Beyond the Rural-Urban Divide : Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation 9781848551398, 9781848551381

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BEYOND THE RURAL–URBAN DIVIDE: CROSS-CONTINENTAL PERSPECTIVES ON THE DIFFERENTIATED COUNTRYSIDE AND ITS REGULATION

RESEARCH IN RURAL SOCIOLOGY AND DEVELOPMENT Series Editor: Terry Marsden Recent Volumes: Volume 1:

Focus on Agriculture

Volume 2:

Focus on Communities

Volume 3:

Third World Contexts

Volume 4:

Rural Labor Markets

Volume 5:

Household Strategies

Volume 6:

Sustaining Agriculture and Rural Community

Volume 7:

Focus on Migration

Volume 8:

Dairy Industry Restructuring

Volume 9:

Walking Towards Justice: Democratization in Rural Life

Volume 10:

Nature, Raw Materials and Political Economy

Volume 11:

New Directions in the Sociology of Global Development

Volume 12:

Between the Local and the Global

Volume 13:

Gender Regimes, Citizen Participation and Rural Restructuring

RESEARCH IN RURAL SOCIOLOGY AND DEVELOPMENT VOLUME 14

BEYOND THE RURAL–URBAN DIVIDE: CROSS-CONTINENTAL PERSPECTIVES ON THE DIFFERENTIATED COUNTRYSIDE AND ITS REGULATION EDITED BY

KJELL ANDERSSON University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland

ERLAND EKLUND

A˚bo Akademi University, Vaasa, Finland

MINNA LEHTOLA University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland

PEKKA SALMI Finnish Game and Fisheries Research Institute, Enonkoski, Finland

United Kingdom – North America – Japan India – Malaysia – China

JAI Press is an imprint of Emerald Group Publishing Limited Howard House, Wagon Lane, Bingley BD16 1WA, UK First edition 2009 Copyright r 2009 Emerald Group Publishing Limited Reprints and permission service Contact: [email protected] No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without either the prior written permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying issued in the UK by The Copyright Licensing Agency and in the USA by The Copyright Clearance Center. No responsibility is accepted for the accuracy of information contained in the text, illustrations or advertisements. The opinions expressed in these chapters are not necessarily those of the Editor or the publisher. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-1-84855-138-1 ISSN: 1057-1922 (Series)

Cover image by Minna Lehtola and Pekka Salmi Awarded in recognition of Emerald’s production department’s adherence to quality systems and processes when preparing scholarly journals for print

CONTENTS LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

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INTRODUCTION: BEYOND THE RURAL–URBAN DIVIDE Kjell Andersson, Erland Eklund, Minna Lehtola and Pekka Salmi

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PART I: DIFFERENTIATION PROCESSES: DEEP RURAL AREAS, PERIURBAN AREAS, POST-SOCIALIST COUNTRYSIDES CHAPTER 1 THE EMERGING SHORTAGE OF LABOUR IN FORESTRY IN A REMOTE CONIFEROUS REGION: A BRAKE ON THE MASSIVE USE OF BIOFUELS Olli Lehtonen and Markku Tykkyla¨inen

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CHAPTER 2 FROM SUBURBIA TO RURAL BACKWATER: EXURBAN RURAL DEVELOPMENT IN GERMANY Florian Du¨nckmann

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CHAPTER 3 WHY DID RUSSIA FAIL IN ITS AGRICULTURAL REFORM? A COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS OF PROPERTY RIGHTS IN RUSSIA AND THE BALTIC COUNTRIES Ilkka Alanen

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CHAPTER 4 THE FUTURE OF RURAL COMMUNITIES IN BULGARIA Eckhard Dittrich and Rumiana Jeleva CHAPTER 5 PERCEPTIONS OF AGRICULTURE’S MULTIFUNCTIONAL ROLE AMONG RURAL PENNSYLVANIANS Martin H. Lenihan, Kathryn J. Brasier and Richard C. Stedman CHAPTER 6 UNDERSTANDING THE SOCIOCULTURAL PROCESSES THAT CONTRIBUTE TO DIVERSITY AND CONFORMITY AMONG FARMERS IN AUSTRALIA, FINLAND AND THE NETHERLANDS Frank Vanclay and Tiina Silvasti

