Challenging the White Narrative of Conservation

Photo Credit: Ryan Burt

How did we get here? How did the outdoors, a space that is naturally inclusive of all humans, become a place that is frequented by primarily one race, here in the U.S.? 

I’ve read articles where this phenomenon is explained through differences of culture, geography, or income. Those explanations never felt satisfying. Recent events to include the murders of Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and George Floyd, encouraged me to dig a little deeper into the history of our outdoor community.

“You want to talk about history? What’s the point? we’ve moved on! The outdoor community isn’t that racist!”

As Yuri Kochiyama, an Asian-American civil rights activist who stood alongside Malcolm X put it, let us “keep expanding our horizon, decolonize our mind, and cross borders.”

I wanted to know if there are any racial borders remaining in the outdoor community that we could cross, as well as how to build bridges to reach a more equitable vision of the outdoors.

In order for us to grow together, we must learn how we were separated in the past. Here’s a small glimpse into the history of conservation in the U.S.

Let’s talk about Teddy Roosevelt. The father of the U.S. Forest Service is remembered for his powerful legacy of conservation, including the 1906 Antiquities Act and the protection of 230 million acres of land as national forests, national parks, and game preserves. 

Teddy Roosevelt at Yosemite Photo Credit: Shutterstock

Roosevelt’s love of the land did not extend to the indigenous people who lived there, or the formerly enslaved west Africans whose forced labor helped transform the U.S. into an economic powerhouse. Roosevelt’s model of conservation did not go beyond the protection of plants and animals that he envisioned as noble and worthy of protection. He was not alone in building a conservation movement in his own white male image.

Racism within the conservation movement included many of its founding fathers. Gifford Pinchot, the first head of the U.S. Forest Service and good friend of Roosevelt sat on the board of the American Eugenics Society. Sierra Club founder John Muir romanticized Native Americans’ relationship with Nature while also describing them as dirty and unclean. Then there’s the case of Madison Grant. 

Grant established the Bronx Zoo and helped preserve the American bison and the California redwood. He also wrote a racist diatribe which influenced the Immigration Act of 1924, which effectively banned immigration from Asia and established quotas for all other countries outside of Western Europe.

Yes, Grant and Roosevelt helped create the national parks movement, however, it was also through their shared advocacy that white supremacy and eugenics became deeply rooted in American conservation.

Grant was a eugenicist who believed in the superiority of the white race. According to Grant, “inferior races,” such as “Negroes” and “Native Americans”, posed a danger to pure, undiluted Anglo-Saxon pioneer stock, and as a result, had to be contained via racial segregation, extermination and sterilization. 

In 1916, the National Park Service (NPS) was created. A federal bureau in the Department of Interior, it managed national parks, monuments, and major conservation efforts. It was started by Woodrow Wilson, the 28th president of the United States, who was responsible for implementing Jim Crow segregation in federal workplaces - including the Department of the Interior, and who demonstrated strong support for the Ku Klux Klan.

It was also in 1916, that Grant’s book,  The Passing of the Great Race was published. In it, Grant wrote that “Man has the choice of two methods of race improvement. He can breed from the best, or he can eliminate the worst by segregation or sterilization.” Grant argued in favor of Nordic superiority, racial segregation and anti-miscegenation laws to prevent the mixing of races. His fear was that the best of the white race would be diluted by the over breeding of inferior races. 

The U.S. conservation movement held similar views, in that it correlated “[n]ational purity and natural purity.” The purpose of the movement was to preserve the very best of Nature for the very best of man — whites. Each national park is a story of dislocation of the Native tribes that first occupied the land. After all, you can’t have pristine American wilderness if indigenous people are already living there—it detracts from the narrative. 

Madison Grant, no later than 1913. Photo courtesy of Our Vanishing Wildlife (WikiCommons)

Similar to many conservationists who embraced the myth of the American wilderness, Grant was horrified of cities “which will produce many amazing racial hybrids and some ethnic horrors that will be beyond the powers of future anthropologists to unravel.” He obsessed over “the specialized traits of Nordic man; his stature, his light colored eyes, his fair skin and blond hair, his straight nose, and his splendid fighting and moral qualities”—which he feared would be lost to miscegenation.

The Passing of the Great Race became so popular that it was translated into German in 1925. According to Adolf Hitler’s personal physician, it became Hitler’s “Bible” and influenced the writing of Mein Kempf. Wait, what? One of the founders of U.S. conservation influenced the writings of the future leader of Nazi Germany? Yes.

You might be wondering if you were absent for this chapter in history class, or why this history isn’t covered in briefings for national park visitors. Is there anything else that the National Park Service is omitting? Something like the segregation of national park facilities?

In the United States, segregation wasn’t just for the buses, water fountains, bathrooms, and education systems. It was deeply rooted in the National Park Service. In 1926, the Virginia General Assembly passed the most wide-ranging of such legislation—the Massenburg Bill—requiring the separation of black and white Americans in theaters, auditoriums, and other places of public assembly. With the Massenburg Bill, Virginia became the first and only state to segregate the races in all places of public assembly.

