the research by Yi (2000) also spend their leisure time with people of their own ethnic group. According to Yucesoy (2006), Turkish women’s use and experiences of urban public spaces in Ensch-ede are in general not inclusive or facilitative for interacting with others in public, although they are not totally exclusionary, which would turn these public spaces into Turkish spaces. Finally, VandeSchoot (2005) concludes that most of the Mus-lims she interviewed in Canada interacted only with people of their own group. Further, her respondents told her that they did not interact with Western people at work or school because they preferred to socialize with other Muslims. There was no difference between the respondents who were schooled in a predominant-ly Western versus a non-Western environment (ibid., 2005).

It can be concluded from these results that people tend to interact with peo-ple from their own ethnic background during leisure time. However, during lei-sure activities in public spaces, people see a variety of people with whom they can build relationships – or social capital. Several scholars (e.g. Portes, 1998; Putnam, 2000) stress the importance of social capital and networks for the integration of immigrants into their new societies. Since leisure participation involves engage-ment and exchange among and between individuals, families and groups, re-

More with members of own ethnic group (in brackets: never have contact with members of other

ethnic groups)

As many with own group as

with other groups

More with native Dutch

Turks 66 (35) 24 11 Moroccan 54 (30) 30 16 Surinamers 31 (14) 39 30 Antilleans 31 (17) 28 41 Native Dutch 91 (52) 6 3*

* More contact with immigrants. Source: Gijsberts & Vervoort (2007)

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searchers argue that this is beneficial because it leads to a greater sense of mutual obligation among individuals and towards the larger community (Putnam, 1995; Fukuyama, 1995).

The stimulation of intercultural contact is intended to promote tolerance and acceptance within a multicultural society. Already in 1954, Allport found that having contact with cultural others changes attitudes and diminishes prejudices about those others. He demonstrated that inter-ethnic contact has positive con-sequences for the attitudes towards other ethnic groups; more structural contact leads to fewer prejudices and less stereotyping. His research (as well as most of the studies that tested this contact hypothesis) was directed at formal situations such as schools and leisure organizations. Van den Broek and Keuzenkamp (2008) con-clude that there is an indication that the images that immigrants and natives hold of each other are more positive when they have more contact with each other. How-ever, they are not sure about the cause and effect (does a more positive image lead to more contact – or does more contact lead to a more positive image?). Further-more, research shows that many people judge the presence of many immigrants as negative and they think that the Muslim way of life does not fit with the Western way of life (Gijsberts & Vervoort, 2007; Gijsberts & Dagevos, 2005).

Does this mean that leisure does not stimulate inter-ethnic contact and that contact does not lead to more positive judgements about cultural others? Because sport is promoted as a way to integrate people with different ethnic background, it has been held up as an example that shows the contribution to cross-cultural understanding. Although some state that sport can also lead to more conflicts, most of the outcomes indicate that sport can help one to acquire social capital. Putnam is one of the most important persons in this field. His Bowling Alone led to an enormous growth in the attention paid to the role of sport associations. Ac-cording to Verweel and colleagues (2005), not only mixed sports but also ethnic sport associations can help integration, because in such organizations social capi-tal is obtained, through which both bonding and bridging capital is established.

In the Netherlands, sport and social cohesion have been linked in, for example, Richard Kraijcek’s initiative to create sport courts in neighbourhoods in order to stimulate contact between different ethnic groups. It is widely assumed that partic-ipating in sport and other leisure activities contributes positively to various aspects of well-being. Personal development is one of them. Growing self-esteem and ac-quiring certain skills can help people to be more aware of themselves, and thus to be more aware of their identity. Therefore, both social capital and social trust and reciprocity are generated in sport organizations.

Interaction in public spaces

Contact in public spaces can not be characterized in the same manner as the more structured contact that occurs during sport activities. The question is whether so-cial interactions in public spaces can be used as a vehicle for integration. Several re-

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searchers (Tinsley et al., 2002; Gobster, 2004; Ravenscroft & Markwell, 2000) have paid attention to urban public spaces, such as parks, as places were inter-ethnic in-teractions take place. Urban parks are seen as relevant because they are accessible to all groups, and different identities are represented in public spaces. Peters and colleagues (2008) conclude that urban parks are visited equally by immigrant and non-immigrant groups. This is in contrast to, for example, nature areas, which are visited more by non-immigrants. Therefore, urban parks can be seen as possibly favourable spaces for social interaction. In public spaces, informal interactions are the most important and visible interactions (Muller, 2002; Soenen, 2006; Raven-scroft & Markwell, 2000). Public spaces offer more possibilities than private spaces for encounters between strangers (Lofland, 1998; Goffman, 1963, 1972).

Most interactions in public spaces are initiated by a third party or object, such as children, dogs or balls. This ‘triangulation’ (Lofland, 1988) helps people to strike up casual conversations with unknown people. De Vos (2005) observed that people in three urban parks in Gent made contacts with their own subgroups, but that contacts between different subgroups were not always to be taken for grant-ed. Paravicini (1999, in Vos, 2005) states that in the intersection and transition zones between relaxation and activity, it is assumed that there occur different forms of unexpected interactions between people who do not know each other. It was clear that spontaneous interaction does not occur very often.

Research (Peters, 2008) leads to the conclusion that although leisure is situ-ated in public spaces, leisure activities themselves are seen as taking place in the private sphere. This can have consequences for the presence and meaning of inter-ethnic interactions during leisure time. Peters and colleagues (2008) state that ur-ban parks provide a vital locality where everyday experiences are shared and nego-tiated with a variety of people. Some urban parks function as an everyday place in which people feel at home. Park users can easily connect with the place and with other users, because many of the latter are already known from the neighbour-hood. Other urban parks function as a ‘world of strangers’ and attract a variety of people. People feel welcome because these urban parks are open and accessible.

One way of stimulating social interactions in public spaces is to organize events. People feel more comfortable about talking to others during events, since all the people attending it have come to the same place for the same reasons. Events not only stimulate inter-ethnic interactions but also facilitate the empowerment of eth-nic groups. In addition, events serve as a way to attract people to certain areas. This commodification of ethnic diversity is discussed in the following section.

Ethnicity as an attraction

The Kwakoe Summer Festival is held every year in Amsterdam’s Bijlmer district (a multicultural district in the south of the city). The event is the largest multicul-tural festival in the Netherlands and functions as a platform for ethnic-cultural societies from all over the country. The number of people attending the festival

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has increased considerably over the years; in 2003 and 2004, about one million individuals visited the festival. The following statement appears on the festival website: “We wish to make a definite contribution to the multicultural society: a society where understanding and tolerance between different communities and individuals are of essential importance. We hope to inspire people by the power of this multicultural society: not only the people participating in Kwakoe but the entire Dutch community and even outside the Dutch borders.”

There are two important issues related to the increase in the number of mul-ticultural events. The first is that cultural diversity is used as a leisure attraction. The increase in the number of multicultural festivals and the attractiveness of ethnic neighbourhoods show that people are interested in this new type of event. Ethnic diversity is visible in urban public domains. Cities are becoming tourist attractions because they have multicultural neighbourhoods. In addition, cultur-al diversity offers opportunities through food, music, events and shopping. All these aspects are manifestations of diversity in public space.

Bodaar and Rath (2006) talk about the nexus between immigrants and public space: although such manifestations can be important for identity construction, they can also enhance ethnic stereotypes. Multiculturalism is then reduced to gazing at the other (Rath, 2007). Marketing ethnic diversity as a tourism product has become an essential part of policy plans. Examples of the commodification of ethnic diversity can be seen in the development of China Towns, Little Italy’s and Indian Quarters all over the Western world. Every year, these ethnic neighbour-hoods receive a lot of visitors who are attracted by exotic restaurants, historical connections or the opportunity to gaze at the other.

The second aspect relates to creating space for ethnic events and strengthen-ing ethnic ties. While the first aspect can be seen as a way of creating bridging capital, this aspect relates to bonding capital (Putnam, 2000; Granovetter, 1993). Instead of mixing with other people, some ethnic events are organized in order to allow people to get closer to their own group. Ethnic dance parties and vari-ous kinds of sociocultural ethnic organizations are examples of this. For exam-ple, each year A’Salaam organizes a soccer tournament for Moroccan teams and in recent years, more ‘ladies only’ events have been organized by Muslim wom-en. According to Farrer (2004), however, in these immigrant subcultures the rec-ognition of individual status can be as important as emphasizing the collective identity building and group solidarity. In that sense, social cohesion within an immigrant subculture is achieved, because ethnic enclosure allows the removal of a stigmatizing immigrant identity, giving immigrants a chance to display in-dividual status resources.

Concluding remarks

People with different ethnic backgrounds have different leisure patterns. Some activities are more popular among immigrants than among non-immigrants,

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and vice versa, while other activities are equally popular among all inhabitants. Research shows that this variety can be explained by people’s socio-economic characteristics and ethno-cultural background. In the case of the Netherlands, people’s socio-economic characteristics are more important in this respect than their ethno-cultural backgrounds. If we take a closer look at the ethno-cultural background, then also immigration, religion and gender seem to be of impor-tance for explaining leisure behaviour. Although in the USA and Canada some studies have focused on the role of immigration in leisure participation, no re-search on this has been executed in the Netherlands.

As for religion, it can be concluded that it leads on the one hand to specific lei-sure activities related to Islam and the mosque for Islamic people, and on the other hand to constraints on especially Muslim women, who are not free to choose where they go or the type of activities in which they engage. In the Netherlands, this is most clearly visible in Muslim women’s low level of participation in sport activities.

Multicultural societies offer both immigrants and non-immigrants a wide range of new ways to spend their leisure time. This has led to cultural diversi-ty becoming a tourist attraction: diversity has been commodified. We should be aware of the possible negative implications of this, such as gazing at the other and reinforcing the stereotypes of ethnic people. Nevertheless, multicultural festivals, restaurants and expositions attract many people. These places can therefore be spaces in which inter-ethnic interactions take place. In addition, some of these ethnic events are not meant to stimulate inter-ethnic interactions, but to create a space in which the group identity can be strengthened.

Whereas sport seems to be a positive factor for stimulating contact and creat-ing social cohesion, the same cannot be said for leisure in public spaces. Interac-tions are hard to stimulate, mainly because of the characteristics of both the place and the activities. The main motive for immigrants and non-immigrants to go to urban parks is because they want to relax and spend time with their friends or family. Immigrants are more likely than non-immigrants to go to urban parks in order to picnic. Non-immigrants say that it is fine to have a chat with strangers but that they do not explicitly seek such contact. Although immigrants say they are open to any interaction and are looking for more interactions, they do not of-ten take the initiative themselves.

Organizing events can be a way to create an atmosphere in which interaction is stimulated, in which one can be oneself and have something in common with the other participants, and in which people do not hide their identities but feel free to show them. Although public space (e.g. pavement cafes) is an important setting for identity performance (see Oosterman, 1993), being outside in public may also be motivated primarily by the desire to experience privacy. Research done in Nijmegen (Peters, 2008) shows that although people are in a public set-ting, some act as though they are in a private one. This throws doubt on the sug-gestion that leisure in public spaces stimulates social interaction and, through that, social capital. The situation regarding sport is different, however. Sport as

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a means for social cohesion has been taken more seriously in recent years. Vari-ous researchers (Verweel et al., 2005; van der Meulen, 2007; Breedveld & van der Meulen, 2003; Duijvendak et al., 1998) have shown that sport can lead to more intercultural understanding. Sport organizations are seen as environments in which social capital is acquired.

Leisure should also be one of the issues when discussing the integration of non-Western immigrants into Western societies. This issue should be as equally important as such aspects as work, education and housing. Leisure associations – no matter whether mixed or involving people of only one ethnic group – should be analysed in order to gain a better understanding of their role in teaching cer-tain skills and thus contributing to the integration of immigrants in Western so-cieties. The relation between diversity in public spaces and diversity in society should also be explored. Such aspects of public spaces as their design, the pub-lic’s participation in their management and how interactions between different ethnic groups can be stimulated in them should be investigated in order to better prepare for our future multicultural societies.

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8 Walkers’ Perspectives on Nature

Management Strategies: Nature

Restoration in a National Park

Ramona van Marwijk

The Netherlands is one of the world’s most densely populated countries, and urbanization, infrastructure development and agricultural activities lead to

fragmented and isolated nature (Jongman, 2000). In 1990, the Netherlands Min-istry of Agriculture, Nature Management and Fisheries introduced the National Ecological Network (NEN) plan to protect and develop existing natural areas and to foster the restoration and re-creation of natural systems in areas formerly occu-pied by urban and agricultural uses (Netherlands Ministry of Agriculture Nature and Food Quality, 2004). The NEN integrates both ecosystem values and recrea-tion values. National parks – which are core zones in the NEN – are intended to promote nature protection and development, outdoor recreation, education and research (SNP Foundation, 2006).

In the Netherlands, ecological restoration (which is part of the first goal of na-tional parks) is aimed at restoring both natural (self-regulating) and semi-natural landscapes, such as heathland (Windt, Swart & Keulartz, 2007). Dutch nature ar-eas suffer especially from eutrophication and acidification (Bakker & Berendse, 1999), the extraction of groundwater and the drainage of agricultural land (Run-haar, Gool & Groen, 1996). Strategies to restore nature include removing nutri-ent-rich topsoils (Tamis, van’t Zelfde, van der Meijden, Groen & de Haes, 2005), raising the groundwater level (Runhaar, Maas, Meuleman & Zonneveld, 2000) and felling undesirable exotic tree species (Siebel, 1996).

All these actions have been applied in Dwingelderveld National Park (DNP), which is located in the north-eastern part of the Netherlands. In general, na-ture restoration actions regularly meet with opposition and criticism from vari-ous groups, such as residents and recreationists (Berg, 2004; Swart, Windt & Keulartz, 2001). This also happened in DNP, where residents organized them-selves in a foundation in order to protect the forest. They enjoy the huge trees and protested against the ‘incomprehensible deforestation and devastation’ in DNP (www.woudreus.nl).

Park managers are responsible not only for nature protection and develop-ment, but also for creating appropriate conditions for outdoor recreation – which

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is the second intended use of national parks. Nature management techniques may impact recreational experiences, as shown by the example above. A consid-erable number of researchers have studied the effects of nature on recreational experiences, for example within environmental psychology (e.g. Arriaza, Cañas-Ortega, Cañas-Madueño & Ruiz-Aviles, 2004; Hull & Stewart, 1995; Kaplan & Kaplan, 1989). Because the focus of environmental psychology is on the psychol-ogy component – and thus on humans – recreational experience studies tend to simplify the environmental component (Gyllin & Grahn, 2005). In addition, from a more applied perspective (forestry, landscape architecture) several perceptional studies have been conducted that focus on explicit environmental characteristics (or attributes), such as tree height and age (Silvennoinen, Alho, Kolehmainen & Pukkala, 2001) and harvest shape (Ribe, 2005). Several researchers subsequent-ly suggested that the perception of environments and environmental changes can be inf luenced by information about, for example, nature management tech-niques (Ribe, 2002). Dutch nature managers have indicated that visitors’ nature images and expectations often differ from theirs (Bezemer, Verbij & Filius, 2001). Public education can help managers to inf luence public beliefs about ecosystem management (Brunson & Reiter, 1996).

The present study, which was carried out in cooperation with Sander Terlouw and David Pitt (see Terlouw, 2008), combines insights from environmental psy-chology, forestry and landscape architecture. The aim was to study the extent to which visitors’ perceptions of the desirability of the environment for walking can be explained by the environmental attributes of the sites being restored, and the effect of information on moderating the perception of restoration management practices.

The following is a brief review of the relevant literature on aesthetic percep-tions of nature and the mediating role of information. I then present the research setting (Dwingelderveld NP), the research method, the results, and a discussion and conclusion.

Literature review

A literature study revealed that, with regard to environmental perception, several psychological theories have been developed to explain human aesthetic experi-ence, for example Berleyne’s (1974) arousal theory, Appleton’s (1996) prospect-refuge theory and the Kaplans’ (1989) information processing theory. These psy-chological theories posit the existence of universal mechanisms within all hu-man beings. The underlying assumption of the evolutionary approach is that landscape perception relates directly to the physical attributes of the natural land-scape, such as tree density, tree distribution and vegetative ground cover (Ander-son, 1981). In Dutch research, the idea that perception relates to the physical at-tributes of the natural landscape is theoretically and empirically elaborated by means of eight indicators: abundance of vegetation, degree of naturalness, degree

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of variation, abundance of water, abundance of relief, degree of landscape iden-tity, degree of skyline disturbance and degree of noise pollution (Buijs & Kralin-gen, 2003). Jacobs (2006) states that although this theory ignores sociocultural aspects in landscape appreciation, research suggests that these indicators are able to successfully predict the average perception value of the landscape.

Silvennoinen and colleagues (2001) give an overview of people’s preferences within forest landscapes. They found that in general people prefer stands of tall trees to stands of small trees, unless the latter form the lower canopy layer of a two-storeyed stand. In other words, older trees are perceived as more attractive than young trees. A second general preference relates to the degree of variation within the landscape: research in the Netherlands has shown that the variation in landscape types (forest, heath, sand, pasture, fields) is a main predictor of rec-reational quality (Berg, 1995). A third general finding is that people prefer forest stands that are not very dense so that the visibility is not impaired. This might be related to Kaplan and Kaplan’s theoretical predictor of legibility (Herzog & Krop-scott, 2004; Kaplan & Kaplan, 1982): visual access enhances a person’s ability to find his or her way around in a setting. This seems to be highly relevant for a study in the Netherlands, since most forest managers believe that recreationists are frightened of getting lost (Suurmond, 2006). Fourth, the presence of water is often perceived positively (Arriaza et al., 2004; Kaplan, Kaplan & Ryan, 1998; Pitt, 1989; Real, Arce & Sabucedo, 2000). In line with these findings, it was hy-pothesized that semi-open landscapes that contain water are perceived as more desirable than landscapes that have dense (especially young) forest.

Aesthetic perceptions of nature are inf luenced by information on ecosystem management. Positively framed narratives that describe nature management strategies (e.g. cutting trees or leaving dead trees) can positively inf luence per-ceptions of sites (Bliss, 2000). However, this is not always the case. In a study by Brunson and Reiter (1996), one group of respondents rated ecosystem manage-ment conditions lower after they had received information on ecosystem manage-ment. A reason for this unexpected result might be that the respondents lacked experience with forestry and were thus not able to distinguish which of the slides depicted traditional conditions as opposed to ecosystem management conditions. They may have assumed that all the fields in the scenes were harvested in an eco-logically sensitive manner, and this would have made their judgement different from that of a second group, which positively evaluated ecological harvest meth-ods. This example shows the importance of a “well-designed plan of public edu-cation in which messages are carefully tailored to the desired public” (ibid.: 39).

Research setting

The setting for our study was Dwingelderveld National Park (DNP), which is visit-ed by 1.2–1.6 million people each year (Milieufederatie Drenthe, 2003; Vissched-ijk, 1990). Physiographically, the park contains areas that have a shallow layer of

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wind-blown outwash sand deposited on a glacial till plain and areas where the drift sand has accumulated to form a dune environment. Following denudation of the original woodland vegetation by anthropogenic forces, extensive grazing on the outwash sand plain for several hundred years produced what is now the larg-est wet heath landscape in north-western Europe. During the 1920s and 1930s, an extensive reforestation policy favouring the planting of exotic conifer planta-tions was implemented to stabilize the shifting sand in the dune part of the park and in some parts of the heath community. Policies aimed at effecting nature res-toration in the park as a means of implementing the NEN plan were introduced in the last two decades of the twentieth century. Implementation of these policies has so far transformed over 10% of the park’s 3700 ha area from plantations of ex-otic conifer monocultures into wet forest and bog communities.

Methods

Study design and variables used

Based on a literature study and an area analysis, we included four physical dimen-sions of the landscape, namely 1) stand age (related to small or large trees), 2) veg-etation type (related to degree of variation in vegetation types), 3) presence of wa-ter and 4) spaciousness. We decided not to include relief as a variable, because the study area is relatively f lat. The variable landscape identity was also excluded, be-cause the study focuses on a single area. Skyline disturbance and noise pollution were also excluded because of their irrelevance to the study area.

The variable stand age applies only to forested sites. Such sites are divided into two categories based on their age: either pole timber or saw timber. Vegetation type is divided into four types: deciduous forest, coniferous forest, bog and wet for-est. The presence of water is related to the restored nature areas; no visible water is present in the plantation. Spaciousness is divided into three classes: closed (young forest, <10m depth of view ), semi-open (old forest, wet forest, 10–100m depth of view) and open (bog, >100m depth of view). Thus, the variety in landscape types in the park was well represented in the landscape views used in this study.

The study used photographs of forest scenes before and after restoration prac-tices. The stimulus set consisted of 32 colour slides showing 8 different landscape types. For nature under traditional management, these landscapes are: young co-niferous forest, old coniferous forest, young deciduous forest and old deciduous forest. The restored nature landscapes are: bog with visible water, bog without vis-ible water, wet forest with visible water and wet forest without visible water. Four pictures of each landscape type were used in the set.

To ensure that the respondents evaluated the setting and not the picture (Scott & Canter, 1997), they received both oral and written instructions to judge the set-ting depicted in the photograph and not the photograph itself or the weather con-ditions depicted in it.

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Elicitation of perceptual judgement by photographs

Photographs are often used in landscape evaluation studies to visualize the scen-ery (e.g. Berg & Koole, 2006; Palmer, 2007; Ribe, 2005). Critics are concerned that the photographic quality, the position of the photographer and the film type account for variance in preferences among viewers (McCool, Benson & Ashor, 1986). However, several studies reported high positive correlations between per-ceptual judgements and preferences based on photographs and parallel responses based on direct experience of the represented landscapes (see Daniel & Meitner, 2001 for a discussion). Jacobsen (2007) concludes that photographs can be re-garded as valid substitutes for site visits if the photographs are appropriately sam-pled. Based on his overview we decided to conduct an on-site study. The following are the characteristics of the pictures used in the study.• All but four of the photographs were taken between 09.00 and 17.00 on the

same day in mid May 2007 in order to minimize differences in light condi-tions and seasonal variation. The four photographs that were not made on that day are of three nature settings that had already been transformed and there-fore could not be reproduced by the researchers on the same day. They were taken by the forester prior to the restoration. The fourth photo was also taken by the forester; it depicts a restored site that fulfilled our criteria better than the one we had taken.

• The sky in the photos is uniform. The horizon was set at the same level for all forest settings. All open areas were also set on the same horizon level, al-though a different one than the forest settings in order to avoid having too much sky in the photographs.

• All photos were taken in DNP. All photos of the forest stands were taken with-in the stand itself and no evidence of active management is visible. Also a broad range of visual access in terms of depth of view was required. Care was taken to avoid introducing into the photographs the positive inf luence of dis-tinctive landmarks, such as large or unusually shaped trees (Herzog & Krop-scott, 2004; Kaplan et al., 1998). Moreover, no setting contained people or visitor facilities. All photos are horizontally oriented and were presented in full-colour and laminated on 14 x 21 cm (A5) cards. The photographs were ran-domly ordered.

Respondent sample

Data were collected in DNP on two days in May, four days in June and two days in July of 2007. People who were returning from a walk in the park were asked to participate in the research, which focused on hikers only. People were inter-viewed on both weekdays and at weekends.

The respondents were interviewed at four car parks that are situated in or next to the forest area that has been or will be transformed. In total, 247 persons took

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part in the research (142 males, 105 females), yielding a response rate of 57%. The mean age of the respondents was 52 years, and varied between 16 and 84 years.

Procedure

We had the participants use the forced Q-sort method in order to elicit judge-ments in a more realistic context of judgement and decision-making (Pitt & Zube, 1979; Scott & Canter, 1997; Stephenson, 1953). They were asked to sort thirty-two photos into eight piles, following an evaluative protocol. The participants first di-vided the thirty-two photos into two piles containing the sixteen landscapes that they considered the most attractive and the sixteen they considered the least at-tractive in regards to their main activity (walking). Both piles were then subdivid-ed into piles of eight photographs, again divided into the most and the least attrac-tive landscapes; finally, the four piles of eight photographs were sorted into eight piles of four photographs.

This led to eight different piles each containing four landscapes sorted on the participants’ perception of the attractiveness of the landscape for walking. Pile 1 contained the landscape views that the participant regarded as the least attractive, while the landscape views in pile 8 were the ones considered the most attractive. In this way each landscape view was given a number between one and eight. The higher the number, the higher the participant valued the landscape in the photo on attractiveness of the landscape for walking.

Information treatment and data analysis

The interviewers presented to almost half (46.2%) of the participants an informa-tion sheet that had been developed in collaboration with DNP foresters. The sheet explained the ecological benefits of the restoration management strategy, namely:• Protect the wet heath by improving water quality and regime• Higher biodiversity values• Rare f lora and fauna will profit from the restoration.The information sheet also explained that the landscape would become more var-ied and open. After reading it, the participants started the sorting procedure.

The data were analysed using the statistical software contained in the Statisti-cal Package for the Social Sciences (SPSS). The raw pile number scores assigned to the photos were used for the analysis, unless stated otherwise. In this study, sub-jects rendered the same judgement of desirability across multiple instances of an experimental treatment (e.g. 16 traditional nature sites versus 16 restored nature sites). A repeated measures design was used to account for the sharing of variance among the multiple measurements of desirability within a subject (e.g. a subject’s evaluative biases were shared among the perceptual judgements rendered across the 32 sites). Such a design partitions variance in a manner that accommodates the non-independent nature of measurements repeated within subjects (Field, 2004).

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A general linear model (GLM) repeated measures analysis of variance pro-cedure was used to examine the means of three or more groups of sites (e.g. the eight landscape types). The raw scores (i.e. pile values) assigned to photos within a group of sites were treated as repeated measures (each respondent rated both the traditional nature sites and the restored nature sites). This method allowed a com-parison of mean desirability scores of different groups of sites, such as compar-ing the four vegetation types (coniferous forest, deciduous forest, bog, wet forest). Homogeneous subsets of mean values were identified using the Bonferroni pro-cedure with Greenhouse-Geisser estimates of the F-statistics. Such procedures enable robust analysis of post hoc tests that establish valid homogeneous subsets of mean values (Field, 2004). This method allowed a comparison of the mean de-sirability scores of different groups of sites (e.g. the eight landscape types). When only two groups of photos were compared, a paired-samples T-test was used to compare the means.

The contribution of multiple environmental characteristics in explaining the variance in the mean desirability scores of the photographs was examined using linear regression analysis. Mean pile values were calculated across all 247 sub-jects and treated as dependent measures. The measures of environmental param-eters – including whether the site was under traditional of restoration manage-ment, presence and absence of water, spaciousness of the site and dominant vege-tation type – were treated as independent measures. These methods eliminated a significant amount of variance, as mean scores across all 247 subjects were used. However, they permitted regression of the mean desirability scores on a multivar-iate model of environmental parameters.

In multiple regression analysis we used a forward stepwise model to create a final model explaining the effect of the independent variables on the depend-ent variable. A forward stepwise model is unbiased on which variables to include in the model first. Decisions about variables to include are based only on math-ematical criteria. This gives the best idea of the importance of the variables in ex-plaining variance. Since the forward stepwise model made clear which variables were of importance, a hierarchical multiple regression analysis was used to check whether one single independent variable (e.g. informing people) had a unique contribution over and above the other variables (Field, 2004). The criterion for entering in regression analysis was set at 0.049, for removal at 0.05. All the coef-ficients of determination (R2) mentioned are adjusted for shrinkage (R

adj2).

Findings

Effect of restoration management on perceived desirability for walking

Table 1 shows that the difference in perception of the desirability of the restored nature sites compared to the traditional ones as a setting for walking is signifi-cant (table 1). The higher the mean, the more positive a photograph is evaluated.

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Table 1: Perception of restored and traditional nature (mean value, N=247)

Restored natural sites are perceived as more desirable for walking. Restored sites refer to bogs and wet forest, while traditional nature refers to coniferous and de-ciduous forest. At first sight this result seems surprising, because it is difficult to walk in bogs and wet forest. However, the survey explicitly stated that the re-spondent was walking on a dry path and that the view depicted in the picture re-lated to the view along the path. The preference for wet areas may indicate that the respondents had a correct understanding of the survey design.

Effect of landscape attributes

We also examined the effect of landscape attributes on perceived desirability for walking. Table 2 shows the results for the four landscape attributes included in this study. The attribute stand age refers only to forest sites (and not to bogs), thus to 16 photographs. The sites containing old forest (4.23) are clearly more preferred than sites with young forest (2.25).

Table 2: Perception of landscape attributes (N=247)

Table 1: Perception of restored and traditional nature (mean values, N=247)

Variable Mean (scale 1-8)* Standard error of mean

Restored nature Traditional nature

5.76 3.24

0.04 0.04

* 1= least attractive landscape for walking, 8 = most attractive landscape for walking. t-value = 33.31, df = 246, p<0.001

Table 2: Perception of landscape attributes (N=247)

Variable Mean (1-8)* Standard error

of mean Test

Stand age Young forest (YF) Old forest (OF)

2.25 4.23

0.05 0.05

T-test: t-value = -27.02

df = 246, p<0.001 Vegetation type Coniferous forest (CF) Deciduous forest (DF) Bog (B) Wet forest (WF)

2.76 a 3.73 b 5.54 c 5.98 d

0.05 0.05 0.04 0.04

Greenhouse-Geisser F(672.05)

df = 2.36, p<0.001

Presence of water Water (W) No water (NW)

6.43 3.86

0.06 0.02

T-test t-value = 35.09

df = 246, p<0.001

Spaciousness Closed (C) Semi-open (SO) Open (O)

2.25 a 5.11 b 5.54 c

0.05 0.03 0.06

Greenhouse-Geisser F(1049.51)

df = 1.81, p<0.001

* 1= least attractive landscape for walking, 8 = most attractive landscape for walking

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The second attribute is vegetation type. In this study we discerned four vegeta-tion types: coniferous forest, deciduous forest, wet forest and bogs. Each type was represented by eight photographs. Table 2 shows significant differences between the four groups. The desirability of coniferous forest as a setting for walking is the lowest (2.76), while wet forest is rated the highest (5.98). Neither coniferous nor deciduous forest sites contain water, and both are less spacious than sites that con-tain bogs or wet forest. As we analysed those two parameters, we discovered possi-ble explanations for the difference in perceived attractiveness of the four vegetation types. For example, sites with visible open water are perceived as more desirable (6.43) than sites without water (3.86). In addition, the effect of spaciousness is also significant across the three spaciousness conditions: closed sites are the least de-sired as a setting for walking (2.25), while open sites were rated the highest (5.54).

Concluding, the analysis of the four landscape attributes (stand age, vegeta-tion type, presence of water, spaciousness) reveals the higher desirability of old forest compared to young forest, bog and wet forest compared to coniferous and deciduous forest, sites with visible water compared to sites without visible water, and open compared to closed landscape types. The following section presents a model to compare the relative effect of the separate landscape attributes on per-ceptions of the desirability of a landscape for walking.

Table 3: Regression model generated for desirability for walking (N=247)

Explaining desirability for walking

When creating a model to assess the relative effects of the landscape attributes, we had to omit the parameter stand age since it related only to the forest stands (16 of the 32 photos). Table 3 shows that, in order of magnitude, spaciousness (0.82), vegetation type (0.54) and the presence of water (0.34) predict fairly suc-cessfully the desirability score for walking. The explained variance of 0.88 im-plies that 88% of the variance in the outcome (to predict desirability for walking) is accounted for by the variables water, spaciousness and vegetation type.

Effects of information

In relation to the second aim of the study, we examined whether informing visi-tors about the benefits of the restoration management strategy moderates their

Table 3: Regression model generated for desirability for walking (N=247)

Variables Unstandardized

coefficient Standardized

regression coefficient t Significance

Constant -2.98 -5.51 0.000

Water Spaciousness Vegetation type

1.30 1.92 0.81

0.34 0.82 0.54

4.73 10.08 7.31

0.000 0.000 0.000

R adj2= 0.88; F = 73.35, p<0.001

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perception of desirability. Table 4 shows that the information treatment did in-f luence the visitors’ perceptions: informed subjects rated photographs of land-scapes under traditional management significantly lower (3.16) than did people who were not informed (3.31), and informed subjects rated photographs of land-scapes under restoration management significantly higher (5.84) than did people who were not informed (5.69).

Table 4: Comparison of desirability scores restored/traditional nature, informed vs not informed

Discussion and conclusion

The present research examined DNP visitors’ perception of the desirability for walking of different types of landscapes resulting from restoration management practices. We found systematic differences for landscapes under traditional man-agement (deciduous and coniferous plantations) and landscapes under restora-tion management (bog, wet forest). The mean desirability scores among 247 par-ticipants for traditional (3.24) and restored (5.76) nature indicates a preference for nature under restoration management. In other words, bogs and wet forest are preferred to coniferous and deciduous forest as landscapes for walking. Fur-ther analysis of the landscape and vegetation types showed low preference ratings for young forest, closely followed by higher preferences for older forests, a find-ing that is consistent with previous research (e.g. Brunson & Shelby, 1992). De-ciduous forest was rated higher than coniferous forest, perhaps because conifer-ous forests consist largely of exotic tree species, which have been shown to be less popular than native species (Herzog, Herbert, Kaplan & Crooks, 2000). Land-scapes containing open water were rated significantly higher than those without visible open water. This ties in with previous research (Kaplan & Kaplan, 1989; Pitt, 1989; Wherrett, 2000). The lower ratings for young forest in particular and older forest to a lesser extent, are also supported by the literature, which explains that young forest decreases visibility (Herzog & Kropscott, 2004; Kaplan & Kap-lan, 1989).

We predicted that semi-open landscapes containing water would be perceived as more desirable than landscapes with dense (especially young) forest. Converse-ly, the semi-open landscapes were rated significantly lower (5.11) than the open landscapes (5.54). The lower rating for semi-open landscapes was caused by the

Table 4: Comparison of desirability scores restored/traditional nature, informed vs not informed

Type of nature management Informed Mean* (sd) Test

Traditional management No 3.31 (0.63)

Greenhouse-Geisser F(3.851) df = 1 p<0.051

Yes 3.16 (0.54)

Total 3.24 (0.59) Restoration No 5.69 (0.63)

Yes 5.84 (0.54)

Total 5.76 (0.59) * 1= least attractive landscape for walking, 8 = most attractive landscape for walking

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rating for older forests (4.23) that we defined – similar to wet forest (5.98) – as semi-open. Open landscapes are especially desired when water is present: a mean rating of 6.61 compared to 4.46 when no water is present.

