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Second, technical processes were naturally limited by what was asserted on the
community maps themselves. Consequently, many small-scale resources were
excluded such as shellfish gathering or the use of artificial corals, and fish traps
because residents had failed to draw them on the maps in the first place.77
Generally, information was put on the technical map if it was considered
significant by the mappers. Usually, the lack of detail on certain matters
suggests their criteria for significance related to volume or area covered by the
resource. Yet, criteria used by local people were typically different, especially
for those involved in very-small-scale activities. The latter were neither
extensive nor involved large numbers of resources. Significantly though, some
of these resources were critical for survival. Therefore, technical maps were
almost invariably selective in asserting local knowledge claims, with potentially
serious consequences.
That community data was spread across an array of technical maps
compounded the difficulties of asserting local claims. Different local claims
went on to different thematic maps. Local knowledge claims were thus
fragmented to produce the various technical maps. This resulted in the loss of
crucial local claims along the way. Further, not all of the thematic maps were of
the same importance to the overall plan. Yet, local people did not decide what
features should go on which map but only negotiated general management
zones. For example, two community maps drawn by people’s organisations
showed patterns of resource use and local resource use problems (figure 23).
These maps included the location of small-scale fishing activities as well as
practices including the use lift-nets, and even survival resources. In translation
however, ESSC put the data for commercial fishing and destructive fishing, as
problems on a different map thereby fragmenting their visibility in relation to
overall resource use. Thus, the evaluation of data worthiness and relevance
was implicit in the very ‘construction’ of the technical maps. How representative
of the original local claim this effort was depended notably upon the norms the
outside organisation used to evaluate data.
Indeed, sometimes ‘marginal’ local discourses were deemed by ESSC not to be
important enough to be placed on the main management map. For example,
four Tagbanua groups explained their proposed ancestral domain boundaries to
ESSC. Yet this knowledge was thereafter fragmented by the NGO such that it
was evaluated narrowly as one resource management concern along many
others (see figure 24). In effect, the cultural zones on the management zone
maps corresponded to officially recognised ancestral domain claims, which
were either smaller in size or in some instances non-existent (figure 25 shows
the size difference of one of them). In this case, ESSC assumed the dominant
role by assigning values of importance and deciding what data was to be
asserted and how it was to be done. Nevertheless, by using local symbols from
the community maps the ESSC technical map gives the impression that these
‘concerns’ are a faithful reflection of those of the communities. Here we have
‘truth’ defined by ESSC and not by the communities.
77
It was suggested previously that they were forgotten because these maps were conducted at
the barangay level and not at the sitio level, thus the omission of these from the original maps is
possibly indicative of micro-power relations between the barangay and sitio concerned.
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Figure 24
Proposed CADC areas placed on the Resource Concerns Map (ESSC 2000)
and not on the main map; Terrestrial Management Zones (figure 32)
Alemanguan’s
Proposed CADC
area
Alemanguan’s
current CADC area,
this is also on the
main map
Yakal’s
intended
CADC area,
the official
CADC is on
the main map
Lomombong’s
proposed CADC
area
Pancol’s proposed
CADC area (it ends at
the shoreline across the
Sound
Section taken from the Resource Concerns Map (ESSC 2000), proposed
CADCs are those areas within the gold lines.
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This dependence on outside organisations is further highlighted by the second
stage of technical translation. ESSC passed the finished maps to NIPAP for
reproduction in the general management plan. Yet, NIPAP used indicators of
community knowledge very differently from ESSC (let alone the local
communities) and the look of the maps changed accordingly. For example, the
basic map data in the NIPAP plan used only barangay names (not sitio names)
and the geo-reference points were enlarged. Here it can be seen that NIPAP
considered scientific presentations as more important than local knowledge.
Indeed in all of the maps of the NIPAP final documentation, the symbols
changed to more stylised features as shown in figure 26.78
Malampaya
symbols and local claims were set to the same standard as maps from other
NIPAP sites to make the databases for all the Protected Areas compatible and
hence comparable.
In addition, NIPAP changed the shading patterns for map features to an in-
house and standardized model. In this conversion again however, certain data
was lost or changed. The symbols and shades chosen by NIPAP GIS experts,
no longer visualised the features they were supposed to represent from the
community data. This step makes the NIPAP maps more difficult to ‘read’ – to
the extent it renders some community information invisible. And yet, these were
not decisions that needed to be made – NIPAP could have used ESSC
symbols, but chose instead to imprint their own scientific knowledge frame
through the design of the symbols. Ironically, by NIPAP choosing to retain the
basic references to the community maps whilst losing much of the data, they
retained the legitimacy of these data sources (through the assistance of ESSC),
whilst actually ignoring important local knowledge claims. Thus for example
the claims of fish trap-users and rattan gathers did not appear on the NIPAP
version. The maps imply that local knowledge claims are still asserted, when in
fact NIPAP reduced them to information location points. This may be reflective
of the ‘standard’ way in which NIPAP dealt with community knowledge. Yet it
seems to indicate a possible limit to the assertion of local knowledge claims in
the process.
That said, not all outside organisations treat local knowledge claims in the same
way. Some are better at asserting original community claims than others.
Overall, for example, ESSC was able to assert dominant local claims. Yet later
ESSC/NIPAP translation of local claims using ‘technically defined norms’ and
‘fragmentation’ reduced the complexity of these claims and therefore reduced
their impact. How much of the local claims were asserted therefore depended
upon the ‘value’ outside organisations judged it to have. At worst, they were
reduced to mere information points. An organisation, such as NIPAP may thus
give the impression of listening to local discourses using community maps, but
analysis of the translation processes suggests that it is still dominated by
scientific knowledge claims.
Thus far, the discussion in this chapter has clarified the complexity of local
knowledge claims derived from their experience of living in biodiversity, and
noted various obstacles to their assertion. Some constraints may be due to
locally uneven power relations.
78
Other differences were also shown in figure 22, for example with artificial coral (hilay).
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1
The detail of community symbols varies considerably. Pangay-ayan
Trawler Symbol, to the left shows the net full of resources, all drawn
with a lot of detail. Calapa community drew the trawler symbol,
above with less detail, but wrote the name of the ship (Galadgad)
and the problem of it using dynamite (dinamita).
San Jose Trawler Symbol.
The blue line encircling the
corals represents the net.
Figure 26
Symbols of Trawlers and changes rendered
ESSC simplified these drawings and stylised
them as a large boat
The yellow bottle represents dynamite use,
which were not drawn, but discussed by
communities. They use fertilizer in a bottle as
homemade dynamite.
These symbols are still easily recognisable.
NIPAP simplified
these drawings
further, but rendered
them unrecognisable
in the process.
Minapla draws a trawler with the red
line encircling resources
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Community maps were thus noted to represent local knowledge claims, albeit in
a selective manner emphasising conspicuous claims notably pertaining to
livelihood knowledge. Indeed key groups such as the Tagbanua only had their
claims partially asserted. In assessing the translation processes that converted
local knowledge claims into a series of technical maps feeding into the
management of the protected area, much depended on organisational beliefs.
Thus, while ESSC did assert dominant local claims, forcing scientific claims to
adapt in the process, the opposite was true with NIPAP who suppressed local
claims in favour of a scientific ethos. Still, this was not the end of the process
since local people had other potential opportunities to assert their knowledge
claims, a topic to which we turn next.
Discursive Negotiations
The discussion so far has provided a basis for analysing the discursive
negotiations surrounding NIPAP-II and thereby assessing the extent to which
local people were able to assert successfully their knowledge claims in the
overall process. These negotiations took place in three key fora namely,
defining activity zones, public hearings and other participatory planning
activities. These processes are now examined to assess how much opportunity
local people had to assert their local claims in each one as well as the extent to
which these processes relied on outside organisations to assist those claims.
Fishing Activity Zones and their Development
Discursive negotiations have many aspects with the initial formation of the
discourse possibly as important as the subsequent negotiation in either limiting
or providing opportunity (cf. Hajer 1995). Community maps were an initial step
because they enabled communities to show how they used resources and how
they would like circumstances to change. However, this was only the first step
in developing the management plan, which requires communities to think about
biodiversity resource use in a new way.
A key area in which local knowledge claims were asserted was through the
delineation of the aquatic management zones. How did the development of
these zones relate to local opportunity? As Foucault (1982) suggests it is by
looking at the micro-physics of activities that we can understand how the larger
system functions. As such, local discussions that initiated the development of
the aquatic zones and their allowed practices are examined here. The following
detailed example illustrates that local knowledge claims may incorporate other
non-local sources of knowledge and equally that local claims may be asserted
notably though the agency of an outside organisation and yet still offer local
opportunities.
Initially ESSC asked two Baong-based organisations to identify areas of
activities and seasonal fishing practices in the Inner Sound. The NGO
presented two maps at the ensuing zoning meeting: the community map drawn
by the Malampaya Sound Small-Fishers Association (MSSFA) and its own
scaled technical map. People chose to draw on plastic over the community
map rather than the technical map, as they recognised their knowledge claims
through the symbols and features represented. People were asked to draw
areas where particular activities were allowed. ESSC then asked them to
suggest the spacing of the various fixed fishing structures (such as fish corals)
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and explain the reasons for their choice. After much discussion they chose
spacing criteria for the fish corals in accordance with official BFAR regulations.
However, the fishers were not totally affirming official rules. Thus, for example,
