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May 21, 2026 In Uncategorized By Brian

Landscapes Are Not Backdrops to Communities

When we talk about communities, we often talk about people. We talk about relationships, networks, participation, identity and belonging. We talk about needs, aspirations, strengths and challenges. These conversations matter. But there is something that is often left in the background – literally and conceptually.

Place.

More specifically, the landscapes within which communities exist.

Landscapes and communities

Too often, landscapes are treated as some kind of background to community life. They are acknowledged as context but rarely understood as actively shaping how communities function.

We might refer to a coastal town, a mountain village or an urban neighbourhood, where we use landscapes as a marker, but still the landscape itself is too often treated as secondary to the people within it. But landscapes are not backdrops. They are systems and they are systems connected to people and communities and all that connection entails. Remembering this can change how we think about communities and ultimately how we think about resilience.

A landscape influences resilience.

Rivers shape movement and settlement. Terrain influences access and connection. Climate affects livelihoods and patterns of daily life. Infrastructure changes how places relate to each other. Even in cities and suburbs, streets, green spaces, waterways and transport networks structure how people interact and how communities form.

This doesn’t mean landscapes determine everything. Communities are not passive products of geography. But landscapes create conditions, opportunities and constraints that shape how community life develops over time.

When we begin to see landscapes in this way, community resilience also starts to look different. Think about what resilience actually looks like on the ground. It might appear as spiritual connections to place, or local knowledge of seasonal change. It might be reflected in how people use water, respond to environmental pressures, or maintain networks across distance. It might show up in decisions about land use, movement, food systems or everyday acts of care and adaptation.

But these aren’t separate from landscapes. They’re expressions of living within it and understanding it.

This becomes particularly visible when communities experience change. Economic shifts, environmental pressures, population movement and infrastructure development all reshape how places function. Communities respond but they do so from within existing systems of relationships with land and place.

This means resilience is not only about strengthening social connections. It is also about understanding the landscapes those connections depend upon. These are not just social connections but are socio-ecological connections.

Communities, landscapes and LoST

This is where the LoST Framework becomes useful. LoST begins from the idea that landscapes are not passive settings but dynamic systems shaped by stories, relationships and change over time – the hyphen in socio-ecological connections.

Therefore the framework encourages us to ask different questions.

Instead of asking What does this community need? LoST wants us to ask How does this place shape those needs?

We then begin to ask other questions:

What stories exist here?

What socio-ecological relationships sustain this community?

What changes are visible in the landscape?

What histories continue to influence the present?

These questions shift us from seeing communities as isolated groups and toward understanding them as parts of broader systems.

Importantly, LoST is not only relevant to community practitioners. It matters equally for travellers.

Travel often reproduces the same problem. Landscapes become scenery. Communities become experiences. Places become consumed rather than understood.

But if landscapes are no longer understood as backdrops, travel changes too. Walking, cycling and paddling become more than movement. They become ways of observing how landscapes work. They reveal how communities connect to place, how environments shape everyday life, and how change appears on the ground.

Movement becomes a method of understanding.

The above points create an interesting connection between LoST Travel and Conversations with Communities.

At first glance they can appear different with one focused on movement through landscapes, the other on facilitating community resilience. But both begin with the same premise: understanding requires context.

There are some important commonalities:

Both ask us to observe before acting.

Both recognise stories as forms of knowledge.

Both emphasise attention and understanding over speed.

Both seek to understand relationships rather than isolate problems.

In this sense, landscapes become more than physical environments. They become places where social, ecological and cultural systems intersect.

This changes practice.

It changes travel.

And it changes resilience.

Resilience emerges not apart from place, but through it.

Watch out for more posts further exploring this over the coming months.

Join the conversations at conversationswithcommunities.com.

February 9, 2026 In Uncategorized By Brian

Why Observation Matters for Community Resilience

Observation is too-often treated as a preliminary step in community resilience: something done before action – data gathered, workshops run, participation formalised. Yet in practice, observation is not a precursor to community resilience – it’s one of its foundations. To observe well is to take seriously the everyday life of place and landscape, to recognise that resilience is lived here and to understand that voices are not only spoken, but enacted through daily practices, rhythms, silences and relationships.