The research revealed that, in order of magnitude, spaciousness, vegetation type and presence of water are predictors of the mean desirability score for walk-ing, with an explained variance of 88%. This means that the predictors explain 88% of the mean desirability of a landscape. This is slightly higher than found in other researches (e.g. Eleftheriadis & Tsalikidis, 1990; Pukkala & Kellomäki, 1988; Silvennoinen et al., 2001; Ulrich, 1986). The predictors of our model correspond to the above reported perception of landscape attributes. However, we have not yet looked into personal and contextual elements, and it may be that different groups of people have different desirability and nature preferences (Berg, Vlek & Coeter-ier, 1998; Elands & Lengkeek, 2000).

While the variables spaciousness, vegetation type and presence of water are able to fairly successfully account for most of the variance in aesthetic preferenc-es, this does not mean that all Dutch landscapes should develop similarly: clearly recognizable differences within Dutch landscape should be maintained (Wiertz, 2005). The Dutch landscape is an outstanding example of a cultural landscape. This value is recognized by policy makers who aim to conserve and develop iden-tity and diversity within Dutch landscapes (LNV, 1992).

We also found that the presentation of information positively influenced the mean desirability scores of nature sites that result from new nature management strategies. This is in line with previous research that concluded that carefully craft-ed and positively framed narratives describing management intentions can in-crease people’s scenic quality ratings (Brunson & Reiter, 1996; Pitt, 1989).

Although we found a general preference for restored nature, this does not in-form us explicitly about the acceptability of restoration management techniques. Because it can take ten years before the outcome of such techniques is aestheti-cally appealing (as depicted in this research on pictures showing bogs and wet for-ests), they often meet with considerable opposition from visitors and locals, espe-cially when trees are actually cut.

This study does not provide a basis for concluding that Dutch recreationists only want open natural environments with visible water, since we measured only a static preference, while walking involves movement and change in both space and time. It is therefore possible that walkers prefer to pass through a variety of land-scapes rather than a single type of environment. Further research into visitors’ behaviour is necessary before we can draw conclusions on this point. Meanwhile, the results of this study should be analysed for different user groups in different settings. Only then will we be able to gain a profound insight into the perception of landscape desirability for recreational activities.

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Part 3

The State of the Art ofTourism Research

9 The Hybrid Specialities and

Interdisciplinarity of Social Science:

The Case of the Tourism Studies Field

Irena Ateljevic & Linda Peeters

The ‘crisis of representation’ (Marcus & Fisher, 1986) that emerged during the 1980s within the social science and humanities fields has raised theoretical

debates across all disciplines, leading to what has been marked as the ‘cultural turn’ of the postmodern era (Chaney, 1994; Foucault & Gordon, 1980; McDowell, 1994). As part of this cultural shift in thought, qualitative researchers in particu-lar have been challenged to transgress their disciplinary boundaries and integrate cultural politics into a discussion of power knowledge (Denzin & Lincoln, 2005). As a result of such shifts and transgressions, two major impacts emerged that are of our particular concern in this chapter.

First, there has been a significant increase in the number of interdisciplinary fields of study that are addressing issues of disciplinary reductionism, which Say-er (2001) claims to be parochial and imperial, hence ‘counterproductive in rela-tion to making progress in understanding society’ (p. 83). The need for the inte-grated and ‘interactional’ expertise from multiple disciplines to engage in creat-ing and applying new knowledge as they work together in addressing a common challenge and/or phenomenon (Collins & Evans, 2002) has been ref lected in the numerous inventions of hybrid specialties (Dogan, 1996) and interdisciplinary areas, such as heritage studies, entrepreneurship studies, masculinist studies, subaltern studies, film studies, leisure and tourism studies, urban studies and media studies, to name but a few.

Second, social researchers are increasingly being asked to be more ‘ref lexive’ in their approach to research, as academic texts and discourses are revealed as so-cially constructed representations (Barnes & Duncan, 1992; Clifford & Marcus, 1986; Geertz, 1988; Jackson, 1993). In being ref lexive, the researcher becomes the bricoleur, who: “understands that research is an interactive process shaped by his or her personal history, biography, gender, social class, race, and ethnicity, and those of the people in the setting. The bricoleur knows that science is power, for all research findings have political implications.” (Denzin & Lincoln, 2000: 3).

It is to this context of social studies of science that we respond here by present-ing the historical formation of the interdisciplinary tourism studies field as an il-

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lustration of such ‘social bricolage.’ In doing so, we target two types of audience: social scientists in general and tourism studies (TS) interdisciplinary scholars in particular. As for the former, we aim to reveal dialectical processes of structure and agency through which the nexus of individual actions and social, political and economic forces create our academic needs, fields and institutions. As for the latter, the aim of the socio-historical deconstruction of the field in question over the last 40 years is to provide a kind of ‘navigating lens’ to understand the TS field origins, its burgeoning visibility, and its complexity and current challenges.

We perceive this task as an important endeavour for two key reasons. First, to provide some sense of direction to and some boundaries of the field in the con-text of its significant growth in recent years, which is demonstrated by a steady increase in the number of specialized tourism academics and researchers, educa-tional programmes, journals, networks, publishers and research centres (Baretje-Keller, 2007). Second, to expose the endeavour from an insider’s point of view in terms of an integrated and interactional knowledge of the field, as opposed to the view of ‘outsiders’ who may casually engage with tourism as a topic within their own disciplinary and/or interdisciplinary homes. To achieve this, it is necessary to expose some interesting epistemological positions of the authors in the light of the above established argument of a hybrid and interdisciplinary science.

When the first author – Irena Ateljevic – did her PhD in human geography, she used the interest in the tourism phenomenon as a research context to explore broader socio-spatial issues through a political economy lens. During her doctor-al research, Ateljevic engaged with only cross-disciplinary geography references and was not fully aware of the debates in the tourism studies field, as this was not considered by her supervisors to be her target audience. She was supposed to talk to ‘her geographers’ in their disciplinary language and in relation to their preoc-cupation with space and place. Yet, when she finished her PhD she got an aca-demic job in an interdisciplinary tourism programme, institutionalized within a business school where she was faced with a very different audience (particularly students) who needed her to speak in an interdisciplinary language and to have an understanding of the tourism phenomenon as a whole. Learning how to navi-gate between different fields and perspectives and finding her own positioning in terms of publication outlets and research peers was a challenge. This need to clear-ly define her audience significantly influenced Ateljevic’s career development in the subsequent ten years (see Ateljevic et al., 2005). This is an ongoing tension that has not been successfully resolved and that will influence the way in which the for-mation of the TS field is perceived and subsequently presented in this chapter. Yet it is important to note that the broader human geography perspective, which is in many ways interdisciplinary by nature, has been extremely valuable for Ateljevic’s process of adapting knowledge to different types of audience.

On the other hand, the second author – Linda Peeters – is a representative of the ‘second-generation’ interdisciplinary tourism studies audience (a former Master’s student of Wageningen MLE Leisure, Tourism and Environment pro-

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gramme) who, while engaging with a whole variety of different fields and dis-ciplines, does not belong to any particular traditional discipline, as her previous education was based on tourism management studies. Peeters is an embodied example of an interdisciplinary tourism scholar whose education in many ways represents the historical dual structure of the TS field. She did her undergraduate study in hotel and tourism management and then proceeded to do her Master’s in a more critical social science perspective of sustainable tourism. It is to this audience of interdisciplinary scholars that we particularly appeal here, as our hy-brid social science increasingly produces more graduates in theme-based fields, which may lead to the post-disciplinary turn in social science whereby scholars “identify with learning rather than with disciplines” (Sayer, 2001: 89). We find our endeavour to be important for the key reason of exposing the social construc-tion of knowledge and the confusion we potentially create amongst social science students and young scholars who are trying to enter the burgeoning fields of our academic profession.

While the insiders’ perspective significantly informed the insight into the so-ciology of the TS field, the method behind the socio-historical analysis is based on the desk research of two key resources: the work of scholars who have been engaged with the various reviews of the TS field, and the Internet sources of networks, journals and programmes that have demonstrated the visibility and growth of interest in the tourism studies scholarship.

Introduction and theoretical framework

Within the above explained rationale, this chapter provides a historical social con-struction of an integrated tourism studies field over the last four decades, that is, from the late 1960s until the late 2000s. It is important to note that the bounda-ries of the TS field are defined by the interdisciplinary focus and the growth of tourism-related journals, networks and education programmes rather than by the review of tourism scholarship that is spread all over social sciences in non-tour-ism journals, which generally also target a very different audience.

While it needs to be acknowledged that the topic of travel was explored long before the 1960s, it has been claimed that tourism as a distinct field of study emerged in that period (Airey, 2004; Jafari, 2007). Prior to that, it was mostly “broad philosophers or lone individuals” and historians who were writing about the phenomenon of travel and recreation in general (for more detail, see Graburn & Jafari, 1991). The reason for this is fairly palpable. The production of most aca-demic knowledge in social science is induced and motivated by the “empirical so-cial world out there” that academics observe, study, interpret and represent. Thus, in the case of tourism it was only after World War II that the modern phenom-enon of international travel became available on more of a mass scale, and hence was more visible as a socio-economic and cultural matter worthy of study at an academic level.

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Nevertheless, we need to acknowledge that the development of tourism as we dominantly perceive it today was invented and captured from the view of the mod-ern Western experience. In other words, travellers, tourists and academics largely originate from the developed world of the West (however problematic the concept of ‘the West’ is these days). Furthermore, we need to be more precise and stress that while modern-day international travellers have conspicuously come from a whole range of OECD developed countries,1 it is the English-speaking world that has dominated the tourism studies writings that are the focus of this paper as the most obvious and visible foci and as one of the aspects we will critically observe.

In order to satisfy the rationale given in the prologue, we will use a particular framework of the ‘knowledge force-field’ developed by Tribe (2006), which neat-ly captures the production process of academic tourism knowledge in the visual model presented in figure 1 below.

Figure 1: The knowledge force-field (Tribe, 2006: 363)

Circle 1 represents the world of tourism phenomenon per se, that is, the empirical ‘reality’ of its growth, f lows, happenings, histories, structures, events, workings, manifestations, impacts and influences on people and the environment. In other words, it is the practice of tourism, either on the production or the consumption side. Circle 2 is where a researcher ‘sits’ to gaze upon the phenomenon, research it and write about it. The gaze of researchers and the interpretations they make are generally inf luenced by their institutional position (discipline/faculty); the so-cio-economic realities of individual academics (race, ethnicity, gender, class, etc.) and their research interests; the rules and ideology of their institutions and disci-plines; and the final ends of what/whom the (tourism) knowledge is produced for.

As the interpretation and the production of knowledge goes through these fil-ters and forces of circle 2, we get to circle 3 of tourism knowledge where all our

dichotomy has prevailed in research where an objective mind has beencultivated as if it was detached and immune from any bodilyimpressions.The notion of self (Wearing and Wearing 2001) or selves (Reinharz

1997) is initially, artificially, and temporarily extracted from those as-pects of nurture or culture that impress themselves upon identity.For as Hall notes, ‘‘in terms of why we research what we do, one alsocannot ignore the personal’’ (2004:148). Hall provides examples ofthis, notably that ‘‘a woman who [he] lusted after’’ influenced hischoice of doctorate. Additionally he explains how good and bad rela-tionships with colleagues, institutions and publishers, and his loves ofsurfing, the outdoors, wine and food have influenced his researchchoices. Sayer also stresses the significance of self and ‘‘The realm ofthe ‘I’—that is our capability to receive something from outside andmake it our own, to make something of what we are constructedthrough—thus creating something different’’ (1999:3). In an illustra-tion of this, Botterill (2003) deploys an autoethnographic approachwhich reveals the interplay of self with research. He recounts his epis-temological journey from positivism (his initial received or given per-spective) via social constructivism and phenomenology to criticalrealism. This he interweaves with a personal narrative that includesbreakdown, divorce, relocation, disputation, politics, love, and thediscovery of his own ‘‘Welshness’’.Hall and Botterill have foregrounded the importance of the self in

influencing both the focus of the researcher’s gaze (Hollinshead1999b) into circle 1 and the consequential knowledge constructed incircle 3. Ateljevic, Harris, Wilson and Collins (2005) similarly revealtheir ‘‘entanglements’’ in the process of research while Galani-Moutafi

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Figure 1. The Knowledge Force-field

JOHN TRIBE 363

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facts, theories, concepts and explanations lie in the form of the ‘known world’ ex-pressed in written language, namely scientific articles, books, reports, websites, theses, etc. However, it is important to note that this is not a linear process but a spiral of f luent spaces and circles created by dialectical interrelationships and influences. For example, if the principal ideology of the ‘tourism world’ is based on values of seeing tourism primarily as a business sector, this will inf luence where tourism scholars are positioned and education programmes institutional-ized. Therefore, the circles of division cannot be fully delineated. Yet, in such a clear visual form, the framework does provide us with a neat structure for this chapter, in which we are going to present the historical development of these three circles over the past four decades, to the extent that such is feasible within the limits of a chapter.

We will begin with the description of the tourism phenomenon in terms of its main international structures, importance and travel f lows in the context of which tourism knowledge has been created. The main objective is not to be exhaustive but to produce a general picture of key structural shifts in the process of tourism expansion. It should be noted that the focus will be on the nature of international tourism, as that is what has been a dominant preoccupation of most tourism schol-ars (Graburn & Jafari, 1991). Thereafter, we will describe the realities and forces within the knowledge force-field, namely the growth, structures and shapes of the tourism academy. We will then provide an overview of the increase in tourism pro-grammes, journals and networks and an overview of the disciplinary, geographical and gender structures of tourism academia. It is important to note that we will not be able to provide a detailed account as per Tribe’s five forces, as we are aiming to provide a general view of the field rather than present the efforts of individual per-sons. Thus, person and ends will not be captured fully, although some of the key contributors will implicitly emerge in the proceeding discussion of circle 3.

Finally, the empirical analysis of the tourism academy world will be followed by a discussion on the historical evolution of tourism knowledge in the past four decades and how it has been shaped in terms of its main paradigms, contribu-tions and concepts. In doing so, it will be shown that the TS field has been his-torically polarized between two key approaches of more applied and business-ori-ented research versus more academic-oriented knowledge derived from critical perspectives of traditional social science disciplines (Nash, 2007). Our historical analysis will show that the two fields have always coexisted, albeit with varying degrees of dominance in different periods.

Circle 1: The phenomenon of international tourism and its strength in the global economy

People have always travelled; travel appears to be an inherent part of human nature. The early civilizations in Asia, the Middle East and the Mediterranean have left us written records of their ‘adventures.’ After the fifteenth century, the

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number of written records increased rapidly as a result of the invention of the printing press. By the mid seventeenth century, the well-known ‘grand tour’ emerged and these ‘tourists’ also kept diaries about their journeys; these records are literary as well as educational and descriptive (Graburn & Jafari, 1991). In the nineteenth century, Thomas Cook began to build his empire and mass tourism started to develop (Towner, 1985).

Yet, we can only talk about tourism on a visible global scale since World War II, with the take-off of air transport and general economic progress, when the interna-tional travel boom truly began. The substantial growth in tourism activity has clear-ly marked tourism as one of the most remarkable economic and social phenomena of the past century. The number of international arrivals shows an evolution from a mere 25 million in 1950 to 903 million in 2007, up 6.6% on 2006. In 1950, the top 15 destinations received 88% of international travels, in 1970 75% and in 2005 57%, which demonstrates the emergence of new destinations (UNWTO, 2008). Furthermore, these figures represent only an estimated 17% of all worldwide tour-ism movements, since they do not include domestic tourist flows, which according to some estimates account for a further 83% of global flows (Go, 1997).

Tourism creates millions of jobs either directly or indirectly and provides gov-ernments with hundreds of millions of dollars in tax revenue each year, stimu-lating enormous investments in new infrastructure (UNWTO, 2008; Apostolo-poulos et al., 1996). In 2007, worldwide international tourism receipts increased to EUR 625 billion, corresponding to a growth in real terms of 5.6% on 2006. In 2003, international tourism receipts represented nearly 6% of worldwide exports of services and goods. If one considers only service exports, the share of tour-ism exports increases to approximately 30% (UNWTO, 2008). In 2006, Europe had a 51.1% share of international tourism receipts, while Asia and the Pacific had 20.8%, the Americas 21%, the Middle East 3.7% and Africa 3.3% (UNWTO, 2007). UNWTO comments on the growth in international tourism receipts be-tween 2005–2006: “As was the case with arrivals, the relative growth in receipts was strongest in Africa (+10%) and Asia and the Pacific (+9%). Europe’s receipts increased by 4% – well above the 2.5% growth recorded in 2005 – while growth in the Americas (+2%) fell to less than half its 2005 level. The only region to show a negative growth trend in relative terms in 2006 was the Middle East (–1.4%), since its growth in absolute terms was not sufficient to keep up with inflation.” As a consequence of the aforementioned developments, tourism has become one of the major players in international commerce (UNWTO, 2008).

In this period of phenomenal tourism growth, two key phases can be distin-guished in terms of its global structural changes: the period up to the mid 1980s/early 1990s, and the period since then. In the early years of the 1960s boom, tour-ism was primarily seen as a major tool of economic development for developing countries, as well as for the periphery of Mediterranean Europe. In 1963, the UN proclaimed the importance of tourism’s contribution to the economies of devel-oping countries: tourism was considered to bring about foreign exchange, to cre-

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ate employment and to have a multiplier effect on economic growth. Under pres-sure from such international financial institutions as the World Bank, many de-veloping countries (particularly those with large foreign debts) were encouraged to attract foreign investment in tourism by providing fiscal concessions and pro-motional privileges (Lanfant, 1980)2. In other words, international tourism was primarily designed to allow the emerging well-off middle class to travel from the ‘world core’ of the West to the ‘pleasure periphery’ of undeveloped and still ‘un-spoiled’ countries of the South and East, for example Africa, the Pacific, the Car-ibbean and the Mediterranean (Pearce, 1987).

This is clearly illustrated by the fact that up to 80% of all international trav-els (measured by volume) in the last 40 years were made by nationals of just 20 OECD countries. Furthermore, over 60% of total international expenditure in the early 1990s was accounted for by nationals of the seven countries that have led tourism consumption for nearly four decades, namely the USA, Germany, Japan, the UK, Italy, France and Canada (UNWTO, 1995; Vellas & Becherel, 1995). In terms of the nature of tourism demand, it has been established that these ‘gold-en hordes’ of tourists were dominantly interested in the rejuvenation capacity of sunny destinations, to which Northern urban dwellers f lee in great numbers, cre-ating the most visible phenomenon of the ‘4S’ based (sun, sea, sand & sex) mass tourism in the Mediterranean and the Caribbean areas (Poon, 1993).

During the 1980s, however, the notable second phase began when a number of significant changes started to occur. First, although the developed OECD coun-tries of Europe and the USA were historically also the main top tourist destina-tions (in terms of arrivals and receipts), it was only when these countries started to suffer economic crises (i.e. in the late 1970s) that tourist activity began to be seen as a key component in economic diversification strategies and as a remedy for growing unemployment in industrialized countries, especially in Western Europe (Williams & Shaw, 1988; 1991; OECD, 1995). This was an important economic and political shift that moved tourism to the forefront of the political agenda of West-ern countries by recognizing it as an agent of diversification and development in urban, rural and peripheral economies of the West (Craik, 1991; Hardy et al., 1991; Commonwealth Department of Tourism, 1992; Law, 1993; Montanari & Williams, 1995). We will see later how that also influenced the fact that many tourism educa-tional programmes began to emerge at universities throughout the world.

Second, alongside the continuous demand for the 4S type of holidays, the changing nature of tourism production and consumption began to show new, ‘special interest’ forms of tourism, profiling ‘critical consumer tourists’ who de-mand environmentally sound holidays (Krippendorf, 1987). Poon (1993) asserted that ‘new hybrid tourists’ have emerged who want to experience something dif-ferent, to be in control, to see and enjoy but not destroy, and who are adventurous and educated. They are held in contrast to ‘old tourists’ who follow the masses in search of sun or snow, are cautious, and are here today and gone tomorrow. Urry (1990) promoted the notion of the ‘post-tourist’ as set within a wider framework

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of emerging ecological values associated with a green consumer, namely creativ-ity, health, new experiences, human relations and personal growth. Munt (1994) described it as a postmodern phenomenon of new middle classes. This trend has led to the development of a wide range of ‘special tourism’ activities, such as bird watching, trekking, botanical study and whale watching. For example, in the ear-ly 1990s some 80 million American bird watchers accounted for USD 14 billion spent on equipment, travel and related expenses (Hawkins, 1994). In due course, ‘alternative tourism,’ ‘soft tourism,’ ‘eco tourism,’ ‘sustainable tourism,’ ‘nature tourism’ and ‘green tourism’ became buzzwords.

Since the mid 1990s, the nature of generating markets has changed towards new emerging sources of international tourism f lows. Two key trends influenced this movement: the fall of the Berlin Wall – which allowed Eastern European countries to develop towards market economies and to travel freely – and the economic growth of Asia, led by Japan and followed by the seven ‘little dragons,’ namely Hong Kong, Singapore, Taiwan, South Korea, Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia, and more recently by China and India. It was also in the mid 1990s that countries such as Korea, Taiwan and China introduced social legislation that freed their citizens to travel internationally.

Although developed countries still remain the major consumers of interna-tional tourism, China and the Russian Federation have entered the top-10 chart of tourism spenders (see table 1). As a consequence, the nature of international tourism demand has become an eclectic mixture of many different forms of trav-el consumption: mass tourism in the form of packaged sightseeing tours; sun & sea beach holidays; long-haul backpacker travel on the ‘unbeaten track of exotic lands’; cultural tourism in the form of short-break weekends in urban centres; ex-clusive bird watching and fishing trips; active tourism (adventure sports); well-be-ing spas; volunteer tourism; and many more (Zeppel, 1992; Poon, 1993; Richards, 1996; Wearing, 2001; Hannam & Ateljevic, 2008).

Table 1: World’s international tourism top 10 spenders in 2000 and 2006 (Source: World Tour-ism Organization, 2001; 2007)

1

Top 10 countries 2000 Market share Top 10 countries 2006 Market share

United States 13.7 Germany 10.2 Germany 10.0 United States 9.8 United Kingdom 7.7 United Kingdom 8.6 Japan 6.6 Japan 4.4 France 3.6 France 3.7 Italy 3.2 China 3.3 Canada 2.6 Italy 3.2 Netherlands 2.5 Canada 2.8 China n.a. Russian Federation 2.6 Belgium/ Luxemburg n.a. Korea, Republic of 2.5 Total % of the world travel market

>49.9 Total % of the world travel market

51.1

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To summarize, at the beginning of the twenty-first century it can be argued that tourism has achieved a higher profile in the consciousness of the public of the developed world than ever before (Hall et al., 2004) – not only because of the numbers and its economic importance but also because it is increasingly ac-knowledged on the world political agenda. For example, in 2003 the UN General Assembly unanimously made the World Tourism Organization a full-f ledged UN agency. In 2006, the UN appointed 27 September as the day on which to ‘cele-brate the phenomenon that is tourism’ and started a campaign to bring this mes-sage to the whole world (UNWTO, 2008). As a consequence, it has been argued that tourism has finally begun to impact policy makers and has climbed the inter-national political agenda to the extent that policy makers recognize that it is not just economic activity, but an important agent of economic, social, cultural and political change (Hall et al., 2004).

Circle 2: The knowledge-force field of growing tourism academia

The changes within tourism academia are ref lective of the empirical world of tourism. The boom of the worldwide tourism industry has resulted in a growth in the number of tourism educational programmes, individual academics special-ized in the field, tourism journals and tourism networks, particularly since the late 1980s when developed countries began to acknowledge tourism economical-ly and politically. In this part of the chapter, we will provide an overview of this growth and the structures and shapes of this academic world. We will begin with a description of the growth in higher education programmes, journals and tour-ism networks, followed by an overview of the nature of institutional homes and disciplines within which tourism has been positioned. Then we are going to look at the main factors of structural distributions in terms of institutional/discipli-nary homes and socio-geographic disparities.

Higher education programmes

A number of studies illustrate the growth in the number of higher education pro-grammes in the last four decades. Airey (2004) exemplifies the growth by point-ing out that in the UK there were about 20 students of tourism in higher educa-tion in 1972, and that by the end of the century, this figure had increased to more than 4000 new students each year. Botterill and colleagues (2002) report the substantial increase in PhDs in tourism awarded in the UK, namely from 4 in 1990 to 29 in 1997, the period that coincided with the earlier established recogni-tion of tourism importance in the OECD countries that began in the late 1980s. In 1970, there were only two universities offering tourism courses in the UK, while in 2003–4 there were 56 higher education institutes offering undergradu-ate tourism programmes. In the same period, this institutional change resulted in the number of professors in either the tourism management or the tourism

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studies field increasing from virtually zero to 30 (Tribe & Wickens, 2004). Ryan (1995) shows a similar trend of the exponential growth in the number of univer-sity-based tourism programmes, students and individual academics in the south-ern hemisphere.

The growth has not been confined to developed countries. For example, in Brazil the first tourism programme in higher education was created in the early 1970s; by the 1990s there were 250 such programmes, while in 2004 the figure was 600 (Leal, 2004). Similarly, the post-1980s boom was experienced by Chi-na. Before 1978, tourism was virtually non-existent as a subject of study, while in 1991 there were 69 higher education institutes offering various tourism pro-grammes (Zhao, 1991). Bao (2002) looked at tourism geography as the subject of doctoral dissertations in China in the period 1989–2000, and found that of the twenty Chinese doctoral dissertations only one was produced before 1994.

Journals

Co-parallel with the growth in the number of education programmes and aca-demics, there has been a logical correlation of the main dissemination venues for tourism knowledge, namely academic journals. To see how phenomenal growth this field has been in the last few decades, it suffices to look at the growth in the number of tourism and travel related journals, namely from a mere dozen in the 1970s to almost 150 in 2008. Many of these journals were created to satisfy dif-ferent disciplinary and ideological agendas, individual research interests and ac-ademic networks. The topic of tourism is also being addressed in non-tourism and travel related journals. If, for example, one enters the keyword ‘touris*’ into the Web of Science database and analyses the results (articles) according to their source (journal), one sees that 23% of these articles appeared in Annals of Tourism Research or Tourism Management, while the remaining 77% are dispersed over more than 500 journals from a whole variety of disciplines and fields of inter-est. After position 1 (Annals of Tourism Research) and position 2 (Tourism Manage-ment), there is no tourism journal in the top 20, although at position 6 we find a journal in a tourism-related area: Journal of Travel Medicine. When analysing the same results (articles) according to the subject area in which they have been placed, only 25% are considered to belong to the subject area of hospitality, lei-sure, sport and tourism, while the remaining 75% belong to other subject areas, such as sociology (17%), environmental studies (15%), management (12%) and ge-ography (9%).

Table 2 lists the academic tourism journals that were established before 1981, namely in the period we distinguish as the first key phase in the formation of the TS field. Journal of Travel Research, Annals of Tourism Research and Tourism Man-agement (which were established in 1963, 1973 and 1980, respectively) are still claimed to be the top three journals (Ryan, 2005; McKercher et al., 2006; Zhao & Ritchie, 2007; Jamal et al., 2008).

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Table 2: Academic tourism-related journals established before 1981

The growth in the number of academic tourism and travel journals that started af-ter 1980 (figure 2) shows a tremendous increase after the 1990s, which was obvi-ously parallel to the changes in circle 1, as described earlier. Figure 2 shows that the establishment of academic tourism and travel journals really took off in the 1990s: 88% of all journals were established after 1990. Figure 3 shows more or less the same development as regards academic journals in such tourism-related areas as leisure, hospitality, recreation, etc.: 68% of all journals were established after 1990.

It is important to note, however, that this quantitative growth is used here only to illustrate the greater visibility of the field rather than as evidence of its interdis-ciplinary integration and the quality. One only needs to look at the titles of some of the journals (e.g. Journal of Volunteer Tourism; Information Technology and Tourism; Journal of Convention and Event Tourism) to see how fragmented and more specialized the field has become. Although many efforts have been made to rank and evaluate various tourism journals (e.g. Ryan, 2005; Zhao & Ritchie, 2007), how selective and biased these evaluations are remains a matter of debate (Pritchard & Morgan, 2007; Jamal et al., 2008).

2

Travel &Tourism Journals Date established

(first volume) Editor based in

(2008)

The Tourist Review/Tourism Review/Revue de Tourisme 1946 Switzerland

TOURISM: An International Interdisciplinary Journal (formerly Turizam)

1952 Croatia

Journal of Travel Research 1963 USA Annals of Tourism Research 1973 UK Tourism Recreation Research 1976 India Journal of Hospitality & Tourism Research (formerly Hospitality Research Journal and formerly Hospitality Education and Research Journal and previously Journal of Hospitality education)

1976 Hong Kong

Tourism Management 1980 New Zealand

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Figure 4: Growth of academic journals in tourism areas 1981-2009 (source: desk research)

Figure 2: Growth in the number of academic tourism & travel journals, 1981–2009

Figure 3: Growth in the number of academic journals in tourism-related areas, 1981–2009

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Figure 5: Growth Individual Researchers in the CIRET database February 2007-April 2008 (source: desk research)

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Figure 6: Growth Academic Information networks and Active networks (source: desk research)

Networks

Baretje-Keller – the founder of an international centre for research and study on tourism (Centre International de Recherches et d’Etudes Touristiques; CIRET) – strongly confirms our central argument of the TS field growth. In his Report of Activities: 1997–2006, he reveals an amazing statistic: an average of 30 new researchers have been included in his database each month since the creation of CIRET in 1996 (Baretje-Keller, 2007). Baretje-Keller established his centre with the idea of creating a global databank of university institutions, individu-al researchers, documents and publishers. Figure 4 illustrates the phenomenal growth in the number of individual researchers registered in his network as be-ing interested in the topic of tourism. In addition, by the time we carried out our research in April 2008, Baretje-Keller had registered a total of 143,673 scientific outputs in this field (pers. comm., April 2008).

CIRET is one of the many networks devoted to the subject of tourism to have emerged in the last couple of decades. These networks range from the more gen-eral to the theme specific; from regional and national to international networks; from professional commercial industry related, to academic networks (Graburn & Jafari, 1991). One impetus for the increase in the number of networks especial-ly in Europe was the initiative of the European Commission to develop European Thematic Networks (ETN) in order to help universities promote subject-based col-laboration (Richards, 1998). This was an important political move by the Com-mission to recognize the increasing importance of tourism as a subject of higher education in Europe.

Figure 5 provides an overview of the growth in the number of academic net-works, divided into two types: those that only exchange information, and those that are more active and are involved in various activities, such as organizing con-ferences and academic publications. It is important to state, however, that not all of these networks are equally open to new members. For example, the IAST (ac-

Figure 4: Growth in the number of individual researchers in the CIRET database February 2007–April 2008 (source: desk research)

Figure 5: Growth in the number of academic information networks and active networks (source: desk research)

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tive network) – which was created by anthropologists and sociologists – is a very closed network with a maximum of 75 members (Jafari, 2007), while CIRET (in-formation network) is an open network with more than 4000 individual and 700 collective members. In the rest of this chapter we will provide an overview of the structures and shapes of this tourism academia. In terms of its main structures that refer to positions of individuals, we are going to look at the main factors of structural distributions in terms of institutional/ disciplinary homes and socio-geographic disparities.

Institutional homes

When the tourism boom became an obvious phenomenon and academic inter-est began to emerge, the main question was where tourism would be taught and institutionalized in terms of its home – a department/discipline/school to which it should belong. Given the early focus on the economic importance of tourism and students’ employment prospects, Airey (2004) claims that it seemed logical to place tourism within business schools and/or vocational hotel management de-partments. He links the focus and purpose of the tourism programmes to the ear-lier acceptance for degree level in the 1960s of hotel and catering management programmes, which were profoundly vocational, focusing on the operation of the industry and practice and having close connections with employers (see also e.g. Formica, 1996). When tourism programmes emerged within the same environ-ment, and often in departments that offered degrees in hotel management, they followed the same vocational, industry-oriented path.

At the same time, tourism also attracted the interest of those in other more social science based disciplines; the most notable were geography, anthropology and sociology scholars, who had began to study tourism as a subject within their own disciplines, hence offering it as one of their courses, for example within an anthropology degree (Nash, 2007). It was these early scholars who introduced a broader and more critical perspective of tourism in terms of its social, politi-cal and cultural complexities. It is this dualistic division between the more busi-ness-oriented and the social science based approaches that has shaped the field of tourism studies as we know it today. The way in which this was achieved in terms of the variety of paradigms, concepts and approaches will be covered in the circle 3 section. At this point, we remain focused on circle 2 of the disciplinary homes that tourism academics have been dominantly ‘housed’ in and affiliated with. The example of the IAST (International Academy for the Study of Tourism), one of the most traditional social science based networks, illustrates how tourism is dominantly institutionalized within departments/schools of tourism manage-ment, business and marketing (47%), even though their home PhD discipline is often based elsewhere (only 26% are associated with that perspective).

Tribe (2001) and Pritchard and Morgan (2007) also discuss the correlation between disciplines, institutions and the tourism curriculum, and point out

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Geographical distribution editors (percent)

academic tourism & travel journals

academic journals in tourism areas

Western Europe 32 25

North America 24 57 Asia 16 2 Australasia-Oceania 13 8 Eastern Europe 6 0 Africa 5 8 South America 2 0 Middle East 2 0 Central America 0 0 Caribbean 0 0

the tendency to locate tourism programmes in management/business schools. While over 70% of the tourism programmes in the UK are located in business schools, almost 90% of individual academics belong to some social science dis-cipline (sociology, economics, geography, anthropology, cultural studies, politi-cal science, etc.). The paradox of such multidisciplinarity and eclectic complex-ity can be explained by the fact that tourism continues to be dominantly located within the business schools’ institutional framework (Airey, 2004).

Geographic/ethnic and gender disparities

The geographical profile of tourism academia is another important aspect that structures the academic world. An example of this is the difference in focus in tourism programmes between different regions and countries around the world. Formica (1996), for example, compared the differences in hospitality and tourism education between Europe and the USA. The USA is characterized by the Anglo-Saxon approach, which focuses on professional development by improving per-sonal knowledge through using appropriate skills in order to manage a restaurant or run a tourism enterprise; in contrast, the European tradition is more driven by theoretical studies of the social and economic aspects of tourism.

Table 3: Geographical distribution of editors

Also interesting is the geographical distribution of journal editors. Table 3 – which is the result of our analysis of all the academic tourism and travel journals and academic journals in tourism-related areas (same data used for our analysis for table 2 and figures 2 and 3) – clearly demonstrates the dominance of Western developed countries. Another interesting aspect is the geographical location of the universities and the individual researchers. Table 4 is the result of our analy-sis of these aspects within the CIRET network (over 4000 researchers), the AT-LAS network (313 institutions) and TRINET (nearly 1500 individual researchers).

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The table clearly shows the dominance of Western developed countries, although also the fairly strong presence of Asia in terms of its educational institutions with-in ATLAS. However, one should keep in mind the context in which these figures ‘operate,’ as the under-representation of certain regions has a lot to do with a lack of institutional conditions in these countries.