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PART II: GOVERNING DIFFERENTIATION CHAPTER 7 RURAL–URBAN RELATIONS IN LIVELIHOODS, GOVERNANCE AND USE OF NATURAL RESOURCES – CONSIDERATIONS OF FISHERIES IN THE FINNISH ARCHIPELAGO SEA REGION Pekka Salmi

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CHAPTER 8 REGIMES AND VITAL COALITIONS IN RURAL–URBAN REGIONS IN THE NETHERLANDS Ina Horlings, Pieter Tops and Julien van Ostaaijen

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CHAPTER 9 OVERCOMING JURISDICTIONAL BOUNDARIES THROUGH STAKEHOLDER ENGAGEMENT AND COLLABORATIVE GOVERNANCE: LESSONS LEARNED FROM WHITE-TAILED DEER MANAGEMENT IN THE U.S. Kirsten M. Leong, Daniel J. Decker, T. Bruce Lauber, Daniela B. Raik and William F. Siemer

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CHAPTER 10 MANAGING SPATIAL CHANGE IN THE RURAL–URBAN FRINGE: THE ROLE OF ACTIVE CITIZENSHIP AND CIVIL SOCIETY IN THE REPUBLIC OF IRELAND Mark Scott, Paula Russell and Declan Redmond CHAPTER 11 CHALLENGES OF GOVERNANCE AND LAND MANAGEMENT ON THE EXURBAN/ WILDERNESS FRONTIER IN THE USA Heidi E. Kretser, Jodi A. Hilty, Michale J. Glennon, Jeffery F. Burrell, Zoe¨ P. Smith and Barbara A. Knuth

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CHAPTER 12 KNOWLEDGE INTEGRATION AND POWER RELATIONS: PATHWAYS TO SUSTAINABILITY IN MADRID Veronica Hernandez-Jimenez and Nick Winder

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CHAPTER 13 FINNISH AND HUNGARIAN JOINT INITIATIVE IN AND FOR THE INFORMATION SOCIETY: ON THE PLEASURE AND PAIN OF MEDIATING IN CYBERSPACE Sarolta Ne´meth

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Ilkka Alanen

University of Jyva¨skyla¨, Jyva¨skyla¨, Finland

Kjell Andersson

University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland

Kathryn J. Brasier

Pennsylvania State University, University Park, PA, USA

Jeffery F. Burrell

Wildlife Conservation Society, Bozeman, MT, USA

Daniel J. Decker

Cornell University, Ithaca, NY, USA

Eckhard Dittrich

OVG Universitaet Magdeburg, Magdeburg, Germany

Florian Du¨nckmann

Leuphana University Lueneburg, Lueneburg, Germany A˚bo Akademi University, Vaasa, Finland

Erland Eklund Michale J. Glennon

Wildlife Conservation Society, Saranac Lake, NY, USA

Veronica Hernandez- Polytechnic University of Madrid (UPM), Jimenez Madrid, Spain Jodi A. Hilty