This means observation is not passive. It is an ethical, political and relational act. It shapes whose knowledge is recognised, whose experiences are centred and how understanding is always developed. When done well, observation enables “thick and rich” understandings of communities and landscapes, creating the conditions for meaningful participation and for voices – particularly those often marginalised – to be heard beyond that spoken.

Observing the Everyday Life of Place and Landscape

Communities are not abstractions. They are lived realities embedded in specific places, shaped by landscapes, infrastructures, histories and routines. Observation allows practitioners to move beyond surface narratives and into the everyday life of a place: how people move through space, where they gather, how they use land and resources and how social relationships are expressed in ordinary moments.

This everyday life is where resilience is continually negotiated. It appears in how people adapt to seasonal change, respond to environmental pressures, share resources, care for one another and maintain cultural practices. They are also the locations of inequalities and the contexts within which they occur.

These forms of resilience are rarely visible in formal meetings or captured through surveys alone. They are embedded in walking routes, informal economies, shared spaces and the interactions of what in my world are called ‘everyday life’.

With observations, landscapes are no longer just physical settings, but social – ecological systems rich with memory, identity and knowledge. Observing how people relate to their environment – what they protect, what they modify, what they avoid – can reveal values that may never be explicitly stated but are central to community life.

Thick and Rich Understanding as Methodology

A methodology based on “thick and rich” understanding recognises that complexity cannot be reduced without losing something. Observation, sustained over time, allows practitioners to notice nuance, contradiction and change. It supports an approach that values depth over speed and context over generalisation.

Thick observation involves paying attention not only to what happens, but to how and why it happens in particular ways. It notices patterns and their disruptions, formal structures and informal practices, power dynamics and quiet acts of resistance. It recognises that communities are not homogeneous and that resilience is unevenly distributed.

This kind of understanding challenges extractive forms of research and engagement. Rather than entering a community to quickly identify problems and solutions, observation-based methodologies invite practitioners to slow down, to learn before acting and to remain open to being changed by what they encounter. This shift is critical in resilience work, where poorly grounded interventions can undermine existing strengths or reinforce inequalities.

Rich observation also creates space for uncertainty. It allows practitioners to resist premature conclusions and to hold multiple interpretations at once. In doing so, it mirrors the lived complexity of communities themselves. Resilience, after all, is not a fixed outcome but an ongoing process shaped by changing conditions and relationships. Observation helps keep this process visible.

Observation and Participation

Participation is often framed in terms of inclusion: who is invited to the table, who attends meetings, who fills out surveys. Observation expands this understanding by recognising participation that already exists within communities. It reveals who is active, who is excluded, and how decisions are made informally as well as formally.

Through observation, practitioners can identify barriers to participation that may not be openly discussed – timing, location, language, social norms, or historical distrust. They can also recognise forms of participation that do not align with institutional expectations but are nonetheless meaningful: mutual aid networks, informal leadership, everyday acts of care.

By grounding participation strategies in observed realities rather than assumptions, community resilience work becomes more accessible and equitable. Observation helps ensure that engagement processes align with how people actually live their lives, rather than requiring communities to adapt to externally imposed structures.

Importantly, observation also requires reflexivity. Practitioners must observe themselves within the process: how their presence shapes interactions, whose voices they gravitate towards and what they may be missing. This self-awareness strengthens participation by reducing the risk of reinforcing existing power imbalances.

Ensuring Voices Are Heard

We know that not all voices are equally audible. Some are loud and confident, others quiet or expressed indirectly. Observation allows practitioners to notice whose perspectives dominate and whose are marginalised and to understand the reasons behind this imbalance.

But we also should remember that voices are expressed in more ways than speech. They appear in actions, absences, body language and the use of space. Observation helps capture these forms of expression, particularly for those who may feel unsafe, unwelcome, or unheard in formal settings. It enables a more inclusive understanding of community perspectives.

By building trust over time, observation-based approaches create conditions where people may feel more comfortable sharing their experiences. When communities see that practitioners are willing to listen before acting and to learn without judgment, engagement deepens. Voices are not simply collected; they are respected. This is foundational for ‘community-led’.

This has direct implications for resilience outcomes. When interventions are informed by observed realities and grounded in lived experience, they are more likely to be relevant, supported and sustained. Communities are more willing to engage when they recognise themselves in the process and see their knowledge reflected in decisions.