Table 4: Geographical characteristics of the TRINET, CIRET and ATLAS networks

(source: desk research)

Tribe (2006: 364) specifically engages with this Eurocentric dominance in academia, and asserts that the “production of knowledge and development of theory was in the past largely based upon Eurocentric research and the ideas of mainly white middle-class men.” With respect to the geographical characteris-tics of the journals, Tribe (2006) also notes a power of inequity, pointing out the dichotomies of core-periphery relationships. He refers to an analysis by Hall and colleagues (2004) of the global distribution of journal editors, which showed that 77% of the editors are located in the UK, the USA, New Zealand, Australia and Canada. Pritchard and Morgan (2007) further elaborate on the geographical im-balance with respect to tourism journals and their editors. The fact that English is the dominant language in the international journals gives the scholars from English-speaking countries an important advantage (Pritchard & Morgan, 2007).

Tribe’s (2006) argument that tourism studies are dominated by first-genera-tion, white, male scholars who are grounded in ethnocentric Western, Anglo-Sax-on research traditions is consistent with the fact that only 18% of CIRET’s individ-ual researchers are female (pers. comm. Baretje-Keller, March 2008). Aramberri (2002) further points out that almost all the delegates at the 2001 International Academy for the Study of Tourism (IAST) conference were male. Pritchard and Morgan (2007) note the gender imbalance with regard to the editors of 12 inter-national tourism journals in their overview of the percentages of male and female members of each journal. Our compilation of these results shows that 82% of the members of these twelve journals are male. 3

Region

Individual Researchers TRINET (%)

Individual Researchers

CIRET (%)

Universities CIRET (%)

Educational Institutions and Professional Bodies

ATLAS (%)

Western Europe 24 36 35 42 Eastern Europe 1 4 6 11 Middle East 1 1 2 2 Africa <1 2 4 10 Asia 5 10 13 25 North America 43 27 23 2 South America <1 4 6 2 Central America 0 <1 <1 <1 Caribbean <1 <1 1 <1 Australasia-Oceania 26 15 10 5 Total 100 100 100 100

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Since we have presented the factors inf luencing the development of tourism knowledge, it is necessary to discuss the tourism knowledge itself. What is be-hind the numbers? What knowledge have these power factors within the knowl-edge force-field brought us? How have they presented the tourism phenomenon to us during the last four decades? This is the focus of the following section, which covers circle 3.

Circle 3: Tourism knowledge: a (not the) history of representing tourism

At the beginning of this chapter we established that the formation of the TS field has been historically characterized by a divide that has been described in vari-ous though similar terms: pure vs applied research (Smith, 1989); ‘impacts-ex-ternalities’ camp vs ‘business development’ camp (Echtner & Jamal, 1997); aca-demic-oriented vs business-oriented views (Nash, 2007); tourism management vs tourism sciences/tourism studies (Hollinshead, 2007). While these two camps have always coexisted, three different periods can be distinguished in terms of the varying degrees of prominence they have had and how that has impacted the theoretization and representation of tourism knowledge. These periods are: 1) the late 1960s/1970s, characterized by the greater visibility of early pioneers’ work employing critical academically-oriented social sciences approach; 2) the 1980s/1990s, which were dominated by business studies of tourism manage-ment and marketing perspectives, hence producing more applied work; and 3) the 2000s, characterized by strengthening the critical social science trajectory as well as opening a dialogue with the tourism management camp.

The early beginnings: late 1960s/1970s

The first groundbreaking research in the tourism studies field can be attribut-ed primarily to the social sciences disciplines of anthropology, sociology, geog-raphy, economics and social psychology. Nash (2007) in his latest contribution towards providing an overview of those early beginnings, points out that partic-ularly Western anthropologists and sociologists played an important role in the creation and development of a multidisciplinary tourism social science. The pio-neers of that time – who have been called the ‘first-generation tourism scholars’ (Jamal & Kim, 2005) – were Dennison Nash, Jeremy Boissevain, Erik Cohen, Malcolm Crick, Graham Dann, Nelson Graburn, Jafar Jafari, Marie-Françoise Lanfant, Dean MacCannell, Michel Picard, Valene Smith, Margaret Byrne Swain and Pierre L. van den Berghe (Nash, 2007). The session devoted to the anthropol-ogy of tourism that Valene Smith organized at the 1974 Meeting of the Ameri-can Anthropological Association in Mexico City is often regarded as a landmark in the field. The IAST network – one of the most traditional, elitist and closed social science based networks – was founded by the majority of the individuals mentioned above.

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Observing the prevalence of white Westerners among international travellers to developing countries of ‘the pleasure periphery,’ these scholars primarily stud-ied tourism as an important agent of social and cultural change in host countries (anthropology of indigenous cultures) and trends of travel motivations in generat-ing countries (sociology of leisure). As a consequence, Nash (2007) explains, early tourism theories were inf luenced by the grand theoretical approaches in sociol-ogy and anthropology of Karl Marx, Emile Durkheim and Max Weber and often produced the cross-disciplinary studies of tourism. Thus, significant concepts and theories that ref lect this inf luence emerged at the time; for example, tour-ism as the quest of the new leisure class (MacCannell, 1976), false/staged authen-ticity (Smith, 1977), the concept of liminality and the rite of passage (Graburn, 1977), tourism typology and the modes of tourist experience (i.e. the notions of strangerhood and tourism as pilgrimage) (Cohen, 1973, 1974, 1979) and tourism as a form of imperialism (Nash, 1977). On the other hand, geographers and econ-omists were more concerned with the environmental and economic impacts on host societies and, more generally, issues of spatial/economic f lows and regional development (e.g. Bryden & Farber, 1971; Pearce, 1987; Mathieson & Wall, 1982).

While there was a greater variety of perspectives (from descriptive post-posi-tivistic to interpretative perspectives), it can be argued that this period was gen-erally characterized by a critical and fairly pessimistic view of international tour-ism (for a more detailed overview of all disciplines and individual contributions in this period, see Graburn & Jafari, 1991). In general, it can be argued that ‘gold-en hordes’ of tourists were seen to be destroying authentic indigenous cultures and producing serious negative social and cultural impacts (Turner & Ash, 1975; Smith, 1977). However, travellers were also often seen as products of capitalism and modernity. MacCannell (1973) produced a major sociological work on the lei-sure class, claiming that international travel is a key symbol of modernity. Feel-ing alienated from the modern, Western urban society, middle-class travellers search for authenticity and life meaning in the pre-modern, native cultures of the ‘Other,’ a search that is seriously thwarted by the increasing commercializa-tion and institutionalization of the tourism industry, creating a so-called notion of ‘false authenticity’ (Cohen, 1973; Greenwood, 1977).

Yet, despite their critical stance and often genuine desire to warn and ‘save’ host countries from the ‘golden tourist hordes’ or ‘greedy hotel corporations,’ in retrospect these theoretical constructions have been recognized as predominant-ly Eurocentric views, exporting colonial ideas and ideologies of the West into the ‘Third World’ (see Nash, 2007). In doing so, tourism practice and theory have been recognized to be in many ways forms of ‘Othering’ through which the question whether the subaltern can really speak remains critical (Aitchison, 2001). They were also dominated by structuralist perspectives, by stressing the importance of structures (e.g. capitalism or modernity) and often fully denying any power of hu-man agency. In other words, people were seen as passive victims of ‘ruthless’ mo-dernity, driven by capitalism and colonial notions of tourism development.

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The complexity of these epistemological questions has more recently been ad-dressed by one of these early pioneers – Marie-Francoise Lanfant – in the person-al career story that she wrote for Nash’s ref lective book on early developments of the study of tourism. The following statement of her experience in her 1972 class on the sociology of international tourism (a class in which 28 different nationali-ties were represented) neatly illustrates the point (Lanfant, 2007: 123):

There in front of me I had French students, convinced of the value of free time and leisure (even more so among those with legitimate professions in view), and students from the Third World for whom the words free time and leisure had no place in their vocabulary, but who were nonetheless looking for the meanings associated with the power they sought to acquire. These last spoke of their countries and of themselves as confronted by the challenge involved in the penetration by international tourism. They spoke of circumstances in which they lived – of their home communities, which in some cases still had rudimentary conditions of existence. They spoke of their re-ligious beliefs, held together by sacred rites, which some no longer believed in. They spoke of their families that were still attached to the old traditions. And they spoke of themselves in the face of touristic intrusions. I can testify to troubling exchanges be-tween French students and foreign students with different points of view that created a split in the class. It came to the point where there were disputes provoked by racist sentiments. In this class the question of the Other rose to the surface with all its psy-chological force, and I was taken back.

Such a critical view of international tourism was enabled by the academic context of the period in which the tourism phenomenon was dominantly studied as part of general degrees in major social science disciplines that were generally inclined towards more critical views (e.g. sociology). This critical scholarship, however, be-gan to be overshadowed in the early 1980s by the increasing need for more busi-ness-oriented perspectives based on industry-driven approaches and ‘useful’ con-tributions of applied knowledge. Although business-oriented approaches existed in this early period, they did not appear to have a significantly visible scientific effect and were ‘quietly’ coexisting with non-applied/academic oriented points of view (Nash, 2007). This was soon to change. Although the non-business ap-proaches have continued to make their contributions, they are now more isolated in their diverse and dispersed disciplinary homes. In turn, the more interdiscipli-nary business studies approach has gained the power of greater visibility and ac-ceptance by academic administrators, colleagues, publishers, media and interna-tional bodies (e.g. world tourism organizations) (ibid.).

The dominance of the business studies approach: the 1980/1990s

In the early 1980s, as the economic crisis of oil and manufacturing industries in the OECD countries deepened, a necessary shift in the West towards service economies began to occur. Tourism had become an important issue on the politi-cal agenda, as it was now seen as a way to diversify and develop rural and urban

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economies, which resulted in a need for more industry-driven education. The cir-cle 2 discussions revealed the trend towards tourism being dominantly institution-alized in business and management schools. Consequently, the positivistic busi-ness-oriented approach concerned with marketing and management issues devel-oped mainly in this period, and since then it has been in the forefront in tourism studies. Hall et al. (2004) comment on this, arguing that an important number of research efforts have been put into the determination of industry approaches or the ‘supply side’ definition of tourism. Airey (2008) calls this period the ‘indus-trial stage’ or the ‘vocational/managerial’ stage and refers to the growing tourism sector and its corresponding employment needs and demand for students. The Tourism Management journal, which now claims to be amongst the top three tour-ism journals, was established in 1980. This journal created an awareness among tourism scholars of their relevance for the management of the tourist industry.

The American influence from which most of these management and market-ing perspectives derive could be noted in the increasingly inf luential Journal of Travel Research and its dominantly positivistic/quantitative studies of consumer behaviour in tourism. As a result, a whole range of applied theories had begun to emerge. For example, tourism typologies as explanatory models of behaviour relating to identity and motivation were used for marketing segmentation pur-poses (Mazanec, 1984; Moutinho, 1987; Woodside & Carr, 1988). In line with the dominant marketing and management perspectives, these contributions prima-rily valorized quantitative methodology only. The boom in tourism in Australasia in the early 1990s was ref lected in the increasing number of tourism manage-ment programmes and in the greater inf luence of industry and policy oriented research conducted in Australia and New Zealand (i.e. by such prolific writers as Michael Hall, Stephen Page and Chris Ryan). As the structure and nature of in-ternational tourism began to change, it created a need for various conceptualiza-tions of special interest tourism and various types of travel (e.g. backpackers, eco tourists, youth adventurers, wine tourists and volunteer travellers, to name but a few). Management and marketing perspectives have appeared in order to answer the questions ‘Who?,’ ‘What?,’ ‘Where?,’ ‘When? and ‘How much?’ in order to im-prove the efficiency of tourism exchange between destinations, business organi-zations and tourists (Calantone & Mazanec, 1991).

While it would be going beyond the scope of this chapter to cite all the key con-cepts and works that have accumulated as a result of the growth in the number of business-oriented academics over the last 40 years, it can be generally argued that their goal is to produce generalizations and typologies that can contribute to the management needs of the tourism industry and tourism policy makers. Dis-connected in general from any bigger societal or political questions, their theo-ries and concepts can be distinguished by their vocabulary of neoliberal ideology that is dedicated to the promotion of market economies. Their concerns generally comprise such issues as consumer satisfaction, product development opportuni-ties, destination images and tourist perceptions, tourism typologies and market

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segmentation, marketing planning, peak performance delivery in service, adver-tising and strategic market planning (Calantone & Mazanec, 1991).

It is important to note that business-oriented approaches have been cross-fertilizing concepts and theories with other fields and disciplines, particularly leisure and recreation studies, and that this has led to some important insights into the management of public lands and services (Smith & Godbey, 1991). In the continuing tradition of producing applied knowledge, more recent concerns have been related to tourism in Asia and Eastern Europe (as important emerging markets and destinations), ranging from issues of sustainability and the physical and social carrying capacity of various tourist sites (e.g. beaches, islands, herit-age sites), to issues of security and terrorism. While the range of their research interests grows, one consistency remains: business-oriented points of view deny any subjectivity in their epistemological stance, claiming only the objectivist ap-proach based on quantitative methods of generalization (Riley & Love, 2000). In order to satisfy their key purpose – namely to support and reproduce the existing socio-economic system and to satisfy the needs of the tourism industry and tour-ism policy – their research goals are typically positivistic, namely to measure, de-scribe, predict and generalize. While in a typically post-positivistic way the busi-ness point of view can overlap with the interpretative paradigm of searching for an understanding and producing exploratory studies, it is the vocabulary of ap-plied knowledge that reveals their epistemological positioning.

It is important to note, however, that despite the predominance of business approaches, many disciplines have continued to be interested in tourism as a re-search context for bigger questions of politics, economy, culture and society, and are thus widening the divide in the TS field. Tribe (1997; 2004) captures this di-vide by using a model in which the field of tourism (TF) equals TF1+TF2, where TF1 represents the more positivistic and non-critical business management ori-ented approach and TF2 is the more interpretive and critical, albeit dispersed, multidisciplinary non-business/social science approach. However, as the ‘second generation of non-business oriented scholars’ had begun to emerge in greater numbers in the 2000s (and to join the first generation), they have started to inte-grate social science perspectives into foreground the new debates and approach-es – a move that Tribe (2005) describes as a turning point in the field of tourism studies. He claims that a sign of increasing maturity is evidenced by more ref lex-ivity and new tourism research “which offers a counter-balance to tourism as a business practice and which encourages researchers to follow innovative and rad-ical lines of inquiry” (2005: 5). To fulfil our objective of historical mapping, it is this period of the new turn that will be looked at in our last discussion section.

Life begins at 403: the maturation phase of the TS field

It has been claimed that the maturation of tourism research is evidenced by a whole range of initiatives and greater organization, made visible through new

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journals, articles, networks and conferences (Tribe, 2005; Franklin, 2007; Airey, 2008). For example, Tourist Studies and Tourism and Cultural Change were estab-lished (in 2000 and 2003, respectively) to promote critical scholarship and in-novative methodological and theoretical approaches in contrast to the positivistic and more quantitative and empirical nature of business management studies. In the efforts to build a more integrated interdisciplinary field of tourism studies (Jamal & Kim, 2005), works have emerged that are innovative in that they analyse tourism as a powerful agent connected to critical socio-political and economic issues of sustainability, issues of mobility, social exclusion and injustice, herit-age, governance, migration, urban–rural relations, nature conservation, human and spatial marginalization, globalization, political representation, cultural com-modification, consumption and social identities. The greater engagement with tourism in the context of those issues by prominent social and cultural theorists (John Urry, Chris Rojek, Barbara Kirschenblatt-Gimblett, etc.) has given greater impetus to the social science trajectory, producing various turns that have been variously labelled according to their particular agenda. For example, the Critical Tourism Studies (CTS) network has officially proclaimed the critical turn in tour-ism studies through a series of conferences, books and journal articles, and has now loosely gathered around 150 scholars in order to promote more interpreta-tive and critical modes of inquiry in relation to the dominant positivist approach of the tourism management school (Ateljevic et al., 2005; 2007; Pritchard et al., 2007; Ateljevic et al., 2008). On the other hand, Aitchison (2006) speaks about the ‘cultural turn’ through which she recognizes the greater engagement of TS scholars with the cultural theory of post-structuralist perspectives, and who deal with issues of identity, cultural representations and symbolism. Hannam (2008) advances the notion of the ‘mobilities turn,’ and has recently established a new journal called Mobilities (together with John Urry), arguing that that the concept of mobilities helps us to understand global tourism in the context of other social and spatial travel processes.

While many theoretically oriented scholars are dispersed across different net-works and social fractions (e.g. RC 50 ISA; the International Geographical Union Group; Academy for the International Study of Tourism (AIST); CTS; ATLAS), it can be observed that in many ways the earlier tradition of first-generation criti-cal scholars has been strengthened and extended to lift the interdisciplinary field of tourism studies to a new level, which some call a post-disciplinary approach (Coles et al., 2005). In their efforts to explore new theoretical grounds, Coles and colleagues (ibid.) wish to disentangle tourism studies from its current definition and research approach in order to lift it to an open yet integrated field that is concerned with learning rather than disciplines. Hollinshead’s (2008) concept of tourism as a world-making phenomenon similarly emphasizes the potential of post-disciplinary research outlooks for tourism scholars and their need to move beyond hard domain boundaries of closed disciplinary and even interdisciplinary systems of analysis.

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It is important to note an important aspect of these new developments. The early beginnings of the multidisciplinary critical social science interests in the tourism phenomenon had a weak institutionalization that caused their dis-persed and less visible position in relation to the growing and more prominent business studies camp (Hall et al., 2004). On the other hand, the more recent critically engaged tourism research has greater visibility as evidenced by the greater organization of an increasing number of interdisciplinary scholars who are based in business schools and/or did their Masters/PhDs in tourism stud-ies/management. Their increasing numbers represent ‘an institutional power’; they often lead or join this trend in order to bring purely theoretical and disci-plinary based preoccupations together with ‘the real world’ concerns (the sec-ond author illustrates the case in point, as noted in the prologue). In the process of these critical deconstructions, a whole variety of philosophical, theoretical, methodological and political questions have been raised. Philosophically and epistemologically ‘new’ or critical tourism research is critical of the structural-ist approaches of the earlier modernist and colonial perspectives, allowing the greater prominence of sub-paradigms such as post-structuralist, neo-Marxist, critical realist, feminist and postmodern approaches. It goes beyond the essen-tialist dualisms such as core-periphery, first-third world, mind-body, subject-object, us-them, feminine-masculine, self-Other. It is more than simply a way of knowing. It is a way of being, a commitment to tourism inquiry that is pro-social justice, pro-equality and anti-oppression: it is an academy of hope. It tran-scends the ontological shift and paradigmatic transformations (Ateljevic et al., 2007). It is about raising questions of social ref lexivity and researcher position-ality in the entanglements of their academic and social structures (Ateljevic et al., 2005; Nash, 2007).

Theoretically, it introduces an exciting array of new concepts, theories and approaches that creates fertile cross-/inter-/post-disciplinary grounds for the TS field. Although this might be simplifying matters, good examples are actor-net-work theory, embodiment and performance, gender analysis, non-representation-al theory, Foucauldian studies of power and discourses, post-colonial theories, world-making and mobilities, etc. In other words, these innovative works take tourism to the forefront of social science as a research context in which the ques-tions of seeing, making, experiencing and sustaining the world have been ex-plored. As a consequence, innovative and progressive methods and methodolo-gies have been promoted, such as constructivism, ethno-methodology, projective techniques, oral history, life-course analysis, the use of the survey method and the solicited diary in feminist research, memory work, discourse analysis and au-to-ethnography, to name a few (Ateljevic et al., 2007). In its endeavour to reveal academic and social structures, the movement has an important political agenda to emancipate and promote social justice and equality; to move from the efforts of marking a difference to making a difference (Aitchison, 2007) in order to create a truly just and sustainable world.

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Despite the maturation signs, the three most important future challeng-es faced by the TS field can be observed at this point: to increase the efforts to bring about a serious dialogue between business and non-business studies ap-proaches in order to bring together pure theoretical preoccupations and em-pirical concerns of necessary social change; to change the public conception of tourism as a frivolous service industry that mostly creates negative environ-mental, social and cultural impacts; and to move beyond the still dominant Eurocentric perspectives and develop conceptualizations of tourisms that in-clude multiple cultural differences, worldviews and research activities that re-f lect and recognize the plurality of all practices, positions and insights (Pritch-ard & Morgan, 2007). In these times when the social sciences and the humani-ties are urged “to become sites for critical conversations about democracy, race, gender, class, nation-states, globalization, freedom and community” (Denzin & Lincoln, 2005:3), tourism social science – which represents one of the biggest contemporary phenomena of human movement and world-making – ought to respond. Pritchard and Morgan (2007: 26) reaffirm this opportunity for the tourism academy “to become an agency for positive transformation and to find more spaces for dialogue, ref lexivity, equality, empowerment and co-created knowledge in our scholarship.”

Conclusion

In these times when we social scientists are asked to redefine our core aims, “to decide how [we] can regain a sense of common purpose and to develop a higher and more respected profile in public life” (Sayer, 2001: 83), we return to the ap-peal set out at the beginning of this chapter. In relation to the broader social sci-ence audience, we have illustrated how the nexus of individual actions and so-cial, political and economic forces create our academic needs, fields and institu-tions, which are becoming increasingly hybrid and interdisciplinary. In doing so, we have indicated two key issues. First, the positionality of interdisciplinary scholars and the need to create an awareness of academic ‘strategy of audienc-ing.’ Second, we have reaffirmed the notion of ‘no value-free truth’ and how the knowledge force-field of academic position, ends, person, rules and ideology in-f luences the creation of academic knowledge. In terms of the appeal to tourism scholars, we have pointed to the need to pause and provide some general sense of direction in terms of how our field has been formed. The aim of presenting an overview of the general trends and the main literatures was to provide in-sight into the main directions, issues, terminologies, paradigms, concepts and approaches that have created the field as it is today. The socio-historical decon-struction of tourism studies over the last 40 years was not intended as a detailed map, but as a general navigation system to guide us through its prolific outputs and expose the current challenges we face.

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Notes

1. The OECD brings together the governments of countries that are “committed to de-mocracy and the market economy from around the world in order to promote goals of supporting sustainable economic growth; boosting employment; raising living stand-ards; maintaining financial stability; assisting other countries’ economic development and contribute to growth in world trade” (as stated on their website). The Convention on the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development was signed in the early 1960s by 21 countries, namely Austria, Belgium, Canada, Denmark, France, Germany, Greece, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Japan, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Norway, Portugal, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Turkey, the UK and the USA. Since then, a fur-ther 10 countries have become members.

2. The World Bank became the major financier of tourism-related projects. Between 1969 and 1979, it supported 24 tourism projects in 18 countries with loans and credits from the International Development Association (IDA) totalling some $459 million. These were for resort developments along the Mediterranean coast and in Romania, Bulgaria, Tunisia, Thailand, Mexico and the Caribbean (Pleumarom 1994).

3. ‘Life begins at 40’ has been borrowed from an article by David Airey (2008), in which he argues that tourism education has finally matured after 40 years of existence.

Acknowledgement

The authors should like to acknowledge the editing feedback and assistance provided by Marjolein Kloek.

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10 Systematizing Scientific Knowledge in

Sustainable Tourism, Poverty Reduction

and Nature Conservation

Valentina Tassone

The dominant discourse on sustainable development has drawn attention in recent years to the need to link nature conservation and poverty alleviation is-

sues. It has become clear that natural areas cannot exist in isolation from the hu-man systems that share the same space, especially in developing countries where natural resources are the major assets on which poor communities rely for their survival (MEA, 2005). As a consequence, policies, plans and strategies oriented towards poverty alleviation and environmental conservation have been given top priority on the international agenda (e.g. MEA, 2005; NEPAD, 2001; UN, 2007; World Bank, 2000).

Nevertheless, knowledge about the theories, roles and contribution of tourism arrangements, policies and plans with regard to these issues appears to be going through a process of debate and experimentation. Research studies seem to be scattered and there is a clear need to systematize the knowledge produced. Some recent studies that analysed the making and evolution of tourism academic knowl-edge have provided some interesting facts about trends and productivity in scien-tific research (Xiao & Smith, 2006a, 2006b; Jogaratnam et al., 2005). However, these studies examined tourism research from a broad perspective; they did not specifically look at the knowledge generated in the field of tourism, nature conser-vation and poverty reduction.

This paper addresses that gap. By analysing 67 scientific papers on tourism, poverty alleviation and nature conservation issues that were published in 15 differ-ent social science journals in 2003–2006, this paper provides an indication of the direction of past scientific research work and explores research trends, gaps and opportunities while taking into account societal need. This analysis is a continua-tion of previous research (see Tassone et al., 2007; Tassone & van der Duim, 2008) that focused on the development of a research agenda on sustainable tourism.

I first present the methodology used for mapping scientific knowledge. I then identify and classify the main research topics addressed by past studies. This is followed by an examination of the modes of knowledge production. I also present a framework to cluster the knowledge produced according to the underlying fo-

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cus and key objectives of past research. Then, based on the findings described in the previous sections, I discuss societal needs and future research opportunities. I end the paper with a conclusion.

Mapping scientific knowledge: the method

In order to identify the state of knowledge in tourism, poverty reduction and na-ture conservation, I analysed a number of studies that dealt with these issues. Time constraints and practicalities imposed a restriction on the types and number of studies I could examine. Considering the scientific focus of my analysis, I de-cided to scrutinize research papers published in a number of scientific journals in the field of social science. I did not take into account research studies published elsewhere (e.g. in books, conference proceedings or magazines).

After examining a number of scientific journals that represent the richness and variety of perspectives and disciplines within social science, I selected 15 jour-nals, including top journals in the tourism field and journals that deal with sus-tainability, global change issues and a variety of related social, environmental and economic issues. These journals are: Annals of Tourism Research, Journal of Sus-tainable Tourism, Journal of Tourism Research, Journal of Travel Research, Tour-ism Economics, Tourism Management, Tourist Studies and also Biodiversity and Conservation, Ecological Economics, Environmental and Development Econom-ics, Environment Development and Sustainability, Environmental Monitoring and Assessment, Journal of Environmental Management, International Environ-mental Management and World Development.

I then selected a number of articles published in these journals in 2003–2006 by using a number of keywords that directly or indirectly address some typical is-sues in tourism, poverty reduction and nature protection. The keywords were cho-sen by considering the key issues raised and discussed by researchers and rep-resentatives of international governmental and non-governmental organizations at the International Conference on Sustainable Tourism in Breda, in December 2006. The articles selected are those that discuss in a general or specific manner tourism issues related to sustainability, poverty reduction and nature conserva-tion, and that contain at least one of the following words/phrases in the title and/or list of keywords: sustainability, community, stakeholder, poverty, nature, envi-ronment, protected area, impact, management, decision-making, social, cultural, fund-raising, market mechanisms. Thus, a paper was not included in the analysis if, for example, it contains one of the words listed above but does not refer to the issues discussed in this book. Time constraints meant that I could not take into account other important issues and aspects (pollution problems, climate change, specific sea-coastal tourism issues, city tourism, etc.) that are gaining more and more priority on the research agenda.

I selected 67 articles and then sorted them according to the main theme to which they refer. I identified four themes, namely 1) tourism and poverty reduc-

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tion, 2) tourism and nature conservation, 3) tourism, poverty reduction and nature conservation, and 4) tourism and sustainability.

Theme 1 (tourism and poverty reduction) concerns the relation between tour-ism and poverty issues. Here, ‘poverty’ includes not only the economic dimension, but also the fair distribution of resources, gender equality, education, community involvement, group cohesion, and any other tourism-related social or political ar-rangements and issues that may play a role in the life of the poor. Although the relation between tourism, poverty and nature is of particular importance in devel-oping countries, this analysis also includes studies on tourism and social poverty related problems of developed nations, although it does not refer to issues related to the economic development of these developed countries as a whole.

Theme 2 (tourism and nature conservation) encompasses all studies dealing with the relation between tourism and nature protection. The term nature protec-tion refers to the protection of the natural environment comprising animals, mi-cro-organisms and vegetation. It refers to the preservation of threatened species, the conservation of scarce resources, and the restoration or protection of ecosys-tems and biodiversity upon which human and other life depends. Specific air and water issues are not included in this analysis.

Theme 3 (tourism, poverty reduction and nature conservation) concerns a the-oretical and practical investigation of the links, potentials and outcomes of the re-lation between tourism, poverty reduction and nature protection.

Theme 4 (tourism and sustainability) concerns sustainable tourism in general and includes concepts, theories and values that are related to sustainability. Papers on this theme may also discuss specific issues related to nature protection and poverty, but the accent lies on sustainability issues.

This analysis provides an overview of past trends and current gaps and needs in tourism research that may guide and inspire a future research agenda. Although it does not provide a picture of all the knowledge ever produced in the field of tour-ism, nature conservation and poverty reduction, the studies selected do provide a suitable representation of research studies carried out in this field in recent years.

Domains of knowledge

After selecting the papers according to the words/phrases and themes detailed above, I sorted them by topic, namely domain of knowledge. Only one main topic addressed in each paper was taken into account. Thus, if a study simultaneous-ly addresses more than one topic, the study was classified according to the main topic discussed. I identified and classified domains of knowledge within each of the selected themes by analysing the specific key research questions and aims that each paper addresses. Table 1 presents an overview of the research topics of the selected studies. According to my analysis, tourism and poverty reduction (theme 1) appears to be overlooked. Two main domains of research were identified. Some studies deal with the ex post evaluation of tourism impacts on livelihood and main-

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ly focus on assessing the sociocultural and socio-economic impacts of tourism. Other studies deal with communities’ participation, examine typologies of par-ticipation in tourism development, and investigate opportunities for the develop-ment of tourism through community participation and cooperation and partner-ships between local areas.

Table 1: Domains of academic knowledge (Source: based on Tassone & van der Duim, 2008)

According to my analysis, tourism and poverty reduction (theme 1) appears to be overlooked. Two main domains of research were identified. Some studies deal with the ex post evaluation of tourism impacts on livelihood and mainly focus on assessing the sociocultural and socio-economic impacts of tourism. Other stud-ies deal with communities’ participation, examine typologies of participation in

Theme 1: Tourism and poverty reduction studies

Ex post impact evaluation Clifton & Benson, 2006; Dyer et al., 2003; Nyaupane et al., 2006 ; Saayman & Saayman, 2006;

4

Community participation Briedenhann & Wickens, 2004; Tosun, 2006 2

Theme 2: Tourism and nature conservation

Ethics and discourses Holden, 2005; Jamal et al., 2003; Shultis & Way, 2005 3 Ex post impact evaluation Hill & Pickering, 2006; Kuvan, 2005; Li et al., 2006; Li et

al., 2005; Priskin, 2003. 5

Management Brown, 2006; Buultjens et al., 2005; Cheng et al., 2005; Gios et al, 2006; Henderson, 2005; Kenneth et al., 2004; Kruger, 2005; Li, W., 2004; Okello & Kiringe, 2004; Phillips & Jones, 2006; Sorice et al., 2006; Tisdell & Wilson, 2005

12

Environmental performance of tourism enterprises

Clarke, 2004; Herremans et al. 2005; Spenceley, 2006; van der Duim & van Marwijk, 2006

4

Financing mechanisms Alpizar, 2006 1 Stakeholders’ roles, values and partnerships

Buckley, 2004; De Oliveira, 2005; Fairweather et al., 2005; Fennell & Butler, 2003; Lewis & Newsome, 2003; Medina, 2005; Naidoo & Adamowicz, 2005; Nyaupane et al., 2004; Svoronou & Holden, 2006; Wurzinger & Johansson, 2006

10

Theme 3: Tourism, poverty reduction and nature conservation

Ex post and ex ante impact evaluation

Ex post: Gossling, 2003; Kontogeorgopoulos, 2005; Silori, 2004; Stone & Wall, 2004

Ex ante: Mbaiwa, 2004

5

Management Fennel & Weaver, 2005; Hawkins, 2004; Northcote & Macbeth, 2006; Tsaur, 2006

4

Stakeholders’ roles and involvement

Adams & Infield, 2003; Sithole, 2005; Li, 2006; Li, Y., 2004 4

Communities’ attitudes and intentions

Kuvan & Akan, 2005; Lai & Nepal, 2006; Sekhar, 2003 3

Theme 4: Tourism and sustainability

Concepts and approaches Choi & Sirakaya, 2006; Farrell et al., 2005; Ko, 2005; 3 Applications and methods to evaluate sustainability

Cottrell et al., 2004; Gezici, 2006; Jamal & Tanase, 2005; Johnston & Tyrrell, 2005; Mbaiwa, 2005; Mycoo, 2006; van der Duim & Caalders, 2004

7

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Tourism and nature conservation (theme 2) appears to be a well studied theme. A number of papers focus on ethics and discourses, discuss the philosophical changes in the conceptions of protected areas and conservation principles in re-lation to tourism management, and present a conceptual analysis of human re-lationships and the natural world. Impact evaluation studies deal with the ex post assessment of the impacts of tourism projects, policies and plans on natural re-sources. Other studies focus on management issues while dealing with impacts in a more indirect way. They analyse the strengths and weakness of management measures, identify new management strategies, and discuss the problems and consequences of tourism management. Some researchers discuss the environ-mental performance of tourism enterprises and the sustainability of these en-terprises. One study dealing with financing mechanisms examines the pricing of protected areas in nature-based tourism. Another group of papers investigate stakeholders’ roles, values and partnerships. They focus on the role of stakehold-ers in planning and decision-making, look at stakeholders’ values, perspectives and behaviours related to tourism, investigate people’s preferences and willing-ness to pay for protected areas, and discuss partnerships among stakeholders.

Within the theme tourism, poverty reduction and nature conservation (theme 3), a number of studies deal with the economic, sociocultural and environmental impacts of tourism. The majority of authors focus on the ex post evaluation of tour-ism impacts. Some studies discuss tourism management issues in relation to the environment and to poverty. A number of papers deal with stakeholders’ roles and involvement in decision-making and tourism development. Communities’ atti-tudes and intentions towards potential tourism development are also investigated.

Finally, the theme tourism and sustainability (theme 4) includes a few research studies that describe concepts and approaches to sustainability, and some others that focus on methods to evaluate the sustainability of projects, plans and policies.

Modes of knowledge production

The academic research agenda and the output of a researcher or research institute are often a result of complex negotiations between the agendas of universities, financing institutes, conservation and development organizations, international communities, governmental agencies, the tourism industry, and the theoretical and paradigmatic interests and programmes of the researcher and the scientific community in which he or she participates.