Wildlife Conservation Society, Bozeman, MT, USA

Ina Horlings

TELOS, Brabant Centre of Sustainable Development, Tilburg, The Netherlands

Rumiana Jeleva

Member European Parliament, Brussels, Belgium

Barbara A. Knuth

Cornell University, Ithaca, NY, USA ix

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Heidi E. Kretser

Wildlife Conservation Society, Saranac Lake, NY, USA

T. Bruce Lauber

Cornell University, Ithaca, NY, USA

Martin H. Lenihan

World Bank Group, Washington, DC, USA

Minna Lehtola

University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland

Olli Lehtonen

University of Joensuu, Joensuu, Finland

Kirsten M. Leong

National Park Service, Fort Collins, CO, USA

Sarolta Ne´meth

University of Joensuu, Joensuu, Finland

Julien van Ostaaijen

University of Tilburg, Tilburg, The Netherlands

Daniela B. Raik

Conservation International, Antananarivo, Madagascar

Declan Redmond

University College Dublin, Dublin, Ireland

Paula Russell

University College Dublin, Dublin, Ireland

Pekka Salmi

Finnish Game and Fisheries Research Institute, Enonkoski, Finland

Mark Scott

University College Dublin, Dublin, Ireland

William F. Siemer

Cornell University, Ithaca, NY, USA

Tiina Silvasti

University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland

Zoe¨ P. Smith

Wildlife Conservation Society, Saranac Lake, NY, USA

Richard C. Stedman

Cornell University, Ithaca, NY, USA

Pieter Tops

University of Tilburg, Tilburg, The Netherlands

Markku Tykkyla¨inen University of Joensuu, Joensuu, Finland Frank Vanclay

University of Tasmania, Hobart, Tasmania, Australia

Nick Winder

Newcastle University, Newcastle upon Tyne, United Kingdom

INTRODUCTION: BEYOND THE RURAL–URBAN DIVIDE Kjell Andersson, Erland Eklund, Minna Lehtola and Pekka Salmi ABSTRACT Purpose – To discuss the rural–urban dichotomy and its far-reaching implications, first and foremost from a rural sociological point of view, and at the same time, to structure the volume and present the individual chapters. Methodology/approach – Literature review and analysis of scientific discourse. Findings – The rural–urban dichotomy has been very persistent in demographic and other kinds of rural and urban research despite intense discussions about its shortcomings in nearly half a century. However, there are mounting arguments for alternative conceptions of rural–urban relations, some of which are found in the chapters in this volume. Originality/value of chapter – This chapter presents some new ideas about the rural–urban dichotomy, and alternative, more realistic conceptions of rural–urban relations, at the same time as it gives an introduction to the volume.

Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 1–21 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014003

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A DICHOTOMY AND ITS LIFE (ABOVE EMPIRICAL FACTS) One of the most influential thought figures throughout history is probably the rural–urban dichotomy. Sometimes, ‘‘urban centres’’ have been depicted as signs of human perversion (Sodom and Gomorrah): other times – and more often – as symbols and indications of human progress. Sometimes, rural areas have been regarded as unspoilt landscapes sheltering pristine communities; other times – and again, more often – as backward areas providing towns and cities with raw material and manpower. The rural– urban dichotomy is imputed with an array of ideological elements, all with different amplitudes and linkages to current and historical discourses. This may be one of the reasons why this dichotomy has been so persistent and resilient despite the fact that real population and settlement structures, especially today but also historically, often clash with the model. Another reason is presumably the ‘‘slowness of mind’’ and the unwillingness to abandon conceptual structures that are familiar and that shape discourse, be it everyday or scientific. Both aspects are important and have a bearing on the reasoning described below. The rural–urban paradigm has been instrumental to rural and urban sociology. Rural sociology emerged in the first half of the twentieth century, first and foremost in the North American academic setting. Points of departure were, on the one hand, the community studies represented by, for example, Robert and Helen Lynd’s ‘‘Middletown’’, and on the other hand, the modernisation-oriented diffusion of innovation studies (Newby, 1986; Djurfelt, 1990). The first approach to some extent shared the thought figure of the countryside as the pristine community, worthy of protection from the bulldozers of modernity. The second fully embraced the modernisation concept and attempted to further it by means of research, often in co-operation with agricultural extension services. Urban sociology, for its part, drew on the concentration of people in the cities, and the density and mass and prerequisites for an ‘‘urban way of life’’ that this provided through, for example, the Chicago school of sociology represented by Louis Wirth (1938). Rural and urban sociology obviously responded to the quest for an interpretation of modernity in order to further it and to ease conflicts in the same way as the general sociology of Durkheim and To¨nnies, with their mechanic-organic (gemeinschaft-gesellschaft) solidarity, did. However, as rural and urban sociology became literary and exclusively tied to the concrete manifestations of the socio-spatial formations that general