Observation as an Ethical Commitment

At its core, observation in community resilience is an ethical precursor to ‘community-led’. It acknowledges that communities are experts in their own lives and that resilience cannot be imposed from outside. But observation asks us to be present, patient and attentive – to take time seriously as an investment in community-led resilience.

Why ‘Thick and Rich’ Matters

In an era of urgency, where communities face accelerating social, economic and environmental pressures, and too much community resilience is framed by and driven by project timeframes, the temptation is to act quickly. Observation reminds us that speed can come at the cost of understanding. By investing in thick and rich observation, forms of community resilience become not only more effective, but more just.

Observation matters because it anchors resilience in place, honours everyday life, supports meaningful participation and ensures that voices are genuinely heard. It transforms community engagement from a transactional process into a relational one, where learning flows both ways and resilience is co-created rather than prescribed.

July 31, 2025 In Art, Photography, Uncategorized By Brian

ANSEL ADAMS: ART INSPIRING ACTION

Ansel Adams, the legendary photographer and environmentalist, continues to leave an enormous legacy in the contemporary world. His iconic black-and-white photographs of the American wilderness, particularly the landscapes of Yosemite National Park and the Sierra Nevada, have shaped how we perceive the natural world and our responsibility to protect it. Adams’ influence extends far beyond photography; his work resonates in art, conservation, education and advocacy for environmental protection.

Environmental Advocacy Through Art

Adams was not only a photographer but also an environmentalist. His images played a pivotal role in raising awareness about the beauty and fragility of America’s wild places. By capturing the grandeur of untouched landscapes, Adams instilled a sense of awe and an urgency to protect these spaces.

In today’s context of climate change and habitat destruction, his work is a reminder of what is at stake. His images inspire new generations of environmental activists and artists to use visual media as a tool for advocacy. Photographers, filmmakers and, now, content creators cite Adams as a role model in their efforts to document and preserve nature, using the power of art to communicate the pressing need for conservation, sustainability and community resilience.

Art as a Universal Language

Adams believed that photography could transcend language and cultural barriers, speaking directly to the human connection with nature. His images of Half Dome, the Tetons, and countless other landscapes are not just representations of places but invitations to connect with the natural world. For me, this is at the heart of an image of any landscape.

Education and Accessibility

Adams was dedicated to sharing his knowledge, ensuring that photography as an art form remained accessible to all. Through his books, workshops, and lectures, he taught countless individuals how to see the world through a lens with technical proficiency, artistic sensitivity and that passion for landscapes and their protection. Today, his teachings live on in photography schools, online courses, and workshops that emphasise the principles of visual storytelling and environmental consciousness. Adams’ philosophy – that the act of creating art is deeply tied to one’s connection to the world – continues to resonate.

Conservation Photography

Adams’ work laid the foundation for the field of conservation photography, which uses compelling visuals to advocate for the protection of ecosystems and biodiversity. Photographers cite Adams as a key influence in their work. His philosophy – that art can inspire action – remains a guiding principle for photographers who use their creativity to address pressing environmental challenges.

Continuing the Dialogue

Adams’ legacy is more than a collection of extraordinary images – it’s a call to action. His work reminds us of the intrinsic value of nature and the importance of preserving it for future generations. In a world increasingly defined by urbanisation and environmental degradation, Adams’ photographs stand as testaments to the beauty and importance, indeed the necessity, of wild spaces.

Through art, education, and advocacy, Adams continues to inspire people to see, appreciate and protect the world around them. His impact is felt across disciplines and generations.

‘Thick and Rich’ is more than Pasta Sauce

In this post I’d like to highlight why ‘thick and rich’ understanding of communities is essential to support community resilience.

Doing deep qualitative work for community resilience is essential because it allows for a comprehensive, nuanced understanding of the lived experiences, needs, and aspirations of the community. Unlike quantitative methods that focus on numbers and generalised data, qualitative research delves into the human aspects of resilience, offering insights that are rich, complex, and deeply rooted in the local context.

Communities are not monolithic. They are diverse in terms of culture, history, values, and challenges. A deep qualitative approach—through interviews, observation, conversations and storytelling—gives space for individuals within the community to express their experiences, values, and perspectives. This allows for a more holistic understanding of their resilience. It acknowledges that resilience is not just about bouncing back from disasters, but about how communities adapt, transform, and thrive in the face of challenges, often drawing from their experiences, social networks, and local knowledge.