Although in practice we thus have to deal with boundaries that are difficult to draw, we can make an analytical distinction between two ways in which the selec-tion of a research topic is made (see also Lengkeek & Platenkamp, 2006). First, a wide variety of practical concerns may present topics for research. In this mode of knowledge production, research is primarily problem oriented. The knowledge produced by research is oriented towards possible applications and use. This type of knowledge production often accepts the socio-political, economic or cultural

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context both as a given and as a source of problems. Second, an equally wide range of topics for research derive from scientific and intellectual interest. Here, the re-search is concept oriented, that is, oriented towards the development of theory, concepts and new methodologies, which are intended to enable us to explain so-cietal phenomenon in a more positivistic tradition, or to interpret and understand meanings in a more phenomenological perspective. Here, concepts are abstracted from the daily context, as far as such is possible.

In this paper, the mode of knowledge production of the selected studies is dis-cussed by classifying these studies according to the problem-oriented or concept-oriented mode. The results of this research indicate that about 76% of the papers analysed are problem oriented. These studies focus on practical tourism oriented matters in relation to poverty reduction, nature conservation and sustainability. They often aim to increase the clarity about and understanding of specific problem-oriented questions and issues, to assess the impacts and the effectiveness of policies and projects (e.g. Clifton & Benson, 2006; Hill & Pickering, 2006; Li et al., 2006; Tisdell & Wilson, 2005), to identify specific management strategies that bring sus-tainable outcomes (e.g. Alpizar, 2006; Phillips & Jones, 2006; Sorice et al., 2006; Stone & Wall), to analyse stakeholders’ relationships and values (e.g. Brown, 2006; De Oliviera, 2005; Gios et al., 2006; Lewis & Newsome, 2003; Naidoo & Adamo-wics, 2005; Sithole, 2005; Svoronou & Holden, 2006) and to investigate the out-comes and prospects of partnerships among various actors (e.g. Buckley, 2004). Although a remarkable number of papers deal with problem-oriented research, the results appear fragmented, scarcely comparable and limited in scope. These stud-ies mainly focus on the application of existing approaches, such as regression anal-ysis, contingent valuation, the Delphi method and GIS applications.

About 9% of the papers are concept-oriented. Some of them focus on ethical issues, discourses, philosophical reflections about the role of protected areas and the relation between humans and nature, and conceptual approaches to manag-ing natural assets (Jamal et al., 2003; Holden 2005; Hughey et al., 2004; Shultis & Way, 2005). A number of authors discuss concepts and aspects of sustainability science and its evolution and meaning (Farrel et al., 2005; Johnston and Tyrrell, 2005). The majority of the studies focus on the relation between tourism and na-ture and the concept of sustainability, but there are no studies discussing poverty issues, the multidimensional nature of poverty or equity matters. In addition, lit-tle attention is paid to the development of innovative approaches and frameworks.

At first sight, there seems to be a gap between problem-oriented and concept-oriented modes of knowledge production, not only in relation to how knowledge is produced but also in terms of outcome. Problem-oriented research may be per-ceived as useful and as able to provide concrete answers and solutions to poli-cy and daily issues, but may not necessarily contribute to the advancement of science. On the other hand, concept-oriented research may be scientifically ap-pealing but may be perceived as too abstract or as practically irrelevant. However, this dichotomy is partly false as the two modes of knowledge production are and

164

should be closely linked and interrelated. The development of new theories and models as well as reflective thoughts about concepts and methods can provide the philosophical, conceptual and methodological ground upon which practical research can be implemented. At the same time, concrete results in the field can inform science by identifying societal needs and current theoretical and methodo-logical constraints that require attention and further investigation.

Figure 1 Geographical distribution of case studies

The analysis suggests that about 15% of the selected studies are the result of a particular blending of problem-oriented and concept-oriented research. This mix shows the existing link and inter-relation between the two modes of knowl-edge production. These studies mainly focus on conceptually discussing new ap-proaches, frameworks or methods while presenting them in specific contexts or by means of particular case studies. Some of these papers examine the relation between tourism and poverty or between tourism and nature (or a combination thereof) and investigate the nature of stakeholders’ interactions and partnerships (e.g. Fennell & Butler, 2003; Fennel & Weaver, 2005; Gossling, 2003; Medina, 2005; Spenceley, 2006; Tosun, 2006). Other authors examine the multidimen-sionality of the sustainability concept and sustainability evaluation issues (e.g. Choi & Sirakaya, 2006; Farrel et al., 2005; Ko, 2005).

The majority of problem-oriented studies and of those that are a mix of prob-lem-oriented and concept-oriented research focus on the application of specific case studies in a number of regions. The results depicted in figure 1 suggest that case studies that examine tourism and poverty issues are highly overlooked. They are completely absent from some critical regions that are suffering from serious poverty issues (e.g. Asia, South America and Central America). Tourism and na-ture conservation research is spread all over the world, especially across Oceania,

0

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Europe Oceania Asia Africa South America

Central America

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Sustainable Tourism

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Europe and Asia, while sustainable tourism studies focus especially on Europe. Fi-nally, integrated studies on tourism, poverty and nature conservation have mainly been carried out in Asia and Africa.

Clustering knowledge production

After classifying the research studies according to their themes, main topics and modes of knowledge production, I classified and structured them into clusters ac-cording to the underlying focus and key objectives of the research reported on in each study. A variety of conceptual frameworks can be used to examine and struc-ture the knowledge produced, but any clustering is arbitrary and imperfect. After analysing the research approaches and methods presented in each paper, examin-ing the research topics discussed and struggling for some time with organizing the knowledge generated, I established that all papers could fit into one of the four clusters presented in figure 2, namely valuation, impact assessment and manage-ment, stakeholder processes, and critical analysis. Clusters are often linked to one another and may support and complement each other.

Figure 2: Clustering knowledge production. Source: adapted from Meyer, 2006 and Tassone et al., 2007

Valuation studies

Such studies include approaches and results that are related to the estimation of values that certain goods, services or experiences have for, for example, individu-als or society. The process and the results of such valuation studies depend on the perspective considered. From the economic perspective, valuation studies often focus on assigning a monetary value to goods and services through market price when feasible or through other indirect methods (see e.g. Pearce et al., 2006).

From the ecological point of view, the valuation process focuses on identifying and measuring the role and importance of the attributes or functions of an ecosys-

Figure 3: Clustering knowledge production

Source: adapted from Meyer, 2006 and Tassone et al., 2007

Critical analysis

Stakeholders Issues & Processes

Valuation

Impact Assessment & Management

Sustainable Tourism, Poverty Alleviation & Nature Conservation

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tem (see e.g. de Groot, 1992; de Groot et al., 2002). In sociology, research focuses on the qualitative analysis of social and cultural values, exploring tourists’ experi-ence values of nature, etc. (see e.g. Lengkeek, 2001). My findings reveal that valu-ation analysis has been overlooked in tourism studies. The few papers that do deal with valuation focus mainly on investigating ecological values. Valuation is often used to estimate the benefits provided by natural resources, which can be useful for the development of appropriate tourism management strategies (e.g. Brown, 2006; Gios et al., 2006; Naaido & Adamowicz, 2005). Not much methodological innovation is produced in this cluster.

Impact assessment and management studies

These studies focus on the quantitative and qualitative assessment of the impacts of certain strategies and on management issues. Research included in the previ-ous cluster (valuation) differs from research on impact assessment and manage-ment, although the two types of studies are very often interlinked. While valuation studies focus on, for example, identifying and assigning the ecological, social and economic values that a national park has, impact assessment and management studies take advantage of this information but focus mainly on assessing the posi-tive or negative consequences of certain arrangements, projects and plans in that specific park and strive to identify good management strategies.

Impact assessment and management studies include a variety of ecological, economic and sociological oriented studies. In the case of potential plans (i.e. ex ante evaluation studies), they may facilitate the identification of management and planning strategies leading to the desirable outcome; in the case of current and past projects (i.e. ex post evaluation studies), they may highlight the consequenc-es and propose changes. Some approaches available in ecology – environmental risk assessment, carrying capacity calculation, ecological footprint, environmental impact assessment, etc. – can be useful when assessing environmental impacts and identifying good environmental management strategies. In economics, the various approaches – such as cost-benefit analysis or cost-effectiveness analysis – are aimed mainly at assessing the impacts in terms of economic profitability and identifying management strategies that are the most profitable or the cheapest.

From a social perspective, studies focus on the development of socially mean-ingful management strategies, on the analysis of the impacts on society, and on the way people live, work, play, relate to one another, organize to meet their needs and generally cope as members of society. Examples of social methods are social impact assessment and social risk assessment.

From the sustainability point of view, the ecological, economic and social per-spectives are considered simultaneously. In this case, approaches and frameworks (e.g. sustainability indicators and multi-criteria analysis) may look at issues from a integrated point of view by taking into account the different perspectives. The remarkable number of impact and management studies indicates the growing so-

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cial concern about the effects of tourism and how to effectively manage tourism. Research in this field is mainly driven by case studies and there is sometimes an attempt to integrate ecological, economic and social approaches and methods.

However, the studies are scattered, empirical research is lacking, and existing approaches lack a coherent framework around which natural assets and poverty issues can be clustered and managed consistently. Integrated approaches that look holistically at the various aspects of tourism and the variety of its consequences should be further investigated. Monitoring, evaluation and management frame-works should be further developed in order to take into account the complexity and uncertainty related to the tourism system. It should be examined what poten-tial value the science of complexity has for tourism management and governmen-tal and non-governmental policies. Research could also focus on adaptive manage-ment as a way of dealing with uncertainty and unpredictability. Furthermore, re-search should look not only at the overall benefits derived from tourism, but also at equity issues and the distribution of environmental, economic and social bene-fits among stakeholders and especially among the poor. Additionally, studies focus almost entirely on the ex post evaluation of arrangements and policies; therefore, a future research agenda should include ex ante evaluation studies that can provide useful information when establishing new plans and strategies.

Stakeholder issues and processes

These refer to issues among stakeholders and to processes that bring different stakeholders into dialogue and constructive engagement. The valuation and impact assessment and management studies just discussed often directly or indirectly take into account stakeholders’ preferences, opinions, needs, desires, well-being, etc. Stakeholders are actors that can have different forms, sizes and capacities; they can be individuals, organizations or unorganized groups. Issues and processes among stakeholders can differ according to the objectives (e.g. policy-making and imple-mentation issues, natural resource management, distribution of resources), the scale (local, national, global), the type of participants involved (local communities, business, government, NGOs, scientists), etc. This analysis suggests that the ma-jority of research studies in this cluster focus mainly on investigating the roles and perspectives of various actors in tourism. It is clear that actors (nature conserva-tion organizations, development organizations, market parties, governmental bod-ies, etc.) can differently give meaning to and deal with tourism and sustainability.

In other words, the actors might have different modes of ordering (van der Duim, 2005). In order to contribute to global change, future research should in-vestigate and identify new arrangements that integrate the different perspectives of stakeholders, new types of institutional mechanisms, and new forms of multi-actor and multilevel governance. Therefore, innovative forms of global–local in-teractions, public–private partnerships, ecotourism ventures, pro-poor tourism strategies, etc. need to be found and set in place. These arrangements can contrib-

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ute to reordering tourism by translating poverty and nature conservation into the process of tourism development, and vice versa. Furthermore, attention should be paid to the role of the poor in potential partnerships and arrangements. Modes of participation of poor communities in the decision-making process according to the local socio-political constraints and existing institutional arrangements should be further investigated. Research should also explore various ways to socially and politically empower local communities.

Critical analysis

Critical analysis examines sustainable tourism, poverty alleviation and nature con-servation and the previously mentioned clusters from a critical perspective, mak-ing use of insights from, for example, political economy, political geography, po-litical ecology and political sociology. Here, disciplines intersect with political sci-ences by conceptualizing the relation between tourism, nature conservation and poverty alleviation in terms of more general development theories, and by linking this relation to political, economic and social structures and relations of power, politics, systems of government and economic organization and, more recently, processes of globalization and complexity issues.

The work of Farrell and Twining-Ward (2005) and that of Shultis and Way (2005) are examples of critical studies in tourism research. Future research should focus on critically examining tourism and its role for nature conservation and pov-erty; it should especially focus on the role of tourism for poverty and the multi-ple dimensions of poverty, considering that there is a lack of studies that address these issues. Studies should also focus on investigating the evolution of the con-cept and meaning of sustainability for tourism, and vice versa.

Figure 3 shows the number of times (‘frequency’) that a specific cluster is dis-cussed in the papers I analysed. Each paper may refer to one or more clusters.

Figure 3: Distribution of papers according to research clusters

0

5

10

15

20

25

30

35

Valuation Impact assessment and

management

Stakeholders issues and processes

Critical analysis

Tourism-Poverty

Tourism-Nature

Sustainable Tourism

Tourism-Poverty-Nature

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Societal needs and opportunities in research

The vast array of problem-oriented research and that driven by case studies might at first give the impression that the research carried out in the past years in sus-tainable tourism, poverty alleviation and nature conservation was very much fo-cused on contributing to enriching knowledge about concrete societal issues and needs. A more comprehensive examination of the topics, the research questions and the findings of the papers analysed revealed that several major societal and global concerns were very much overlooked in the studies.

There is a lack of studies that focus on and discuss the contribution of tour-ism to the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs), namely the eradication of extreme poverty and hunger (MDG 1), gender equality (MDG 3), environmental sustainability (MDG 7) and the development of global partnership (MDG 8). In 2007 – that is, at the midpoint between the adoption of the Millennium Develop-ment Goals in 2000 and the target date for achieving them (2015) – the UN clearly stated that some countries, for example sub-Saharan Africa, were not on track to achieve any of the Goals. In these areas, tourism can play an important role in the achievement of the Goals because of its already significant contribution to African economies and because tourism in Africa is proving increasingly competitive and the long-term prospects seem to be very positive. For example, Africa’s compara-tive advantage in wilderness and wildlife is likely to increase in value as such as-sets become scarcer globally (Ashley & Mitchell, 2005).

Although UN policy makers and researchers stress that the capacity to system-atically measure, monitor and report on the progress of the various initiatives is at the heart of a sustainable development policy and the achievement of the MDGs (Nature, 2007; NEPAD, 2001; UN, 2007), there is a lack of monitoring and evalu-ation studies. Research in the tourism field is needed to investigate, monitor and evaluate the actual or potential contribution of tourism to the achievement of any of these specific objectives.

Another important aspect is the need for comparative analysis across destina-tions. The literature analysed predominantly consists of case studies on unique destinations in various regions. They provide results and reflections on manage-ment, impacts or other specific issues in a certain area. Although it is clear that the constraints, challenges and opportunities posed by tourism differ across loca-tions, it is evident that NGOs and other organizations are eager to increase their knowledge about a number of critical factors that influence the outcome of tour-ism for poverty alleviation and nature conservation. By taking into account the specific institutional, socio-political, economic and ecological contexts and inter-relations in which tourism projects are developed and implemented, research should attempt to identify and isolate underlying factors across destinations that contributed to the effectiveness of tourism for poverty and for nature, or failed to do so. Rather than providing a fixed set of rules, comparative analysis can provide a set of options and elements upon which to reflect before the implementation

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of certain tourism arrangements and plans. There is a methodological need to elaborate new comparative approaches. Meaningful frameworks for comparative analysis that take into account conceptual and methodological issues, limitations and constraint, while delivering the benefits of such analysis, should be developed and carefully investigated (Baum, 1999). For this purpose, tourism research could build on the experience gained in other fields within social science – such as poli-tics, sociology and public policy, which have invested heavily in the development and application of comparative methodologies (Pearce, 1993).

For a number of years, societal organizations have been pointing out that tour-ism can play a very important role in providing sustainable financing for protected areas and creating incentive measures for managing natural resources and sup-porting the poor. NGOs and other organizations have made some attempts to in-vestigate and evaluate current financing mechanisms and to identify new ones that can support both the poor and nature (Landell-Mills & Porras, 2002; Font, 2004; WWF, 2006). As regards financing opportunities to manage natural re-source and protect nature, not much has been done to develop innovative types of payment schemes, that is, schemes apart from entrance and user fees, taxes and site-specific negotiation, and donations (Gutman, 2003).

Very little is known about the impact of such schemes on the locals and on the poor. Research can contribute by providing knowledge about the application and the effectiveness of current mechanisms and by increasing their level of sophisti-cation. New arrangements should therefore be investigated. For example, it could be possible to create a niche market for community-based nature tourism where-by communities, instead of selling access to land via tour operators, start up their own businesses (‘joint venture’ mechanisms); however, research is needed to as-sess their potential and their effectiveness. The socio-economic context in which new partnerships and arrangements are taking place should also be carefully ex-amined. Locals often start their own businesses in the form of small-scale estab-lishments (e.g. souvenir shops or simple guest-houses in attractive natural areas), but their survival is severely threatened by large-scale tourism business. Many small-scale businesses cannot survive as a result of strong competition under im-perfect market conditions (Tosun, 2005).

Finally, societal organizations often include tourism as a part of a broader pol-icy or plan, whereas tourism itself may not be the only strategy used in the devel-opment plan for a certain area. The challenge for researchers is to identify ways and methods to isolate the impacts of tourism from the impacts of the alternative strategies that are included in the same policy or plan.

Conclusion

This article reported on an examination of 67 articles that were published in 15 peer-reviewed journals in the period 2003–2006. The results were presented in accordance with themes, topics and modes of knowledge production. The scien-

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tific knowledge was systematized in a number of clusters according to the under-lying focus and key objectives of the research studies. Case studies and their dis-tribution among regions were scrutinized.

The findings of this study suggest that research on poverty issues is very much overlooked and that there is a clear need to investigate the effectiveness of tour-ism strategies for the poor (see also van der Duim, this volume). Distribution of resources, equity issues, community involvement, group cohesion, and po-tential partnerships and arrangements should be carefully examined. Research-ers should also deepen their understanding of the interconnection and interde-pendency of poverty, tourism and nature conservation issues. Problem-oriented research should be less fragmented and broader in its scope. Case studies should be more spread among regions and focus on less researched topics, such as pov-erty and sustainability issues in developing countries. Concept-oriented research should be higher on the research agenda, also because it provides the philosophi-cal, conceptual and methodological ground upon which practical research can be implemented. The development of new concepts and frameworks and innovative ways of combining existing approaches is very much needed.

Future research should take into account the interdependence of science and society and investigate societal relevant issues. Monitoring and evaluation studies could provide meaningful answers to the question concerning the contribution of tourism to the Millennium Development Goals. The long-term assessment of tour-ism arrangements, policies and plans, comparative analyses across destinations and innovative financing mechanisms could make an important contribution to the sustainable development of tourism. Studies that investigate how to integrate complexity theory into tourism management and governmental and non-govern-mental policies can provide useful insights related to management and govern-ance. Research is therefore required to promptly address and investigate these and other urgent critical issues in order to contribute to the production of scientifically robust and socially meaningful knowledge at a global and a local level.

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11 Exploring Pro-poor Tourism Research:

The State of the Art

René van der Duim

Since the Earth Summit at Rio in 1992, there have been countless workshops, meetings, conferences and policy documents on the relation between tourism

and sustainable development, and a substantial literature on sustainable tourism has emerged. These publications and articles in journals range from attempts to make a conceptual connection between the concerns of ‘sustainable’ tourism and those of sustainable development (Hunter, 1995, 1997; Sharpley, 2000; Hardy et al., 2002), to management-oriented literature that promotes approaches and tools to better integrate tourism development with the protection of the natural (or cul-tural) environment at tourist destination areas.

At around the turn of the new century, this discussion on sustainable tourism development was enriched with the concept of ‘pro-poor tourism’ (PPT). It was first introduced in a report for the UK Department for International Development (DfID) in 1999 (Bennet et al., 1999); since then it has been adopted by key tourism and donor organizations such as the UN World Tourism Organization (UNWTO), the UK-based Overseas Development Institute (ODI), the SNV Netherlands De-velopment Organization (SNV) and the Asian Development Bank (Meyer, 2007).

PPT is generally defined as tourism that generates net benefits for the poor. These benefits may be economic and environmental as well as social and cultur-al, although socio-economic impacts generally receive most of the attention. Ac-cording to the Pro-poor Tourism Partnership (www.propoortourism.org.uk) in the UK, PPT should not be considered a specific product or sector of tourism, but an overall approach. Strategies for making tourism pro-poor focus specifically on unlocking opportunities for the poor within tourism (see Ashley et al., 2001).

In practice, the focus and scale of PPT initiatives vary enormously, from in-cluding tourism in national poverty reduction strategies to organizing small-scale community-based tourism projects; and from creating linkages between in-ternational tourism companies and the poor, to capacity building and providing training and technical assistance. There are obviously many ways forward in PPT.

Here, I first discuss the origin of the concept of PPT in a historical perspective, showing that liberal, neoliberal, critical and alternative development approaches have all contributed in some way to the growth of interest in PPT. I then exam-ine the current state of research in the field of PPT and discuss the way forward

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for PPT-related research. In this, I stress the need for more comparative and lon-gitudinal research projects to assess the impacts of PPT strategies and interven-tions in order to substantiate the promises of PPT and to further the theoretical, methodological and conceptual underpinning of this type of research. Moreover, I argue that there is a need to critically analyse how people and organizations (es-pecially development organizations) construct or have constructed PPT and initi-ated research to substantiate PPT.

A short history

The current discussion of PPT builds on a long tradition of debates about the re-lationship between tourism and development. Since the 1940s, aid programmes have been developed in an attempt to transfer wealth and expertise to what used to be known as the third world. However, many of these attempts have been met with scepticism, especially amongst academics; in addition, large-scale tourism has sometimes encountered virulent hostility (Harrison, 2008: 2–4). The rela-tionship between tourism and development and the related definitions of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ tourism have been conceptualized over time in a variety of ways. Lib-eral, neoliberal, critical and alternative development approaches have all contrib-uted in some way to the growth of interest in PPT, although it has been particu-larly inf luenced by neoliberal and alternative development thinking (see Schey-vens, 2007: 236–237).

The early liberal approach to tourism was embodied by the logic of moderni-zation theory. In the 1950s and 1960s, tourism was identified as a potential mod-ernization strategy that could help newly independent third world countries to earn foreign exchange. Tourism was promoted as a development strategy to trans-fer technology, to increase employment and GDP, to attract foreign capital and to promote a modern way of life that had Western values (see Sharpley & Tel-fer, 2002: 52; Scheyvens, 2007). This ‘boosterism’ approach was based on the assumption that tourism’s contribution to national economic development is a function of the size of the sector. It follows that growth is good, and that rapid growth is even better. However, the approach did not include specific PPT meas-ures (see Ashley & Mitchell, 2008: 15).

Influenced by dependency and political economy theory and structuralist schools of thought, many social scientists soon started arguing that poor peo-ple and non-Western countries are typically excluded from or disadvantaged by what tourism can offer (Scheyvens, 2007: 231). According to the dependency the-ory, underdevelopment is a result of exploitation by developed countries. Global capitalistic political and economic relations are such that wealthier, more power-ful Western nations are able to exploit weaker, peripheral nations, thereby limit-ing developmental opportunities in less developed countries (Telfer & Sharpley, 2008). Indeed, authors like Turner and Ash (1975), Krippendorf (1975), Arman-ski (1978), Prahl and Steinecke (1979) and Britton (1982) were amongst the first

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to warn of the possibly detrimental economic, environmental and social effects of tourism and to point at core-periphery relationships that prevent destinations from fully benefiting from tourism. For example, Armanski’s critique was out-spoken: “Die planlose profitoreintierte Expansion hat für immer viele Orte und Landschaften verschandelt, die sie den Touristen als ideale Erholungsgebiete an-preist. Der Tourismus hat zwar Dornröschen geweckt – sie aber sogleich in eine Dienstmagd verwandelt, die onhmachtig der Zerstörung ihrer vertrauter Umge-bung zusehen muss” (Armanski, 1978: 56).

Table 1: Changing perceptions of the relation between tourism and development. (After Ashley

& Harrison, 2007; Scheyvens, 2007; Sharpley & Telfer, 2002; Telfer & Sharpley, 2008)

In their famous book The Golden Hordes, Turner and Ash (1975:15) referred to tourism destinations as the ‘pleasure periphery’ and declared that “international tourism is like King Midas in reverse; a device for the systematic destruction of everything that is beautiful in the world.”

The neoliberal tourism agenda of the 1970s and 1980s resembled the mod-ernization paradigm, but now stressed the role of the free market and minimized that of the state. In order to strengthen the role of tourism as an export industry, international organizations like the EU and the World Bank (through its Interna-tional Finance Corporation; IFC) invested in infrastructure, product and market development, and strategy development. The structural adjustment programmes inspired by the World Bank and the IMF also highlighted the strategic impor-tance of the private sector in the development of tourism and reduced the role of

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purely local, while first category roads are mainly structured on their periph

  Development approach  What is ‘good’ tourism? 

1950s and 1960s 

Modernization 

Lots of tourists (‘boosterism’), as they contribute to economic growth, employment generation and foreign exchange; benefits will trickle down  

1970s Underdevelopment/ dependency  

None; as tourism is associated with dependence on foreign capital and expertise and with growing social and economic disparities, and often undermines local cultures 

Mid‐1970s and 1980s 

Neoliberalism Private‐sector tourism development; primacy of the free competitive markets, privatization as the way out 

1970s and early 1980s 

Alternative development 

Small‐scale community‐based tourism / ecotourism / sustainable tourism 

1990s onwards 

Post‐development 

Dissenting viewpoints: tourism is neither ‘good’ nor ‘bad’, but a complex system in which local people may be able to resist, subvert, manipulate or transform tourism 

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governments to providing investment incentives that were intended to stimulate the participation of private companies in the tourism sector (see Sharpley & Tel-fer, 2002: 56–58; Harrison, 2008: 2; Hawkins & Mann, 2008).

Alternative approaches to tourism development emerged as a result of the pre- and post-Rio discussions on sustainable development. These approaches were in-formed by a number of bodies of thinking that focused on grass-roots develop-ment and embraced ideas about participation, equity, gender sensitivity and em-powerment (Scheyvens, 2007: 240). Just as development theorists were tending to become dissatisfied with existing development philosophies, tourism analysts became disillusioned with mass tourism in favour of community-based tourism, small-scale and locally owned developments and alternative forms of tourism (Sharpley & Telfer, 2002). Whereas in the 1980s and 1990s, ecotourism domi-nated the development agenda in an attempt to promote the environmental man-agement of tourism, in the last decade increased attention has been paid to the eq-uity dimensions of sustainable development, which has led to new interest in the community as a critical element in achieving development goals and diversifying the livelihood options of the poor. This subsequently evoked a new interest in the relation between tourism development and pro-poor strategies (Hall, 2007: 112).

As development studies in the 1980s and 1990s reached what has been called an impasse (Schuurmans, 1996), a diversity of theories, approaches and voices emerged, some of which share ideas that are similar to concepts from the past. This post-development period (Telfer & Sharpley, 2008) or post-structuralist pe-riod (Scheyvens, 2007) also inspired especially development organizations to re-think the relation between tourism and poverty. Although the focus on tourism as a poverty alleviator was not new and has never been entirely absent from the tourism-development debate, at the end of the 1990s specific PPT approaches were promoted in the UK by a small group of researchers and consultants. The aim of these approaches was to go beyond both the boosterism approach – as it did not include pro-poor measures – and a community-based approach. Although community-based tourism projects have been and still are driven by distribution-al objectives (i.e. the desire to assist a specific poor community), they did not, and often still do not, pay attention to opportunity costs, that is, to whether channel-ling donor resources to other parts of the tourism chain would deliver a great-er pro-poor impact, and whether the substantial investment likely to be needed would be justified by the community returns (see Ashley & Mitchell, 2008).

The concept of PPT is now regarded as an overall approach that is specifically focused on unlocking opportunities for the poor within tourism. Essential here is that tourism is not necessarily only small-scale and alternative, as previously pro-posed in alternative approaches; instead, PPT seeks to harness the industry as a whole to contribute to development aims (Meyer, 2007). PPT pays specific atten-tion to obstacles that constrain the poor’s greater participation in tourism. And whereas liberals and neoliberals commonly believed that tourism-induced bene-fits brought about by economic growth would eventually trickle down to the local

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poor through multiple channels, contemporary PPT approaches aim to establish a direct link between tourism and poverty alleviation and emphasize the voices and needs of the poor in tourism development. The poor have become the focus of concern (Zhao & Ritchie, 2007: 120). As PPT includes a variety of approaches, initiatives and strategies, it clearly amalgamates different theoretical frameworks: liberal, neoliberal, critical and alternative development approaches have all con-tributed in some way to the growth of interest in PPT (see Scheyvens, 2007: 236; Telfer & Sharpley, 2008).

This PPT field has developed in great part through the Pro-poor Tourism Partnership in the UK, the UNWTO’s Sustainable Tourism Eliminating Poverty (STEP) Programme and the work of the tourism advisers of the SNV. The Pro-poor Tourism Partnership is a collaborative research initiative between the In-ternational Institute for Environment and Development (IIED), the Centre for Responsible Tourism (CRT) and the Overseas Development Institute (ODI). In 2000, ODI initiated a research project to analyse the theoretical basis of PPT and examine case studies of tourism in practice (Ashley et al., 2001). Since then, the Pro-poor Tourism Partnership has been responsible for a wide range of prima-rily empirical studies of PPT, many of which were funded by the DfID and ODI (Scheyvens, 2007: 235). According to Scheyvens, the Partnership seems to have a broad, holistic notion that is at least partly inspired by alternative development theory. However, it also “firmly believes that it is important to bring about chang-es in mainstream tourism, including challenging corporations to change the way they operate, rather than to establish numerous community run bungalow-style ventures with dubious business prospects” (ibid.: 244).

The STEP initiative was launched in 2002 at the Johannesburg World Sum-mit on Sustainable Development. During the summit, the UNWTO invited UN agencies, governments, donor agencies, NGOs and other stakeholders to unite in a concerted effort to use the socio-economic benefits that derive from tour-ism to actively combat poverty throughout the world. Some 50 STEP projects are currently being implemented in around 30 countries in Africa, Asia and Latin America. The aim of the STEP projects is to enhance the local economic impact of tourism by, for example, improving the performance of small and medium-sized tourism enterprises, establishing PPT business linkages between tourism resorts and neighbouring communities, and using fees, taxes and donations generated from tourism development for the benefit of the poor (Leijzer, 2007).

However, despite the UNWTO’s green and pro-poor agenda, it is basically following a neoliberal approach and its main aim is still to promote economic growth through tourism. This ambiguity is often criticized. On the one hand, the UNWTO has been criticized for focusing primarily on promoting the devel-opment of tourism. Particularly the Third World Network voiced this critique in articles written by Pleumaron (2002 a and b). For example: “In conclusion, the WTO-OMT is an elitist and closed club, dominated by the interests of rich coun-tries and tourism business leaders, and there is little, if any, space for critical voic-

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es from civic groups in the Third World. Although NGOs can apply for affiliate membership, the annual fee of US$ 1,700 is too high for grass roots organiza-tions” (Pleumaron, 2002b: 6).

On the other hand, the UNWTO tries to be a meeting point in almost all dis-cussions on sustainable tourism development, including recent debates on tour-ism and climate change and tourism and gender. Remarkably enough, the organi-zation seems aware of the dual image of international tourism and its two ‘com-pletely different faces’ (see WTO, 2002: 56) and of the dual role the UNWTO plays in this field. In its contribution to the World Summit on Sustainable Develop-ment in Johannesburg in 2002, the UNWTO concluded that substantive progress had been made in terms of increased awareness of sustainability issues among all tourism stakeholders, especially public administrations, and in terms of the avail-ability of hard and soft technological solutions to overcome the negative environ-mental and sociocultural impacts of tourism. But it also recognized that: “Sustain-able tourism approaches, policies and plans are not always consistently followed and applied by all nations, at all tourism destinations and by all actors in the tour-ism process. There are many factors that prevent a more systematic application of declared policies and the implementation of tourism development plans” (Ibid.).

Table 2: Main features of PPT. Source: Harrison (2008)

The STEP initiative is closely related to the work of the SNV. In 2004, the UN-WTO and the SNV signed a memorandum of understanding as part of a new corporate strategy focused on achieving tangible impacts in the areas of sustain-able and equitable production, income and employment for the poor, and effec-tive, efficient and increased access to and delivery of basic services (SNV, 2006).

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PPT is not:  PPT does:  

anti‐capitalist  focus on incorporating the poor into markets 

separate from the rest of tourism  depend on existing structures and markets 

a niche type of tourism (e.g. community‐based tourism) 

orientate towards providing the net benefits of tourism to the poor 

a specific method  use different methods to collect and analyse data, including value chain analysis 

only about the poor  recognize that the poorest may not be touched by PPT and that the non‐poor may benefit disproportionately 

just about hunger and incomes  use a broad definition of ‘poverty’; it is basically about ‘development’ 

only about individual benefits  focus on family and community benefits (water, sanitation, health, education, training, etc.) 

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The SNV now puts a strong emphasis on the socio-economic impacts of tourism and on result measurement. Together with the shift from a project implementation organization to an advisory services provider, the SNV’s focus on tourism shifted from community-based and grass-roots development to a value chain approach in which: “ . . . the focus has to be on mainstream tourism, not on community-based tourism. By mainstream tourism we mean that tourism development should be considered an inclusive business, in which the poor will benefit from investments from the private sector. Governments will have to play their role to assure that the poor are not forgotten. This will include, for instance, a legislative environment that favours PPT development. And there also is still a huge amount of work to do in terms of changing the mindset of the public and the private sector towards a pro-poor development in tourism” (Laumans, pers. communication. See also Ashley & Mitchell, 2008.) Although there are differences between the UK’s and the UN-WTO’s initiatives, the main features of PPT are summarized in table 2.

PPT research

Despite the general feeling that it is now time to start looking for constructive ap-proaches to tourism that will benefit local people and their environments (Schey-vens, 2002), and the fact that PPT is increasingly seen as one of these constructive approaches, data to substantiate and strengthen PPT strategies are largely lacking.

According to Zhao and Ritchie (2007: 120), “the relationship between tourism and poverty alleviation largely remains terra incognita among tourism academ-ics” (see also Tassone, this volume). However, in the last five years the relation be-tween tourism and poverty alleviation has attracted a small cohort of researchers within tourism. Their research is mainly commissioned and/or executed by do-nor and development organizations, such as the SNV, the IIED, ODI, the GTZ (a German development organization), the World Bank, and the Asian and Ameri-can Development Bank.