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sociology mainly referred to symbolically in order to describe and analyse modernisation, rural and urban sociology made the transitional thought figure of modernity much more problematic than the ‘‘fathers’’ of general sociology did with their dichotomies. Pahl (1966) noted in a well-quoted article that rural Britain had several features that were generally attributed to urban areas; even earlier, the United Nations observed the problems with the simple rural–urban dichotomy in statistics (United Nations, 1952). At the same time, however, rural and urban sociology (and research in general) had established themselves as academic sub-disciplines with all the fixities that this implies. This has remained problematic since then, especially from the point of view of rural sociology and research. Pahl’s notice of the ‘‘urbanisation’’ of rural Britain in the 1960s was just one voice, although it was heard rather widely. As early as by the 1950s, Auguste Spectorsky (1955) began to speak of exurbanites, people moving out from the cities to settle down in more or less rural areas, and in the following decades researchers and other observers witnessed an increasing stream of people leaving the cities, most often for the nearby countryside. This stream of people, often referred to later as counterurbanisation (Mitchell, 2004), has clearly changed the countryside, both in terms of making it more diversified and in terms of changing the affected areas heavily, demographically, culturally, and physically, among other ways. Along with this demographic development, agriculture, the backbone of both the traditional and the modern countryside, has changed decisively. Post-war agricultural policy in Europe, aiming at efficiency and increased production, to a large extent homogenised rural areas and made them the ‘‘production landscape’’ that we more or less have come to equate with the countryside (Hervieu, 1991; Murdoch, Lowe, Ward, & Marsden, 2003). Development did not stop there, however: agriculture became in a sense ‘‘overdeveloped’’ with overproduction and a large, redundant, labour force compelled to leave the countryside for growing labour markets in the cities. This resulted in a population deficit in many areas, which both widened the niche for counterurbanisation and forced communities to take new development initiatives concerning tourism, food traditions and niche products, and cultural activities, among others. Far from all of these initiatives have been successful, but many have, together with other driving forces and development trends, diversified the countryside and shifted its economic orientation from production towards consumption (Marsden, 1999). Consumers are first and foremost the ‘‘neo-rural’’ middle-class typical of the late modern, reflexive age (Murdoch et al., 2003) and, hence, the same group that dominates the counterurbanisation movement.

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From the point of view of a fixed rural sociology ‘‘imprisoned’’ in the rural–urban dichotomy, the dilemma may be illustrated with the new demography of the countryside, which is about not only changes in degree, but radical alternations in kind. Today, strong flows of people regularly travel back and forth between cities and the countryside or within counterurbanised ‘‘rurban’’ (Overbeek & Terluin, 2006) and consumptionoriented rural areas. These people may be what Mormont (1990) calls ‘‘multi-local’’, living their lives and nurturing their identities in several different geographical settings simultaneously, or what D’Andrea (2006) calls neo-nomads, primarily on the move. These new demographies, which are the correlates of counterurbanisation and the consumption countryside, are hard to grasp when ‘‘a critical approach to the use of simple urban-rural dichotomies in censuses and surveys and to the criteria adopted to distinguish between them seems to have faded, so that the classification systems are now largely accepted without question’’ (Hugo, Champion, & Lattes, 2003, p. 277, italics added). The problem with the out-dated rural–urban dichotomy is much broader than the above, demography-related, example shows, however. What about the flows of information and ideas between different kinds of localities? Certainly, they have made the idea of a rural versus an urban way of life rather outdated. In the end, the problem with the rural– urban dichotomy is related to all aspects of societal development, and to all kinds of studies as well as policies. To take one practical example, the idea of local taxation falls under heavy fire if we take seriously the new notions of flows of people, goods and ideas versus their being anchored in certain localities. A phenomenon that at least partly led to the new rural demography described above is the transition from a Fordist to a post-Fordist economy (Amin, 1994). Fordism refers to the heyday of the traditional industrial economy when production, according to the assembly line principle, was the driving force in the economy and consumers mostly responded to its output and growth. Post-Fordism, however, is marked by flexible production in which multi-level information systems have replaced the assembly line as the rational device and in which consumers and marketing have gained the upper hand. Along with these changes, symbols and signs have acquired greater importance in relation to material goods, and all sorts of ‘‘immaterial labour’’ (Hardt & Negri, 2000) have become central to labour markets and economic growth (Harvey, 1989). Post-Fordism is clearly related to the counterurbanisation phenomenon through, for instance, flexible production: the deregulation of the workinghour system as well as the increased use of information technology have