One of the key reasons to engage in qualitative work is that it uncovers the underlying factors that contribute to or hinder resilience. For example, a community might face recurring floods, but through qualitative research, you may discover that beyond the immediate threat of water, there are deep-seated issues related to governance, power dynamics, or social inequalities. These deeper issues are often missed in more superficial, quantitative studies. By focusing on individual and collective narratives, qualitative work sheds light on the social, emotional, and cultural dimensions of resilience, offering a fuller picture of how communities adapt and survive.

Moreover, deep qualitative work builds relationships of trust and collaboration between researchers and the community. By engaging with community members in open, empathetic conversations, you create opportunities for mutual learning and shared understanding. This process is not one-sided; it is about giving voice to people who may not typically have the platform to speak about their experiences. This approach empowers communities, making them active participants in the resilience-building process rather than subjects of study. When communities feel heard and understood, they are more likely to invest in and take ownership of the strategies and solutions that emerge.

Another crucial benefit of qualitative work is its ability to uncover local knowledge and innovative practices that can be essential to resilience. Many communities, especially in rural or marginalised areas, have developed their own adaptive strategies over generations. These local practices—whether they involve sustainable farming techniques, resource sharing, or dispute resolution—are often overlooked in mainstream understanding but are vital to resilience. Deep qualitative work helps to document and preserve this knowledge, while also allowing us to identify opportunities for scaling or integrating these strategies and/or their principles, into larger resilience frameworks.

Additionally, qualitative research is flexible, allowing for an adaptive and responsive approach. As you engage with a communities, new insights may emerge that shift the direction of your inquiry or highlight areas previously unseen. This responsiveness is critical for working in dynamic and complex environments, where resilience is constantly being tested by shifting social, economic, and environmental pressures.

In sum, deep qualitative work is integral to understanding and supporting community resilience because it allows you to connect with the community on a human level, recognise and document local knowledge, uncover deeper structural issues, and build trust and collaboration. This method emphasises the value of listening to people, empowering them to contribute to their own resilience and ensuring that any interventions are rooted in the community’s unique context. By fostering this deeper connection, qualitative work plays a crucial role in creating more sustainable and adaptive communities.

May 28, 2025 In Behind the image By Brian

Behind the Image: May 2025

Soon the snow will come, but recent rain has meant the streams of the Mt Buffalo plateau are running through a lush landscape.

April 19, 2025 In Conversations with communities, Uncategorized By Brian

Conversations with Communities

There’s a phrase that I’m hearing with increasing regularity: inclusive community engagement. To be sure, the phrase doesn’t always use these exact words, but the phrase acts like an umbrella in practices related to community-led actions for sustainable landscapes. I hear practitioners talk about it and I hear travellers talk about it.

Like lot’s of ideas and broad umbrella concepts, it’s always good to take a step back to reflect on what the phrase means and how it can be used in different ways with different meanings. A beginning point is with the ‘revolution of ideas’ that has been occurring over the last 40 years or so.

There have been multiple drivers of this revolution. Perhaps one of the most significant has been a shift in understanding knowledge. Without going into detail, we have entered what social scientists call ‘post-modernity’. There are multiple characteristics, but for us the important characteristic relates to knowledge and experiences. We now recognise that there are multiple forms of knowledge and experience, not just that of science or technical management or the expert.

In turn, we’ve seen a shift in thinking about communities, community development and community resilience:

A shift in the role of expert knowledge. Technical knowledge is important, but it is seen as one way of looking at things.

A recognition that there are multiple ways of experiencing things. This means people experience things differently based on all kinds of characteristics – gender, age, ethnicity, education, health, income etc.

A movement to somehow, in some ways, trying to harness these 2 things in the quest for resolving issues, implementing change, developing and rolling out programmes and, ultimately, for community resilience.

Those three words ‘inclusive community engagement’ have been impacted by this revolution of ideas/thinking.

Inclusive has moved from:

Not being part of the language, to

An expert making decisions on behalf of people/groups, to

Experts recognising that some groups need to be consulted, to

Professionals recognising and understanding the nature of the diversity of people’s experiences, fears, dreams, aspirations and knowledge and ensuring that programmes, projects, interventions etc are representative of this so they are inclusive.