As a result, research methodologies and outputs are dominated by a small number of UK-affiliated researchers (e.g. Ashley, Goodwin, Meyer and Mitchell), and by Spenceley in South Africa and Lengeveld in Germany. Their work is pri-marily documented in reports that are available on the websites of, for example, ODI, the Pro-poor Tourism Partnership and the SNV; hardly any are published in scientific journals. Despite the progress they have made (for an overview, see Ashley & Mitchell, 2008), the Pro-poor Tourism Partnership concludes in the third and ‘likely last edition’ of the Pro-poor Tourism Annual Register (2007) that it “still does not have enough examples of initiatives with clear demonstrable im-pacts.” Especially case studies that demonstrate the mainstreaming of tourism and poverty reduction strategies are lacking: “There are still a handful of cases where we have demonstrable impacts. Most impacts that are evident are still at the very micro level, based on a single product or locality. And there is still too of-ten an unwritten assumption that if tourism is community based it must also be

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pro-poor. Or, equally falsely, that if tourism is to be pro-poor it must be commu-nity based. Progress has been painfully slow” (ibid.: 1; emphasis added).

A recent report by the World Bank and ODI similarly concludes “that there is more evidence available than is generally marshalled into PPT arguments. But at the same time, evidence is piecemeal, use of definitions sloppy, and methodological di-visions fragment the body of knowledge and researchers” (Mitchell & Ashley, 2007a, 2007b; emphasis added; see also Zhao & Ritchie, 2007).

What accounts for the fragmentation, the limitation in scope and the lack of methodological and theoretical development? First, PPT research lacks funding. In 2002 the STEP programme, as a global action framework to harness tourism to reduce poverty, candidly recognized the significance of research for the success of PPT. However, a worldwide research base enabling research initiatives in this field to be coordinated, concerted and shared is yet to materialize (Zhao & Ritch-ie, 2007: 137). Research cooperation with national, let alone transnational compa-nies, is still minimal and exceptional. In general their support is largely rhetori-cal, and big business has been even less willing to provide research funds than governments and other aid agencies, on which PPT research continues to rely for what are relatively small handouts (Harrison, 2008:13).

Especially in the Netherlands, but also in other countries such as the UK, fi-nancial resources for executing longitudinal and comparative research are ex-tremely scarce. Ministries for development cooperation in the UK (DfID) and the Netherlands (DGIS) have not or have not fully acknowledged the development potentials of tourism and the role tourism can play in achieving the Millennium Development Goals. Therefore, much research still relies on student projects or on sporadic and/or consultancy-based funding. The latter often ref lects the needs of especially international development organizations to ‘prove’ that they are ef-fective. Their donors compel them to clearly measure and show the development effects and impacts, at the expense of theoretical discussions and conceptualiza-tions of the relationship between tourism and poverty alleviation. Moreover, these funding organizations have not only to ‘prove’ but also to ‘move,’ and therefore have to carefully balance between resources allocated to monitoring and evalua-tion and those allocated to action (Ashley & Mitchell, 2008: 28).

As a consequence, PPT research is still limited and dominated by a relatively small group of researchers, practitioners and consultants. But as many of these per-sons lack permanent academic posts and financial security, they remain largely out-side academic debates, and thus their insights into the relation between tourism and development and that between tourism and poverty alleviation are ignored or underrated in academic circles (Harrison, 2008: 9). Once more the gap between theory and practice has to be bridged: PPT practitioners and followers must engage with the academic community; in return, PPT insistence on looking at the very basic impacts of tourism at the community level, insisting on ‘development’ and bringing about direct and quantifiable change, will reintroduce into tourism studies and poli-tics a dimension that has been neglected for too long (Harrison, 2008: 14).

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Second, the complexity of poverty-related issues may also partly account for the sparse attention that tourism researchers have paid to poverty alleviation re-search. As Zhao and Ritchie (2007: 121) observe, due to the multidimensional nature of poverty, understanding any poverty-related issue is always a challenge, as a wide range of interwoven factors (e.g. economic, socio-political and cultural forces) need to be taken into account. In addition, unfamiliarity with the research areas (poverty-stricken areas) and remoteness from the research subjects may de-ter many researchers from delving into poverty research.

Third, and related, it is striking that PPT is studied by (albeit only a few) prac-titioners and academics from a variety of disciplines, who use quite different con-cepts, definitions, research methods, etc., and do not have much contact, let alone much accumulation of knowledge and insights between them. It is clear that PPT research would benefit greatly from an integrated and multidisciplinary approach by linking different perspectives in a single research programme (van Huijstee et al., 2007; Mitchell & Ashley 2007a, 2007b; Tassone, this volume) and by bring-ing together scholars and practitioners in both tourism and development disci-plines and practices (Meyer, 2007).

The way forward

The question is, how can research best contribute to PPT strategies and practices? There are many ways forward, but I suggest the following two. First, to find out to what extent and how PPT, as a specific set of approaches, can reap from tour-ism net benefits for the poor, there is an urgent need to establish more system-atic, comprehensive and coherent research approaches to guide the enquiries of this emerging field of research (Zhao & Ritchie, 2007). Second – and taking into account the historical overview presented above – I recommend to critically think about how people and organizations construct or constructed PPT and the accom-panying research methods to analyse or develop interventions.

Enhancing PPT practices and research

First of all, there is a call to establish “a body of credible empirical work assess-ing different pro-poor impacts of contrasting tourisms (including domestic tourism) in different contexts, at the level of a destination” (Ashley & Mitchell, 2005; em-phasis added). According to PPT protagonists, this empirical work should shift its focus from community-based tourism projects and initiatives – most of which re-sult from an alternative development paradigm – to mainstream tourism. Taking into account that community-based tourism has “an extremely poor track record in providing conservation benefits or reducing poverty,” it is now “quite clear that PPT has to be applied within a wider, commercial framework. It has to work with businesses and markets and not against them” (Harrison, 2008: 12). The task of the proposed body of empirical work would be to reveal whether or not the pre-

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Box 1: Examples of PPT research

Research projects indicate that although tourism can have important pro-poor impacts, the results are highly context specific. For example, Blake and colleagues (2008) recently argued that tourism in Brazil benefits the low-in-come sections of the Brazilian population and has the potential to reduce income inequality. However: “The lowest-income households are not the main beneficiaries, as households with low (but not the lowest) income ben-efit more from the earnings and price channel effects of tourism expansion. High- and medium-income households, followed by the low-income group, benefit most from the government channel effects, with the exception of the case when governments directs the benefits from tourism expansion specifi-cally towards the lowest income group” (Ibid.: 124).In contrast, research in Gambia indicates that fewer than 100,000 tourists create through inter-sectoral linkages more than 4500 jobs for poor people, namely approximately 3000 jobs in wage employment, 1100 in small busi-nesses and 500 in farming (Mitchell, 2007). Similarly, based on a research project carried out at seven resorts in the Caribbean, Lengefeld and Stewart (2004) argue that an increase in the social/environmental/cultural soundness of mass tourism has much more impact than the promotion of 100% sustain-able, but niche tourism (see also Lengefeld, 2008). A Sandals 5-star resort creates on average 1.5–2 jobs per room (compared to the normal 5-star hotel average of 1 job per room). The minimum wage at Sandals is USD 450 per month compared to USD 100–250 per month at the other resorts researched, and the gross monthly wage (cash and in-kind con-tribution) for Sandals line staff ranges between USD 700 and USD 1150. The resorts studied buy an average of between USD 1 million and more than USD 2 million per year on the local and national markets. The only resorts in the study sample that were actively supporting local farmer groups to produce for their needs were those run by Sandals. Seventy farmer families receive an income of USD 100 per month (and live above the poverty line) simply by supplying watermelons and cantaloupes to Sandals. Including support pro-vided for training centres and higher education for staff members, each year Sandals spends an average of USD 5 million on training (= more than USD 600 per employee per year). Sandals’ community outreach is also considerable: the chain supports more than 200 projects in local communities throughout the Caribbean.In contrast, exploratory research carried out by Erasmus University Rotter-dam in collaboration with SNV-Mozambique and SNV-Tanzania suggests that although larger and high-end firms can be ‘job machines’ and thus help to al-leviate poverty, their local economic embeddings are limited (van Wijk et al., 2007). Similarly, in an ODI research project on nature-based tourism and pov-erty alleviation in South Africa, Spenceley and Goodwin (2007) selected four nature-based tourism enterprises and concluded that isolated effects from individual tourism companies have little tangible impact on the majority of people living in highly populated rural communities, but that the impact is substantial for the few people who benefit directly.

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sumptions underlying various PPT approaches are met in reality, and if so to what extent. As illustrated in Box 1, research projects indicate that the pro-poor impact of various and contrasting tourisms can be substantial but extremely varied and highly dependent on local circumstances. Box 1 also shows that although theory recognizes the multidimensionality of poverty, PPT research mainly focuses on economic and employment issues.

To move beyond the individual case study type of outputs, the PPT research agenda needs not only more research and research funding (and preferably more comparative and longitudinal research projects), but also further theoretical, methodological and conceptual underpinning of this research. Taking into ac-count that PPT is theoretically imprecise and that most PPT practitioners do not claim theoretical sophistication (Harrison, 2008: 9), scholars could contribute to PPT research by developing conceptual frameworks for analysing and develop-ing PPT strategies and interventions (see e.g. Zhao & Ritchie, 2007; Blake et al. 2008; Meyer, 2007) .

An example of this conceptual and methodological elaboration in PPT re-search is the development of the PPT value chain approach (VCA), as for example promoted and discussed by Ashley and Mitchell (2007, 2008) and illustrated by some of the studies in box 1. In principle, the aim of VCA is to intervene at key points in the value chain in order to change how the chains operate and to im-prove their performance from the perspective of the poor. Therefore, the VCA re-search basically analyses linkages between actors in the value chain and the way that benefits f low to the poor (ibid.: 5). Recent empirical research, most of it com-missioned by the SNV, shows the potentials and relevance as well as the method-ological problems of the VCA. For example, according to a recent study in Luang Prabang (Laos) “it seems likely that at least USD 6 million per year of tourist ex-penditure is f lowing directly to semi-skilled and unskilled producers, suppliers and workers, which is around 27% of the total receipts of around USD 22.5 mil-lion into Luang Prabang” (Ashley, 2007). However, “the estimates of expenditure and income are extremely rough” and “they could easily be wrong by a factor of two in either direction, and some gaps in the analysis have been filled with mere guessti-mates” (ibid.: vi; emphasis added). This type of research still has to face important conceptual and methodological challenges related to the definition and measure-ment of what counts as poor, and the inclusion of context analysis, including mar-ket relations and trends that inf luence impacts and possible interventions (Ashley & Mitchell, 2007: 29; 2008). Moreover, and as illustrated in table 1, the VCA fo-cuses on the financial benefits and costs, but has not yet found a way to reconcile objectives related to PPT interventions with environmental and social objectives, including other livelihood impacts, distributional priorities, and social and envi-ronmental change (Ashley & Mitchell, 2008).

Therefore, the discussion on the VCA should also link up with more gener-al discussions about monitoring and evaluation and related criteria to measure ‘effectiveness.’ Tassone (this volume) therefore argues for the development, test-

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ing and implementation of a monitoring and evaluation framework to assess the effectiveness of the variety of tourism-related poverty-reduction policies, strate-gies and practices to achieve specific, concrete and global Millennium Develop-ment Goals as set by the UN. According to Tassone, the framework should inte-grate two apparently opposed types of approaches, namely technical approaches – which involve the systematic use of quantitative analysis – and qualitative discur-sive approaches, which also involve modes of participation of actors at various lev-els. The framework faces the challenge of finding innovative ways to expand and integrate a variety of monitoring and evaluation tools developed in various fields within the scientific, development and conservation world (see also Margoluis & Salafsky 1998; Simpson, 2007; Stem et al., 2005).

Deliberating pro-poor tourism practices and research

There is another, complementary way forward that goes beyond the measurement of outcomes and impacts per se. Taking the points of view of particularly insti-tutional, discourse and actor-network theories, I suggest also making PPT dis-courses, policies, strategies and practices (as well as the accompanying research methods to substantiate these practices) objects of research and seeing them as produced by and as the outcome of intricate webs of organizations and interac-tions, of institutional arrangements between for example community members, tourism businesses, governmental agencies, development and donor organiza-tions, and their suppliers.

The short history in this article of the relationship between tourism and devel-opment has shown that different approaches to it have emerged and disappeared and then reappeared in different guises; they are produced and reproduced over time. This article has also pointed at the recent emergence and dominance of par-ticular PPT strategies and practices, moving away from community-based tour-ism towards the pro-poor impacts of ‘mainstream tourism’ (see Ashley & Harri-son, 2007), and related research approaches, like value chain analysis, as the re-sult of the work of certain people (e.g. Ashley, Goodwin & Mitchell) and certain organizations (e.g. ODI and SNV).

I suggest furthering this path of detection and looking at the PPT approach and related research practices as socially constructed and logically constituted, but “premised upon a number of assumptions which themselves may be open to interpretation” (Butcher, 2007: 162; see also Duineveld, this volume). By do-ing so, this strand of research might for example reveal how dominant ideas and practices related to tourism and development ref lect more general societal socio-political and socio-economic discourses and developments. It might also disclose to what extent these ideas and practices are, for example, locked in to linear think-ing and to procedures and requirements (of e.g. donors and the wider public), such as ‘the logical framework’ and ‘impact assessment.’ It might even lead to a greater awareness of exactly why development through tourism is so problematic

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(see Ramalingan & Jones, 2008). The emphasis in this type of research is on con-textualizing and critically ref lecting upon how people and organizations socially construct and constructed PPT and on the research methods to analyse or develop interventions. The emphasis is on scrutinizing PPT as the outcome of complex processes of translation and ordering (van der Duim, 2005).

I suggest that this strand of research should have a dual approach, name-ly it should look 1) at these PPT arrangements, practices and related research projects, and 2) especially into these arrangements and practices (van Huijstee et al., 2007). As for 1), it should look at these arrangements from an institutional perspective and question how they came into being, the role that these tourism-related arrangements play or could play and the functions they fulfil in the pre-sumed contribution of tourism to poverty alleviation. It should, for example, link the global rise of the concept of sustainable tourism development since the 1990s and the expressions of it in development and tourism-related organizations, with the regional and local manifestations of it in the designs of, for example, public-private partnerships, community-based tourism projects, PPT strategies of main-stream tourism businesses, and tourism benefit sharing programmes in nature conservation areas (see also Archabald & Naughton-Treves, 2001). A good exam-ple of this strand of research is Hawkins and Mann’s (2008) recent analysis of the World Bank’s role in tourism development, showing that differing develop-ment themes have inf luenced the way tourism’s role in development is perceived within the agency and how in turn it has shaped a country-level dialogue with governments, the private sector and other development partners. A PhD project at Wageningen University is to look at why, how and by whom in the last fifteen years sustainable tourism development for poverty reduction and related types of intervention was introduced and institutionalized in the SNV.

As for 2), the aim of research that looks into these arrangements is to analyse in detail the institutional arrangements, policies and practices of INGOs, NGOs, market parties and governmental bodies, to assess the changes therein and the reasons therefor. It should look at issues of governance, relations of power, and processes and tactics of translation. It should examine how different modes of or-dering constitute each other, and how the interweaving of or conflicts between projects of tourism entrepreneurs, development organizations, banks and gov-ernments inf luence development outcomes and the position of poor people in the tourism chain. It would therefore complement a VCA (predominantly aiming at measuring outcomes and impacts and at suggesting interventions in the value chain) by assessing governance in value chains and by exploring power relations between the different partners within value chains – a critical issue when look-ing at barriers to entry for poor producers (Ashley & Mitchell, 2008). Similarly, it could also for example look at the consequences of introducing a VCA by devel-oping organizations like the SNV for their own work. Interestingly, proponents of the VCA, for example Ashley and Mitchell (2008: 8), are very aware that the recent introduction of, for example, the VCA within the SNV will lead to a break

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with previous standard practices within the organization: it alters with whom the SNV works, where it works, its types of projects, the evidence base needed for in-terventions and the skills required. It will also define what knowledge is produced and what research is executed, by whom and for what purposes.

This strand of research could theoretically start from actor-network theory (cf. Latour, 2005; Law, 1994; Murdoch, 2006; van der Duim, 2005) and as a result set off from the assumption that PPT approaches are to be seen in terms of incessant ordering and reordering processes. In an attempt to alleviate poverty through tourism, new and heterogeneous types of institutional arrangements coalesce natural, social, physical and financial resources and develop from global–local in-terfaces. They clearly aim and claim to reorder tourism by translating poverty re-duction into the process of tourism development, and vice versa. However, actors inside and outside the tourism networks (e.g. tourism businesses, governmental agencies, nature conservation, developing organizations) might differently give meaning to and deal with these new patterns of coordination between people, or-ganizations, technologies and environmental phenomena (cf. Leeuwis, 2003). In other words, they might have different modes of ordering (cf. Law, 1994; van der Ploeg, 2003). These modes of ordering consist of a set of ideas about the way sus-tainable tourism development in general and PPT in particular should be prac-tised, they inculcate related intervention and research practices and imply partic-ular ways of integrating or separating organizations with different interests. Re-search would theoretically and critically examine these different designs for PPT and related research practices in terms of actor-networks and modes of ordering, providing a series of stepping stones towards a more profound understanding of the possibilities and limitations of PPT, and eventually might even provide rec-ommendations to improve these designs.

Conclusions

I first discussed the recent fascination with PPT and related research from a his-torical perspective. Although the idea of PPT rests on a variety of different and sometimes competing development approaches, and therefore the relation be-tween tourism and poverty alleviation has been and will be constantly debated, especially in international development cooperation it has increasingly become a buzz word and it is now almost common sense that tourism can have important pro-poor impacts and that these can be strengthened by deliberate public poli-cy interventions, validated by sound research. However, data to substantiate the promises of various PPT strategies are lacking. Academic literature and research on PPT remains at the margins of tourism research and a scan through the rel-evant academic journals reveals that very little academic writing has been pub-lished on the subject (Meyer, 2007; see also Tassone, this volume). As a result, systematic, comparative and transparent monitoring over time is scarce (Harri-son, 2008: 10). Although few scattered empirical studies indicate that tourism

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policies and practices contribute to the economy of developing countries (e.g. UN-WTO, 2004) and may have important pro-poor impacts, a lack of an accepted inte-grated monitoring and evaluation framework and of reliable data makes it impos-sible not only to track progress, but also to assess the effectiveness of measures taken and to suggest changes to enhance the local economic impact of tourism (Leijzer, 2007; see also Tassone, this volume).

Therefore, I first argued that detailed empirical assessment is needed to un-derstand where and how tourism can effectively perform as a tool for poverty re-duction. Until that time, the question whether PPT is rhetoric or reality will re-main largely unanswered. In order to make progress, the PPT research agenda needs not only more (and preferably more comparative and longitudinal) research projects, but also further theoretical, methodological and conceptual underpin-ning of this research.

However, apart from the urgent need to assess the impacts and effectiveness of PPT strategies and practices and to improve the conceptual and methodological underpinning of this research, these strategies and practices themselves, and the related methods for assessing their impacts, should also be scrutinized. There-fore, following institutional and actor-network analysis, I also advocated a critical analysis of the institutional arrangements, policies and practices and related re-search efforts that aim to make tourism work for poverty alleviation. The central questions to be addressed are how and by whom ‘pro-poor’ strategies are trans-lated into existing tourism practices, how these strategies are attributed to people and things, how they are stabilized, and what role research practices play in these processes of translation and stabilization.

In order to fully grasp the mechanisms that can be used to reduce poverty through tourism, I advocated an assessment of the effectiveness of existing PPT practices not only in terms of employment and income but also in a sociocultural and environmental sense. I also advocated action-research in which the research-er follows development and donor organizations, incoming tour operators, hotel companies or any other particular actor in the process of defining PPT and creat-ing associations that aim to produce an effect that is considered necessary: name-ly the increase of net benefits for the poor.

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Part 4

Landscape Policies,Management and Design

12 Collaborative Management of National

Parks: The Case of Retezat National Park,

Romania

Marlies van Hal

The managers of protected areas now recognize that protected area manage-ment needs to take a cooperative and collaborative approach with local stake-

holders in order to share the responsibility for management (Lane, 2001; Koth-ari et al., 1996; Leikam et al., 2004; Bramwell & Lane, 2000). It is socially and politically unacceptable to exclude from a protected area local stakeholders who live close to or within that protected area without providing them with viable economic alternatives, nor is it acceptable to exclude them from the decision-making process (Leikam et al., 2004). The participation of stakeholders in the process of information sharing and decision making is a crucial precondition for tourism planning to evolve with minimum negative impacts (Bramwell & Lane, 2000).

However, involving a broad range of stakeholders in the planning process is not an easy task. It can be extremely challenging and time-consuming to reach consensus on the many, often incompatible interests of the stakeholders. Never-theless, stakeholder collaboration can generate many potential benefits such as ‘political legitimacy’: collaboration processes are more legitimate and equitable than traditional approaches to planning, as the former encourage sharing and participation, in which the beliefs and advice of non-experts (e.g. local commu-nity members) are as equally valid as those of ‘experts’ (Bramwell & Sharman, 1999; Hall, 1999; Healey, 1997). Furthermore, by sharing the ideas, resources and expertise of stakeholders, the group creates “something new and valuable together – a whole that is greater than the sum of its individual parts” (Shannon 1998; Taylor-Powell et al., 1998, in Lasker et al., 2001: 184).

This paper reports on a study of the collaborative management of Retezat Na-tional Park (RNP), which is located in the western part of Romania. RNP is Ro-mania’s oldest national park (established 1935) and was one of the country’s first parks to implement a model of collaborative park management (Stanciu, 2001). To examine this collaborative management project, a framework focusing espe-cially on process-related issues (i.e. working processes, relationships and capaci-ties) that may shed light on collaborative management processes was developed.

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This paper provides insight into the dynamics of stakeholder collaboration in pro-tected areas, with the aim of guiding other researchers who are engaged in the examination of collaborative management initiatives in protected areas.

Study area

RNP covers an area of 38,000 ha, of which 1800 ha are under strict protection in what is known as the Gemenele Scientific Reserve. Within RNP, there are more than 20 peaks that are higher than 2000 m; the highest – at 2509 m – is the Pe-legea peak. In 1979, RNP was declared an International Biosphere Reserve under the UNESCO Man and Biosphere Programme (Borrini-Feyerabend et al., 2004).

Until 1999, there was no special management body in place to plan and im-plement management activities (Stanciu, 2001). However, in 1999 the RNP Management Plan was established to create a park management infrastructure by adopting a collaborative planning approach. For this, two new management bodies were established in 2003: the Scientific Council and the Consultative Council. The membership of the Scientific Council includes representatives of governmental, scientific and administrative institutions whose role is to approve and evaluate the activities of the RNP management. The membership of the Consultative Council includes representatives of key stakeholders; it too plays an advisory role, yet in contrast to the Scientific Council it does not have any for-mal authority to inf luence decisions taken by the RNP management. The study reported on here examined collaborative management within the Consultative Council but not within the Scientific Council. For a thorough analysis of the col-laborative management of RNP, stakeholders of the Scientific Council should have been included in the study.

Examining collaborative management

Including local stakeholders in the management of protected areas is becom-ing increasingly commonplace. “This new paradigm, or co-management, decen-tralizes the decision-making power from solely government agencies to one of shared governance with local communities” (Lane, 2001, in Leikam et al., 2001: 1). However, “co-management arrangements are not an end in themselves – they are formed to achieve other goals, with the implicit or explicit recognition that by acting together partners can accomplish more than by acting alone” (Caplan & Jones, 2002: 1).

Stakeholders can be involved in many different ways in the management of protected areas. Arnstein’s well-known ‘ladder of participation’ (1969) is subdi-vided into eight rungs of participation, ranging from non-participation to citi-zen’s control. However, many people criticize Arnstein’s ladder as it implies that the “higher rungs of the ladder are more desirable than the lower” (Byrne & Dav-is, 1998: 13). On the other hand, Borrini-Feyerabend’s continuum (1996), for ex-

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ample, stretches from full control of a protected area by a governmental organiza-tion to its full control by local people. In this participation spectrum, there is no ‘right place’ for co-management: “the collaborative management processes and agreements should fit the needs and opportunities of each context” (ibid.: 22).

Once a collaborative management approach has been selected and imple-mented in a protected area, monitoring must be carried out to ensure that action plans stay on track (Frey, 2000), to promote participants’ learning about the pro-gramme and its performance (Binnendijk, 1996) and to help keep the collaborat-ing partners involved in the process (Frey, 2000). A review of the literature indi-cates an abundance of studies on collaboration in protected areas. Various studies (e.g. Endicott, 1993; Mattessich & Monsey, 1992; Long & Arnold, 1995) examined conservation collaboration; many of these studies present procedural frameworks and guidelines for collaboration, and identify many factors that inf luence collabo-rative management processes. These processes depend not only on formal insti-tutional structures on which partnerships are established, but also on the person-alities, motivations, involvement, communication, skills and power of each indi-vidual involved (Ladkin & Betramini, 2002; Lasker et al., 2001).

However, the majority of such studies focus on analysing formal institution-al structures and the impacts and achievements of the shared goals of the col-laborative group (Ross et al., 2004). These approaches also concentrate primarily on ‘tangible’ outcomes (e.g. improvement of the biophysical environment). Much less attention is paid to how such collaborative arrangements work in their own way (Bellamy et al., 2001), with a focus on the more intangible aspects of collabo-ration at the process level, in which issues such as access to information, relation-ships, and level of trust and respect among stakeholders are taken into account. As co-management arrangements are not an end in themselves, the present re-search should have made a direct link between the measurement of intangible as-pects of collaboration and the measurement of tangible outcomes in terms of, for example, nature conservation or socio-economic development around the RNP. This, however, was beyond the scope of the research.

Collaborative management framework

There is a lack of concrete frameworks to assist in the analysis of the process level of collaboration, which is surprising as “it is just as important for the part-nership to work well from the point of view of all parties, as for the outcomes to be achieved” (Ross et al., 2004: 53). In order to develop a framework for analy-sis, criteria were identified that are supposed to have some bearing on collab-oration (stakeholder’s involvement, communication, etc.). In this respect, four frameworks were very useful for this study. Lasker and colleagues (2001) pro-vided a framework identifying 19 determinants that inf luence the level of syn-ergy in partnership arrangements; the determinants form a framework consist-ing of 5 categories (resources, partner characteristics, relationships among part-

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ners, partnership characteristics, external environment). Second, Mattessich and Monsey (1992) identified 20 factors inf luencing collaboration and grouped them into 6 categories (environment, membership characteristics, process and struc-ture, communication, purpose, and resources). Third, Toupal and Johnson (1998) identified eight characteristics of public and private partnerships. Fourth, Bor-rini-Feyerabend (1995) set out indicators of collaborative management processes; these indicators provide a means to analyse the process by which collaborative management was established in a protected area. These four studies form the ba-sis of the framework presented in this paper.

To develop a comprehensive framework, the four sources were mutually com-pared. For example, in Mattessich and Monsey (1992) the factor “appropriate cross-section of members” was identified, whereas Lasker and colleagues (2001) identified the factor ‘heterogeneity of partners.’ Although different concepts are used, the content is highly similar as both relate to a cross-section of stakeholders. Similar factors were then selected for incorporation into the framework for this study. The factors that did not overlap were independently analysed and, based on the judgement of the researcher, either accepted or rejected for inclusion in the framework. This resulted in the identification of 21 factors to examine collab-orative management processes in protected areas. The factors were then subdi-vided among five dimensions: external environment, stakeholder characteristics, relationship and communication, process and structure, and resources. Together they were put in the framework presented in table 1. The main reason to devel-op this framework was to provide a list of criteria when examining collaborative management processes in protected areas.

Study method

The purpose of the study was to develop and apply a framework consisting of criteria for examining the collaborative management of protected areas. A case study approach was adopted in order to assess the practicability of the framework and to examine the collaboration at RNP. Qualitative research was executed to elicit detailed information regarding attitudes towards and opinions and values of collaboration in the case of RNP.

Twenty-one semi-structured interviews were conducted in April–June 2006 with key stakeholders of the Consultative Council. Although the Council com-prises 25 members, not all could be interviewed due to the members’ lack of time or lack of interest in participating in this study. Nevertheless, the 21 respondents interviewed represented an appropriate cross-section of RNP community inter-est (i.e. environmental protection agency, county council, mayors of local commu-nities, cabin owners, NGOs, etc.). The interviews were based on a f lexible semi-structured interview format, which allowed for questions to emerge from the in-formation offered. The f lexible nature of the interview style facilitated informal conversations and provided a deeper insight into issues such as trust and power

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among the stakeholders. Each interview lasted 45–90 minutes. Written notes were taken during the interview sessions. Data of the resulting transcripts were organ-ized on the basis of themes, concepts and related features, allowing identification of broad pattern for the concepts and themes that emerged (Medeiros de Araujo & Bramwell, 2002). Local reports and other documents provided antecedent data to complement, verify and substantiate the empirical findings (Cutumisu, 2003).

Study findings

The following are the findings in relation to the five dimensions of the collabo-rative management framework (see table 1). These dimensions are external envi-ronment, stakeholder characteristics, relationship and communication, process and structure, and resources.193

Dimensions  Factors  Sources

External environment History of collaboration and corporation in the com‐munity 

2,3 

Community support 2,3,4

Stakeholder characteristics Appropriate cross‐section of stakeholders   2,3Involvement  1,2,3,4

Relationship and communication 

Open and frequent communication   2,3,4 Awareness of power and its influence on the collabo‐ration process among stakeholders  

2

Ability to compromise  3,4Acceptance that conflict can sharpen stakeholders’ discussions on issues and can stimulate new ideas and approaches 

2

Mutual respect, understanding and trust 2,3,4Established formal and informal communication links  1,2,3

Process and structure 

Confidence in and satisfaction with the decision‐making process and the partnership decisions taken 

2

Shared vision 3,4 Feeling of ownership 3Openness to various ways of organizing itself and ac‐complishing its work 

3 

Clear understanding of roles, rights and responsibili‐ties 

1,3,4

The roles and responsibilities match the particular interests and skills of each stakeholder  

1,2,3

Resources 

Sufficient funds  2,3,4Availability of space, equipment and goods  2,3Skilled convener 1,4Availability of analysis and documentation 2,3

The following four sources form the basis of the collaborative management framework developed in this study: 1. Borrini‐Feyerabend (1996); 2. Lasker et al. (2001); 3. Mattessich & Monsey (1992); 4. Toupal & Johnson (1998) 

Table 1: Collaborative management framework for protected areas

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External environment

One set of issues when examining the collaborative management of protected ar-eas is the ‘external environment.’ These external factors are “beyond the ability of any partnership to control” (Lasker et al., 2001: 196) and are divided into two levels: the history of collaboration, and community support. First, collaboration is more likely to succeed in communities that have a history of working together: “A history of collaboration or cooperation exists in the community and offers the potential collaborative partners an understanding of the roles and expectations required in collaboration and enables them to trust the process” (Mattessich & Monsey, 1992: 15). In Romania, there is no or only very little history of collabora-tion. The country used to have a ‘super-centralized’ (Popescu, 1993) planning and control system (i.e. a Communist regime). This top-down system may have affect-ed involvement and trust in collaboration processes. Interviewees confirmed that Romanians have lost their confidence in collaboration: “Since the Communist re-gime, many [Romanians] have become suspicious and distrustful and have lost their confidence in collaboration” and “For cooperation, you need to have some trust in each other, and that is a difficult aspect as [since the Communist regime] nobody trusts anyone any more.”

Second, having broad-based community support is essential for the sustaina-bility of the partnership (Goodman et al., 1998; Mattessich & Monsey, 1992; Lasker et al., 2001). Interviewees generally considered the community support to be ‘sat-isfactory.’ According to many respondents, most external parties (e.g. the general public) perceive RNP positively, because they are confident that “RNP brings them economic benefits.” However, the local landowners had some ‘problems’ with the RNP management. All interviewees mentioned that land owners feel restricted by the laws and rules of the Romanian government and the RNP management, which prohibit woodcutting and limit sheep grazing: “The landowners feel they no longer have control over their own land, because woodcutting is not allowed and sheep grazing has been regulated too strictly” and “Conflicts on limitation of sheep grazing remain between the park management and local landowners.”

Stakeholder characteristics

An examination of the collaborative management of protected areas should also consider the people involved. People more than any other aspect of collaboration influence the processes of collaboration: “Strip away the rhetoric and the theory, and the concept of partnership is all about people that are collaborating together on one common goal” (Long & Arnold, 1995: 109). What is needed is an appro-priate cross-section of stakeholders. This means that the collaboration group in-cludes representatives of each segment of the community that will be affected by the activities of the collaborative group: “Partnerships need to identify and active-ly engage partners with a sufficient range of perspectives, resources and skills

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to give the group a full picture of the problem, to stimulate new, locally respon-sive ways of thinking about solutions, and to implement comprehensive actions” (Lasker et al., 2001: 191).

Many relevant key stakeholders groups are represented in the Consultative Council (local communities, forest directorate and forest districts, mountain res-cue teams, school inspectors, environmental protection agency, cabin owners, NGOs, etc.). Respondents said that the inclusion of many stakeholders has result-ed in “more open and frequent communication” and that Council meetings con-tributed to ‘an increased understanding’ between the stakeholders.

Another critical factor in collaboration is the involvement of stakeholders (Lasker et al., 2001; Mattessich & Monsey, 1992; Toupal & Johnson, 1998). Ac-cording to Roberts and Simpson (1999: 1), “in many former socialist countries of Central and Eastern Europe the concept of developing wider involvement in deci-sion-making processes remains inherently problematic.” This may be the result of Romania’s Communist history: it would not be “unreasonable for people who used to be constrained in local decision making to be slow to respond positive-ly to calls for active participation” (Turnock, 1996, in Roberts & Simpson, 1991: 319). In this study, ‘involvement’ was measured by assessing the interviewee’s participation in RNP activities (e.g. ‘hiking days’) or attendance at at least two out of three Council meetings, by the way they maintained contact with the Coun-cil members and the RNP management at and outside regular meetings, and the way they expressed that they ‘felt’ committed to RNP in general. Surprisingly, in-volvement did not seem to constrain collaboration in RNP; 19 of the 21 respond-ents said that meetings were often extremely well attended by the stakeholders and that many of them participated in and/or co-organized RNP activities (e.g. a mountain rescue event). Sixteen respondents even underlined their willingness to be more involved with RNP management activities.

Relationships and communication

A third set of issues when examining collaborative management processes in pro-tected areas is related to the relationships and communication between the stake-holders. It is generally acknowledged that building relationships is one of the most daunting and time-consuming challenges a team faces (Kreuter et al., 2000). Ide-ally, “collaborative group members must interact often, update one another, dis-cuss issues openly, and convey all necessary information to one another and to people outside the group” (Mattessich & Monsey 1992: 16). “The character of the dialogue is likely to be a major factor in whether there is mutual understanding and learning across the differences among stakeholders” (Forster 1993; Fried-mann 1992; Innes, 1995, in Bramwell & Sharmann, 1999: 398). The interview-ees stated that they felt very confident about the internal communication in the Council, and emphasized that there was “honest and open communication among stakeholders” in which “it is possible for each member to give their opinion and ad-

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vice.” Several mentioned that through the Council, stakeholders now “understand and have better contact than ever before.” However, all interviewees reported their dissatisfaction with the frequency of communication with the RNP management, and many complained that they were not being kept up to date with the latest park developments. Two respondents explained: “I only get information from the park management when I specifically ask for it” and “The park management rarely in-forms the Council about recently taken decisions or recent activities.”