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made it possible to commute or telecommute on a scale un-known in the ‘‘factory setting’’. Even more important, the stress on symbols and signs as well as new kinds of well-being services have made it possible to commodify assets in the countryside that were previously considered useless or unimportant appendices to dominant production systems: namely, nature resources, cultural traditions ranging from buildings and food to art and music, symbolic capital in the form of widespread images, or just quietness. These are the resources upon which a considerable part of the new rural economy is built (Andersson, 2005; Overbeek & Terluin, 2006; Rannikko & Knuutila, 2008). This new economy engages both a growing part of the traditional rural population as well as a proportion of the neo-rural counterurbanisers. It is thus much more than an aspect of agriculture’s multifunctionality or, to use EU terminology, a second pillar; it may even be the most important fundamental of the rural economy in the future (Andersson, 2007). The rural–urban dichotomy, or sociology for its part, is to a large extent about change and transformation. The traditional discourse on societal change has ‘‘delimited’’ it to the field of modernisation, with all that this entails, bound to specific places, and thus given it the well-known geography of uneven development. The growth in transport and communication characteristic of the late twentieth century and the new millennium has challenged these concepts and has given rise to theories of network society (Castells, 2000) and neo-nomadism (D’Andrea, 2006), among others; theories that partly re-draw the maps of modernisation and development, both literary and mentally. This new development is a serious blow to the rural–urban dichotomy and to discourses bound to it, such as traditional rural and urban sociology. Thus problems noticed already by the middle of the twentieth century, which to a large extent could be understood within the traditional development/modernisation discourse, have been aggravated. New, more profound, problems are mounting, however. The current discourse on climate change (Urry, 2007) challenges traditional development and growth thinking probably more than does any other contender in modern times, forcing societies to redirect their policies on energy, transportation, ‘‘shelters and walls’’, and other issues. In addition, the new food and energy crises – the later ironically an answer to the prayers of the climate alarmists – will change the development in transportation and agriculture. These events will effect rural–urban relations, although they are difficult to foresee (old differences may be reinforced). However, mounting pressure is compelling societies to modernise ecologically and to effectively revaluate nature and green assets, a pressure that works in tandem with the

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symbol economy and the new middle class’s quest for the natural, the healthy, the genuine, and the authentic. This may, at least in theory, shift the ‘‘centre’’ of late modern societies from urban centres to unspoilt nature areas, thereby launching a ‘‘total make-over’’ of the old rural–urban dichotomy and most of its ideological and factual underpinnings. This is utopian thinking, but not as far from reality as it may appear at first glance. Garrod, Youell, and Wornell (2004) and Garrod, Wornell, and Youell (2006) have, in relation to empirical studies in rural areas, highlighted the concept of countryside capital and linked it to tourism. According to their view, different forms of countryside capital are essential for the tourist economy: land, water, landscape, buildings, language, and culture, among others, including ephemeral assets such as images in the media. Such forms of capital must be in balance in order to ensure a healthy rural economy in the late modern age with its mix of traditional and new, cultural and symbol. Garrod et al. (2004, 2006) echo in this sense the ‘‘ecological economics’’ of Prugh et al. (1995), which states that human well-being in the long run depends on the careful and balanced use of natural, manufactured and social resources in the short run. Equally important in such thinking is the principle that the capital stock passed on to the next generation should not be lessened or of poorer quality than that inherited from the previous generation (Pearce, Markandya, & Barbier, 1989). To summarise, we have in rural sociology a paradigm bound to the rural– urban dichotomy and its central use in the thought figure of modernisation, a paradigm that is heavily challenged both from within traditional modernisation thinking and from alternative, green, conceptions. That is, modernisation has created a ‘‘space’’ in between the rural and the urban that the paradigm has poorly addressed. Modernisation has also ‘‘left the ground’’ and created flows and networks unaccounted for by mainstream efforts in rural studies. Lastly, the modernisation paradigm is challenged by ‘‘late’’ and ‘‘ecological’’ modernisation paradigms which still remain far from mainstream rural, and urban, research. The astonishing fact is, however, that the crude rural–urban dichotomy seems at the same time stronger than ever in central data collection worldwide (Hugo et al., 2003). Obviously, the above trends have several consequences. The linguistic turn that occurred in the 1980s was based on the idea that language has a primacy over thought and action, and although many may dispute this thesis from different angels, it nevertheless highlights the observations of Thomas Kuhn (1962), for example, that mental constructs such as scientific paradigms may have considerable power and agency despite the changing and contested circumstances to which they are related; other factors