Community has moved from:

A geographic place name inhabited by people, to

A complex site of social, economic and political processes impacting on people and groups differently. It has its own dynamic, but there are socio-economic and political processes beyond the reach of the community that will and do impact.

Engagement has moved from:

Experts making decisions for people/groups, to

Experts consulting with people/groups, to

Different groups being brought together around the table, to

People collaborating and co-creating – mutually identifying issues, concerns and possible solutions.

Of course, social change is a messy thing, but one thing is certain – these changes have provided a space for having conversations with communities. I don’t mean this in a ‘let’s talk about things’ way that ignores the ways some voices get heard and others don’t or are marginalised. I mean it in a ‘Let’s get creative and look for transformative social change for sustainable communities and landscapes’ kind of way, where we all recognise our optimal ignorance and share experiences, insights and ideas to frame actions.

It’s this latter meaning that informs my ideas, practice and experience.

March 21, 2025 In Communities and place By Brian

Attachments to place: Lodhi Gardens, Delhi

Everyone lives their lives with both civilisational and Civilisational markers. It’s what makes us human after all – the civilisational markers of values, culture and everyday life sit with the Civilisational markers of buildings and other material outputs of our lives. The thing about being a visitor or even a long-term outsider is that these markers come to represent very specific parts of an experience and an engagement. For me, these civilisational and Civilisational markers provide strong attachments to place and the country.

Seeing the 15^th century tomb of Mohammad Shah Syad through the fog of a winter’s morning in Lodhi Gardens in Delhi is a sight I’ve seen many times over the years. There is something special about it, at least to my mind (and, I guess, through that, my experience of Delhi).

It represents some of the great things about Delhi – its gardens and green spaces, the fact that you have these monumental sites all over the place and they are ‘just there’, and you can see the changing nature of Delhi, and through these eyes, perhaps start to see the changing nature of India. The middle-classes walk, the homeless move on, the Delhiites read papers or do yoga or exercise in this most public of places. And you can’t forget the dogs, with their warm overcoats to keep the cold at bay (more comfortable than the homeless who inhabit the Gardens during the night but without the luxury of overcoats) – so many dogs being led by dog walkers, by servants and by owners.

Was it really that long ago that I was playing football on the lawns of Lodhi Gardens with our son and daughter, then probably about ten and seven?

My India stories are a bit like that – threads of timelessness and threads of change, coming together at these kinds of locations, and coming together through these inhabitants of the city – those who live, survive, work and those who try to and hope to.

These threads of continuity and change, Civilisational and civilisational markers, are seen in the Lodhi area – they unfold as you walk around the gardens and then in the area beyond – beyond to Safdarjung’s tomb (built in 1754), to the India Habitat Centre (conceived in 1993) via Jor Bagh to the India International Centre (completed in 1962) and Khan Market (from the 1950s).

One of the constants of Lodhi Gardens is of course people living their everyday lives. Here, at weekends, can be found picnickers, sometimes with only a rug and a tiffin box, often though extended families enjoying some winter sun (or summer shade), loaded up with rugs, soft drink, copious food in storage boxes and tiffin tins and, often enough, the radio or the CD player.

Each day the paths are walked and run on as various Delhiites and expats come to the place to get some exercise. Walking often consists of two people, talking and discussing whatever it is they discuss – friends, business, politics, the state of the world, the state of India, the state of Delhi, the state of whichever India Premier League cricket team. All are topics to be covered.

And of course, the active can be found in various cricket matches which are always happening, no matter what season. Young men and boys trying to hit the ball out of the park, or trying to bowl the ball at express speeds. India has a women’s cricket team but I’m not sure where they learn their craft – I’ve only ever seen boys and young men in parks and wherever there is spare ground – including various fallow fields in villages across the country, where invariably I would be part of yet another Australia/India cricket match. Over the years my main challenge has been remembering who the latest Australian cricketers are so I can become one of them.

And then there are the groups who meet in the gardens – sometimes to discuss whatever is headlining in the newspapers, sometimes groups of women use the Gardens to discuss gender and develop their networks. Then there are the groups who are doing their yoga breathing, or having laughing therapy.