with fish cage spacing fishers considered the official rule of a line of cages for
growing groupers difficult to implement in practice. As a woman fisher
countered, “it is easier to monitor the groupers and cheaper (for materials) if
cages and pens are grouped side by side” (Salome 1999). Yet, ESSC then
linked this configuration to a possible cause of the hazardous red tide bloom. In
response, local fishers chose a compromise pattern for the fish cages with
spacing between clusters of four pens or cages.
ESSC then asked them to situate their decisions in a broader context. Thus, for
example, it asked them to consider medium-scale operators such as the large
lift nets. In response, local fishers suggested these operate outside the Inner
Sound because the large fish volumes they caught were seen to threaten local
livelihoods. In this informal negotiation then, the community map was a
dialogue tool enabling local people to assert local claims by evaluating data
from various sources, such as official, NGO and their own past experiences.
Thus where local people directly assert their knowledge claims, they may
already be incorporating a complex evaluation of ‘best’ practice as hybrid local
knowledge. Such practice includes criteria such as livelihood needs as well as
what is practically feasible. This sort of local evaluation also reflects a
willingness to assess the non conflicting needs of other species such as the
dolphins. For example, ESSC staff asked whether the isolated population of
Irrawaddy Dolphin would have room to manœuver among the fixed fishing
structures. The reply from the group was that “200m and 50m between the fish
corals are large enough for them”.
In order to get a cohesive ‘local’ position on the proposed management zone
activities, ESSC then took these MSSFA suggestions to neighbouring
communities. Here, local fishers affirmed a protection orientated framework as
they supported fish sanctuaries, many of which would affect them. However,
some fishers assumed that the NIPAP idea of no resource collection in
designated core zones only applied to livelihood resources – and not for
example to those needed for survival. They evaluated therefore practical
livelihood needs against protecting fish breeding areas. Fishers promoted
practices in these areas that would not destroy habitat needed to sustain fish
productivity while catering to the immediate survival need for fish. Already at
this early stage, then, there seemed to be a misunderstanding among local
people of what ‘protection’ meant in the core zones – for these fishers it
included them insofar as their basic survival had to be assured.
Fishers in the four Outer Sound sitios, less influenced by the ‘radical’ NGO
Tambuyog, identified fewer core zones than did their counterparts in the Inner
Sound.79
Instead, these fishers described what activities they wanted in three
Outer Sound alcoves, such as shell collection, hook and line, and crab traps.
They considered these activities to be least destructive and, more importantly,
enabled the present fishers with the simplest gear to obtain survival resources.
Here, ESSC thus suggested that these activities would be allowed in official
79
Chapter 4 briefly described the NGO process of organising three Inner Sound barangays.
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existing use zones that are more flexible than core zones, but would still limit
the use of fishing nets in their area unlike the multiple use zone.
By December 1999, the process of communities asserting knowledge claims in
relation to seascape activity zones was complete. In contrast, the landscape
zones were not negotiated in this way for two reasons. First as over 70% of the
local people were involved in fishing, ESSC felt that a preliminary local
negotiation of aquatic zones was a higher priority than that for terrestrial zones.
Secondly preliminary zone negotiations for local people was not considered
important by NIPAP therefore the necessary time for this process was not given
due to the project determined deadline for completing the 13 legal steps. The
terrestrial zones therefore were defined through technical analysis that
integrated community maps with topographical data. In effect, the community
maps defined the location and activities of terrestrial zones. In this case, ESSC
partially asserted local knowledge claims within the management zone map and
presented both at the public to better facilitate discursive negotiation.
Therefore, the initial discursive position for local people was established through
a complex series of negotiations between ESSC and among local groups. This
resulted in the assertion of a local claim based on hybrid knowledge from
several sources to form best practice. This claim was then a starting point for
later negotiations. Generally, an outside organisation retained the power to
choose the negotiation format – in these cases just discussed, ESSC chose one
that was based on the facilitation method. What emerges from this is that local
people not ‘practiced’ at discursive negotiations, needed a facilitator (such as
ESSC) to create a space in which people could think critically about resource
activities.
NIPAP Public Hearings
The public hearings were the only time local communities were given the ‘legal’
right to negotiate changes to the proposed management zones. ESSC thus
asked for at least nine public hearings to be held in different barangays in the
Protected Area as it considered them a key opportunity for community input. In
general, NIPAP-II gave few opportunities for local people to assert their
knowledge claims in other sites in the Philippines. Malampaya was an
exception in this respect primarily because ESSC intervened. Not all of the
public hearings will be discussed here – only those relevant to asserting local
knowledge claims.80
These hearings were a general fora for local people, but
as we will see their process and context could affect whether some claims
prevailed over others. The initial assertion of local claims through the proposed
management zones was shown to reflect local influences albeit in keeping with
uneven micro-powers. How though, did this process of local assertion change
in the course of the hearings, if at all?
There are two key areas of possible influence affecting local claims in these
hearings: namely, the meeting format and its content. The nine meetings had a
common format with two important exceptions (Taytay and Baong). The seven
standard meetings were first characterised by legal and scientific knowledge
claims using local examples to make the case for protection for the area. An
attorney representing NIPAP thus evoked strong cultural metaphors and gave
80
Others are addressed in chapters 6 and 7.
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Filipino examples (some were local) to make the case. For example, a
metaphor of house construction was used to emphasise the need for planning
through zone identification.
“If you build a house you need to plan it, where to put the put the kitchen,
toilet and sitting area. This is our approach, we researched where to put
things, this is the point of management zoning. We don’t allow hulbot-
hulbot where there are pusit eggs – NO (communities responded)”
(Ambal, Tumbod public hearing 2000).81
He closed evoking a sense of natural retribution for bad management, with a
‘mother nature knows best’ example that linked local flooding to people dying
and the effects of El Niño. This set the scene for ESSC to explain permissible
activities in local management zones based on prior mapping exercises
(discussed above and an initial occasion for the assertion of local knowledge
claims). Local people were finally invited to comment during the open forum.
Here, local people sought to assert further their knowledge claims, notably
through careful questioning of the reasons for the placement of specific zones.
Various social dynamics affected the meetings. Thus, officials on the panel
were relatively young and their informal friendly style encouraged questions
from the floor. And yet, questions normally came from the barangay officials or
other local leaders. Even with this informal style, that is to say, uneven power
relations between NIPAP and other officials on the one hand, and local people
on the other created a communication gap. It fell to some local leaders or NGO
workers to address this gap by drawing out local concerns. Hence, what was
locally asserted within these meetings was already filtered through existing
power relations associated with knowledge and positions in the communities.
During the hearings many residents were concerned with the location and size
of the core zones. Often they did not accept the concept of fish sanctuary
unless they had prior exposure to NGOs explanations. Fishers at Banbanan for
example pointed out, “If this area is closed to all types of fishing then where will
they use the fish and crab pots, they can’t use them far out into the Sound. Lots
of those using this area only use the canoes” (Banbanan public hearing 2000).
Instead where there were habitats that needed protection, they defined
practices that would not damage them. Included in this particular discourse of
protection was provision for the practices of very small-scale fisherfolk. This
was done either by asking that core zones be reduced in size or that they be
altered to allow those livelihood activities to continue.
A common concern was that the protected area would make life harder for the
poor. Take for example the case of the Tagbanua, who were involved in two
meetings. As one attendee requested “There are Tagbanua that live near that
area to get the rattan, for their sake do not make it a core zone” (Banbanan
public hearing 2000). The power of outside organisations was again
underscored here since they were assured by ESSC that once the Tagbanua
had identified their activities, their practices would take precedence over other
81
Pusit are squid and they lay eggs on the sandy seabed between coral reef formations, hulbot-
hulbots trawl nets along the sea bed and thus would destroy the squid eggs if they fished in
breeding areas.
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management concerns. This public hearing was an opportunity for a
previously ‘hidden’ Tagbanua group to have part of their knowledge claim
asserted, even though in the end success here depended on the sponsorship of
a powerful outsider group (ESSC).
Not all of the local groups were passive. Thus, at the Tumbod meeting, people
even got up and paced out the proposed distances of the core zone so as to
give meaning to the numbers and by extension, their critique of the size of the
proposed area. As ever, ESSC encouraged people to draw on the large maps
to clarify to the larger group what was agreed. For some local fishers,
intimidated by the official nature of the maps, this was too difficult a barrier, so
they instructed ESSC to draw the changes for them. In all meetings people
came up from the floor to carefully look at the maps, (see figure 27). Residents
used all the various maps at the hearings as dialogue tools but related more to
their own community maps (see figure 28). Indeed, those that drew the maps
were seen to explain features and issues to others. The physical setting of the
meeting helped. The maps were large – filling part of the wall of the hall – so
that local people could get up close, read the information and discuss meanings
between themselves. In symbolic terms, meanwhile the use of these maps in
the hearings confirmed that they were a prime way to assert local knowledge
claims.
The hearings were certainly not without controversy. In many barangays, for
example, there were strongly voiced concerns over the use of timber. As a
Tumbod resident pointed out “how am I going to build a house with durable
wood, so that it stays good for a long time – the salvage wood rots quickly – so
how then if we can’t cut fresh”? This delicate issue was often left hanging as
DENR or the Protected Area Supervisor (PASu) suggested that they identify
suitable Community Based Forest Management (CBFM) areas as there was