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notwithstanding, ideas are simply important. However, ideas are not only important for their direct power ‘‘to shape the world’’; they may also hinder actions by diverting focus or by simply providing actors with ‘‘poor maps’’. However, in order to provide alternatives to the paradigmatic structures discussed above, we must go down from the general ‘‘global’’ level to more specific, world-regional, and even national levels. The developmental logic touched upon above is not uniform; rather, it takes different shapes depending on the level of economic development, industrial and demographic structure, natural geography, political traditions, and other concerns. On the other hand, as globalisation logic suggests, areas all over the world communicate with each other (in a system sense) and several similarities – even convergences – exist between seemingly different areas. In this volume, we will approach this matter through a series of studies on what Murdoch et al. (2003) call the differentiated countryside. Some of these studies focus on the emergence and development of the differentiated countryside generally; others are devoted to the steering and regulation of this differentiated countryside. The latter studies more or less by definition involve new kinds of horizontal governance (Rhodes, 1996), since different perspectives mark these new rural–urban areas, which in a way are showcases of (the need for) the participation of different groups and stakeholders in policy and planning. These studies represent both Western and the former Eastern Europe, and the United States and Australia. Thus, the focus is on modernised and late modern countrysides, as well as on both ‘‘urbanised’’ and sparsely populated areas. Here, we must recognise that researchers have proposed several new classification systems in recent years in order to describe settlement structures more realistically (Cromartie & Swanson, 1996; Coombes & Raybould, 2001; Hugo et al., 2003; Csite & Granberg, 2003). These systems rely on indicators such as population size, density, and accessibility, however, and remain even if they can be combined with impressive GIS, technology and lack the explanatory power once connected with the rural–urban dichotomy. Thus, these systems have gained little attention outside expert circles. We believe that new classification systems must be explanatory and, instead of producing mere geographical and demographical descriptions, must address the processes behind the observed changes from economic as well as cultural and political points of view. These are high ambitions, but the chapters included in this volume aim to contribute, if only in small part, to the hitherto rather unfocused debate. However, rural–urban change is neither random nor globally uniform but is instead often path-dependent; the chapters here provide some insight into this topic.

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A cultural change involving a loosening of the traditional ties between culture and determinants, such as geographical areas, is also one of the facets of contemporary rural–urban development; some chapters hint at this topic as well. The same holds true for the ‘‘flows’’ more or less constituent of late modern rural–urban areas. Lastly, current rural–urban areas exhibit a mix of different groups and views; this same mix is more or less the raison d’etre for the new horizontal governance practices discussed in several chapters. Thus, we trust that the chapters not only shed light on the discussion above, but also provide material for a deepening of this discussion.

DIFFERENTIATION PROCESSES In the first part of the volume, which focuses on differentiation processes, in Chapter 1 Olli Lehtonen and Markku Tykkyla¨inen observe two somewhat temporarily different, but at the same time closely related, processes. On the one hand, there is the well-known periurbanisation process, creating a prosperous urban fringe around the main town in a remote region, such as Finnish North Karelia. On the other hand, there is a coming shortage of labour in remote parts of the forest-dominated region, a shortage that resulted from the restructuring of the primary industries that occurred in the mid-twentieth century, but that will hamper the development of the new bio-fuel industry that climate change and energy crises seem to propel. The authors note that the region’s peripheral rural areas are worse off today – and in projections for 2020 – regarding most demographic and socioeconomic variables; they more or less run the risk of depopulation. The ‘‘core’’ rural areas, characterised by a more productive agriculture, have some resources such as a fairly young population; they also have a high unemployment rate which, ironically, could bode well for the biofuel industry. However, development trends seem out of phase with each other (the biofuel industry will require several years before it is operational), and the authors put their hope in the municipal and urban centres in the region, which, despite clearly losing ground to the urban fringe of the principal regional town, Joensuu, in recent years, have a certain viability and, most important, are within commuting distance of crucial forest areas. The authors have noticed the shift from a spatial regional development policy to the market-based promotion of globally competitive industrial clusters in Finland since the beginning of the 1990s, a shift accompanied by the belief that the latter policy will in the long run have regionally equalising