I remember, as Delhi’s pollution was getting progressively worse, people would research the air quality in Lodhi Gardens, on the basis that if it was bad here, it would be very bad elsewhere. Almost invariably, in winter, it was very bad – the green spaces couldn’t hide the fact that fog, diesel particulates, sand and dust come together in a very unhealthy mix across the capital (and throughout India unfortunately).

So many civilisational markers, sitting side-by-side Civilisational markers. Here in the gardens are the tomb of Mohammad Shah Syed, the third ruler of the Syed Delhi sultanate who came to power in the early fifteenth century, a mosque which is thought to have been constructed in the eighteenth century, the Baba Gumbad (a significant gateway to what is thought to be the Baba Gumbad mosque, found a little further away). Immediately to the north can be found the Seesh Gumbad, thought to be the tomb of the founder of the Lodhi dynasty of the fifteenth century. The tomb of Sikandar Lodhi who died in 1517, is also to be found here.

This joining of civilisational and Civilisational markers is not that unusual across India. The country has its fair share of cultural world heritage sites – 29 or so, spread across the country. This is in addition to seven natural sites and one mixed site.

The idea of world heritage is focused on global responsibility to support and protect the conservation of world heritage sites in a country. Importantly, the idea is saying that it’s not just for the country to look after things – if something is world heritage, it means there is a universal value and therefore a global responsibility for its protection. So the country protects its world heritage sites, its national sites and its local sites as Civilisational markers, but surrounding them are the everyday lives of Indians – the civilisational markers. It’s a difficult balancing act.

February 21, 2025 In Communities and place By Brian

The power of observation to engage with place

Many aspects to life are played out in public and observation is a very powerful skill to have. To my mind, the very act of observing (rather than looking/seeing) means you’ve begun the process of engaging with place and everyday life. For me, the difference between seeing and observing is found in asking yourself two key questions: Why is that happening? How did this occur? By asking those kinds of questions, you start to dig below the surface of what you see. It’s through this you get to add to your own stories of a place, your own experiences and your own knowledge of self and others.

As an aside, this is why I’m not keen on listicles and ‘1001 things to do in (.wherever) before you die’ kinds of lists. I have a personal concern with bucket lists – as if they are the ultimate definer of an experience, a life. Too much time marking things off lists means too little time getting to know a place, its people and its everyday life. Quiet reflection and observation (and most importantly, understanding of some kind) are too often subsumed by the next thing to tick off.

The streets are the point of intersection of people’s lives, relationships, networks and interactions and the vignettes of people’s lives which unfold tell a lot about the pulses of everyday life, well away from the our own assumptions But this is not that unusual – public spaces (parks, roads, wastelands, forests for example) provide glimpses into the everyday life of place. You just need to spend the time to observe and do, rather than rush by or through.

This post was also published at localslowtravel.com

February 1, 2025 In Communities and place, Community rights, Rights of nature, Tiger conservation By Brian

When I started to understand

Rural sustainability, landscape sustainability and community rights are the core of what I do. I’ve worked on all kinds of issues and in all kinds of landscapes – national parks, wildlife and endangered species protection, tourism, world heritage, collectives, fishing, nomadic herders, the Himalayas, water, the great rivers of South Asia, forests in various places. My beginning point has always been with people, their rights and their landscapes. But this 30 year practice had to start somewhere.

I still remember the time I really began to understand things. As a young(ish) social scientist I sat at my desk in my accommodation, a small hut in a tiger reserve. My assignment was to analyse the impacts of wildlife on the people who live on the outskirts of the reserve.

At the time, the orthodox thinking was that tigers and their conservation were the focus. Some thought (and some still do) that tigers were the only focus – and they therefore took precedence over the rights of local communities.

Others thought that while the tigers were a priority, local communities needed to benefit from their protection. Usually, this was framed in terms of livelihoods and economic benefits. So the thinking here was that local communities shouldn’t wear the economic costs of protecting tigers.

At that time, I knew I sat with the second view. But I didn’t quite know what that meant.

I was about to write up the day’s notes. It was quite late because there had been a festival at a nearby village and I had gone there to understand some more about the ways local people live. The festival was a celebration of the forest and so it was an important one to get a sense of people’s connections to their forest, their landscapes – I knew these run deep. It had been a full moon (hence this particular festival), and I’d returned to my room along that forest path by its silver light. The sounds of the festival reverberated around this vicinity. My fellow walkers on the path were coming from and going to the festival, some dressed in their best clothes for the celebration.