only one approved CBFM in the area at the time.
Other practices discussed in depth were the operations of lift-nets, small
trawlers, and even the use of pesticides on rice fields. Lift-nets stirred particular
controversy. As one fisher stated, “the lift-nets have a big impact, many fish are
wasted they just throw them away”. However strongly knowledge claims
regarding lift-nets were asserted during the hearings though, commitments to
finding solutions were usually deflected by DENR by referring to vague future
negotiations. In some instances, difficult questions were also passed to the
Protected Area Management Board (PAMB) for later consideration (see chapter
7). Despite such official reticence, overall these meetings proved to be a useful
forum where local people could assert knowledge claims.
NIPAP Planning Activities
The final fora in which discursive negations over local knowledge claims took
place were NIPAP planning activities. Here, two activities stand out: the 3D
modelling exercise and the strategic planning workshop. NIPAP considered
both of them key activities with which to encourage a sense of local ownership
of NIPAP-II. However, it is important to consider whether local people in fact
were able to assert knowledge claims during these activities.
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Local People discussing the technical map meanings and changes they wanted.
Figure 27
Local residents discussing their community map during the public hearings.
Figure 28
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In the 3D modelling process, NIPAP GIS experts organised local students to
construct the physical model out of card, (see figure 29 and process details in
Rimbaldi and Callosa-Tarr 2000). The PASu invited barangay residents to put
information on the model, providing names of sitios, rivers, hills and waterfalls
with NIPAP-supplied materials. However, the standard scientific forest
classification was used – hence, there were no symbols for such things as non-
timber forest products or animals (locally important or otherwise). Where this
process did provide a limited opportunity was that it confirmed the negotiated
boundary and core zones thereby validating local claims previously asserted
during the public hearings.
3D Model of Malampaya Sound (www. iapad
2002)
Figure 29
Local people involved in the 3D modelling exercise valued the experience. One
participant stated, “I took part in the model, I liked it, you could see where to put
things, the model showed the hills and we just had to put down the rivers, rice
and other resources in our area.” Although NIPAP sometimes gave monetary
benefits to participants, as it was equivalent to a day’s wages those receiving it
considered it fair compensation rather than an incentive. “NIPAP paid me 200
pesos a day, I could only be there two days” (Badiang interview 2001). NIPAP
thereafter transferred the local information gleaned into their GIS database.
However, neither NIPAP or other organisations, such as the PAMB or local
government, used this model again. As such, it was an example of shared
knowledge, but not of asserting a new local knowledge claim with a precise
outcome in mind.
The 3D modelling exercise was rather ambiguous in terms of the advancement
of local knowledge. Assertion implies free will of local people which seems to
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be rather different from being paid to put information on the model. Indeed, the
standard NIPAP symbols did not differentiate the various local claims. The
activity did not tell a local story, rather it merely added ‘information’ to the
scientific knowledge claim. There was no struggle to ‘assert’ this knowledge
claim, it did not ‘add’ to what local people were trying to assert in other fora.
Yet, as Foucault (1984d) points out liberty must be practiced, and so too does
assertion. Activities such as the public hearings suggest that local people’s
ability to assert knowledge claims was hindered precisely due to lack of
practice. And yet, this activity, alongside the other fora, provided some
opportunity for local people to practise sharing what they knew, albeit
constrained by NIPAP limits.
Discursive negotiations also took place in the second NIPAP activity under
review here, namely the strategic planning workshop. As with the 3D modelling
exercise, though, local knowledge claims were more acknowledged than
asserted because the purpose of the activity was to build ‘consensus’ and not to
address challenges. People belonging to local organisations (ie. indigenous
people’s and fishers) made up but thirty percent of the participants during the
three-day activity, with the bulk of the participants from state agencies or NGOs.
The format was broadly akin to the NIPAP public hearings noted above. Initially
an overview of the ‘local’ situation was presented by NGOs, many of whom
drew on scientific knowledge claims. For example, Conservation International
presented lists of animals and plants using scientific nomenclature and Latin
terms without referring to Filipino or English equivalents. As such, most of the
other participants did not understand these lists due to the linguistic barrier.
Similarly a video made by ESSC presenting local knowledge claims reached
those that understood English, although questions about and main points in the
presentation were translated. After these presentations, the facilitator drew out
local as well as ‘development’ knowledge claims of participants, but not for
negotiation purposes. Instead, the facilitator melded them together to form a
synthesized vision statement without seeking to understand what was
represented by each claim, and how different local groups and material
practices might threaten an easy consensus.
Indeed, local claims were often concrete challenges as people identified current
problems in terms of why the Sound was degraded. Some of these challenged
local government directly when they demanded for instance “not only in words
but in deeds” (Strategic Plan 2000:6). Some participants wanted substantive
changes, even going as far as challenging the integrity of officials with
statements such as “meddling of politicians” and “corrupt law enforcers”
(Strategic Plan 2000:8). These statements were probably so assertive because
they were made anonymously. During the meeting however the NGO facilitator
did not explore contradictions further thereby avoiding any direct challenges
between groups.82
As a result, insights gleaned from the impromptu hybrid
vision lacked any relation to these challenges drawn out during the first day.
The ensuing vision was unsubstantive: “Towards a cooperative effort in
managing and sustainably developing Malampaya Sound Protected Land and
Seascape respecting the rights of the people, making them aware and enabling
them to live progressive lives as a result of well-maintained and life-giving
82
The executive director of PNNI was contracted by NIPAP to act as facilitator.
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natural resources” (Strategic Plan 2000:7). Conflicting knowledge claims, such
as those offered by the lift-net and fish trap users, were not discussed at all
during the strategic planning meeting, even though in the hearings people were
told that they would be able to do so in the workshop.
Clearly the NIPAP strategic planning workshop did not provide an opportunity
for local people to assert knowledge claims that were contrary to predetermined
objectives. The types of challenges asserted here though suggested some
local participants were expecting a different type of activity. Within the design of
this workshop was an understanding that there was an ‘appropriate’ way of
proceeding, one that would build consensus and therefore automatically limit
what could be discussed. Although fora may give the impression that they are
opportunities for asserting local knowledge claims, the exact opposite may
sometimes be the practice.
Generally, the sheer array of meetings between local people, NIPAP and
facilitators provided several opportunities to assert local claims. However, it
required time for local people to discursively form meanings and positions at the
local level because NIPAP-II required a ‘new way of thinking’ in which local
people were little practiced. Where they were able to assert claims it was the
NGO ESSC that integrated them with other knowledge claims in the planning
process thereby cannily reducing the apparent challenge – and hence
increasing acceptance within a broader set of power relations. Thus, local
government was ‘pleased with the plan’ and the official view was that, “it is a
good plan because you can ‘see’ it comes from the people” (Rodriguez, R
interview 2000). The plan legitimised local knowledge claims in a way therefore
that was acceptable to local government. However, it remains to be assessed
whether this was considered an ‘equally good’ plan for all local groups. The
next section discusses the General Management Plan (GMP) as well as
auxiliary local agreements to explore how much local knowledge claims were
asserted in the final agreements of NIPAP-II.
Agreed Activities and Restrictions
Not only do we need look at the negotiating process, but we also need to
assess the various agreements that emerged from that process. These
agreements were designed to direct the subsequent behaviour of local and non
local people. Similarly we can gauge whether local knowledge claims were
asserted within these agreements. There were two main areas where local
claims were asserted: in the management zones that were negotiated in the
public hearings in the general management plan that formalises policies for the
area as part of the congressional act. First, we will examine finalised
alterations to the management zones agreed in the public hearings. The
discussion will also examine erroneous alterations made in the management
zones and the local consequences of those changes. Second, we examine the
final policy document known as the General Management Plan (GMP) to
assess how well the ‘legal’ guidelines assert local knowledge claims and what
local benefits provided.
Public Hearing Agreements
The main forum for negotiating locally determined agreements was the public
hearings. ESSC documented the agreements from these hearings as drawings
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on the map. To transfer suggestions from the meetings as changes on the
map, this NGO wrote them on the same two maps presented at the meetings,
(see figure 30). Indeed, it incorporated most requests made at the public
hearings into the maps for the GMP. Yet, as we have seen, other groups
shaped the outcome of the negotiations too.
To some extent, the agreements incorporated important local knowledge claims
as promoted by ESSC. Thus the agreement reflected a local request to change
core zones to less restrictive ‘existing use’ zones (Tumbod public hearing
2000). These changes allowed those using the smallest-scale fishing practices
to continue to fish using canoes and to gather survival resources such as shells
(Abongan, Pancol public hearings 2000). Local people also asked for similar
changes for the forests. Thus, for example, core zones were changed to
restricted use zones to ensure the Tagbanua would have access to non-timber
forest products (Paglaum and Banbanan public hearings 2000). Local people
also requested less restrictive zones near their settlements so that they could
easily access house materials and resources for fish trap construction and this
too, was reflected in the final agreement (New Canipo public hearing 2000).
However, one of the key changes asserted by local people was successfully
incorporating a boundary extension to cover the municipal waters. Figure 31
shows the changes made at the request of the barangay captains in the public
hearing at Alemangan and Sto. Niño. The requested boundary change was to
try to protect their waters from the trawlers. The offiical recommendation was
that the boundary be nearer the shoreline because it would be difficult to patrol
(PASA 1999, RBI 2000).
108