Some interviewees said that if the poor communication with the RNP man-agement continued, they would leave the Council: “I am just getting more and more annoyed by the ‘communicative skills’ of the park management.” Power dif-ferences can also seriously inf luence collaboration since they limit “who partici-pates, whose opinions are considered as being valid, and who has inf luence on the decisions made” (Israel et al., 1998, cited in Lasker et al., 2001: 193).

‘Power differences’ were examined by asking interviewees who has the power to take final decisions, by requesting examples of successful and unsuccessful de-cisions taken by park management, and by asking whether the interviewees felt that they were ‘heard’ by the other stakeholders. Data from the semi-structured interviews indicated a fair distribution of power among Council members; all but one respondent mentioned that power is shared by the Council as a whole: “The voting system that we apply for taking final decisions ensures that each stake-holder has equal power, as the most votes count.” Furthermore, interviewees once more mentioned their ability ‘to speak freely’ and to inf luence the Council’s de-cision-making process.

However, there was less satisfaction regarding the attitude of the park man-agement towards the Council: according to many (17) of the interviewees, the RNP management regularly takes decisions without the Council’s approval. The following example illustrates this point. Four hydropower companies are located within the park area. These companies existed long before the Communist pe-riod, and the Romanian government allows them to carry out their activities in RNP. However, the RNP management tried to evict the hydropower companies from the park area because their activities disturb the natural f lora and fauna in RNP. This was against the will of most Council members (16), who stated that such activities harm the environment only minimally and that the hydropower companies create a lot of employment. According to one interviewee, the hydro-power companies “account for almost two thirds of the employment in this area.” As a consequence, Council members did not feel that the RNP management was listening to them, because they simply continued their attempts to evict the hy-dropower companies from the park area. One Council member complained: “The example of hydropower companies and many other examples clearly show that our opinions are not taken into consideration,” and “the RNP management has such a ‘conservation ethic’; it only takes their own concerns into consideration.”

Third, the degree to which collaborative stakeholders are able to compromise is also likely to have a strong influence on collaboration. This factor concerns

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whether cooperating stakeholders accept that collaboration is likely to produce qualitatively different outcomes and that they are likely to have to modify their own approach (Bramwell & Sharman, 1999). “Participants who are more likely to accept these principles become more receptive to alternative ways of thinking and new types of policy proposals” (ibid.: 379). RNP’s stakeholders underlined the importance of reaching compromise, yet considered compromise a ‘time-con-suming task.’ Several respondents criticized the efficiency of the decision-mak-ing process: “Some meetings get extremely boring because issues are discussed too extensively, even if there is already a compromise.” Nonetheless, according to some, compromise is often reached since stakeholders have a shared vision, namely nature conservation: “We are connected through our shared vision of na-ture conservation and sustainable development and can mostly find a compro-mise that largely suits each stakeholder.”

Fourth, the acceptance of conflicts plays a role: “Rather than being considered an obstacle to planning, conflict should be considered ‘acceptable’ as conflict may provide opportunities for mutual learning” (Daniels & Walker 1996: 12). With-in the Council, stakeholders said that they did not have any ‘real’ conflicts that were worth noting. Various respondents said that “discussions and debates exist in almost every group and should not be avoided.” However, interviewees again mentioned the complicated relationship with the RNP management, because the interests and opinions of the Council are not always taken into account in the RNP’s final management decisions. Again, interviewees referred to the discus-sion about whether or not to evict the hydropower companies from the park (see also the factor ‘Awareness of power and its inf luence on the collaboration process among stakeholders’).

Fifth, mutual respect, understanding and trust inf luences collaboration: “Mutual respect, understanding and trust means that collaborating stakehold-ers share an understanding and have respect for each other and their respective organizations; how they operate, their cultural norms and values, limitations and expectations” (Mattessich & Monsey, 1992: 15). To work closely together, stakeholders who are involved in collaboration need to be confident that other stakeholders will follow through on their responsibilities and obligations and will not take advantage of them (Lasker et al., 2001). In addition, “Respect is also critical as it is difficult to imagine how a partnership can achieve success unless its other stakeholders appreciate the value of the others’ contribution and perspectives” (Lasker et al., 2001: 192). Data obtained from the semi-structured interviews with RNP’s stakeholders were quite contradictive. On the one hand, it seemed that the stakeholders respected, trusted and understood each other; this could be concluded on the basis of direct questions put to the respondents (e.g.: With which members do you prefer to collaborate? With whom do you least prefer to collaborate?). The stakeholders did not seem to have particular preferences and indicated that they were able to collaborate with all the other stakeholders.

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On the other hand, data from direct questions (e.g.: What is your opinion about the existence of trust, respect and understanding within the RNP area?) revealed distrust and suspicion among stakeholders in the RNP region. Inter-viewees once again mentioned that Romania’s history negatively affects trust in collaboration. Although some respondents denied the existence of ‘distrust,’ the majority (18) stated that there is little trust among RNP stakeholders. One inter-viewee even stated that nobody in the Council trusts anyone else in the Council: “I don’t trust them and they don’t trust me. It negatively inf luences the collabora-tion atmosphere.” And: “Trust is a heavily loaded concept, as we Romanians gen-erally do not have confidence in each other.”

Interviewees said that ‘distrust’ exists throughout the country, and therefore should not be interpreted as a ‘regional issue.’ In addition, interviewees men-tioned that ‘trust in collaboration’ has slowly increased among Council members, but were not able to give an example of this.

Finally, channels of communication must exist on paper so that information f low occurs: “The types of information that partnerships need go beyond statisti-cal data to include the perspectives, values and ideas of different stakeholders as well as information about the community assets” (Lasker et al., 2001: 190). By dis-seminating information, cooperating stakeholders can stay involved in the collab-oration process (Petrova et al., 2002). At RNP, it seemed that formal and informal communication links are quite well established. Regular meetings and annual workshops stimulate ongoing communication between Council members. Fur-thermore, these members are kept up to date by means of a monthly email that in-forms them about Council developments, and they meet informally during com-munity or park activities. However, the communication with the RNP manage-ment is in contrast to the satisfactory communication between Council members: all respondents reported that they were dissatisfied with the frequency of com-munication with the management (see also ‘Open and frequent communication’).

Process and structure

Another set of issues to consider when examining the collaborative manage-ment of protected areas is related to the process and structure of the collabora-tion: structures (e.g. administration, management, governance) are likely to have a strong influence on collaboration (Lasker et al., 2001). Structures “affect the ability of partnerships to actively engage an optimal mix of partners, create an en-vironment that fosters good working relationships among partners, and combine the perspectives, resources and skills of different partners” (ibid.: 191).

First, there should be confidence in and satisfaction with the decision-mak-ing process and the decisions taken: “when stakeholders support and have confi-dence in the process they are likely to be calm and positive towards the run-up to-wards the taken decision” (ibid.). Almost all the interviewees said that they were satisfied with the decision-making process in the Council. Final decisions are put

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to the vote; interviewees experienced this as an ‘honest’ system. Compromise is reached to the extent that such is possible. Interviewees were very satisfied with the decision-making process, as they could ‘state their opinions openly’ and all members ‘listened and respected each other’s opinions.’ However, several inter-viewees criticized the efficiency of the decision-making process.

The interviewees were pleased with the decision-making process in the Coun-cil, but were very dissatisfied with the decision-making process of the RNP man-agement. As mentioned earlier by Council members (see also ‘Relationships and communication’), the RNP management takes final decisions that do not always have the support of the Council (e.g. in the case of evicting the hydropower com-panies). One interviewee said: “We’re often asked for our opinions, but these are often not taken into account in the end.” As a result, Council members felt they could not inf luence the decision-making process of the RNP management at all.

Second, stakeholders should be committed to a shared vision. Results indicate that stakeholders have one main vision, namely nature conservation: “We collec-tively strive for natural protection of RNP.” Although the Council members have a common goal, they all keep their individual stakes, such as ‘gaining economic benefits for their cabins’ or ‘developing children’s activities for the local schools.’ Members reported that having a common vision positively inf luenced the collabo-ration, as it ‘really added to the feeling of being one unity.’

Third, members of a collaborative group should feel ‘ownership’ of the way the group works and of the results and products of its work. To achieve this, “operat-ing principles should aim to promote a certain feeling of ownership about deci-sions and outcomes: inter-agency working groups, participating in regular plan-ning and monitoring the collaborative effort can solidify ownership and ongo-ing commitment” (Mattessich & Monsey, 1992: 12). There seemed to be a sense of ownership among the RNP’s stakeholders. According to the interviewees, the Council serves as a ‘network’ in which members collectively “strive for nature protection and economic development in RNP.” This ‘feeling’ may have been stimulated in 2000 through several interactive working groups that were created for the implementation stage of the Management Plan. But again, the interview-ees were not positive about ‘ownership’ regarding decisions taken by the RNP management (see also ‘Awareness of power and its inf luence on the collaboration process among stakeholders’).

Fourth, f lexibility is an important factor in collaboration. “Monitoring the group to ensure it remains f lexible is important, since groups often tend over time to solidify their norms in ways which constrain their thinking and behav-iour” (Mattessich & Monsey, 1992: 12). In RNP, f lexibility seems warranted be-cause the management structure is evaluated each year. In those evaluations, stakeholders “critically ref lect on management progressions in RNP, and set new goals and actions for the next year.”

Fifth, in collaboration processes there should be a clear understanding of roles, rights and responsibilities: “In order to involve all relevant stakeholders in

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co-management, especially local communities, roles and responsibilities need to be defined and clarified; otherwise, the roles and responsibilities for implement-ing and funding participatory mechanisms, as well as, the delegation of power will remain unclear”(Barborak et al., 2002: 30).

However, at RNP there are no specific management agreements in place that define and clarify the roles, responsibilities and rights of each stakeholder. The Council plays only an advisory role in RNP issues and developments, and legal-ly does not have any other rights. Therefore, this factor was not investigated. Al-though insight was gained into the willingness to have designated roles, rights and responsibilities for each member, the majority (16) of the interviewees said that they were not interested in having own specific rights, roles and responsibilities.

Resources

A fifth set of issues is related to the available resources, since financial and hu-man input are necessary to develop and sustain a collaborative group (Mattessich & Monsey, 1992: 17): “stakeholders should have a perception that sufficient re-sources are devoted to collaboration in order to ensure that progress is not inter-rupted by lack of resources” (Jamal & Getz, 1995, in Bramwell & Sharman, 1999: 401). RNP obviously lacks funds, since many proposed projects could not be re-alized: “The RNP management and we [the Council] wanted to build a hotel that would meet the EU accommodation standards, a hotel that could then well serve as an example for local communities. However, due to a lack of funding, this plan could not be realized.”

The Council depends financially on the RNP management, which each year grants the Council a certain amount of money to finance its activities. In turn, the RNP management depends mainly on international donors, although the state and the National Forest Administration (NFA) also provide some funds (Stanciu, 2001). According to the interviewees, the RNP management is active in grant writing and fund-raising activities.

Second, partnerships must have enough space, equipment (computers, sta-tionery) and goods (Lasker et al., 2001). The interviewees unanimously reported that they were satisfied with the availability of space, equipment and goods.

Third, there should be a skilled convener: “The convener is a neutral person or organization that can build consensus to the objective of the co-management plan and the interests of its stakeholders: the convener must have organizing and interpersonal skills, and carry out the role with fairness” (Mattessich & Monsey, 1992: 34). A skilled convener is granted ‘legitimacy’ by the stakeholders in the collaboration involved. At present, RNP has no designated convener. According to the respondents, the Consultative Council and the Scientific Council were play-ing this ‘outsider’s role.’

Fourth, analysis and documentation capacities are critical to provide partners with materials that “synthesize their ideas and help them to make timely deci-

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sions, and also to evaluate the functioning and process of the partnership” (Lask-er et al., 2001: 194). Sufficient information seemed to be available within the Council. However, many respondents complained about the provision of infor-mation by the RNP management to its stakeholders: “I only get information from the park management when I specifically ask for it.” The respondents want infor-mation letters or bulletins to be distributed on a monthly basis: “In this way, peo-ple would remain up to date about the developments within the Retezat region.”

Conclusions

The study reported on in this paper first developed a framework for examining collaborative management processes in protected areas; the development was based on criteria derived from a comparison of four existing frameworks. The re-sulting framework consists of five dimensions: stakeholder characteristics, rela-tionships and communication, process and structure, resources, and external en-vironment, Based on this framework, the study then examined the collaborative management of RNP. The framework allowed the identification of a number of issues that have an effect on that collaborative management.

Collaborative management of RNP

The application of the framework revealed several aspects that affect the collab-orative management of RNP. For example, the Consultative Council included representatives of many relevant key stakeholder groups, and there was willing-ness among these stakeholders to be involved in the RNP management activities. Bringing stakeholders together in the Council resulted in more open and more frequent communication, and increased the understanding between the stake-holders. This may also be attributed to the formal and informal communication systems that distribute information to all Council members. Within the Council, stakeholders were aware of the need for compromise, and in most cases negotia-tion led to a compromise that largely suited each stakeholder. They were also sat-isfied with the decision-making process and system: each stakeholder said that he or she had the ability to speak freely and to inf luence decisions. Finally, the availability of sufficient space, equipment and goods stimulated the collaborative management of RNP.

However, other aspects were identified that hampered collaborative man-agement. Although communication among the stakeholders represented in the Council was satisfactory, the relationship between the Council and the RNP man-agement was fairly problematic, as Council members’ voices were not always heard. Council members did not feel that they could influence decisions made by the RNP management and felt that the latter made decisions without the sup-port of the Council. In the present management structure, the Council does not have any formal authority to inf luence decisions. However, the voices of Council

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members were not heard in an informal way either. In addition, stakeholders ex-pressed their dissatisfaction with information distribution towards local commu-nities and wanted to be more informed about developments within RNP.

Suspicion and distrust among the RNP’s stakeholders also constrained col-laborative management; this may be attributed to Romania’s post-Communist context, which may negatively affect trust in collaboration. This is a problem, because collaborative management completely fails without trust and sincerity (Roberts & Simpson, 1999). Two other stakeholder conflicts were also identified: one related to the landowners, the other to the hydropower companies. Another problem is related to a lack of funding, as a result of which several projects could not be realized.

To overcome constraints, it is recommended to provide Council members with the formal authority to inf luence the decisions of the RNP management. For-mal agreements should be developed and implemented in the RNP management plan. This may help increase stakeholder’s formal decision-making power. Ap-pointing a skilled convener may be helpful in this process. To increase trust and respect among RNP’s stakeholders, it is advised to organize team-building activi-ties and workshops on collaboration. However, it should be noted that trust takes time to develop and sufficient time should be provided, especially when consider-ing Romania’s post-Communist character. Consequently, landowners and hydro-power companies should be included in these activities in order to improve the current conflict situation with the RNP management. Last, to improve RNP’s fi-nancial situation, it may be useful to actively involve the Council in RNP’s fund-raising activities.

Evaluation of the framework for examining collaborative management processes

The study also developed a framework for examining collaborative processes. Al-though more studies and case studies should be executed to validate the practicabil-ity of the proposed framework in this study, the framework stimulated a wide-rang-ing examination of collaborative management, based on an assessment of the ex-ternal environment, stakeholder characteristics, relationship and communication, process and structure, and resources. Nevertheless, the proposed framework can only serve as a guideline for other researchers. In individual cases, different factors may play an essential role: a particular factor (e.g. a national park’s history) that may seriously affect collaboration in one protected area will not necessarily be very influ-ential in another protected area. Investigating collaboration processes by means of this framework also requires longitudinal research; as collaboration processes take time, so should research into these processes. To gain insider perspectives on collab-oration, the researcher should ‘go native’ and be involved for a longer period of time and not just conduct field research for a couple of weeks, as in this case.

The framework also pays little attention to the power relations that underlie collaboration. Although the present study did pay some attention to power rela-

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tions and the inf luence on collaboration processes, it is essential to put more em-phasis on power, as the case study at RNP once more confirmed that power rela-tions can seriously inf luence collaboration.

Finally, application of this framework does not automatically reveal the suc-cessfulness of collaboration (or the lack of such), as that also at least partly de-pends on the outcomes of this collaboration in terms of tangible impacts (nature conservation, socio-economic development, etc.). The assessment of outcomes was beyond the scope of this research project, but should be included in follow-up projects in order to be able to link processes of collaboration with the results. It is only by examining these two aspects that proper insight will be gained into the successes and drawbacks of collaborative management approaches in protect-ed areas.

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13 Local Initiatives Challenging Mainstream

Policies: Signs of Sub-politics?

Marleen Buizer

Deliberative practices – such as citizen forums, panels or juries – have recent-ly become more popular, not least as a topic of empirical research (Hajer &

Wagenaar, 2003; Thompson, 2008). In the Netherlands, the background to these practices is a low and unstable voter turnout, historically low membership of po-litical parties, and the coming and going of new political parties that are based on single personalities or single issues (WRR, 2004). Given these circumstances, deliberative practices can be seen as an additional route to shaping democracy. Deliberative practices often have a highly organized character and a clear aim, namely the formulation of decisions about a specific issue and, very often, about a specific place. Government institutions mostly take the initiative to organize these deliberations. Akkerman and colleagues (2004) speak of this in terms of ‘democratization from above.’ Even although analysts are often critical about the real intentions behind this kind of participation (Hartman, 2000), it is equally real to assume that involving the ‘local people’ with their ‘situated knowledge’ at an early stage of decision making will improve the quality and outcome of deci-sion making (Yanow, 2003; Fischer, 2001; Healey, 2003).

The question is, what happens if the initiative for deliberation is informal and not organized from above? Ulrich Beck used the term sub-politics to articu-late that society is increasingly being shaped from below and from outside the representative institutions of the formal political system (Beck, 1997, 1994). He used his thesis to refer to large-scale consumer initiatives that link local events to global issues, such as the consumer protests against dumping the Brent Spar oil rig. In this paper, I look at the possibilities of applying the sub-politics thesis to small-scale private initiatives. Are these also signs of sub-politics and, if so, in what sense? Do these initiatives remain informal or do they become part of main-stream politics? Who participates and who does not? What can be learned from them in terms of the sub-politics thesis?

Local initiatives often arise in response to government policy, and many a time there has been a prior conflict over the scope of the latter’s implementation; the local initiators challenge the content of government policies because they be-lieve that their area requires alternative or additional measures. I consider delib-eration about policy as a potential means of democratization (see also Torgerson,

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2003); discussions about alternatives to established government policy are a way for the public to express their concerns, to exchange arguments about these with others, to learn and develop their ideas, and possibly to inf luence policy making in a more argumentative way than voting once every four years or so.

I therefore consider it problematic that confrontations between diverging initi-atives and established policy have not been investigated as much as deliberations organized ‘from above.’ There are various plausible explanations for this. One is that the public’s eye is more easily attracted to the formal occasions of delibera-tion. The initiators expect much from the outcomes of the events they organize, and the media are mostly mobilized to play a role in one or more of the stages of deliberation. Also, research budgets are more often allocated to study govern-ment-initiated interactions with the public. But informal initiatives sometimes do receive a lot of attention, especially if they are large scale and relate to global is-sues – Beck’s cases being the perfect examples.

Beck is not very specific about the conditions in which sub-politics occur, how-ever, nor does he distinguish between various versions of sub-politics. Subjecting the thesis to empirical investigation can inform us about the conditions in which sub-politics can come about, and perhaps uncover the various forms of sub-politics to which different conditions can give rise. The cases presented here offer the op-portunity to uncover in what sense the sub-politics thesis applies to informal, lo-cal (or specific, place-based) initiatives, which enables one to become more specific about the thesis and makes it possible to identify different versions of sub-politics. In this way, normative theory (Becks’ sub-politics thesis) and empirical study (the cases used in this paper) can enrich each other (Thompson, 2008).

The cases discussed here concern local, informal initiatives in three specific spatial areas in different parts of the Netherlands. I consider myself an action re-searcher in these particular cases: I had relatively easy access to specific episodes, because either I took an active part in these episodes or the actors involved in-formed me about them (for more detailed descriptions of the cases as well as a crit-ical reflection on my role in them, see Buizer, 2008). The main issue I deal with here is in what sense these cases are and in what sense they are not manifestations of sub-politics. The specific places figuring in the three cases offer a basis to be-come more specific about the ‘in what sense,’ and provide the possibility to render a place-based account of the possible meanings of sub-politics. This allows me to substantiate the mentioned claim that discourse about policy making can be a means of democratization and to specify the conditions in which such may occur.

I first present the cases, then describe and operationalize Beck’s sub-politics thesis. I argue that for the sake of operationalization, uncovering the intercon-nections between discourses and institutional practices is a particularly fruitful epistemological exercise. I then apply these concepts to a brief description of the three cases. I conclude by presenting what this possibly means for present-day ambitions to create new modes of ‘deliberative governance’ or, for that matter, a sub-political society.

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Three cases

Biesland

The first case concerns Biesland, an agricultural enclave situated in the midst of the cities, towns and recreation areas that make up the Randstad (the urban con-glomeration in the west of the Netherlands). The area now has only one active farm family; most of the farmland has been bought up for urban development or for the establishment of nature areas and parks, to be managed by private or state-led nature organizations. However, people who had the aim of doing things differently got together and a coalition slowly formed. Together with civil serv-ants (often in their private time), local residents (embodied in an active founda-tion named ‘Friends of Biesland’) and researchers, the farmer worked out a far-reaching concept of ‘nature-oriented’ farming that would also be geared to en-hancing opportunities for various types of recreational activities, schooling and care. The minister of Agriculture, Nature and Food Quality (LNV) was enthusi-astic and promised early in the process to finance half of the plans, as long as the other half was financed by regional parties. The minister also stated that the Eu-ropean Commission would have to approve the payments to the farmer – and that was the start of a lengthy process to get the idea implemented. The question is, in what sense can this process of coalition formation on the basis of alternative ideas, and engagement in policy dialogue about these ideas, be called sub-politics and in what sense can it not?

Grensschap

The second case concerns a group of residents who organized themselves as ‘the Grensschap’ after an interactive event the municipality of Maastricht and the LNV organized from the top down in 2003. The name Grensschap refers to both the members of group and the specific area (grens and schap are Dutch for ‘border’ and ‘community,’ respectively). The aim was to influence the land use in a green zone between the Dutch municipality of Maastricht and the Belgian municipalities of Riemst and Lanaken. The group proved to be more than just a f lash in the pan.

For years, Dutch and Belgian residents and civil servants (most of whom were also residents of the area) collaborated to organize various activities in order to share with each other what they knew about the area. The area, which did not have a name until then, was named the Grensschap in order to emphasize the role of the Dutch–Belgian border as a binding element in the landscape. The members of the Grensschap were not the kind of people who would use a strat-egy of open resistance against, for instance, building activities. What they wanted most of all was to be incorporated into the decision-making process as ‘reasonable experts’ with plenty of local knowledge about various aspects of the area. They ac-tively sought people who had various kinds of knowledge about the area, such as

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its human history, archaeology, geology and ecology. Some of the members knew about these aspects of the area because of their professional background, and oth-ers because of their hobbies or because they had lived in the area for a long time. The area had long been considered a ‘no man’s land’ and that image was what they wanted to shed.

The area was also subject to extensive and rapid change. A recreational park, linked to the existing swimming pool, was under construction at the Dousberg complex (a leisure and residential development); the activities of the loam indus-try were being intensified; and, in addition to the industries that were already present in the area, the expansion of housing and industrial areas was foreseen on both sides of the border. As a consequence, the area had not been considered as one whole. This story raises questions about the kind of politics practised here. How far did their inf luence reach?

Loonsche Land

In the third case – the Loonsche Land – the Efteling theme park and two na-ture conservation organizations reached an agreement about the development of a joint land-use management plan, which was laid down in a covenant. The ini-tiative came about after years of conflict between these parties over the building of accommodation in an area of woods and fields bordering and owned by the Efteling theme park – a conflict that led to legal cases that were remitted to the Council of State.

Behind these episodes figured the compensation policies of the Dutch nation-al and provincial governments, which state that all building activities in areas that were formally designated as ‘nature’ must be compensated for by the creation of ‘new nature.’ For instance, in the relevant province of Noord-Brabant, every ‘lost’ hectare of forest that was between 25 and 100 years old had to be compensated for by a factor of 1.66. So the legal cases were mainly about the compensation plans that the Efteling had submitted: for the nature organizations the proposed com-pensation was not enough and for the Efteling it was. Documents that supported the legal procedure (e.g. documents about the ecological value of a fertilized field of maize and how it would be compensated for) were exchanged. In the end, the Council of State did not come to a conclusion but annulled the case for procedural reasons. That was when the involved parties had finally had enough of the dead-locked situation, in which nobody got what they really wanted. The former op-ponents developed an alternative plan in which they abandoned the nature com-pensation idea. So, what were the consequences of this political strategy, and can these be reasonably referred to as sub-politics?

The three cases represent situations in which politics and policies ‘as usual’ did not bring about the desired place-based policies that the interest groups wanted to see for ‘their’ places. Thus, they engaged in alternative kinds of politics to get their

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ideas realized. To come to conclusions about the kind of politics that they engaged in, and their sub-political character, I first delve into this theoretical concept.

Sub-politics

Beck uses the term sub-politics to articulate the trend whereby society is increas-ingly being shaped from below. His work so far has focused on the worldwide citizens’ movements that are emerging under the inf luence of feelings of dan-ger and risks, whether real or anticipated. Beck’s famous examples are the world-wide movement against nuclear testing at Mururoa, the mass consumer protests against the disposal in the North Sea of an obsolete oil rig (Brent Spar) (Beck, 1996, 1997) and the BSE crisis, the public perception of which, according to Beck, gave rise to the fastest passage of laws in the history of the German Republic (Beck et al., 2003: 14).

The concept of ‘sub-politics’ refers to politics outside and beyond the repre-sentative institutions of the political system of nation-states. It focuses attention on signs of an (ultimately global) self-organization of politics, which tends to set all areas of society in motion. Sub-politics means ‘direct’ politics – that is, ad hoc individual participation in political decisions, bypassing the institutions of repre-sentative opinion-formation (political parties, parliaments) and often even lack-ing the protection of the law. In other words, sub-politics means the shaping of society from below.(Beck 1996: 18)

How does this idea about a global politics beyond the representative institu-tions of representative democracy relate to the initiatives addressed here? These initiatives are obviously not about global movements; they relate to the very local and specific of everyday places. As they relate to areas that are adjacent to cities or within urban agglomerations, the initiatives reach further than a neighbourhood park or a street; however, they are very local compared to the global examples to which Beck refers. In addition, they are not about the kind of risks or major haz-ards that Beck speaks of in his examples, but about positive action that the initia-tors wished to take in order to improve these specific places. Still, Beck’s thesis seems to deserve application also to initiatives that have a local, territorial orienta-tion. Thus, the leading questions are: in what sense can one speak of ‘self-organi-zation’ in these examples, and of direct ad hoc participation in political decisions, bypassing the representative institutions?

But how does one investigate such questions, which are still quite general? First, the analyst needs to be enabled to become more specific about the ‘in what sense’ part of the question. Making a distinction between discourses and insti-tutional practices, and looking at how both of them change (or do not change), offers some guidance at this point. From among a variety of approaches to dis-course analysis, I chose to take on a perspective that emphasizes both discourse and institutional practices and the relationship between them. This means that discourse refers not only to the everyday French meaning of the word (‘discus-

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sion’). Such a linguistic approach would entail detailed analysis of written or spo-ken words in the texts or conversations of the local initiators and ‘policy makers.’ Even though texts and conversations are considered an expression of discourse, I take a broader outlook by putting the emphasis on the whole range of ways in which events are interpreted or given meaning to. This includes the practice of using a language, as well as various kinds of other institutional practices, such as ways to delineate land, specific allocations of resources, or the enactment of rules that legitimate a specific type of organizational structure to control management of the land, and not others. Discourse both steers such practices and is inf luenced by them. To be able to investigate their relationship, it is necessary to distinguish between discourse and institutional practices. Not doing so would collapse the two separable elements, which is the same risk that lies in wait when operational-izing Giddens’s duality of structure and agency (Giddens, 1984). Not separating structure from agency also problematizes investigating their relationship in the course of time (Archer, 1995, 1996).

Discourse is the way in which a specific idea is categorized and conceptu-alized, not just in words but also in deeds. Vivian Schmidt (2008: 305) – who recently suggested adding ‘discursive institutionalism’ to the three main ‘insti-tutionalisms’ (rational actor, historical, sociological) – phrases this as follows: “Discourse is not just ideas or ‘text’ (what is said) but also context (where, when, how, and why it as said). The term refers not only to structure (what is said, or where and how) but also to agency (who said what to whom).” Speaking of dis-course in such a way turns it explicitly into a relational concept (see also Hea-ley, 2003) or an interactive process. Schmidt (ibid.: 316): “ . . . discourse as an interactive process is what enables agents to change institutions, because the deliberative nature of discourse allows them to conceive of and talk about insti-tutions as objects at a distance, and to dissociate themselves from them, even as they continue to use them.”

Similarly, institutions stand in particular relationships to people: even though they are structures, they also exist in the minds of people, either as unconscious ‘baggage’ or as the conscious ability to ‘think beyond’ the institutions within which people act. Schmidt refers to Searle and Habermas when she refers to these abilities as, respectively, ‘background ideational abilities’ and ‘foreground discur-sive abilities’ (ibid.: 315–316).

Background ideational abilities are internal to individual actors. They “encom-pass the human capacities, dispositions and know-how (knowledge of how the world works and how to cope with it) … and signify what goes on in individual minds as they come up with new ideas” (ibid.: 315). Foreground discursive abili-ties refer to what can be done collectively by engaging in deliberations about insti-tutions. The latter concept is especially important, because it enables us to under-stand how actors, in collective efforts, are able to change institutions. As such, a discursive institutional approach corrects the lack of agency in the other three in-stitutional approaches. Here, too, the relationship between discourse and institu-

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tional practices is viewed in such a way. In my opinion, such a relational approach to discourse and institutional practices facilitates one to describe the details of their interactions in specific places.

Now, sub-politics, in discursive institutional terms, is about the ideational and discursive abilities of agents to change institutional practices, while these agents are simultaneously operating within the institutions that are bringing forth these practices. Thus, here self-organization refers not to isolated initiatives that are completely out of touch with present-day institutions, but to initiatives that are still related to these institutions. The initiatives may be a consequence of the ex-isting institutional practices and the initiators may be aware of them, so that they can skilfully use their knowledge about them to promote their own ideas. With re-gard to the representative institutions, we have to see whether, when using these transformative abilities, actors disregard (‘bypass’) these entirely or whether they still make use of them in some way to achieve their ideas.

In the following, I look at the earlier mentioned three cases in which local initia-tors wanted to make a difference to specific places to which they felt connected, but could not make this difference without confronting established policies that had their own established discursive characteristics and practices. What did the local actors do with their ideational and discursive abilities in the three cases, and how did that change (or not change) institutional practices? What does this tell us about sub-politics? What versions of sub-politics can be derived from the three cases?

Competing discourse and institutional practices in three specific places

Biesland: farming and nature in an urbanizing area

In the Biesland case, the leading discourse behind policies to acquire land from farmers was twofold: nature would be better off were the land owned by nature organizations, and farming is not able to fulfil the wishes of urban dwellers, who want recreation and forests. The internal market discourse of the EU – which is based on the idea that farmers can be paid for nature-oriented activities only to the extent that this will not distort competition with other farmers in Europe – also played a major role: it eventually determined the future of the initiative. But that was not all.

The initiative gradually obtained financial and other forms of support from regional administrators and politicians, who believed that the idea of combining farming and nature management in an urban environment could coexist with the earlier mentioned discourse, which was based on the idea that nature and agriculture should be separated. However, that coexistence of discourses in the Biesland area did not translate into changed practices (e.g. the purchase of land) elsewhere. And even in the Biesland area itself, there remained historical claims on parts of the agricultural land. The fact that their ideas did get realized may to some extent be due to the ‘conscious’ discursive abilities of the local coalition.

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They were aware of the way of reasoning of key decision makers who were hold-ing on to the idea of agriculture versus nature, and they were also aware that what they had to do to convince their opponents was to conform to the practice of mak-ing prognoses of ‘nature target types’ that were expected to occur as a result of the new type of farm management.

They therefore carried out studies that would underpin the ‘nature target types’ that they expected, even if the point of departure of such studies was con-trary to their own point of departure that nature could not be predicted in such a way. Instead they thought that nature values were very much context dependent and unpredictable, that they depended on available ecological conditions. Moreo-ver, in order to fit within the ‘internal market discourse,’ they also provided all the detailed data that would enable officials in Brussels to carry out the ‘state aid procedure,’ a practice connected to the internal market discourse.

Thus, they operated in the existing institutions to get their ideas accepted, and by doing so they reinforced existing institutional practices. This could be seen as co-option, but for the initiators it was a way to pursue their ideas. But at the same time they were also using their discursive abilities to think and speak outside the existing institutions, and they kept their original ideas in full view. After years of political decision making in Brussels and conversations between Dutch and Eu-ropean Commission officials, the plan of the local coalition was approved. The question now is, in what sense was this sub-politics?

The Biesland coalition more or less achieved what it wanted in its specific lo-cal situation, but its success did not affect other places in the Netherlands; this road was blocked in the final European decision. Also, the contents of their ideas shifted in the direction of national and European policy frameworks while the in-itiators used their ‘discursive abilities’ to fit their ideas within the latter. This led to the implementation of a blurred version of the ideas. Although we may come to a different conclusion in a few years, when the ‘blurred version’ of the local idea will be evaluated and lead to delayed effects, for the moment this can only be speculated about. What is important, however, is that these shifts in the contents of the ideas, and the continuation of ‘practices as usual’ in other places, were not debated in the formal arenas of representative politics, or in other informal are-nas. Information about the project was being imparted in personal communica-tions, during excursions to the farm and through a website and an e-newsletter, but how the initiators had had to change their plans and how this had kept the mainstream discourse in place did not become an issue. This nuances the mani-festation of sub-politics as it occurred in Biesland.

In sum, the case is a manifestation of sub-politics in the sense that alterna-tive discourse could coexist with mainstream discourse, and in the sense that lo-cal actors realized part of what they envisioned. But it was not a manifestation of sub-politics in the sense that the alternative ideas (and the proposed institutional practices related to them) did not become part of public deliberations about what they could possibly mean in other areas or for mainstream policies.