Virgina is home to Shenandoah National Park which became a popular destination for African Americans. Approximately 10,000 African Americans visited the park each year between 1938 and 1940. The Superintendents of National Parks and Monuments responded by constructing separate facilities to segregate black park visitors.

Shenandoah National Park Photo Credit: Shutterstock

From the history mentioned above, we can see that lies of omission as well as misinformation have obfuscated the true nature of the U.S. conservation movement. It is not enough to ask innocently why more BIPOC aren’t involved in conserving U.S. public lands when we have been intentionally removed, silenced, alienated from a movement that was designed to support white racial dominance and myth building. We’re absent from national parks because they didn’t want us there.

Well that was then, you say, what about now?

The lack of diversity, equity, and inclusion in the present day conservation movement is a clear indicator of its failure to accept responsibility for its racist origins. How can we move forward when today’s leaders are unwilling to acknowledge the harm caused by a movement that mistook the elevation of whiteness for its end goal.

Photo Credit: Ryan Burt

And yet, what would change look like? As a black Muslim hiker, I know firsthand the importance of establishing a personal connection to the outdoors. For many, it’s the first step in accepting our role as environmental caretakers. Visiting state and national parks as a kid is how I nurtured my sense of wonder and awe for nature. The harmful narratives that portray BIPOC as “not interested” in conserving public lands and natural resources is ironic because BIPOC conservationists have been shut out of the movement since day one. Maybe it’s time to stop worshipping Muir, Pinchot, Roosevelt, Wilson and Grant, and to start listening to Black and Indigenous environmental leaders.

The price we pay for segregation is very apparent. According to James Baldwin, the cost is “apathy and ignorance...you don’t know what’s happening on the other side of the world because you don’t want to know.”

So what can be done? How do we confront these unpleasant truths and replace harmful white supremacist narratives with less harmful ones?

In order to combat the systemic racism within the conservation movement and move towards a more diverse and equitable future, it is not enough to be a decent person. We must become anti-racist and build communities, conservancies, trusts and nonprofits that are committed to anti racism. We can accomplish that by amplifying the voices of BIPOC environmental leaders. We can learn a lot from one another’s stories.

For decades, the history of the conservation movement has prioritized whiteness over accountability or inclusivity. In order to build a more equitable version of the movement, we must listen to black and brown stories. Lancelot Jones, for example is a son of a former slave who sold his land to the National Park Service (NPS) so that it could be preserved as part of Biscayne National Park in the Florida Keys. Jones made Biscayne National Park possible by preserving the land for future generations rather than selling to commercial developers. Their story is just one example of the many that need to be told and listened to.

In recent years, the NPS has been vocal about their commitment in diversifying the outdoors and working towards anti-racist sentiment. A 2017 initiative called “Promoting Diversity and Inclusion in Our National Parks, National Forests, and Other Public Lands and Waters,” encouraged parks stewards to advocate for a more inclusive and complete story of America by including diverse voices in the decision-making process, increasing the number of outreach programs and improving accessibility for diverse communities.

We should also take it upon ourselves to delve into our own narratives and learn how to bridge the gap between our ideals and the reality of the outdoor spaces we inhabit.

Before joining this change-making group of black, brown, indigenous, and queer people of color who love the outdoors, I had never really talked about being Black or let alone Muslim. Being Muslim is a big aspect of who I am and I’ve mentioned it here and there, but Danielle has inspired me to tell my story and not be afraid to be unapologetically Muslim. It is through this journey of being unapologetically Muslim that I’m reminded of my duty as a steward on earth. Being a care-taker of the planet means being mindful that “the earth is green and beautiful” and that I have been appointed by Allah (God) to be a steward upon it. This to me means that I must be mindful of the innate rights of my fellow humans, plants, and animals. 

It is my understanding that this includes treating people equally and speaking out against racism wherever it is rooted. I am reminded of a saying of the Prophet (peace be upon him) that “an Arab has no superiority over a non-Arab nor a non-Arab has any superiority over an Arab; also a white has no superiority over a black nor a black has any superiority over white except by piety and good action.”

My faith has inspired me to stand up against social injustice. I can’t be like the “conservationists” of the past who were openly racist. Being a conservationist to me means that I have to understand that environmental racism very much exists and that in order to preserve the sanctity of life for BIPOC, I cannot shy away from addressing how their communities have been disproportionately affected by man-made occurrences and natural disasters like toxic waste, climate change and pollution.

I encourage discovering nonprofits like Outdoor Afro and Native Womens Wilderness that embrace diversity and inspire Black and Indigenous connections with nature and one another! Listen to podcasts like Outside Voices that redefine the outdoor narrative through storytelling! There are so many avenues we can take to bring color to the white washed segments of our past and present so that we may have a rich future.

Let us learn and grow from our past. Including stories and amplifying the voices of BIPOC in the outdoors is paramount to building an anti-racist future in environmentalism.

Let’s continue to make a trail for everyone to use their God given right to be outside, regardless of race, religion, creed or nationality. Let’s expand our horizons, decolonize our minds, and cross borders so that Black, Indigenous, and People of Color have the room to “breathe.”