Figure 30
Top and bottom photographs show how agreements made at the public
hearings were annotated during the activity by ESSC.
109

13
Figure 31
Negotiated Border Changes
The border proposed by
ESSC during the Public
Hearings was here, where
the light blue ends, the dark
blue area was a proposed
buffer zone.
Border and Terrestrial Management Zones
(ESSC 2000) proposed by ESSC for discussion
in the Public Hearings.
The finalised position of
the border was taken
down to here as
requested by the two
affected communities.
Finalised border and landscape management
zones (ESSC 2000), incorporating some of the
changes requested by local people.
Core Zones,
(dark green)
reduced in number.
Restricted Zones
changed from yellow
to light green and
the area covered
increased
Control Use Zone
changed from red to
cream and the area
covered increased
Multiple use zone
changed from
cream to pink, this
area in particular
covers a smaller
area.
This was how the zones and boarder changed
after the public hearings. In particular, the
boarder has moved further down to just below
Barangay Alemanguan. These changes were
requested in the Alemanguan public hearing.
110

However, ESSC promoted the boundary placement presented by local people
(Sto. Niño public hearing 2000). The local claim here was a strategic way of
trying to access official resources in order to control the trawlers. As a local
leader explained, “Hopefully we can be included in the protected area,
…because if not, powerful trawlers will come to catch them (the squid) and how
will we the small people catch squid.” ESSC affirmed their request and DENR
ultimately approved the claim. Indeed this was a common format of the
biodiversity initiative, whereby the assertion of local knowledge claims was
sponsored by an NGO, and later confirmed by state agencies. Thus, while the
power to make the final decision was not in the hands of local people there
were nonetheless opportunities to work the system in their favour. However,
success here was reliant on sustained follow-up by national agencies to enforce
the new tougher limits on resource access.
This discussion in turn provides an important contrasting insight into how
decisions made by supporting organisations affected local communities in
NIPAP-II. There were some significant changes made to the maps that were
not agreed by communities, and some may even have been against their
interests. Most of these changes occurred in relation to terrestrial zones and
affected barangays that had been poorly represented at the public hearings.83
Some communities were not there in significant numbers to negotiate changes,
but ESSC nonetheless changed zones affecting resource use in their areas, in
a move that had a wide impact. It is valuable therefore to consider these
changes in more detail to explore the reasons why ESSC made them and
above all, what effect this may have had on the assertion of local opportunities.
Some changes had broad impacts, especially when ESSC asserted official
claims over local claims. ESSC thus changed the multiple use zone to reflect
the government classification of alienable and disposable land (ie. land that can
be formally titled, see figure 32). Yet areas covered by this legal land
classification did not reflect the informal titling used by the communities in
relation to resources such as fruit trees and the official process of land tax
certificates.84
Consequently, nine barangays got smaller multiple use zones
than indicated by the farm areas on their community maps.85
On the other
hand, eight other barangays got larger multiple use zones than the farms
indicated on their community maps. Multiple use zone is indeed the most
flexible management category. Therefore whilst eight barangays were given
greater resource use flexibility, nine suffered greater resource use restrictions
than they would have wanted.
83
Specifically out of six barangays, three of these had between one and four people
representing the community during the public hearing, and the others had no representation at
all. Non attendance is explained in chapter 7.
84
Land ownership is transferred for untitled lands through the use of land tax documentation as
it shows proof of use.
85
Core zone is most restricted and for total protection. Restricted-Use zone allows the
gathering of non-timber products. Control-Use zone allows the extraction of non-timber forest
products in commercial volumes and allows trees to be ‘salvaged’, that is cut and used when
they have blown over in a storm. Multiple-Use zone allows all activities, as approved by the
PAMB and in the GMP.
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This is an example of an unintended consequence where ESSC conformed to
hidden power relations that simply assumed that official knowledge claims were
‘correct’ and ‘legal’ and therefore by being asserted in response to concerns
from the public hearings, these decisions were never returned to communities
for further discussion.
ESSC also sometimes asserted scientific knowledge claims over local
knowledge claims. Thus, the rehabilitation zone for the mangroves in
barangays Abongan and Bato was decided through analysing the satellite
imagery and did not reflect the local use from the maps. However, in this case
the data was ‘hidden’ by rice fields on the Abongan community map, as
discussed above. Not all the changes were detrimental to local communities
though. In some cases, communities were much better off in terms of
management flexibility. Six communities thus gained larger controlled use
zones than asked for thereby permitting them greater resource use flexibility.
The key point here is that these examples have shown how small changes to
the original local claim in technical translation can have locally important
material consequences including the restriction of future resource opportunities.
This is significant because these maps frame future activities for the protected
area as they are part of the legal technical description accompanying the
congressional act.
Final Agreements
The agreements reached at the public hearings thereafter fed through to the
final agreements of NIPAP-II. The two main documents were the DENR
proclamation and the congressional act. First, though, the supporting
documents to the congressional act are assessed since these are most central
to the entire process. The general management plan (GMP), including
technical boundary descriptions, accompanies the congressional act that
sanctions the protected area. Previous sections assessed the incorporation of
local knowledge claims in the technical maps. However, these only make up a
small part of the GMP, which is critical because it also provides the policy
framework for the PAMB. The GMP includes detailed site descriptions, analysis
of resource problems and nine management prescriptions including a list of
activities allowed and not allowed in the zones. Here, our concern is to assess
where and how local knowledge claims were asserted in three management
prescriptions of particular interest to this chapter: namely, ecosystem
management, research and monitoring, as well as stakeholder awareness.86
The ecosystem management prescription first of all contains detailed
descriptions of the local activities allowed and not allowed in the management
zones. Thus, it has a strategic role in setting the frame for policies that affect
how local people ought to act and how their knowledge claims are received.
The introduction to the prescription sets the tone. Thus, it presents the local
forests as being under extreme threat from undefined but out-of-control
communities: “Unregulated cutting of trees is common and evident…extreme
demand for wood for domestic use in communities” (GMP 2001:55, emphasis
added). This is said to have an adverse impact on local water supplies. These
impacts trigger further problems to a ‘fragile nature’, where “the landscape [is]
so fragile as proved by the recent landslides and flooding when typhoons set in”
86
See chapters 6 and 7 for a discussion of the other prescriptions.
113

(GMP 2001:55, emphasis added). Apart from the dramatic images of crisis
evoked, the ‘blame’ seems to be placed with local people and their allegedly
limitless timber needs, even though no data is provided to support this
supposition. Clearly, then, there is not an assertion of local knowledge claims in
the introduction to this prescription – quite the reverse. Unsubstantiated
assertions cast local communities in a decidedly unfavourable light, thereby
setting the scene for expected restrictions on local people. And yet, this
prescription included nearly all of the community suggestions arising during the
public hearings in such things as the detailed definition of practices and the
names and geographical scope of the core zones.
This was not always the case, however. Thus, for example, detailed policies
did not reflect the assurances that NIPAP made to Tagbanua groups during the
public hearings. Quite the opposite was true, in fact, as certain Tagbanua
claims were even left off the map. For example in the category ‘cultural use
zone’ these included “all proposed and declared CALC/CADC for the
indigenous peoples” (GMP 2001:62, emphasis added). Yet, only two out of the
seven potential areas are featured – both being areas already certified by the
DENR (see figure 32, cultural zones are red). This is despite the fact that by the
very definition of ‘cultural zone’ all seven areas should have made it on to the
main management map. The implications of this sort of omission are important
and have wider ramifications. Thus, for instance, when other landuse plans
seek to integrate the management zones of the Protected Area, they tend to
use data only from the main management map – a map, as we have seen, that
only asserted two out of seven Tagbanua knowledge claims.87
Future livelihood opportunities were also implicated for the Tagbanua here.
Even in the two named cultural zones, only “traditional activities and utilization
of resources” were allowed (GMP 2001:62). Emphasis is added to make clear
that non-traditional activities were thereby not allowed. This could mean, for
example, that the Tagbanua would not be able to extract commercial volumes
of rattan from their ancestral domain if it falls within the restricted use zone
classification.88
In the public hearings, NIPAP had assured Tagbanua groups at
Pancol and Banbanan that their rights ‘would be respected’. The wording is
unclear, but in the law enforcement section under rattan it states that “in the
controlled use, it can be for commercial utilization but only in small volumes,”
(GMP 2001:75, added emphasis). The GMP implies indigenous people are
good only if they are involved in ‘cultural activities’. From the community maps
discussed earlier however, their knowledge claim extended well beyond the use
of cultural resources to include livelihood resource use as well. Yet, this
livelihood use is potentially restricted in the GMP itself, which may deny future
opportunities to the Tagbanua.
The aquatic zones in the ecosystem prescription assert local knowledge claims
more successfully (see figure 33). The relative success here reflects the
greater opportunity given to local people to reflect, negotiate, and propose their
knowledge claims.
87
See also chapter 6.
88
Commercial cutting of rattan and almaciga resin gathering is only permitted under a
Community Based Forestry Agreement, awarded by DENR, which is only allowed in a multiple
use zones.
114