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Grensschap: Dutch and Belgian citizens getting a ‘no man’s land’ on the agenda

The Grensschap case reveals a discourse in which the area is seen in a fragment-ed or segmented way as a ‘no man’s land’ in which there are still plenty of oppor-tunities to expand various functions. This discourse is represented by the Dutch and Belgian municipal sectors and developers, which were challenged by the inte-grative Grensschap’s discourse. The area’s border, history, geology, built environ-ment and ecology were accentuated as binding factors. In the view of the mem-bers of the Grensschap, integration and the relationships that could still be per-ceived in the landscape should be the point of departure when building activities were to be undertaken.

However, the majority of the municipal administrations continued to look at the area not as one in which various features would need to be balanced, but solely as a potential zone for expansion. This was expressed by their institutional prac-tices, such as the planning process for the Zouwdal (a small, open valley), which was split up into sectoral studies rather than being dealt with as one whole. And as it was the deliberate strategy of the members of the Grensschap not to explicitly oppose activities that had already been decided upon, confrontations on issues of content were less actively sought and were even avoided. They did so on the basis of their ‘foreground discursive abilities’; they knew what would and what would not be controversial. Thus, they literally used their ability to think outside the in-stitutions to be able to continue to act within them. However, their avoidance of confrontations also thwarted their chances of deliberating on the contents of their own ideas and on how these differed from the prevalent ideas about that specific landscape.

All in all, I would argue that the Grensschap is a manifestation of sub-poli-tics in the sense that it shows the emergence of a new movement that is based on feelings of connectedness to a specific place and with great value attached to local knowledge, rather than the formal knowledge bases that are used, rec-ognized and valued by governments. In terms of inf luence on outcomes, how-ever, this statement must be qualified. Their strong ideas on how elements of the landscape were connected to each other and on how this should be acknowl-edged in planning efforts did appeal to some politicians and officials, especial-ly those who were dealing with the qualities of the landscape that the members of the Grensschap were also concerned about. And they were able to realize a project that for them was important because it carried their message: fourteen ‘landmarks,’ each representing the qualities of the area and telling a story about the coherence of the landscape. The landmarks were to show how each of these qualities related to the landscape ‘on the place,’ and how that place could be seen in relation to the other places. However, it seemed not to inf luence the part of the administration with most weight as regards the fragmented type of deci-sion making that had also characterized decision making before the Grensschap came into being.

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Loonsche Land: theme park and nature organizations breaking an impasse

In the Loonsche Land case, the compensation discourse gave rise to a fierce con-f lict between the actors representing building activities (the theme park) and those representing nature (the nature organizations), because it stimulated both sides to think in terms of their own interests. For a long time, the compensation discourse was reproduced in this struggle; the hostility that characterized these interactions militated against the willingness to engage in collaborative approach-es. But in 2004, with a court decision on the proposed compensation still pend-ing and the process on the verge of being repeated all over again (in other words, with the situation only getting worse), everybody wanted a way out. The idea that provided the way out was more integral and qualitative in character. Again, it ad-dressed the area as a whole and was inspired by stories behind the landscape. The economy and nature were no longer viewed as contradictory or incompatible. It all boiled down to the imposition of ecological conditions on the building of apart-ments and to an emphasis on the overall improvement of the area in terms of na-ture values and cultural history. The shift of practice, from operating through le-gal procedures to engaging in face-to-face discussions and formulating a joint vi-sion, required both parties to adopt a broader outlook and to replace thinking in terms of ‘either-or’ by thinking in terms of ‘and-and,’ to the extent that this was possible.

Both parties were satisfied with the plan that resulted from their common en-deavour. However, whereas an area-oriented approach such as this one, building on collaboration between various public and private parties, was gaining ground, the fundamental principles of the nature compensation discourse, whose built-in bias towards claim-making practices had triggered the confrontational approach, continued to hold sway. The most remarkable aspect of this is perhaps that there was so little discussion about the enabling and constraining effects of compensa-tion policy.

This case provides another example of sub-politics if it is viewed from the an-gle of the emergence of new coalitions outside the representative system, mak-ing use of their discursive abilities to break through an impasse that was created by the powerful nature compensation discourse. However, it is important to note here that the new partners kept their process rather closed. They wanted to avoid interference by other groups (i.e. more radical nature organizations or more fer-vent business-oriented actors) that would perhaps cling to the principles of either nature compensation or business development. This lack of openness is most likely not what Beck had in mind when he spoke of sub-politics. Still, considering the discursive space that the former opponents created between themselves, and the ways in which they involved the bureaucracy (thereby circumventing political decisions), I still see sufficient reason to include this particular place-based series of events as another variation of sub-politics. But what is perhaps more impor-tant is that the events did not give rise to any form of deliberation about the con-

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sequences of nature compensation policy. Thus, despite the new discourse and the ‘place-based’ innovation, repercussions for mainstream discourse, which re-mained firmly embedded in its connected compensation practices, did not arise.

Conclusion

To substantiate the idea that small-scale, place-based initiatives may indicate the existence of versions of sub-politics that are different from the examples de-scribed by Beck, I examined whether and, if so, in what sense the sub-politics the-sis would be valid for these. For this, I used three Dutch examples. To operation-alize the sub-politics thesis, which is about both process and contents (impact), I looked at discourses and institutional practices, and particularly at the relation-ship between them. I expected that putting discourse in the foreground while not losing sight of what was actually done in terms of institutional practices would highlight what institutional change took place in the course of the interactions between the mentioned initiatives and established policies, and what institutional practices were reproduced and stabilized.

This gave rise to a nuanced picture of what sub-politics could actually involve in situations such as the ones described here. I derived from the cases different versions of sub-politics. The versions can be distinguished by looking at the ways in which the introduction of new ideas was related to a change in institutional practices, or whether no change occurred.

In the first version of sub-politics, the introduction of new ideas for a specific area, ideas that did not come forth from the representative system, is accompa-nied by a change in institutional practices. Place-related actors joined forces to di-rectly inf luence the policies that are of relevance to ‘their’ area. And it was not just words or ideas that changed: new practices came about along with the new ide-as. New coalitions centred on new ideas were created in all three cases, and this sometimes led to significant changes in institutional practices. For instance, the integrative idea of the cross-border Grensschap area – an area that was formerly a ‘no-man’s land’ and in which sectoral interests could still find room to expand – was connected to the Grensschap as an organization with strong informal rules about how to deal with the area and with each other.

There was also discursive change in the second and third versions of sub-pol-itics: new ideas became accentuated in relation to particular places and new ac-tor coalitions were mobilized to realize these ideas. However, these versions differ from the first if one takes into account a time and a place dimension. In the second version, the contents of what was proposed from outside the representative system shifted in the direction of dominant policy discourses and practices in the course of time. Initiators do this deliberately: they use their discursive abilities to assess what kind of shift is necessary in order to get their ideas accepted. An important question that distinguished the first from the second version is: did it change only policy vocabulary or also institutional practices? The three cases demonstrated

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how these shifts may occur in different intensities and at different times; namely early – as in the Grensschap case, where right from the beginning the initiators took into account mainstream ways of thinking – or later, as in the Efteling case, where the initiators deliberately distanced themselves from the way of thinking that had brought them into deadlock, but at a later stage translated their ideas back into the compensation discourse in order to get their plans accepted.

In the third version, discursive change translated into a change in institution-al practices, but these practices turned out to be valid only in the place where the initiative originated; thus, they could be implemented there but nowhere else. It also means that we need to ask in cases where both discourse and institutional practices are changed whether that change is directed at the specific place of ori-gin of the initiative only or whether it also has wider policy implications.

The fourth version of sub-politics that stands out in the three cases is distin-guished not so much on the basis of the relationship between discourse and in-stitutional practices, as on the basis of the extent to which it is open or closed to specific actors. It is a closed version of sub-politics. This was most clear in the Efteling case. Similar to the other cases, new partners engaged in an initiative on the basis of ideas that deviated from established policies; this new partnership, however, remained closed: other participants were not allowed in. This introduc-es ‘closed’ forms of sub-politics as an additional version.

In view of the above, a fifth variant of sub-politics is conceivable but did not occur in the three cases. This is an open variant with changed discourse and changed institutional practices with respect to the specific place in which the initiative originated, but that also involves broader deliberation about the conse-quences of these changes for wider policy development. A relevant question with regard to this version is: who can participate and who cannot?

The final question is, what’s next? In my view, further research on the sub-political character of place-based initiatives is especially relevant in the context of present-day attempts to locate democracy somewhere else than in the tradition-al representative institutions of will-formation only. Providing in-depth analyses of cases in which these versions are tested and elaborated gives a more nuanced picture of the various manifestations of sub-politics, as we have seen in the three Dutch examples. Such nuance allows us to fathom what is really going on in terms of sub-politics and to debate the relative openness or closedness of it, or the extent to which discursive change accompanies changes in institutional practic-es over time and across places. Additional empirical analyses would contribute to better and more elaborate place-based accounts of sub-politics. Operationalizing the thesis by means of making a distinction between discourse and institutional practices, and between open and closed versions of sub-politics, has shown its rel-evance. The first distinction shows that the uptake of new ideas in local policy de-bates and politics is often not accompanied by a wider debate on the change in in-stitutional practices (over time and across places), meaning that the ideas remain isolated and institutional practices remain static. The second distinction shows

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that in order to assess the democratic potential of the sub-politics of local initia-tives, it is important to articulate which actors make part of the arrangement and which actors do not, and with what consequences. Such seems a promising ele-ment of the work to be done in the field of social spatial analysis.

References

Akkerman, T., M. Hajer and J. Grin (2004) The Interactive State: Democratisation from Above? Political Studies 52 (1) pp. 82–95

Archer, M. S. (1995) Realist social theory : the morphogenetic approach (New York: Cam-bridge University Press)

Archer, M. S. (1996) Social Integration and System Integration: Developing the Distinc-tion. Sociology 30 (4) pp. 679–699

Beck, U. (1996) World Risk Society as Cosmopolitan Society?: Ecological Questions in a Framework of Manufactured Uncertainties. Theory, Culture & Society 13 (4) pp. 1–32

Beck, U. (1997) Subpolitics: Ecology and the Disintegration of Institutional Power. Orga-nization Environment 10 (1) pp. 52–65

Beck, U., A. Giddens and S. Lash (1994) Ref lexive modernization : politics, tradition and aes-thetics in the modern social order (Stanford: Stanford University Press)

Beck, U., W. Bonss and C. Lau (2003) The Theory of Ref lexive Modernization: Problem-atic, Hypotheses and Research Programme. Theory, Culture and Society 20 (2) pp. 1–33

Beck, U., M.A. Hajer and I. Van der Aart (1997) De wereld als risicomaatschappij : essays over de ecologische crisis en de politiek van de vooruitgang (Amsterdam: De Balie)

Buizer, M. (2008) Worlds apart : interactions between local initiatives and established policy (Wageningen: Wageningen University)

Fischer, F. (2001) Citizens, Experts and the Environment: The politics of local knowledge (Dur-ham: Duke University Press)

Giddens, A. (1984) The constitution of society : introduction of the theory of structuration (Berkeley: University of California Press)

Hajer, M. A. and H. Wagenaar (2003) Deliberative policy analysis: understanding governance in the network society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press)

Hartman, I. (2000) Democratie van de grote bekken; Leer je wat van het publieke debat? (Am-sterdam: IPP)

Healey, P. (2003) Collaborative Planning in Perspective. Planning Theory 2 (2) pp. 101–123Schmidt, V. A. (2008) Discursive Institutionalism: The Explanatory Power of Ideas and

Discourse. Annual Review of Political Science 11 (1) pp. 303–326Thompson, D. F. (2008) Deliberative Democratic Theory and Empirical Political Science.

Annual Review of Political Science 11 (1) pp. 497–520Yanow, D. (2003) Accessing Local Knowledge. Pp. 228–246 in M. A. Hajer and H. Wage-

naar, ed., Deliberative policy analysis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press)

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14 Designing Landscapes for Leisure:

Reconsidering a Dutch Design Tradition

Marlies Brinkhuijsen

The use and meaning of the countryside is changing in urbanized regions of north-western Europe. Although the predominant land use may still be ag-

riculture, the actual character of these landscapes is plural and diverse; they in-clude nature, forestry, water management, transport, housing, work and leisure.1 The countryside in the Netherlands is being adjusted to meet leisure needs and wishes for two reasons, namely to provide green leisure environments in urban-ized regions and to support rural economies. A survey by the Market Organi-sational Research Institute in 2001 showed that over 50% of the Dutch people considered the main function of the countryside to be “the provision of quiet, space and recreation” rather than food production (Frerichs & de Wijs, 2001). The Dutch National Council for Agricultural Research spoke about the transfor-mation from ‘landscapes of production’ to ‘landscapes of consumption’ (NRLO, 1998). It is obvious that such changing images of the countryside create differ-ent expectations of usefulness and experiential qualities: “There is a shift from the domination of demands of agricultural efficiency to a variety of experience demands” (Jacobs, 2002).

The transformation of landscapes into appealing environments for leisure is a pressing contemporary issue – and an important one for landscape designers. After all, landscape design involves functional as well as perceptual and imagi-native aspects of space. This combination of aspects is essential if one wishes to make contemporary landscapes attractive for leisure purposes. Landscape design-ers have for centuries been modifying landscapes for such purposes, with ‘pleas-ure’ being one of the essential motives in the history of garden architecture. Eu-ropean baroque and landscape style gardens are often seen as the progenitors of theme parks (e.g. Mosser & Teyssot, 1991; Young & Riley, 2002). Landscape de-signers have developed a rich variety of design concepts, tools, styles and images

1. In this article, leisure, recreation and tourism are considered closely related concepts, characterized by their joint distinction from everyday life and duties and taking place in the landscape. They encompass a wide variety of activities and experiences of varia-ble duration that are inspired by non-utilitarian motives. The people concerned include local residents, citizens from nearby towns, day-trippers and tourists. The whole clus-ter is henceforth referred to as ‘leisure.’

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to organize space, enable leisure use and stir the imagination. Landscape design-ers can draw on their rich tradition of garden and landscape architecture when adjusting landscapes for leisure purposes.

It would be unjust, however, to assume that ‘pleasure’ is all that landscape designers can contribute to landscapes for leisure. The matter exceeds the local scale of gardens, parks and estates; it includes the regional scale with all its com-plexity. Landscape design in the Netherlands is known for its practice of regional landscape planning and design in rural areas. Dutch landscape designers have been redesigning existing landscapes and creating entirely new landscapes since the 1920s (Andela, 2000; de Visser, 1997), and this has led to the development of a unique tradition of comprehensive landscape design for rural landscapes. Lei-sure was one of the aspects taken into account, not only in traditional tourist land-scapes but also in landscapes that were primarily seen as agriculturally produc-tive landscapes. These practices have produced a range of design concepts, tools, styles and images that can still be called upon.

A challenge for landscape designers

If landscape designers wish to contribute to the development of attractive rural landscapes for leisure and to help further develop the discipline of landscape de-sign and its foundations, it is necessary to look beyond the challenges, trends and demands of both leisure and landscapes. It is sensible to find out how landscape design activities in recent history relate to the currently changing countryside and leisure context. Some components of the design tradition will last; others ap-pear questionable or unsuitable in the current context – they may be rejuvenated and transformed, or abandoned. In short, the design tradition should be scruti-nized for its relevance and suitability in the given context. However, landscape de-signers rarely do this. In fact, it is not possible for them to do so, because the way leisure has been dealt with in this design tradition has never been made explicit. As long as the leisure approach in the design tradition remains implicit, it cannot be discussed and examined for its relevance and suitability.

My LANDSCAPE 1:1 study (Brinkhuijsen, 2008) examined to what extent lei-sure approaches in the context of the Dutch design tradition concerning rural land-scapes are still relevant and suitable in today’s changing context, which presents new leisure demands and landscape challenges. The aim of the study was to pro-vide the knowledge and understanding that is necessary to start a discussion about the leisure approaches and the design tradition’s relation to those approaches. I also wanted to contribute to a stronger foundation of landscape design for leisure in rural landscapes. I formulated the following research questions:

• How did Dutch landscape designers deal with leisure in the countryside in twentieth-century landscape designs? What designs did they make for leisure purposes? Which design concepts and tools did they apply and for what rea-

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sons? What were their ideas about leisure and the role and meaning of land-scapes with regard to leisure, and to what extent did the designs represent these ideas?

• What are the dominant approaches (the leading ideas, design concepts and tools) to leisure in the countryside that emerge from the studied practices of twentieth-century landscape design, and how are they related to the Dutch design tradition concerning rural landscapes?

• With regard to leisure in the countryside, what are the critical issues for land-scape design theory and practice in the present and future context? What are the most significant characteristics and trends of leisure in the countryside and which issues require attention? To what extent does the contemporary context require reconsideration of the dominant design approaches concern-ing leisure in the countryside?

Research design

The research design consisted of three parts. The first comprised an empirical task, namely to select and study operational and strategic landscape designs in or-der to unearth the underlying design concepts, tools and ideas. For this, an ana-lytical framework was constructed on the basis of four spatial components of lei-sure: attractions, facilities, routes and settings. The designs represented a range of Dutch landscapes, that is, the coastal zone and the marine clay polders of the Zeeland Delta, the river plains of the Gelderse Poort, the peat meadow landscapes of the Venen and the sandy uplands of the Drentsche Aa Stream Valley. They cov-ered five periods with different planning and policy contexts, namely the pioneer-ing period (1920s – 1950s), the period of mass recreation (1960s), the period of joint recreational use (1970s – early 1980s), the period of rambling (late 1980s – 1990s) and the period of diversification (present time).

The second part comprised a comparative analysis of the ideas, design con-cepts and tools that had been unearthed during the design analyses. Dominant leisure approaches were reconstructed and related to contemporary theoretical in-sights and to the Dutch design tradition concerning rural landscapes. In the third part, the reconstructed leisure approaches were critically reviewed from both an academic and a practical point of view. Central themes of leisure in the country-side were identified and related to the leisure approaches in terms of their rele-vance and suitability.

Design tradition

The design analyses revealed a range of concepts, tools and ideas that are repre-sentative of leisure approaches in landscape design in the five periods studied. They brought to light a stable design tradition of a comprehensive landscape ap-proach and persistent conceptualizations of leisure. Even though spatial policy

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and leisure policy offered different concepts over time, the focus and preference of landscape designers remained quite selective and constant. Their dominant image of leisure in the countryside was one of extensive use by individuals or by small groups and families: walking, cycling, fishing and enjoying nature. Thus, leisure could easily be inserted into the landscape with only some relatively mod-est functional adjustments. Mass recreation and intensive forms of leisure were treated differently. They were spatially isolated from their environment and put aside, both literally and figuratively.

The principal measure in all designs for extensive use was the opening up of the landscape. Routes for both daily strolls and day trips have been planned and designed ever since the first landscape designs were made in the late 1920s. As landscapes became more important as leisure environments, strategies to open up the landscape expanded. Gaps in existing path networks were filled and the range of networks grew over time. Rambling and public access via private roads were stimulated. However, when areas were considered too vulnerable, they were made inaccessible or accessible only along dead-end paths. Landscape designers appeared to have a special interest in routes that enabled visitors to experience the structure and diversity of a landscape. The ‘rear side’ of the landscape was usu-ally assigned to slow traffic. Landscape designers preferred these margins in the landscape for their unpretentious beauty.

Whereas the opening up of the landscape was the primary condition for acces-sibility, the presence of attractions was seen as a major condition for a landscape to be a leisure destination. Landscape designers made use of the landscape itself as much as possible in their attempts to design an attractive landscape for leisure. Landscape identity was taken as both a starting point and an objective. Landscape features were turned into attractions by emphasizing and explaining the charac-teristics of the specific landscape, or the designers treated the whole landscape as a leisure attraction. New sites and facilities were added only when a landscape did not contain enough attractions or was considered unsuitable for leisure.

The essence of landscape designers’ conceptualization of leisure appeared to contrast with daily life and daily duties. The designers used a range of design con-cepts to represent the countryside as an environment that contrasted with both city life and the city itself. A popular image was that of a countryside in which life was simple and time had stood still, in contrast to the alienating dynamics of the city. Rural landscapes were associated with the vernacular and with casualness. Most designers were afraid of over-design: a design that remained unnoticed as such was thought to be the best. They preferred landscape elements to be inte-grated into the landscape instead of being separated and singled out. They aimed for simple designs that went without saying.

Another essential concept in landscape design for leisure was the concept of freedom. This concept comprehended two types of freedom: the opportunity to choose what to do or where to go, and the opportunity to come up with personal interpretations. The freedom of choice was particularly expressed in the design

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concept of route networks, which enabled people to choose their own itinerary. Designers devised and designed a variety of leisure attractions and facilities, but one may question how diverse the leisure supply really was and whether it offered choices that were in line with consumer demands. Planners and designers con-centrated on extensive forms of recreation and, within those parameters, even on specific types of leisure.

The themes that occurred most often and that turned out to be permanent features of both policy and design were for people to take a break from daily life, to enjoy landscapes and nature, and to be interested in it. Amusement and enter-tainment were associated with mass recreation and, according to the designers, did not combine well with extensive forms of recreation. People who were look-ing for the unexpected and more adventurous forms of leisure were not provided for either. Several possible reasons for this biased preference for specific motives were taken into consideration. One reason appears to be that landscape designers planned and designed for people like themselves, in other words, for people who had a lot of interest in and knowledge about the landscape.

The other type of freedom was that the landscape was open to personal inter-pretations. In general, landscape designers preferred neutral, multi-interpret-able spaces that enabled various uses. They did not like highly controlled envi-ronments and tried not to be too directive. The majority of the landscape de-signers interviewed explicitly mentioned their rejection of information boards and other obtrusive signs that pushed people to use or interpret an environ-ment in a specific way. Such intrusions did not fit with in the informal image of the countryside they were trying to portray. They had the tendency to leave it up to people to form their own interpretations, and preferred to offer opportu-nities for unprogrammed, unexpected and unthought-of activities rather than areas that were explicitly laid out for repose. By preserving or designing some margins in the landscape, they provided space for spontaneous use; for exam-ple, a widened bank could be used as a playing field or the raised wall of a cul-vert could be sat upon. The preference for simplicity also relates to a strong and long-lasting modernist discourse in landscape design, particularly in rural ar-eas. Modern designers preferred a simple layout, one that had pure, geometric forms and clear, straight lines. They rejected the use of ornaments and symbol-ism. Their designs were characterized by functionality. Things should speak for themselves.

Even though there were specific leisure approaches, leisure was mostly re-garded as such an integral part of human presence in rural landscapes that de-sign considerations were not meant exclusively for leisure: they were a natural part of the comprehensive landscape design. Landscape designers considered it their job to design for the landscape as a whole, including leisure. As leisure could easily be inserted into the landscape, it was subordinated to other types of land use. For landscape designers, their comprehensive and multifunctional approach was so natural that they saw it as the only true one.

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The emphasis on the landscape scale and the main landscape components was the basis for all land uses and activities, including leisure. Landscape structure, the main landscape components and land uses dictated the location of routes, at-tractions and facilities. Because they considered problems at a larger scale and related them to other problems, they paid less attention to detailed landscape de-sign. The drawing of detailed plans was often left to technicians who had no back-ground in architectural design.

The concept of the legible landscape turned out to be one of the leading con-cepts with regard to landscape design for leisure, even though it was not applied explicitly for leisure purposes. Landscape designers did not discern leisure expe-rience from landscape experience in general. Whether a landscape was meant for residents, local visitors or occasional tourists, their experience of the landscape was treated similarly.

Altogether, leisure approaches in recent decades proved unambiguous, per-sistent and stable, although weakly grounded and poorly elaborated. Leisure was generally dealt with implicitly and intuitively in landscape design. Leisure was considered to be inherently integrated in landscapes. In general, the majority of landscape designers working in rural areas did not make much of an effort to get to know and understand the nature of leisure behaviour, leisure motives, leisure experience and the interaction between leisure and everyday life in rural land-scapes. They implicitly duplicated the concepts of their predecessors or fell back on their personal preferences and experiences, and made their designs for people like themselves.

While the designers did display a serious interest in various functional and physical-spatial aspects of landscapes, it appears that they were generally less in-terested in the social and psychological aspects of those landscapes. They studied in great detail the properties and conditions of nature, water management and infrastructure, and their consequences for landscape planning and design. They tried to understand the mechanisms that determine the shapes and images of landscape elements and the logic of their reciprocal coherence. Design concepts and decisions were subsequently legitimized with concepts and theories derived from ecology, hydrology, civil engineering and cultural history. However, leisure was hardly examined systematically for its properties and conditions.

Consequently, designers reverted to general principles of landscape experi-ence – without asking themselves whether landscape experience in general corre-sponds with leisure experience in particular – and to their personal leisure prefer-ences, without asking themselves whether they were legitimate, given the context, and would meet other people’s leisure needs and wishes. Since landscape design-ers did not question the nature of leisure and leisure environments as represent-ed in their leisure conceptualizations, they neither explicated nor questioned the subsequent representation of their leisure conceptualizations in design concepts and tools: they did not evaluate their views, assumptions, design concepts or tools.

Recent designs, however, show different approaches. An increasing diversi-

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ty of approaches, concepts, themes and images can be observed. This suggests structural changes; it is likely that landscape design for leisure in the country-side is in transition. However, landscape designers continue to work implicitly and intuitively. New issues are taken in randomly and common assumptions are not questioned. As a consequence, landscape design for leisure lacks a theoretical foundation and is underdeveloped, and some critical issues with respect to con-temporary leisure are still left out of consideration.

The need for a well-founded design tradition

Now that leisure has become an important aspect of rural landscapes, it is time to think of leisure as a relevant and serious design problem. A contemporary, well-founded design tradition concerning leisure in the countryside must be devel-oped. Design problems in rural areas are now so complex that an intuitive, im-plicit and random approach will simply not suffice. What is needed is a thorough and logical study of the nature of leisure and its demands and motives for design. Both the content and the process of designing for leisure need to be carefully ex-amined, along with the designers’ ideas, concepts and tools, in theory and in ap-plication, and in design and in use. This is of vital importance for the develop-ment of a mature landscape design profession, and above all for its societal rele-vance. A design tradition that is outdated or based on misconceived assumptions will most likely result in unattractive landscapes for leisure. An explicit, reasoned and systematic approach is required. Landscape designers need to make their ideas and perspectives transparent and adjust them if necessary. By collaborating with other disciplines in research by design, new concepts, tools and images can be developed together. Based on intimate theoretical and empirical knowledge, it should be tested whether design concepts and tools are suitable to represent ab-stract concepts and ideas, and design decisions must be comprehensively under-pinned. And finally, designers must assess whether designed landscapes actually function as intended.

The use of this knowledge will not result in strict, ready-made design rules. A one-to-one conversion of abstract theoretical concepts into specific leisure en-vironments and concrete design solutions is both undesirable and impossible – undesirable because a limited range of solutions does not add to a rich variety of routes, attractions, facilities and settings, and impossible because general, ab-stract concepts such as ‘freedom’ or ‘contrast with daily life’ are complex and mul-tilayered concepts that can be interpreted and elaborated in many ways. The char-acteristics of different modes of leisure experience (amusement, change, interest, rapture, dedication) are ambiguous as well (Elands & Lengkeek, 2000). They too can be interpreted and elaborated in many ways, particularly because leisure ex-perience is usually a combination of modes. To devise custom-made design con-cepts and tools demands creativity and artistry. Reasoning is needed to evaluate the various options and to make the design choices clear.

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Critical issues concerning leisure

With respect to the contemporary diversity and dynamics of leisure, one may con-clude that the design tradition is inadequate to face emerging issues and chal-lenges. It needs to be reconsidered and expanded. The traditional ideal images of landscapes for leisure might no longer be appropriate. If, in addition to extensive forms of leisure, intensive forms of leisure are to be integrated with agricultural practices and other land uses, the familiar concept of a wood packed with leisure facilities will no longer be the most obvious concept. Designers and their clients must explicitly ask themselves which forms of leisure and recreation they should take into account and to what extent their designs correspond to the forms that are chosen. They should consider plurality as an integrated part of the design problem. Naturally, it is not necessary for each and every landscape or site to offer all possible things to all possible people. Each environment has different qualities that are easier or harder to combine with different activities and different motives, and some activities do not match very well at all. Zoning is an effective organiza-tion principle that can be applied subtly at a regional level, by creating different landscapes and providing different leisure opportunities within a region, or at a local level, through internal, functional and spatial organization of routes, facili-ties and attractions. Dealing with different meanings is both a more subtle and a more complicated matter. This topic is discussed in the following section, which looks at the issue of life worlds.

When designers did pay explicit attention to leisure, they mainly focused on facilities. Leisure experience was implicitly taken into account only to a certain extent. With regard to experiences that are directly related to perception, few land-scape designers explicitly tried to stimulate the senses with their designs. As far as narratives are concerned, the landscape setting was designed as a non-urban realm, and when designers did make detailed designs, the routes and attractions also expressed a contrast with daily urban life. Landscape design as a whole usu-ally referred to one dominant narrative: the history of landscape formation. Lei-sure experience thus remained rather underexposed, but recent designs show that more attention was paid to experience and the designs themselves represent-ed a wider variety of experiential aspects.

The design tradition does not have much to offer where leisure experience is concerned. There is a need for reconsideration. It is crucial that landscape design-ers pay more attention to the perceptive and imaginative aspects of their designs. To create a mentally, emotionally or spiritually attractive landscape requires a landscape that not only functions well but also stimulates the senses and the mind. Landscape designers should pay more attention to the level of details in their designs. At a regional scale, landscape perception is an abstract concept, but at a detailed level it becomes concrete. People perceive their immediate sur-roundings at eye-level with their senses. Experience can be inf luenced by play-ing with material and physical stimuli: the form, size, scale, material, texture,

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smell, sound and composition of landscape elements. The experience of a narrow, swampy, winding path is very different from the experience of a straight, wide, paved road; the experience of trees planted in a grid pattern is different from the experience of indiscriminately planted trees. A refined, detailed landscape design can stimulate the senses and enhance the impact and richness of the experience.

Landscape designers are able to draw on a long tradition of garden and park architecture, a tradition that is rich in concepts and tools for the creation of illu-sions, the provision of pleasure, and various references to nature and culture. De-sign traditions concerning other leisure domains – such as theme parks – may also be a source of inspiration. Theme park designers know perfectly well how to inf luence or manipulate people’s behaviour and experience. This knowledge and these skills can be derived from their commercial context and applied in the con-text of public space in the countryside. The landscape setting is an inseparable part of leisure experience, and its role can be better exploited. The landscape set-ting plays such an important role in leisure experience because it is also the sub-ject of leisure and acts as a symbol, referring to ideal images of leisure, nature and landscape. It can be the background, symbol and subject of leisure in many ways. It is often intertwined with leisure attractions and facilities. A hilly landscape, for instance, attracts those cyclists who seek a sportive challenge. The hilly landscape setting is the attraction and provides the facilities for a sportive performance at the same time. A landscape setting can provide a specific ambience for leisure ac-tivities and can thus co-create special experiences.

Ideal images of nature and the countryside might not be as obvious as they seem to be. In a debate with landscape designers about the outcomes of this study, they argued that the rural images they used for leisure in the countryside are nat-ural and legitimate, as they represent the most eye-catching and fundamental characteristic of rural landscapes in comparison with other, urban and themed leisure environments. It is arguable that non-urban images do make sense in an urbanizing context, as the urban–rural dichotomy is deeply rooted in socie-ty. Notwithstanding the legitimacy of their argument, the designers did not ask themselves whether the changing relation between town and countryside in an urbanizing context might lead to slightly different interpretations and expecta-tions. A fundamental quality of leisure is contrast. When the landscape becomes part of the city and the city becomes integrated with the landscape, the quality of that contrast may diminish. The contrast between town and countryside has to be thoroughly re-examined for its relevance. An extensive body of literature on rural-ity (e.g. van Dam et al., 2002; Yarwood, 2005; Edensor, 2006) and alternative con-cepts of space and urbanity (e.g. Augé, 1995; Graham & Marvin, 2001; Castells, 2004a, 2004b) could feed this discussion and provide new perspectives.

For a long time, designers overlooked the possible coexistence of other realms and images. Landscape references can be broader and more diverse, as recent de-signs have shown. Landscapes can refer to other times and places (‘elsewhen’ and elsewhere). They may diversify and enrich the landscape, make them attractive

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to many people with different leisure motives and represent a contrast with daily life. Landscape designers should not deny the position and meaning of rural land-scapes as distinct from other leisure environments, but they can add further layers of meaning. The representation of narratives of local events and people in land-scape designs may strengthen local identity and the orientation in time and space. The landscape then becomes multilayered and probably more attractive to a diverse public. However, landscape designers must bear in mind that not everyone ‘reads’ landscapes and their embedded narratives in the way that they do. Clients should be aware of all this and explicitly include these aspects in their assignments.

Landscape designers’ preference for contextual design and the subsequent tendency to scale up their designs certainly added to the quality of the designs. The contextual approach placed the landscape as a whole in the foreground. This approach entailed including the landscape setting in their designs. At the same time, the integrated, regional approach often came at the expense of detailed de-sign, whereas the quality of supply is determined to a large extent by the immedi-ate, physical confrontation with the landscape. This problem was partly caused by the fragmented structure of the planning and design processes. Different people carried out different stages of the planning and design process, with little conti-nuity in the assignments.

To improve the quality of design, landscape designers should cherish their integrated approach and pay more attention to the elaboration of their designs. As discussed, the public expects environments that provide unique and memo-rable experiences. Landscape designers should create landscapes that are differ-ent from others, making use of the genius loci and emphasizing it. By respecting perceptive and imaginative aspects and elaborating their designs down to the last detail, they can create landscapes that catch the imagination; that is, they can de-sign in such a way that it appeals to people’s fantasy and evokes amazement, won-der and curiosity.

This is relevant not only to contemporary leisure – which focuses the atten-tion on experience – but also to such simple and popular activities as walking and cycling. The quality of many areas in the countryside is considered rather low be-cause the areas have a large-scale character and bad accessibility, and they lack functionality and scenic beauty (Bruls et al., 2002). Nonetheless, the countryside is a very popular environment for walking and cycling. It could be so much more attractive, though. We do not necessarily have to put up with boring, mediocre design solutions from the past, and landscape designers and their clients do not need to work solely demand-oriented. Landscape designers could create much more interesting landscapes for leisure. Their challenge and ambition should be to create a highly attractive environment, no matter how insignificant the design problem may appear. Each route should be examined for its scenic qualities, and each site and each programme should be scrutinized for the specific opportuni-ties they provide. It does not need to be cutting-edge design: exceptionalizing the everyday landscape with care and creativity could reveal hidden qualities. All of

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this requires clients to realize that quality takes time, tenacity and money; they have to offer designers the opportunity to go through all the stages of a design process from the first general concept to the stage of implementation, and give them the time to elaborate their ideas down to the last detail.