My thinking about this assignment, gained from far-away Australia and framed by Western values of national parks, tiger protection and conservation, was that things needed to be done to protect the reserve, the forest and the national parks from the impacts of people.

As I sat at my desk, the yellow light of the kerosene lamp lighting my notebook, I stared out the window at the blue-bucks grazing on the grasses, and I thought two things in quick succession. The first was: ‘This is what fieldwork is like’ – a somewhat romantic notion of the field that had been instilled into me from the early days of studying, reading reports of fieldwork by anthropologists and, of course, the totally romantic scene that I was part of – village festivals, jungle, kerosene lamps, wildlife, saving the tiger.

The second thought was my ‘ahah’ moment. I thought: ‘It’s not the wildlife or the forest that needs protecting, it’s the rights of local people.’

It was at that point I began to really, really understand. I understood that local people live with wildlife and conservation initiatives and that they come at a cost to them.

I understood that the cost of conservation is not shared equally, that while we may want to, and should want to, protect tigers and forests and other species, local populations often bear the cost – a cost they can ill-afford. This cost is well beyond the economic cost, though that can be substantial. It’s a cost of cultural and historical connections to landscapes, usually shaped by generations.

Economics doesn’t cover access to medicinal plants. It doesn’t cover the locations in forests where dead ancestors still provide safety and a surety of the forest. It doesn’t cover the local deities that are tigers, worshipped to ensure that local people are protected in the forest. Most of all, it doesn’t cover the rights of local people to all of the above, their rights to make informed decisions and their rights to have their voices heard across tiger landscapes and their conservation efforts.

And I understood that it’s very simple to see black and white solutions.

As a result, and perhaps most of all, I understood that life is complicated. Seeing tigers in the wild is spectacular. Seeing them on posters imploring donations to save them, doesn’t do justice to the complex economic, political, cultural and historical connections that people have with their forests, their landscapes and their livelihoods. All the tiger ecology in the world will not save them until all these other things are understood, integrated into protection and the rights of local people are protected. Most of all, I understood that doing this required collaboration and cooperation.

December 15, 2024 In Communities and place, community resilience By Brian

Thoughts on Building Community Resilience

Over the last month or two I’ve had a various conversations with people about community resilience. These are focused on ideas of resilience being tied into either economic or psychological states, the expert knowledge of various groups – including community practitioners and bureaucrats – and the importance of getting ‘community’ on side.

While there’s quite a lot to unpack here, for this post I’ll just focus on how 4 points sum up how I see it.

As a professional working in the community resilience space, I don’t own knowledge and experience. I have different assumptions, ideas and experiences that I bring to the table, along with others. Therefore, a foundational part of this thinking is that I have things to contribute, and with others I can contribute and collaborate in the search for community resilience. Disagreement or different perspectives are important parts of the mix.

What this means hopefully is that we move away from that professional model that assumes professional, technical knowledge which we use to ‘create’ resilient communities.

My own ideas are influenced by the following:

Most importantly, all communities have range of attributes that support or enhance resilience. A significant part of my professional practice is identifying what they are and how these community ‘assets’ can be harnessed. Note that this doesn’t assume communities are straightforward things – they are problematic, meanings are contested between groups and there are some who are on the margins for a range of reasons.

Communities are in constant change, which can be a positive or a negative thing. For me, this stems back to my social science training and explanatory frameworks which emphasise that things change and are changeable, and this is a ‘constant’. What this means is that I look at stability as an outcome of change. The stability we might find in a community might be because of its economic base – let’s say a large employer in the town means there’s little unemployment. But this stability is the outcome of a very changeable economic system, one which might impact on the employer in that town. Hence the things that are driving this stable employment are by definition, changeable. The loss of the employer would have a significant impact on the resilience of the town. It also emphasises that many processes impacting on community resilience are found well outside the community.

As a community resilience practitioner, part of my role is to look at the relationship between these community characteristics (for example, little unemployment) and the forces of potential change which are beyond the reach of community influence (for example, the dynamics of the economic system). This is where I use my knowledge of the social sciences and different definitions of community resilience.

Another part of my role is to, with communities, assess potential challenges and bring community groups together to see what can be done. This is where ‘building community resilience’ comes into it.