Hence, the fishing activities allowed in the ‘existing use zones’ were all those
that were agreed at the public hearings. The same was true in regard to the
multiple use zone designation that included separate zones for fish corals, lift-
nets and communal fishing (indicated as shaded boxes in figure 33). Local
claims were also reflected in the policies regulating sizes of gear, spacing, and
allowed activities per zone.
That said, there were still ambiguities in the ecosystem prescription on aquatic
zones. This occurred where several communities held different views over the
same fishing activities (such as the lift-nets) and which caused controversy in
the public hearings. In the event, the GMP followed the suggestion made by
the peoples’ organisations at Baong and Pancol to place the gear in deeper
waters. However, this policy stance was contradicted elsewhere when it was
suggested that lift-nets are the most appropriate gear to use over seagrass
beds. Since the latter only grow in the shallow coastal waters, this flatly
contradicts the PO recommendations noted above. As this example suggests
therefore, the GMP appears inconsistent in how it deals with local knowledge
claims. Indeed, the GMP tends to treat all local knowledge claims as being
equally reflective of all members of the local communities. Yet, this is not
always the case as discussion of the public hearings showed above due to
existing power relations.
Two other prescriptions of the GMP – research and monitoring, and stakeholder
awareness – illustrate a similar ambiguity in asserting local knowledge claims.
The research and monitoring prescription for instance states that ecological
studies should be conducted at the sitio level using participatory methods. It
states the role of communities as one of “cooperation, involvement, and
participation” (GMP 2001:55). However, the discourse of the GMP tends to be
inconsistent here. Indeed, at one point, surveys are said to be conducted in
ways that clearly assert scientific knowledge claims over their local counterpart.
Thus, to assess the status of resources in the Sound, it states that there is a
“need to carry out these researches through collaboration with NGOs and
academe” (GMP 2001:87). However, in the examples given for areas requiring
research, although community mapping is mentioned as a participatory method,
communities are associated with data gathering, whilst government and others
are associated with research analysis. The exception to this position is where
research relates to non-timber forest products and handicrafts. Here, the GMP
specifically mentions that “trained community members must always be part of
the research or monitoring activity” in order to provide opportunities for local
people to assert their knowledge claims (GMP 2001:88). Yet the document is
not clear whether this possible opportunity to assert local knowledge is, in fact,
merely as a means to support scientific knowledge claims.
Finally, the stakeholder awareness prescription appears to limit their potential
for local opportunity even though it used the language of ‘partnerships’ with
people’s organisations. Indeed, such awareness appears at times trivial. Thus,
one proposed activity for these organisations designed to build awareness in
their community is to “paint their boats with environmental quotations or
caricatures that depict environmental protection and conservation” (GMP
2001:91). In general then, the GMP promotes formal processes using experts
from NGOs and academe to ‘train local people’ in a process which only appears
to contain limited future opportunity to assert local knowledge claims.
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Opportunities Examined
This chapter has assessed local knowledge claims traceing their attempted
assertion through NIPAP-II. Overall, conspicuous local knowledge claims were
asserted through some of the practices in NIPAP-II. However, for some local
groups such as the Tagbanua only part of their claims were asserted. There is
a need here to further explore the significance of this partiality. Likewise we
identified that for various means the process served to hide certain knowledge
claims. Again, we need to explore further the significance of this invisibility. In
the process, we may begin to assess the extent to which the assertion of local
knowledge claims may lead to social change beneficial to local people.
The Foucauldian approach underpinning this thesis suggests that applications
of power are entangled in responses of resistance (Sharp et al 2000).
Therefore if NIPAP-II was successful in shifting power relations so as to assert
local knowledge claims we might expect to see resistance emerge from those
whose power was thereby challenged. How resistance is provoked in relation
to knowledge claims may tell us interesting things about the act of local
assertion. Before this, let us first consider though, the possible consequences
for local people whose local knowledge claims were only partially asserted.
Local and/or Marginal Groups
This chapter has suggested that a biodiversity initiative such as NIPAP-II
provides an opportunity to assert local knowledge, albeit subject to some
constraint. How significant were these constraints? This is explored below in a
way that also highlights the significance of ‘local’ in terms of the assertions of
knowledge claims.
Let us begin by examining the case of small-scale fishers described in Chapter
2 locally embedded through their fishing practices. These fishers used
motorised boats and, with the help of NGOs, were able to assert their
knowledge claims in various activities such as community mapping, fishing
management, and public hearings. Many of them had also received previous
NGO leadership training increasing their self-confidence in meetings. Further,
already organised fishers tended to have reading and writing skills that enabled
them to overcome communication barriers created by language or NIPAP-II
procedures. Indeed, in the public hearings this group also asserted knowledge
claims on behalf of other less confident local groups (see above, Banbanan and
Pancol public hearings 2000). What are we to make, then, of this group of
participants? On the one hand, their training and participation in community
mapping activities may have had the normalising effect anticipated in
Foucauldian scholarship (Cruikshank 1999). And yet, they were also able to act
in ways that exceeded NIPAP-II expectations in terms of the local knowledge
claims asserted, let alone in terms of the assertions of sense of place and of
governance examined in later chapters.
A second local group that asserted their knowledge claims through the initiative
were the medium to small-scale fishing operators. This group was differentiated
by their access to capital to invest in various fishing technologies and may be
considered a part of local minor elites – barangay or sitio officials for example.
Several of this group also occasionally asserted the claims of other less
confident groups. For example, the Abongan barangay captain refused to allow
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a proposed sanctuary in Buwaya Sound because it would adversely affect the
smallest-scale fishers in the area. However, this group trod a line between
representing wider interests of their community and supporting key livelihood
linked traders and elites that provide key socio-economic inputs into their
community, but whose own interests may be against prudent limits on resource
use of wider community concern.
How significant, then, were the relative achievements of these two groups? The
small scale fishers had struggled for several years to get their claims
acknowledged by the municipal government.89
In so doing, they sought
protection from larger commercial fishing operations because these technology-
driven practices reduced their fish catch. These small-scale fishers represented
about 50% of the overall population of fishers, or some 2,500 households. On
the one hand, this group identified zones for their various fishing practices that
excluded commercial and destructive fishers. They also identified where they
wanted core zones placed to regenerate fish stock.90
Evidence from the public
hearings indicates that some of their claims were flexible enough to incorporate
the interests of other small scale fishers absent during negotiations. On the
other hand, multiple negotiations with small-scale fishers may have distracted
ESSC from the concerns of the most marginal very-small-scale fishers.
Ironically then, that the process attentively focused on small-scale fishers may
have been at the expense of even more marginal groups in the local
community.
Indeed, most of the latter were Tagbanua and, as we have seen, were only
partially able to assert their knowledge. And yet, the ability to assert even any
claims must be acknowledged as a significant step. Years of in-migration had
pushed the Tagbanua further inland thereby marginalizing them physically from
their fishing grounds (Yakal interviews 1999). Consequently neither local
government nor other agencies such as the PCSD even knew that these groups
existed. As such, the community mapping process made them visible for the
first time to state agencies and evidence from the public hearings suggests that
these groups wanted official recognition of their resource collection areas and
cultural practices. But the challenge in the wake of this recognition is whether
NGOs and other organisations will continue to assist them to obtain land and
resource tenure.91
As of the moment, they are vulnerable by their very visibility
to possible land speculation and resource extraction pressures. In contrast,
tenure rights may secure their sense of development, thereby escaping the
conflicting and confining outsider definition of what is ‘good for Tagbanua’ (see
also chapter 2).
Some other very-small-scale fishers did not manage to assert their knowledge
claims. And, for good reason too, since many of them relied on fishing methods
deemed illegal under the fisheries code. This category included such activities
as charcoaling with mangroves, dynamite fishing and fine push-net fishing or
sudsud (see also chapter 6). Since these methods require very little capital,
landless migrants often practice them. As such, those local groups involved in
89
See chapter 4.
90
See chapter 6 for details.
91
Tenure rights being resource extraction rights approved in their ancestral domain
management plan.
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NIPAP-II identified these users as a problem. A discourse thus developed
between actors that helped to shift local power relations against these very-
small-scale resource users. As a result, the latter lost their right to assert their
claims or to negotiate possible adaptations to their practices. Suppression of
these claims was locally justified because their practices damaged habitats and
fish stock volumes. In short, the NIPAP-II process was the opportunity for some
actors to frame the existing laws creating groups of officially ‘deviant’ people in
the local community.
The next step was to exercise tighter control over these deviant groups often by
banning their ‘illegal’ activities. Yet, these groups had limited livelihood options,
as well as lacking skills, capital and social connections. Therefore, they were
also one of the most vulnerable groups, least socially stable and politically
secure. However, they were not ‘targeted’ for NGO support and hence were not
able to really benefit from or participate in NIPAP-II. Thus, the ESSC,
reinforced existing uneven power-relations by focusing on the local knowledge
claims of small-scale fishers, at the expense of the most marginalized members
of local society. Consequently, the social costs of not asserting knowledge
claims is not equally distributed within the local community, and the processes
used were not ‘mindful’ of this material consequence.
Significance of Visibility
Thus, while some local knowledge claims were successfully asserted, others
received only partial acknowledgement, even as a few were ignored altogether.
This raises the issue of visibility in the context of existing power relations and
how the assertion of some claims may have helped shift micro-power dynamics.
In this regard, it is well to remember that for local people mapping knowledge
claims was more than simply a mater of drawing symbols on plastic. For many,
such as at Bulalo, it signified a stake in the resources themselves. Hence,
those that took responsibility for resources in an area were usually the ones to
draw the symbols for that area or resource. Thus, many communities were
aware of the possible ramifications of what they drew or did not draw. On the
one hand, there was a strong interest to be made visible, to identify problems,
to suggest solutions. Others, however, looked beyond this immediate activity
and stated that “it is a good activity now, but the maps can be turned against us
later ” (Pinigupitan interviews 2001). This type of participatory planning can
make communities vulnerable by revealing their resources in a way that
unscrupulous companies (or individuals) may later take advantage of them
(Abbot et al. 1999).
However, these criticisms underestimate the power of strategic thinking of
communities. Unsurprisingly, they often chose to highlight problems of
‘outsiders’, to show conflicts caused by ‘outsiders,’ but each community tended
to define ‘outsider’ in its own way to maximise tactical advantage. For example,
this word could mean a variety of things such as acting ‘outside the law,’ or
those not from their community, user group or organisation.
Indeed, local people involved in NIPAP-II usually had a clear idea of what they
wanted to say and this was seen in community mapping where they hid as
much as they revealed. For example, tribal women of Lomombong who were
119