Critical issues concerning leisure environments

A basic principle for landscape designers is to consider and deal with landscapes in an integrated way. They continuously aim for multifunctional landscapes in which coexist a diversity of land uses and activities. They have developed a vari-ety of planning and design concepts for dealing with the combination or sepa-ration of land uses and activities. The framework planning concept is an exam-ple at the regional scale. Zoning principles have been used at different scale lev-els to intertwine compatible activities or land uses and to separate incompatible ones. The integrated approach provides coherence in complex situations and cor-responds closely with contemporary views of the countryside as a post-produc-tive landscape. Integration is urgently needed in light of the growing number of claims on rural landscapes, such as water management, climate adaptation, ‘rur-ban’ residences and leisure.

Leisure was treated as subordinate to other land uses; it was treated as an ac-tivity that could easily be inserted. Intensive and commercial types of leisure were separated and hidden from sight; the focus was on public properties. This atti-tude was not unique to landscape designers; leisure policy also considers com-merce detestable, although inevitable for economic reasons. Dealing with com-mercial aspects was a neglected part of the reconstructed design tradition. Such an attitude towards leisure may be problematic in landscapes for consumption, where leisure is economically important. The far-reaching commodification of and competition between landscapes are current trends and offer new challenges to designers. As for the position of leisure in integrated landscape planning and design, designers’ attitudes require reconsideration. Leisure should be treated as a fully-f ledged function, equal to others. Landscape designers should examine to what extent the diverse, extensive and intensive forms of leisure can be combined with other land uses and activities, or vice versa.

Competition between landscapes and urban leisure spaces was not a part of the design tradition; they were rather seen as complementary. Nevertheless, land-scape designers emphasized the contrast between urban and rural in many ways. This contrast, which is firmly rooted in Western society, can be used to distin-guish landscapes from urban leisure environments, but it will not be sufficient to meet the strong competition with urban leisure space and other landscapes; other qualities are also required. All the same, the design tradition did include some themes that are of interest in today’s commodified context, such as land-scape identity and genius loci. They have been major concepts in landscape de-sign. Landscape designers built their designs on area-specific, local and regional

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qualities. The history of landscape – its genesis and cultural history – was used as a guiding landscape narrative. The public was not necessarily susceptible to the way local characteristics and historical features were represented in design. Whether laymen were able to ‘read’ landscapes the way landscape designers do was rarely questioned.

All in all, the reconstructed design tradition concerning landscape identi-ty and representing landscape narratives seems relevant, but not sufficient in the contemporary commodified and competitive context. Commodification and branding are common in other realms as well. City marketing and branding, for example, have been applied in urban environments since the late 1980s. High-quality architecture and public spaces are thought to play an important role. A study of such environments could reveal the design strategies, concepts and tools that were used, and help us to develop a view on the pros and cons of landscape commodification. Design traditions in such realms may contain useful alterna-tive or complementary concepts and tools. Systematic research by design can shed light on the question to what extent these design strategies, concepts and tools can be applied to rural landscapes. No matter what, high quality is a primary con-dition for any landscape in a competitive context, and hence is also a primary de-mand for landscape designs.

Landscape designers have had to deal continuously with the impoverishment of landscapes. Ongoing modernization and rationalization led to the disappear-ance of many historical landscape elements and patterns. Landscape designers did their best to preserve landscape characteristics by taking structural elements and patterns as the basis for their designs. The difference between the past situ-ation and the contemporary one is that today the landscape elements are not dis-appearing on a large scale, although their original meanings are. The reconstruc-tion showed that landscape designers primarily aimed at the physical, visual as-pects of landscape. In general, they did not really concern themselves with sym-bolic meanings or meanings attached to memories. The contemporary context primarily demands a change of attitude. Symbolic meaning and individual and collective memories should be considered essential properties of landscapes and landscape elements. Designers should be conscious of the meanings assigned to and derived from a landscape by the users and by the designers themselves. These meanings ought to be made explicit; an inventory and analysis of these meanings should be part of the design process. The concepts of landscape iden-tity and genius loci should be interpreted broadly. They should include not only the physical aspects of landscape but also the psychological and symbolic aspects. The multivocal representations that constitute the genius loci of the place should be treated with respect. Only then will it be possible to assess existing design con-cepts and tools and to develop new ones by means of research by design.

The same applies to different life worlds. Landscape design for leisure was more involved with use and facilities and some general, abstract meanings of landscape for leisure than with local meanings and conflicts between the life

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worlds of residents and the public. Some examples came up, but in general little attention was paid to this issue. However, the issue is becoming more urgent as leisure environments and daily living environments become more intertwined. As a result of different levels of connection, residents and visitors have different expectations of the same environment and derive different meanings from it. The design tradition has no solution to this issue, and this lacuna has to be filled. The fields of leisure and tourism studies, geography and cultural anthropology have a comprehensive literature on the problems related to the different life worlds of lo-cal residents and tourists, and can provide good examples of how these life worlds can coexist. Spatial solutions can be developed through research by design, with designers and experts on life-world topics and experts on leisure and tourism co-operating in multidisciplinary teams. It is the client’s job to explicitly insist that designers take into account the different life worlds of residents and visitors.

Considering planning and design processes

Landscape designers did their best to combine sectional programmes and com-prehensive designs, even when their assignments were formulated from a sec-tional point of view. Their multifunctional, comprehensive landscape approach enabled them to develop integrated concepts. They gained a lot of experience with landscape perspectives at a regional scale. Design problems, no matter how small, were considered in a broader context in order to find out how they interacted with other activities and problems, both at the time and in the long run. The habit of scaling up design problems to the regional scale and integrating them with oth-er issues in the same area is firmly embedded in the design tradition. These are important achievements, and they yield profit in relation to today’s planning and design matters. They match very well with the principles of contemporary devel-opment planning. Still, the design tradition requires a substantial development in order to meet contemporary demands. Innovative function combinations need to be explored and tested.

Designers are confronted with new clients. The shift from public clients to pri-vate and public clients requires approaches that are f lexible enough to be adapted to personal and local circumstances. Designers must make use of all the design perspectives they have worked from in the past. They now have the opportunity to connect the classic tradition of garden and park architecture commissioned by private clients, to the twentieth-century tradition of public clients. Designers have the chance to design tailored solutions that are geared to local circumstances and landscape management by private landowners. The time has come to discuss former restrictions and to explore and re-explore a wide range of historical and contemporary design tools and images.

The reconstruction of the design tradition showed that landscape designers built on professional landscape knowledge and their personal preferences. Al-though design and planning processes have changed, they still tend to maintain

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their approach. Laymen’s knowledge and interpretations are still rarely taken into account. The relations between professionals’ and laymen’s contributions to the landscape and between generic and local narratives are still rarely questioned. Not all landscape designers got the opportunity or took the pains to meet local narratives, and when they did, the narratives did not always prove useful in land-scape design. In default of useful local narratives, landscape designers easily re-verted to generic or professional narratives, or to personal preferences.

If collaborative planning is to be taken seriously, landscape designers must be critical of their design tradition. They should be willing to discuss their own presumptions and take seriously other professional representations and those of laymen. This of course applies to planning and design processes in general, but it has specific implications for some leisure-related topics. When it comes to local strolls, for example, a landscape designer will probably lay out a route in such a way that the landscape structure can be experienced, but local residents may pre-fer a route that connects local memories and narratives; the two do not necessari-ly coincide. When history is involved, professionals’ and laymen’s representations may diverge considerably. Professionals often value historical relicts differently from laymen (Duineveld, 2006). The same applies to residents and visitors. Dif-ferent life worlds may collide when historical elements are commodified into her-itage attractions and other layers of meaning are smoothed out. They can no long-er take their personal preferences and experiences as the only reference point. Their attitude has to be cooperative and, to a certain extent, more subservient.

Conclusions

Landscape design faces quite a few challenges: the design issues related to con-temporary leisure and landscape design are both abundant and complex. The re-constructed design tradition revealed achievements as well as some shortcom-ings. An essential achievement is the multifunctional, comprehensive approach of landscape design. The practice of reinterpreting problems at a regional level enables landscape designers to discover mutual relations in land uses and activi-ties. Such an approach is essential in order to recognize the issues created by the changing context and to develop integrated concepts for landscape development. At the same time, their contextual multifunctional approach has led to shortcom-ings in the detailed designs, which are so important in relation to the experiential aspects of landscapes for leisure.

A marked shortcoming in the design tradition is the neglect or underestima-tion of sociocultural aspects. Landscape was approached as an ecological, func-tional and economic system, and people were too easily reduced to abstract, objec-tive and universally applicable parts of the equation. Designers ignored the sym-bolic meaning that a landscape represents to people and the existence of plural meanings. In short, landscape designers focused mostly on the landscape and too often forgot the people who live and recreate in it.

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Landscape designers can overcome this shortcoming by making use of ex-tensive theoretical and empirical knowledge. They must familiarize themselves with the specific leisure knowledge produced by leisure and tourism studies, en-vironmental psychology, cultural geography and cultural anthropology. Further-more, they should consult people who have practical knowledge so that they can base future landscape designs on well-founded knowledge. This does not mean that landscape designers must become experts in these fields. By collaborating in research by design, they can develop concepts, tools and images together, just as they have done with ecologists, hydrologists, civil engineers and cultural histori-ans. Landscape designers can also make use of past design traditions and the tra-ditions of other fields, including those that deal with themes that are new to rural landscapes, such as commodification and competition.

Above all, however, if landscape designers were to include people in their land-scape studies and treat their needs and desires with the same passion and sensi-tivity as they do other demands, they would instigate a f low of new (or renewed) design concepts, tools and images. If they were to design bespoke, detailed land-scapes with the same passion and care as they plan them at a regional scale, they would be able to create landscapes for leisure that would stir people’s imagina-tion, both now and in the future.

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21e eeuw (Den Haag: NRLO)Visser, R. d. (1997) Een halve eeuw landschapsbouw: het landschap van de landinrichting (Wa-

geningen: Blauwdruk)Yarwood, R. (2005) Beyond the rural idyll: Images, countryside change and geography.

Geography 90 (1), pp. 19–31Young, T. and R. Riley, eds. (2002) Theme park landscapes: antecedents and variations

(Washington D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection)

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15 The Socio-political Use of Environmental

Perception, Interpretation and Evaluation

Research

Martijn Duineveld

This chapter outlines a critical, reflexive research agenda for environmental perception, interpretation and evaluation research (PIE). Here, PIE refers to

all those studies that explore the ways in which people perceive, interpret and val-ue the natural and the cultural environment. If one takes this broad definition of PIE, one can state that much PIE has been conducted in Dutch academia in recent years. For example, at Wageningen University and Research Centre alone, several hundred studies have been published in the past 20 years (see e.g. Coeterier, 1995, 2000; Vries, 2008). Many of these studies were directly funded by governmental bodies, especially by the Dutch Ministry of Agriculture, Nature and Food Quality.

For my proposed outline for a critical and reflexive research agenda for PIE, I will describe seven possible uses of PIE in social and political practices. I will show that PIE can be used for (1) democratizing policy and decision-making process-es, (2) evaluating policy, (3) managing and resolving conflicts, (4) supporting and constructing policies, (5) improving communication strategies, (6) deconstruct-ing policy assumptions and (7) legitimizing existing policies and political action.

I deliberately use the word ‘possible’ because the described uses of PIE are not deduced from empirical research on the use of PIE, but are partly derived from insights from science and technology studies, sociology and anthropology of sci-ence, and governance studies. Therefore the list of potential uses should be read as a working hypothesis to be verified or falsified, or at least elaborated upon in upcoming ref lexive PIE studies.

Another reason can be added to the above. It is impossible to predict whether or not the desired extra-academic effects of PIE will be achieved, since the effects are produced in a necessarily opaque and unpredictable context of use (Duin-eveld, Beunen, During, Assche & Ark, 2008). The ‘effect’ of scientific knowledge or the roles it will play in extra-academic practices depends on various scientific, social, administrative and political powers. Studies may be ignored, selectively used or have only a very indirect inf luence on extra-academic practices. These arguments might feed the scepticism of people who consider socio-scientific re-search, including PIE, useless. By outlining seven potential social-political uses

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of PIE, I argue the opposite and at the same time stress the potential for abuse. First, however, I will elaborate on two important developments that frame the ar-gument.

The need for a critical turn in science studies

Much research on the production and use (and misuse) of scientific knowledge has been conducted in the field of science and technology studies. I do not intend to contribute directly to this well-established field, but to borrow from it certain theories and concepts in order to explore their potential application in the analysis of PIE. This might sound odd – a bit like putting old wine in new bottles. Howev-er, I think that this is legitimized by two developments, one in the field of science and technology studies, the other within academia.

First, my ‘ruthless recycling’ is compatible with recent debates in science and technologies studies (STS) (see Biagioli & Galison, 1999; for an overview, see Pestre, 2004; Biagioli & Galison, 1999). Some more ref lexive STS academics are starting to question the non-political and non-critical dimensions of their own discipline – actor-network theory being a case in point. Fuller (2000), analysing the trajectory of the Parisian STS school, argues: “Actor-network theory turns out to be little more than a strategic adaptation to the democratization of expertise and the decline of the strong nation-state in France over the past 25 years. . . .In-sofar as actor-network theory has become the main paradigm for contemporary STS research, it ref lects a field that dodges normative commitments in order to maintain a user-friendly presence.”

According to Fuller (ibid.), actor-network theory’s popularity in the field of STS is the result of the client-driven environment in which it is constituted; as a result it has created an “aversion to normative judgements and even an open an-tagonism to the adoption of ‘critical’ perspectives.” Pestre draws similar conclu-sions in her Thirty Years of Science Studies: Knowledge, Society and the Political (2004). She wraps up her historical overview of science studies with a plea for a critical turn in science studies, replaying the conceptual moves of the 1960s and 1970s. She argues that from the second half of the 1960s and the beginning of the 1970s, science studies was part of a social movement that was very critical of a science in which many “ . . . subscribed to the view that science was an institution in the service of the powers-that-be, that it was a socially authoritarian and elitist institution, that science was always-and-already ideological, and that it disguised the constructed parts of its knowledge claim by naturalizing them.”

In this chapter I will not engage any further in the disputes within the field of STS but will revitalize, with Pestre, the early critical stance regarding the use of scientific research. I will develop additional arguments for the critical and re-f lexive approach.

The second recent development this chapter links up with is the rise of what is referred to as ‘mode 2 knowledge production.’ Mode 2 refers to the kind of

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knowledge that is explicitly policy-driven. It stands in contrast to ‘mode 1 knowl-edge production,’ which, in its ideal form, is driven by the goals and the questions of scientific disciplines (Gibbons, 1994). The rise of mode 2 knowledge is seen as part of a tendency in which scientific production is increasingly motivated by socio-political questions and objectives (Gibbons, 1994; cf. Veld, 2000; Hoppe, 2002; Latour, 1995, 2004). This tendency can be explained by recent develop-ments in academic institutions. Lock and Lorenz (2007) examined how univer-sities and research institutes increasingly commercialized. They state that: “[b]y now it is a commonplace to note that the great wave of ideological fashion in pub-lic policy – call it ‘commercialization,’ ‘privatization,’ ‘marketization,’ ‘liberaliza-tion’ or whatever you like – has also swept across the higher education and re-search sectors, with far-reaching consequences. Indeed, it looks as if we shall be stuck with it for a good while yet” (cf. Lorenz, 2006).

It is because of these mechanisms of commercialization (or ‘privatization,’ ‘marketization’ and ‘liberalization’) that I think it is more and more important to elaborate on the socio-political use and misuse of scientific/socio-scientific re-search. I will produce arguments for this in the following.

Six hypothetical socio-political uses of PIE

In his dissertation, Jacobs (2006: 31) gives an overview of different disciplines involved in PIE: “a wide variety of scientific disciplines using many different ap-proaches.” One of these disciplines is environmental psychology, which studies human landscape preferences (ibid.; see e.g. Gifford, 1987; Kaplan, 1987). The methods used within environmental psychology are predominantly quantitative. Other disciplines are more qualitatively oriented, for example, human geography, in which people’s sense of place has been studied (Tuan, 1974, 1977; Flowerdew & Martin, 1997). Also within anthropology, qualitative studies focus on the inter-action between people and their environment (Bender, 2002; Gable & Handler, 2003; Low & Lawrence-Zñiga, 2003). The main focus of anthropological PIE is, roughly speaking, on the meanings people attribute to their environment and the ways in which the environment constitutes people. According to Jacobs, historical disciplines can also be added to this brief list. Within these disciplines, scholars mainly focus on the historical interpretation of the environment, the evolution of ascribed meaning (e.g. Schama, 1995).

It is not necessary to elaborate any further on the types of PIE. Nor will I scru-tinize and analyse various forms of PIE. The main focus of this chapter is not the content of various PIE studies (for an overview, see Jacobs 2006). Here, I will ex-plore various socio-political uses of PIE. These types can categorized in several ways. Though some suggest a division between the instrumental, strategic and conceptual uses of knowledge, and others between knowledge as problem solver, problem detector, accommodator and advocate (Turnhout, 2003: 19), I prefer not to introduce seemingly clear-cut categorizations. Instead, I will outline seven

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hypothetical socio-political uses of PIE. Six of them will be presented in this sec-tion, the seventh in the following section. Other uses can be added, and some of the presented uses might be conceived differently by other authors. Other authors might give a different content to the categories, possibly overlapping with other classifications or supplementing them (cf. Flyvbjerg, 2001).

1. Democratizing policy and decision-making processesThe first and, in my opinion, most important potential use of PIE is democratiza-tion (cf. Jacobs & Kuijer, 2007). PIE can bring the multiplicity of interpretations and valuations of environments within the grasp of policy makers. It can also be used to include the opinions of other groups that are under-represented in a de-cision-making process. This kind of knowledge can be obtained by exploring the wishes of people and mapping their ideas about their environment or planned changes in it. After obtaining this knowledge, efforts can be made to attune pol-icy to peoples’ wishes: what do people think of X? Is there a need for more Y? If the knowledge produced by PIE is integrated in policies, one can speak of a form of democratization (Engelen & Sie, Dhian Ho, 2004).

2. Evaluating policy There is an increasing demand within administrations for policy evaluations. Ac-cording to van der Meer and Edelenbos (2006), this is a result of: “. . . an increasing emphasis on transparency, measurable results and accountability. Policy documents should specify clear goals, the attainment of which should be measured by unequiv-ocal (and if possible quantitative) indicators. Policy makers should be held accounta-ble for the results thus assessed.” Evaluations are used for a range of purposes. They can be used to analyse whether the intended goals were achieved and whether poli-cies made a difference, since a policy goal can also be achieved by means other than the policy itself. Evaluations can also be focused on the functioning and use of rules, instruments and policy documents. Because PIE can be used as an evaluation tool for those questions with regard to the opinions and desires (values, meanings) peo-ple have regarding their environment or upcoming changes in their environment, policy evaluation must be added to this list of potential uses of PIE.

3. Managing and resolving conf lictsPIE has the potential to tackle both latent and overt resistance against policy. Re-search can be done on the appreciation of proposed policies, and to explore po-tential resistance to new policy means and goals. This information can provide insight into the positive or negative attitudes people have towards these policies. These attitudes could, but do not necessarily indicate whether or not people will oppose the proposed plans (Ajzen, 2005). These plans could then be adapted in a relatively early stage, by for instance involving the stakeholders (visitors, local inhabitants, etc.) in the planning or decision-making process. PIE can also shed light on the knowledge people have about their environment and the values they

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attach to it. By involving these values in the policy process, support might in-crease and potential opposition could be prevented.

4. Supporting and constructing policies PIE can be used as a means to support and construct new policies. It can also be used to support the construction of policies or plans by exploring the values or problems that exist within a certain community, by for example taking into ac-count places or things in the environment that are valued within that communi-ty. PIE can also be used to predict whether or not policy will have an effect; it can help us understand why a policy is or is not effective. Furthermore, it can be used to monitor a policy: is it still effective? Is it appreciated or not, and if so by whom? How can it be adjusted? (cf. Tiemeijer, 2006: 133). It might also be useful for the exploration of alternative policies by researching which policy option is likely to be the most effective (cf. ibid.: 134).

5. Improving communication strategies Another potential use of PIE is to support and improve communication strate-gies. The outcomes of PIE can indicate how to construct a ‘message,’ how to create public awareness, how to persuade. Effective communication processes require knowledge regarding the interpretation of the environment (Woerkum, 2000).

6. Deconstructing policy presumptions A slightly different potential use of PIE is deconstruction. The word deconstruc-tion is a combination of ‘construction’ and ‘destruction,’ and it refers to the proc-ess in which constructions of reality are destructed and better constructions are introduced (Culler, 1983). For instance, in many policy reports it is argued that tangible heritage contributes to the qualities and identities of the landscape. This idea is a major argument of Dutch heritage policy. PIE has shown this assump-tion to be far too general and in many cases false (van Assche, 2004). Various studies have shown that people can ascribe completely opposite meanings and values to the landscape, constructing various, sometimes conflicting identities. Heritage is sometimes influential in this process, and sometimes it is not (ibid.). From PIE on heritage, the conclusion can be drawn that the discourse on the her-itage values is underpinned by partly false arguments.

I will now introduce a seventh use of PIE. This use has never been explained in research proposals, papers or reports as a research objective, although it may well be the most frequently ‘applied’ use of PIE and perhaps the most dominant force behind it.

A critical account of the production and socio-political use of PIE

It would be quite plausible to draw the conclusion from this brief overview of six possible uses of PIE that the popularity of this kind of research can be

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partly explained by its applications. Although most of these can be interpreted from a normative (democratic) stance as ‘good,’ there are some critical arguments against the production and use of PIE. I have derived these arguments partly from Bourdieu (1979, 1981a, 1981b, 1988, 2003). Another important source is Tiemei-jer’s The Citizen’s Secret: on State and Opinion Research (Tiemeijer, 2006, trans-lated by the author), in which he, partly inspired by for example Lacan, Bourdieu and Latour, tries to answer the question: what is the desirability of carrying out opinion research for the benefit of policy-making in a representative democracy? (ibid.: 546). Bourdieu’s and Tiemeijer’s arguments, both pro and contra opinion research, apply to PIE.

A good number of critiques can be labelled ‘methodological concerns,’ or ‘con-cerns related to the question: does PIE actually represent people’s opinions, val-ues, meanings, emotions, etc? Just like opinion research, the various forms of PIE cannot be completely representative. Some people do not respond to an inter-view/opinion poll or they answer ‘don’t know’ or ‘no opinion’ (Tiemeijer, 2006: 417; Bourdieu, 1979). Another constraint on the representativity of PIE is the ‘so-cial desirability response bias’ (Ganster, 1983; Presser, 1998; Randall, 1991). This concept refers to the tendency to answer questions in ways that are deemed so-cially desirable/acceptable. For example, people may be reluctant to give answers that could be perceived as unpopular or politically incorrect. ‘Social desirability response bias’ is an obstacle when trying to gain insight into what people actually think and desire. Besides, there is also a chance that people will try to manipulate the outcomes of PIE by “advocating a more extreme position than they actually hold in order to boost their side of the argument or give rapid and ill-considered answers in order to hasten the end of their questioning” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Opinion_poll).

I think it is perfectly arguable that these and other criticisms are valid for vari-ous types of PIE, especially when studying larger groups. However, I do not think that these are the most important counter-arguments concerning PIE and its uses. In my opinion, one should be much more critical about a seventh potential use of PIE, namely as a means to legitimize policy. In other words, those in power fre-quently use PIE as a tactic to sustain or increase their power, to legitimize their policies and to rhetorically increase public support for their policies (Tiemeijer, 2006: 345). These mechanisms are exposed in various studies on the use of knowl-edge in extra-academic practices (Veld, 2000). From these studies, the conclusion has been drawn that scientific knowledge is often used only as political ammuni-tion to support new or old political decisions (Hoppe, 2002: 22). Haas (2004) firm-ly states that: “Power doesn’t care about truth anyhow. Politicians don’t want sci-ence; they want a justification for pre-existing political programs which are driven principally by political anticipations of gain (Miles 1998; Nelkin 1979).”

Those statements illustrate the revitalization of critical stances on the use of scientific research in the 1960s and 1970s, a revitalization I wish to rejoin here. In the late 1970s, the sociologist Bourdieu posited the idea that socio-scientific re-

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search can be used to exercise political power. According to him: “. . . une bonne partie de ceux qui se désignent comme sociologues ou économistes sont des in-génieurs sociaux qui ont pour fonction de fournir des recettes aux dirigeants des entreprises privées et des administrations. Ils offrent une rationalisation de la connaissance pratique ou demi-savante que les membres de la classe dominante ont du monde social. Les gouvernants ont aujourd’hui besoin d’une science capa-ble de rationaliser, au double sens, la domination, capable â la fois de renforcer les mécanismes qui l’assurent et de la légitimer” (Bourdieu, 1980: 27).

In his article ‘Public opinion does not exist,’ Bourdieu aimed specifically at opinion research: “The opinion poll is, at the present time, an instrument of po-litical action; . . . The ‘public opinion’ which is stated on the front page of the newspapers in terms of percentages (60% of the French in favour of . . . ) is a pure and simple artefact whose function is to conceal the fact that the state of opinion at any given moment is a system of forces, of tensions, and that there is nothing more inadequate than a percentage to represent the state of opinion. … One could even say that there is a tendency in the exercise of power towards its self-conceal-ment as such, and that complete power is only realized when it is fully concealed. Stated sim ply, the politician who yesterday said ‘God is on our side’ today says ‘Public opinion is on our side” (Bourdieu, 1979, also partly cited in: Tiemeijer, 2006: 387).

These quotes illustrate nothing less than Foucault’s ‘mutual constitution of power and knowledge.’ Power for Foucault is shorthand for the expression he generally uses: ‘relations of power’: “But there are ready-made models: when one speaks of power, people immediately think of a political structure, a government, a dominant social class, the master and the slave, and so on. I am not thinking of this at all when I speak of relations of power. I mean that in human relationships, whether they involve verbal communication … , or amorous, institutional, or eco-nomic relationships, power is always present: I mean a relationship in which one person tries to control the conduct of the other. So I am speaking of relations that exist at different levels, in different forms; these power relations are mobile, they can be modified, they are not fixed once and for all” (Foucault, 1997: 291–292).

According to Foucault, power is everywhere and it is exercised from different viewpoints and positions (Foucault, 1998: 93). Moreover, relations of power are al-ways connected to a certain objective; they are intentional relations: “There is no power that is exercised without a series of aims and objectives” (ibid.: 95). It has to be stressed here that the word ‘power’ does not carry a negative connotation, in contrast to the everyday use. Power is neither good nor evil. It can be repressive as well as productive: power produces some discourses, realities, knowledge, values, subjects, etc. and makes others impossible by marginalizing or subjugating them (ibid.: 81–102, cf. Foucault, 1994).

The relationship between knowledge and power was recently studied by Fly-vbjerg. He extensively studied a planning process from the perspective of power, strongly inf luenced by Machiavelli, Nietzsche and Foucault. His Rationality and

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Power: Democracy in Practice is the result of detailed empirical research into plan-ning practices in the city of Aalborg (Flyvbjerg, 1998). Aalborg’s local administra-tion received an award for its innovative long-term transportation plans for the in-ner city. These plans were said to have been developed in an innovative manner, involving new concepts, new strategies and new partners. However, Flyvbjerg’s analysis did not underwrite this success. In his book he exposes the power strate-gies that various actors, often with opposing interests, used to attain their objec-tives. One of those strategies was the selective use of scientific knowledge and the conscious concealing or marginalizing of research that did not support their case. Flyvbjerg concludes from his study: “I already mentioned above Francis Bacon’s dictum that knowledge is power. This dictum expresses the essence of Enlighten-ment thinking. ‘Enlightenment is power,’ and the more enlightenment – the more rationality – the better. The Aalborg study shows that Bacon is right; knowledge is power. But the study also shows that the inverse relation between power and knowledge holds and that empirically, as opposed to normatively, it is more impor-tant: ‘Power is knowledge.’ In this sense, the study stands Bacon on his head. It shows how power defines what gets to count as knowledge. It shows, furthermore, how power defines not only a certain conception of reality. It is not just the social construction of rationality that is at issue here; it is also the fact that power defines physical, economic, social and environmental reality itself” (Flyvbjerg, 2002).

The mutual constitution of power and knowledge (power produces knowl-edge, knowledge produces power) can be seen as inevitable and it applies to al-most every kind of science, including PIE. This does not mean, however, that it is problematic by definition. I think it becomes problematic only when it leads to unfair, undemocratic practices, in which certain groups use the results of en-vironmental PIE (as a form of knowledge) to legitimize their own values and ex-clude those of others (a form of power) (cf. Duineveld & Assche, 2006). An exam-ple from the Dutch context might illustrate a part these critiques (partly echoing Bourdieu’s criticism of opinion polls).

In some studies on the experience of nature, researchers silently embed what nature is and what it looks like before they actually conduct their research. For ex-ample, the photos used in environmental psychology research to investigate peo-ple’s preferences already represent a certain view on nature, one often dominated by ecologists’ discourse. When using these photos as a research instrument, peo-ple’s perceptions, interpretations and evaluations of nature are often overlooked – too few options are open, there are only predefined images of nature. In other words: one can only judge a predefined image/idea of nature; other images are excluded from the start (cf. Aarts, 1998). The inevitable outcome of these studies is that people value nature. Biased research tools produce biased outcomes. These outcomes are in perfect shape to legitimize existing or intended nature policy, suddenly ‘supported by research.’

Take, for example, the following quotation from the Dutch board for the rural environment (Raad voor het Landelijk Gebied): “From recent research on the posi-

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tion of nature, the conclusion can be drawn that people are very involved with na-ture. For many people, nature is an important value. . . . An active nature policy is therefore commonly accepted.” (http://www.rlg.nl, translated by the author). I ar-gue that conclusions like these are based on false assumptions. Besides the skewed results stemming from the research design, there is the assumption that one can draw conclusions about a specific natural area from generic investigations of ‘na-ture.’ More elaborate studies are needed if one wants to legitimize a specific nature policy. One would at least need to answer such questions as what do people define as nature? When they desire an increase in nature, on what locations? How do they value nature compared to other ‘needs’ like housing? And what are their preferred instruments for realizing nature? (Duineveld & Beunen, 2006)

To tackle this and other problems connected to the use of PIE, social scientists working on PIE should become more aware of the contexts of knowledge produc-tion (the scientific field) and the way these contexts are shaped by academic and extra-academic powers. Below, in the final part of this chapter, I will try to trans-late the insights presented above into a tentative research agenda.

Notes for a research agenda

From the socio-political uses of PIE described above, the conclusion can be drawn that PIE is likely to be useful for various social, political and environmental is-sues. At the same time, some scepticism is justified. More detailed investigations into the socio-political use, both positive and negative, of PIE are definitely need-ed, also in our case study area, the Netherlands. This is why I will conclude this chapter with a brief outline of such studies.

The aim of the research advocated here is to verify, falsify and refine the sev-en features of PIE presented above. This research should focus on the production and use of PIE and can be seen as a form of what Bourdieu calls ‘reflexive sociol-ogy’ (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992). Elsewhere, Bourdieu speaks of ‘auto-analysis’ (Reed-Danahay, 2005) or ‘participant objectivation’ (Bourdieu, 2003), referring to the same kind of research. For Bourdieu, a reflexive sociology is a sociology that duplicates its scientific labour. It objectifies not only the social reality of others but also the researcher and his or her research. In a lecture delivered at a meet-ing of anthropologists (which explains his use of anthropologists’ vocabulary to make his point), he gives the following description: “By ‘participant objectivation,’ I mean the objectivation of the subject of objectivation, of the analysing subject – in short, of the researcher herself. . . . What needs to be objectivized, then, is not the anthropologist performing the anthropological analysis of a foreign world, but the social world that has made both the anthropologist and the conscious or un-conscious anthropology that she (or he) engages in her anthropological practice – not only her social origins, her position and trajectory in social space, her social and religious memberships and beliefs, gender, age, nationality, etc., but also, and most importantly, her particular position within the microcosm of anthro-

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pologists. It is indeed scientifically attested that her most decisive scientific choic-es (of topic, method, theory, etc.) depend very closely on the location she (or he) occupies within her professional universe, what I call the ‘anthropological field,’ with its national traditions and peculiarities, its habits of thought, its mandatory problematics, its shared beliefs and commonplaces, its rituals, values, and conse-crations, its constraints in matters of publication of findings, its specific censor-ships, and, by the same token, the biases embedded in the organizational struc-ture of the discipline, that is, in the collective history of the specialism, and all the unconscious presuppositions built into the (national) categories of scholarly un-derstanding” (Bourdieu, 2003).

In other words, the ref lexive anthropology Bourdieu is advocating aims to un-veil and unravel the rules, assumptions, discourses and contexts that form a sci-entific field or discipline, and that inf luence the scientific practices of academics operating within them. These rules etc. enable the production of knowledge; si-multaneously they are responsible for the blind spots that the researcher devel-oped within a discipline or even for the blind spots of an entire discipline (cf. As-sche & Verschraegen, 2008). This type of ref lexive PIE I would like to propose as one of three types I am endorsing here. A second, interrelated type of ref lex-ive experience will be directed at the ways in which socio-political power inf lu-ences the production of scientific knowledge; the ways in which the research and its outcomes are modified by power relations between those who produce knowl-edge and those who financially enable or constrain its production. In relation to this type of research, questions like these could be asked: what kinds of PIE are financed and for what reasons? What kinds are not financed and for what rea-sons? How do the aims of an administration, government or political party inf lu-ence the outcomes of a research project? Who gains and who loses, and by which mechanisms of power? (Flyvbjerg, 1998). A third type of ref lexive PIE should ex-amine the way the outcomes are used and misused in actual socio-political prac-tices. This form does not focus on the way power relations inf luence the produc-tion of knowledge, as is the case in type two, but on the way knowledge becomes part of the context of power relations in extra-academic contexts, how it is used and for what purposes.

The three types of ref lexive PIE will sometimes coincide in one study, and will often overlap. For now I can only express the hope that ref lexive PIE will be con-ducted more often and that the outcomes will raise awareness among research-ers and among those who enable and use their research. Unfortunately, my hope comes with a warning: one should be aware that ref lexive PIE holds not only promises but also a risk. Reflexive studies might reveal to researchers that their results have become part of policy-legitimizing repertoire, that those results are used to spread elite values of ethnocentric archaeologists, landscape architects, ecologists, economists, bureaucrats, technocrats, politicians, etc.!

Therefore, to produce ref lexive PIE, we need courage – courage to confront ourselves, our discipline, our colleagues, policy makers and politicians (on whose

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money we are so dependent) with the ‘effects’ of our research. And these confron-tations in turn might be risky, as they might not increase the popularity of ref lex-ive researchers. In the worst case, people will be replaced by someone less critical.

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