supposedly predominantly Baptists, may have deliberately chosen to hide their
knowledge on herbal medicines especially to control children as the ‘moral
norms’ in their wider community may have judged that to be bad and tried to
suppress it. In other cases, such as Pangay-ayan for example (see below) it
seemed advantageous for women to allow the men to draw the maps because it
made them feel important, even while ensuring that not too much community
information is given away before they can fully trust the ‘outsider.’ Clearly for
local people however, the advantages of visibility seemed to outweigh the
disadvantages. This was so with the Yakal Tagbanua case discussed above.
Thus, when local groups want to tell their own story they will ask to do so,
however quietly. Much depends upon whether the facilitator is ‘listening,’ is
able to transgress local limits that decide what groups are ‘allowed’ to assert
claims, or whether local groups have access to the facilitator to ask to draw their
claim. Ultimate outcomes could be complex though. In one case, for example,
ESSC did transgress these local limits determining who was the legitimate
group to draw the map, but the shift in micro-powers proved temporary as
ESSC was later influenced by wider community norms such that the Yakal
Tagbanua were ultimately disadvantaged receiving less visibility than they had
wanted.
Still, the view that visibility simply increased community vulnerability also
overestimates the ability of outsiders to actually interpret the local knowledge
claims represented in the maps. Local claims are coded, as people chose the
symbols and the layout. Therefore, a certain power was revealed not only in
the claim itself, but also by the method used to assert it – in this case,
community mapping. Earlier discussions have shown the complexity of these
claims, and such complexity it is not always obvious to outsiders, even with
legends.92
That said, participating in methods that assert local knowledge claims may be
said to make local people vulnerable insofar as it disciplines them in authorised
behaviour. For example, community mapping may be considered part of a
normalising activity that teaches local people to behave in accepted ways
concerning the visual representation and assertion of their claims (Bryant 2002).
My own field experiences suggest that because community mapping uses
minimal domination as strategy in applying power, local participants are always
left with the choice of whether they participate, and how responsive they are.
Earlier sections here clearly suggested local people also control what, why and
how they share their knowledge. From my experience with the Pangay-ayan in
Minapla who were angry with NIPAP, only four people drew the map because
they took pity on me as it was for my own personal research, not for NIPAP.
The women refused to participate and simply gave occasional comments, some
negative, about the drawings, their situation, and NIPAP (see below). This
92
Other knowledge claims such as local government maps, are comparatively much easier to
access and interpret. Hence, why in the case of Lomombong, land was already bought up
before the Tagbanua asserted their claim. The Tagbanua wanted the community mapping to
make them visible so they might get official assistance. Under IPRA corporations are acting
illegally if the land was bought cheaper than it is worth and in a manner could be interpreted as
coercive, Sec 7b gives IPs the right to redeem this land within 15 years from the date of transfer
(RA 8371). However, by putting the boundary of their CADC area out to sea, they have also
secured foreshore rights.
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community had participated in the Minapla community map in June 1999, so
they were practiced and were supposedly ‘disciplined’. However, their actions
showed they retained the power to decide whether or not to act, even though
they knew what was expected of them (cf. Scott 1990). They signed nothing
when asked because they did not want their names given in case they may be
used later without them knowing, and they did not identify landowners as before
because they had withdrawn their trust in outsiders. With the freedom to
participate clearly in the hands of local people, I would also suggest that the
disciplining action flows both ways in that facilitators and organisations learn to
present themselves in such a way that local groups feel respected. This was
certainly the case with NIPAP staff, even though it remains open whether
behavioural changes I observed were indicative of long term attitudinal
changes.
All of which is to say that Foucauldian-style disciplining of local people was an
ambiguous and two-edged process.93
The same can then be said about the
effects of visibility and discipline on micro-powers. Thus, we saw how the
facilitating organisation (ESSC) had a key role when local claims were asserted
and later translated. The latter step in particular showed the importance of
hybrid knowledge where several knowledge claims become visible, and not only
local ones (Forsyth 1996). What is important here is that such hybridity ensured
wider political support. Thus, local government as well as national agencies
such as DENR could see that the GMP acknowledged official ‘expertise’. Yet,
local claims were not necessarily lost in the process. Asserting local knowledge
claims within the various negotiation processes and agreements depended on
micro-power relations within and between an array of groups that could be
highly time and place specific.
Resistance Discourses and Local Social Change
Interestingly, one of the better gauges of NIPAP-II and the assertion of local
knowledge claims is the reaction to it of some members of local political and
economic elites. In local government for example, one councillor from Abongan
was a large rice producer who felt her position would be jeopardised. Her
resistance took the form of misinformation – that there would be a double taxing
of rice and that NIPAP was a communist initiative.94
This accusation tried to
activate deep cultural norms related to being communist and ‘anti-government’.
Another councillor form Liminancong initiated scare mongering reportedly in
order to protect illegal logging. She emphasised that the plan would control
population levels and castigated the NIPAP project as ‘non-consultative’, and an
outside imposition by foreigners. Yet, local people did not accept these
arguments – clearly because they saw utility in a process that recognised their
knowledge claims locally.
Such ‘resistance’ leads us to conclude by assessing the link between asserting
local knowledge claims and local social change. There appears to be positive
93
Where “disciplinary power refers … to a norm or regularity and it is conceived as being
directed at positively governing conduct rather than constraining an essentially free individuality”
(Barnett 2001:15).
94
This was so because the project was a European ‘Union’ funded initiative and she knew there
were communist countries in Europe! It is a common practice in the Philippines to challenge
reform initiatives by using the label ‘communist’.
121

evidence here. For example, seven Tagbanua groups have finally been able to
make themselves visible to local governments, national agencies and NGOs
with the prospects of assorted benefits.95
Small-scale fisher folk finally have a
management plan based in part on their knowledge claims and approved by
local government and state agencies. Local government and national agencies
are generally more open to non-official local knowledge claims. The generation
of ‘hybrid’ knowledge claims combining land and seascape concerns has been
a pioneering effort. This has changed how many in the sector approach
knowledge gathering and integration. Also, the process of negotiation aided the
idea that local interaction and the development of trust between actors could
promote satisfactory compromise.
Local people are also beginning to question selected practices within local
knowledge claims. In particular, the stationary lift-nets that catch large volumes
of small fingerlings that fishers just throw away have been reassessed. While
the method is not illegal, local people now generally recognise that it is wasteful
and may reduce fish productivity in the Sound.96
Generally there was an overall
awareness of linking damaging practices to reduced fish productivity in the
Sound. For example, teachers are trying to integrate local knowledge claims on
Malampaya into their lessons thereby shifting the cultural frame. In addition,
local people also found new ways to negotiate with officials. By asserting their
claims through community mapping, and these being integrated with other
claims, local ones have been legitimised in a way unheard of in the past. This
legitimisation has given some local groups confidence to take on new
responsibilities, notably in terms of monitoring fishing practices. More
importantly by trying to base the general management plan at least in part on
local knowledge claims, other organisations (like local government) are forced
to prove local knowledge claims erroneous before they can make changes that
contravene those claims.
What did not change, though, is that NIPAP as an official ‘scientific’ agency
tended to ‘hide’ the local knowledge claim under its own symbols and technical
data in the final documents. This indicates that, as an organisation, they did not
fully appreciate how important the process itself was at Malampaya. This was
confirmed by NIPAP determined time and resource allocation limits that
hampered a full assessment and integration of local knowledge claims (Pilien
interview 2001). NIPAP certainly appreciated the results and especially the way
the process brought people and groups together to talk (Ashton-Jones interview
2000). In the end, although these constraints reduced somewhat the number of
potential local opportunities, it is important not to exaggerate this since NIPAP
did enable many groups to assert their local claims.
Above all, the biodiversity initiative held out the prospect of a new way of talking
about and acting upon biodiversity. It provided a basis for NGOs and state
agencies to approach biodiversity conservation as a series of discursive
negotiations with various local groups living in biodiversity. It assumes that
95
The potential disadvantages were discussed above.
96
There have been less dramatic questioning of some practices where those growing out
groupers in fish cages no longer put their pens so close together to reduce the possibility of
toxic red tide blooms in the Sound. In other practices, some charcoalers have started
processing other types of wood rather than cutting mangrove trees, which is an illegal practice
(Arevalo interview 2001, Abongan Bakery interview 2001).
122

there are different perspectives on biodiversity – itself a major innovation from
the past – and that these must be explored through meaningful negotiations.
Yet, NIPAP-II did not respond fully to all local groups seeking opportunities to
assert their knowledge claims.
Still, perhaps the initiative provided other opportunities to assert local concerns
and interests beyond those relating to knowledge claims? It is to this central
question that we turn in the next two chapters as we assess how and whether
NIPAP-II enabled local people to assert sense of place (chapter 6) and
governance (chapter 7) more to their liking and benefit.
123

6 Asserting Sense of Place
In order to examine further whether biodiversity initiatives bring about
opportunities for local social change, this chapter explores the extent to which
people or groups are able to assert a local sense of place through NIPAP-II.
Before examining the relevant negotiations and agreements, it is first necessary
to unpack how local sense of place is understood by various actors. These
views arise from distinct ways of relating to biodiversity – as chapter 2
explained, notably either by living in it or looking at it. These views are
assessed in the context of local place-based struggles. The focus in doing so is
on access rights that are seen as the key to assertions of local sense of place
and thereby possible new opportunities through biodiversity initiatives.
Local Biodiversity Storylines
To begin, it is necessary to examine how people and groups produce the types
of storylines set out in chapter 2. This will help us to assess the significance of
who asserts what claims in biodiversity negotiations. We first consider place-
based relations with biodiversity in several sitios. This leads on to an
examination of how different local storylines evolve and how they may come to
represent potential micro-power shifts linked to altered biodiversity practices.
Secondly, by exploring the power relations associated with ‘placing biodiversity’,
we examine how more than one sense of place at Malampaya can co-exist as
well as how one of them may prevail through the negotiations.
Placed-based Relations with Biodiversity
Chapter 2 suggested that local people may link their experience of ‘living in
biodiversity’ to one of four experiences of biodiversity – namely, as more
powerful, as giving, as reciprocating and as vulnerable (Milton 1996). These
experiences may explain in turn local responses to NIPAP-II. The key
assumption here is that the experience of biodiversity can be inferred by
assessing how local people weave elements of their biodiversity experience into
a discursive storyline.97
Four local communities will be examined to illustrate
how their biodiversity experiences have lead to distinct place-linked storylines
about biodiversity and ways of responding to it. Such heterogeneity about
biodiversity and responses to it needs to be grasped in order to appreciate the
wider links between local opportunities, place and biodiversity initiatives.
Firstly, the local experience of biodiversity as a ‘powerful force’ is examined
using the case of Minapla and its sitio Pangay-ayan (see figure 34). At an initial
glance, there appeared to be plenty of resources at the communities’ disposal
(see figure 35). And yet, this condition was scarcely reflected in how people
described their life. A common view was that the balance of power for survival
was not in their hands, but something they must struggle to obtain from
biodiversity.
97
This storyline is unlikely to include the word ‘biodiversity’ itself because they live in it, rather
than look at it, so that they experience it either as elements such as animals or plants, or as
resources.
124

14
Harvesting rice at Pangay-ayan.
Large trawlers resting in the bay, which is the other side of the headland from sitio Bulalao
Villagers holding up
their catch of squid
Sitio Pangay-ayan is protected from
typhoons by several coconut trees
Barangay Minapla
lies under Mt
Capaos on the West
Coast.
Villagers have a
house in both their
sitio and barangay,
so the children can
attend school.
Sitio Panagay-ayan
Figure 34
125

A local women thus commented, “three troops of monkeys also fight to use the
resources in this area, they wait until farmers have left their fields and then use
stones as tools to dig out the cassava root crops” (Pangay-ayan interviews
2001). A sense of unpredictable nature also underpinned the view of
biodiversity as a powerful force. This was vividly highlighted by the unexpected
typhoon in 1998, making life much harder for the communities. Such ‘natural’
unpredictability was made worse by the practices of dynamite fishers and big
trawlers that fished illegally or otherwise used destructive methods to catch
resources such as squid.98
As one resident lamented, “its hard to catch fish
here now because the illegal fishers have come and destroyed our corals”.
If local people were keen to fight such depredations, they were nonetheless
frustrated by the lack of outside support. Indeed, a key storyline here is one of
state agencies coming ‘too late’ to protect the community. As one resident
stated, “hopefully they come to protect our area from the commercial fishing, but
they are not able to because our area is too far, by the time they get here they
have gone”.99
Their sense of place was thus expressed in part as one of
marginality forgotten by officials and others: “We have no radio, so we can’t call
for help we have to go to Minapla to use theirs, but it doesn’t work anymore”.
In contrast, Lomombong situated just a little further along the coast from
Pangay-ayan, experienced a ‘giving biodiversity’ (see previous figures 11 and
13). Although they also experienced the typhoon, notably for them it
temporarily reduced the availability of an important cultural resource, the
beehives. “We used to eat the young to stop the adults moving off once they
were full grown, but we’ve banned that now so there will be more bees and
honey. [Typhoon] Norming destroyed the hives, so we don’t know where the
old bees are now and we can’t collect honey, the two we found are still too
young to produce honey”.100
This experience may be linked to group longevity
in the area because this community has existed since before the Spanish came
in 1623. There is, then a sense of place that accepts these events as inevitable
and hence not something to fight. Thus, their response is to adapt by shifting to
where resources are relatively plentiful. As an elder clarified, “we get rattan
from further down the coast and go up to Pangay-ayan or El Nido for the
octopus” (Lomombong interviews 2001). A sense of place predicated on the
need to adapt resource access also applied when the hazard was human: “even
in the fifties when strangers came, we would all abandon our homes and move
back into the forest”. In this case, multiple place-based relations in biodiversity
were reflected in a storyline that maintains the ability of biodiversity to continue
‘giving’ in terms of local resource use.
For the community of Bulalo (see figure 36), the experience of biodiversity
reflected a ‘reciprocating relationship’ that had been disrupted by outsiders
(figure 37). Here, the storyline was one of a holistic inter-dependant biodiversity
being undermined by outside ‘development’.
TP
98
Trawlers (holbots) are shown with nets full of squid (pusit)
99
All quotes in this paragraph are derived from Pangay-ayan interviews 2001
100
Wild bees in this island do not make protected hives, but rather congregate in the bend of a
branch, in which a core is surrounded by a mass of bees. (Lomombong interviews 2001)
127

Bulalao hills and entrance to bay
Children looking down into Bulalao bay.
Sitio Bulalao, with newly opened farmland
Sitio Bulalao
Figure 36
15
128

16
SITIO BULALO
BRGY. SAN JOSE, TAYTAY, PALAWANBRGY. SAN JOSE, TAYTAY, PALAWAN
Figure 37
129

One resident summarised both the interdependency and the loss when he said;
“the squirrels eat holes in the coconuts and cashew, small shrimps were eaten
by otters, but we don’t see them anymore, the squid haven’t come into our bay
for two years now” (Bulalo interviews 2001). The prevailing message was that
outsiders needed to support them to stop the trawlers “we will volunteer to
patrol the area, if they give us fuel, we will make secret tapes to use as
evidence, and take photos of the illegal practices, but we need a recorder and
camera”. Their sense of place was hence somewhat ambiguous: one of
sustaining Malampaya if managed carefully, but one being allowed to die slowly
“If Malampaya dies what are these people going to do? They will leave their
area, go elsewhere, and kill that place too? Strictly implement the laws, then the
benefit will be both for us and government”. This type of reciprocal biodiversity
relationship stresses crisis and control as a key element in place definition. It
easily incorporates outside protection concepts seeking to remove destructive
relations with biodiversity. This reciprocating view thus combines outsiders and
insiders in contrast to the view at Pangay-ayan where outsiders alone were
expected to do the protecting for local people.
Finally, when place-based relations were rooted in an experience of ‘vulnerable
biodiversity’ such as in the case of Baong, there were storylines linked to
catching reduced volumes of fish. As a fisher lamented, “before we could catch
thirty kilos of fish a day but now if we get five kilos we are lucky” (La Torre
interview 1999). Others noticed it as changes in species and reduced quality of
catch “the water was once full of fish and lots of species, high quality fish are
now rare” (Chua interview 2001). The protection storylines sought an immediate
stop to all ‘illegal’ activities: “ban use of fine nets and cyanide and strictly
impose the law” (Dosal interview 2001). Here the sense of place was in terms
of sustained access to resources for everyone, but especially to those in
greatest need. As one resident explained, “we must conserve and maintain the
balance, not totally prohibiting the community from fishing in the Sound because
this is their source of livelihood, it will help poor people” (Fajado interview 2000).
Of all the four experiences the experience of vulnerable biodiversity best lays
the foundations for accepting biodiversity initiatives such as NIPAP-II.
However, this is not a passive acceptance since local demands are in evidence
in the call for immediate action to stop ‘illegal’ practices. Indeed there is also
no sense of compromise or possible negotiation with disruptive ‘others,’ which
as we shall see, was to have serious consequences for the community in
question.
All of these local senses of place just sketched had one important aspect in
common – biodiversity experienced as a common resource. But difference was
to be found in the distribution of power through relations linking local people,
outsiders and resources. These differences indicate uneven power relations,
which may have implications for how these communities react to a biodiversity
initiative and possible associated place-based opportunities.
‘Placing Biodiversity’
Chapter 2 discussed sense of place as deriving from a process of ‘placing
biodiversity’ – or what we have also described as ‘looking at’ biodiversity. There
were various perspectives on ‘placing biodiversity’, because they arose from
various degrees of objectifying biodiversity. As chapter 2 discussed,
biodiversity initiatives, NIPAP-II in this case, can be seen as a way of ‘placing
130

biodiversity’ through boundaries. However as we shall see, this is one of
several options open to local people. Hence, this section is mainly concerned
with assessing how local people and groups use ‘placed biodiversity’ as a
strategy to readdress uneven power relations and shift resource use benefits
towards themselves. Much of the discussion here, then, is concerned with
describing different community situations to illustrate different strategies,
responses, and local applications of micro-powers. Thus, this section explores
the local context in which a national strategy of ‘placed biodiversity’ (NIPAP-II),
nonetheless interacted with an already complex local situation to produce novel
outcomes.
Pre-existing political and economic factors shaped this process of ‘placing
biodiversity’. Take for example the case of local political boundaries. These
are negotiated between barangays and are of considerable importance.101
This
is because the size of an area and its population is linked directly to financial
support from local government. How a biodiversity initiative (such as NIPAP-II)
interacts with these political/economic patterns will in part determine how local
communities may respond to a protected area. For example, municipal
planners promoted Minapla to a barangay status from being a sitio of San Jose
because of its isolation. However, Minapla accused neighbouring San Jose of
changing the boundary in the municipal office and effectively removing territory
from it. The original territory, with its larger population would justify road
construction to Minapla and reduce isolation at the physical margins.102
However, existing powers relations favour San Jose. Thus the political
boundaries used by biodiversity initiatives when presenting place information
will tend to support one local political claim over another, thereby leaving those
left out aggrieved.
Yet local communities are not usually passive agents here but seek to turn
‘boundary politics’ to their advantage. For example, indigenous people now
commonly use boundaries as a strategy to ‘place culture’ and thereby secure
‘officially recognised’ rights to their ancestral domains. Four Tagbanua
communities103
were using this strategy in Malampaya at the time of fieldwork,
and they had varying degrees of success in changing local power relations. For
all four communities, the suggested domain boundary was not culturally defined
in that seasonal resource use called for a flexible and porous border. Yet, this
was not reflected in reality such that this way of negotiating ancestral domains
through boundaries proved a limited strategy. For example, Lomombong
domain proposed boundary is limited to the hills above the large alcove
covering the territory of two barangays and reflects where they perceive they
will be allowed to secure resource rights to rattan and almaciga resin rather
than their traditional collection areas which historically extends more widely
across two municipalities.104
In ‘placing’ their culture in this way, the Tagbanua
have had to compromise their sense of place by fitting into a fairly rigid context
acceptable to outsiders.
101
Chapter 4 explains that previously boundaries were loosely defined.
102
Road construction is funded by the municipal planning office.
103
These are Tagbanua at Yakal, Pancol, Lomombong and Alemanguan all of whom have
either got a certificate of ancestral domain or are applying for one.
104
Almaciga resin is a highly sought after non-timber forest product, tapped from almaciga trees
(Almaciga philippinensis) that grow at about 80 meters and above.
131

Biodiversity initiatives can either support current power relations such as these
or shift them to favour local people. For example, NIPAP-II can support the
Lomombong Tagbanua by incorporating its domain claim into the planned
management zones thereby shifting power relations in the area that currently
favour elites who acquire land and seashore for tourist-orientated
corporations.105
Tribal elders have a growing sense of dismay, as traditionally
‘ownership’ rights were not transferable. As a Tagbanua elder from Yakal
commented, “how can you own something that lives beyond you”? The
dilemma faced is that Tagbanua recognise the need to accommodate these
new neighbours; as an elder stated “once the big corporations came to take our
land we will move further back into the forest”. However, by placing their CADC
boundary out to sea, the Tagbanua fishers strategically retain access to the
aforementioned shoreline.106
This section has briefly illustrated a variety of local responses to boundary
politics shaped by uneven power relations within and between local
communities based on differing notions of place. The latter reflects a complex
pattern of place-based relations which biodiversity initiatives must acknowledge.
Indeed, as we shall see, there may even be local opportunities in the offing.
However, the organisations that promote biodiversity initiatives have their own
sense of what biodiversity is, what protection means and how they ‘see’
Malampaya in relation to local people. The next section therefore considers the
local sense of place in the context of the perspectives on place held by other
organisations, to begin to assess if and how local place-based opportunities
were asserted in NIPAP-II.
Shared Biodiversity Storylines
This section examines the dominant biodiversity storylines that represent a
sense of place in the context of NIPAP-II. We have already shown that there
are a variety of local senses of place while here the dominant local storylines in
NIPAP-II will be examined briefly. This section then explores in detail the types
of place-based images invoked by the storylines of particular organisations,
groups or individuals involved in this initiative. How these storylines relate to
one another may explain why certain agreements and coalitions emerged from
the process. There is a difficultly here though. Difficulties can arise when
looking at events intertwined with daily life since a great deal of meaning can be
incorporated into a small activity or even ways of talking about a subject.
Although seemingly small, they may great have local significance – something
appreciated when associated micro-powers are assessed.
Biodiversity Interdependence
As in chapter 5 in relation to knowledge claims, the role of community maps in
distilling place-based relations is vital. In general, what emerges from their
analysis is a sense of interdependence of people and biodiversity resources.
While there was a great diversity in biodiversity place-based relations, there
were nonetheless a smaller number of recurrent relations in evidence. Thus, if
most communities experienced biodiversity in terms of ‘stable’ fish resources,
105
The Tagbanua ‘sold’ lands or rather user rights in 1987.
106
Securing foreshore user rights for small fishers is problematic with large development
corporations, which tend to demand exclusive rights, without any legal basis to do so (Mayo-
Anda 1998).
132

many also talked of the need for ‘protection’ to ensure such protection. Here
the main themes were protection from trawlers, and from powerful people in
general, and related to this, protection from uncertain fish catches. Indeed,
there was even a wish for ‘protection from biodiversity’. On the one hand, this
meant protection from the ‘unpredictability’ of nature, but on the other hand it
indicated a wish for protection from being classed as lawbreakers.
Some local storylines come from a misunderstanding of what the protected area
might mean. Because many local people remembered the closed season
during the 1970s which meant the banning of all fishing activities in the area,
they were afraid that the protected area was like the old national park system
and would therefore have the same effect. Yet, the NIPAP process was at the
same time perceived to be different from the ‘coercive conservation’ of the
Marcos era (cf. Peluso 1993). Confusion was the result. As one resident
typically remarked, “NIPAP will limit fishing areas make life harder, so people
believe. I’m confused. I agree [with NIPAP] because it will protect the poor
people and our resources, but I don’t agree with the system because it’s not
clear” (Dorsal interview 2001). Many people shared the belief that “the PA is
good as the catch will increase and illegal activities will stop” (Pan Pacific,
interview 2001). However, they had reservations about implementation of the
law, and its effects on their own lives. Generally, local interdependence
storylines were framed in terms of notions of predictability, balance and
protection. This opened up the possibility that where other organisations
shared similar storylines, there might be opportunities to assert a local sense of
place.
The first prominent organisational storyline was that of ‘interdependence’.
However, a dichotomy of organisational interpretations was evident here.
Indeed, many organisations had a sense of biodiversity not unlike that of local
people in that there was enough flexibility in the meanings to negotiate
agreements. ESSC and PNNI, for example, shared a common biodiversity
framework that included people, which possibly explains why PNNI cooperated
with the ESSC-led process in Malampaya.107
As one NGO worker typically said
“Biodiversity is articulated, managed, conserved, integrated by people and it is
not a philosophical or mystical concept, like beautiful; it connects into people’s
lives” (Walpole, interview 2001). As expected, these organisations generally
supported local place opportunities. Other organisations only linked people and
biodiversity through the latter’s life-sustaining capacity, stating “we, as humans
are also part of biodiversity” (Piñeda interview 2001). These are inclusive
storylines and some even linked biodiversity to interacting cultures, explaining
that indigenous people would include even the spirit world.108
These storylines
are also supportive of how local people talk about their relationship with
biodiversity resources.
107
ESSC, Environmental Science for Social Change, the NGO leading the NIPAP process.
PNNI, Palawan NGO Network Inc. a Palawan NGO that supported People’s Organisations in
Malampaya.
108
The organisations with this type of inclusive storyline were: World Wildlife Fund – Philippines
(WWF-KKP), Palawan Council for Sustainable Development (PCSD), National Integrated
Protected Area Programme (NIPAP), Regional Executive Directorate (RED) and Community
Environment and Natural Resources Officer (CENRO) Roxas. The names of individuals
interviewed under these institutions ars listed as part of the reference section.
133

The second organisational storyline was ‘exclusive interdependence’. It
focused on a narrow interpretation. Conservation International (CI) for example
typically interpreted biodiversity as “intertwining of the threads of all living things
[as its tagalog translation of] samut saring buhay” (Puno interview 2000).109
Differences between organisations in this equally broad group were due to
whether they linked biodiversity to one of three themes: endemic species,
ecosystem stability or balance of nature. Some organisations very clearly
stated that not all species are equally important, and valued the endemics
(PENRO and CI interviews 2000-1). However generally, biodiversity was linked
to ecological stability, and what is ‘natural’. As one officer stated “Biodiversity is
the natural assemblage, keeping and conserving what you have, no addition
and no subtraction, not transferring and not enhancing. The more diverse the
species are the more stable the system, for stability natural biodiversity is
better” (PAWB-DENR, Custudio interview 2000). Thus the significance of an
area is clearly linked to location-specific species endemism. Hence, local use
of biodiversity may be seen by these organisations as a threat to ‘important’
species and we may anticipate that local people could be denied biodiversity
linked benefits. Most of the Department of Environment and Natural Resources
(DENR) personal used a simpler translation of biodiversity as “Samut saring
buhay, [is] different interrelating life..not only the forest but other types of
animals and plants, as they are all connected” (Bactol, interview 2000).110
The
more the person was exposed to biological science, the more technical and
scientific their language became, which has important implications for their
sense of place.
On the whole, most people in even local organisations were comfortable with
making biodiversity their own concept. They found it useful as a way of
describing complex interrelationships, although many stressed that their
meaning was different from the scientific ‘text book’ definition which was
assumed to be less flexible. Exploring the different organisational perspectives
and how they overlap with local ones allows us to understand how
organisations may respond in later negotiations and thus result in potential
place opportunities for local people.
Overlapping Accessibility and Protection of Place
How ‘outsiders’ view local resource accessibility and protection becomes
important when we recall how dependant local people have been in the initiative
on other agents ultimately asserting their local opportunities for them.111
For
example, the supporting role of ESSC in facilitating locally determined
management zones. The critical issue on place, though, revolves around how
the different actors related critical resource access issues to biodiversity.
Hence, initially we examine aspects of commonality with access storylines, then
assess protection storylines to see whether outside organisations may support
local place efforts to ‘secure’ common access to biodiversity resources.
109
Samut = diverse, saring=interrelating, buhay=life: is the literal tagalog translation of
biodiversity
110
At the community level (CENRO), provincial level (PENRO), regional level (RED), national
level (Protected Areas and Wildlife Bureau, PAWB) and project level (NIPAP).
111
This is not a simple dichotomy because although the institutions may well be ‘non-local’, a
few organisations employed residents: ESSC, PNNI, and local government, for example.
134

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