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effects. Regional development is strongly path-dependent (David, 2000), however, which the authors aim to demonstrate in this chapter. This path dependency will foster regional and local development in the differentiated countryside for decades to come and will make ‘‘rural’’ development even more heterogeneous while rendering the rural–urban dichotomy less valid. In Chapter 2, Florian Du¨nckmann’s study of exurban rural development in Germany reveals a wide variety of interconnections between urban areas and their surrounding localities. In Germany, many rural areas are in a state of radical transformation with regard to their social structure as well as their economic, political, and cultural characteristics. Du¨nckmann illuminates this transformation by studying different types of rural municipalities in the vicinity of metropolitan areas in the northern part of Germany. To this end, he uses a set of variables based on statistics and a survey conducted with 100 municipal mayors. In the areas of northern Germany studied, a migratory movement from urban to rural areas is under way, which leads to changes in the sociodemographic structure. The small municipalities in the hinterland of German metropolitan areas all followed very different development paths. Because of this fragmentation, there is no blueprint for rural development in exurban areas. Thus, due to the wide differentiation of the countryside, the dichotomy between the rural and the urban is invalid. Young families and affluent households in particular move from cities to the countryside. These processes mirror political and cultural transformations at the local level as the newcomers bring along their ‘‘urban’’ values and ideas. The newcomers’ ideal picture of rurality contains central social values of the middle class, such as community, stability, and order. In Du¨nckmann’s study areas, a consequence of the migratory movement was that aesthetic landscapes and ‘‘green’’ ideas became more important and that the conventional mode of agricultural production came under increasing scrutiny. In Chapter 3, Ilkka Alanen examines the restructuring of agriculture in the former Soviet republics and its effect on the productivity of different policy measures and development paths. The initial restructuring process was heavily influenced by the World Bank, which adhered to a ‘‘shock therapy’’ philosophy, expressed in the ‘‘paper-share theory’’ which emphasised that kolkhozes and sovkhozes should be transformed to family farms without delay in order to ensure the sound development of agriculture. Since the Baltic countries adopted strong property rights conducive to the establishment of family farms, while Russia did not, Alanen sees in this difference a great opportunity to test the theses of the

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World Bank and other involved actors by examining agriculture’s performance in the four countries. During the time period observed (1990–2000), labour productivity rose in Estonia while it declined in other countries. According to Alanen, this contradicts the World Bank’s hypothesis, since agricultural restructuring slowed down in Estonia due to parliamentary delays while it continued very rapidly in Lithuania, the poorest performer of the Baltic countries. The real reason behind agriculture’s success in Estonia was the time given to the industry to organise its business in an optimal way and to preserve vital recourses from the Soviet era through parliamentary delays. In Lithuania, these recourses were destroyed in the wake of a rapid restructuring process only slightly less ignorant of history than the communists’ collectivisation actions. Alanen also points to the importance of the path dependency theory in the post-Soviet case and refers to, among others, Ralf Darhrendorf, who has written on the asynchronicity between economic and social reforms in the former Soviet countries, with a family farm policy lacking the support of tradition, farmers unions, and extension services, among others. An interpretation of the events could also be that the institutions forming the restructuration policy ‘‘fell into the trap’’ of the traditional rural–urban dichotomy and attempted to implement a rural-agricultural model that is hardly valid in any country today. The low labour productivity in Russia, with its weak property rights impairing the establishment of family farms, seems to contradict the results of the Baltic countries. But Alanen explains the weak performance of Russian agriculture, with its initial market withdrawal and its resort to bureaucratic networks and inter-firm bartering systems. Only later does the Russian agriculture turn to the market. In Chapter 4, Eckhard Dittrich and Rumiana Jeleva examine the post-communist countryside from another angle; they report on a community-study of an anonymous Bulgarian village during post-socialist transformation. The authors’ conceptual point of departure is the ‘‘industrialised village’’ characterising the socialist countryside, with mechanised production, large production units, and the organisation of village life around these units. The industrialised village has gone, but the past casts its shadow over the present with a general lack of energy and a tendency to define things negatively through, for example, ethnic Bulgarians’ contempt for the Roman minority. The transformed socialist party still holds sway through the mayor, and some hold to a nostalgic longing for the past, but at the same time all seem to realise that there is no way back and that the future belongs to the ‘‘blue’’ agricultural co-operative

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led by an expert with a firm belief in development towards a modern market economy. Young people moved away from the village during the socialist regime, and although no new wave of emigration has occurred since then, younger villagers today work in large numbers abroad, at least seasonally. The new demographic phenomenon is that middle-aged and retired people, with their roots in the village, have returned in large numbers since the demise of the old regime, because of both new opportunities locally and economic hardship elsewhere. These returnees represent a social and economic resource, but seem to lack the necessary structures to channel their ambitions and fulfil their aspirations. Sentiments in the village are a curious mix of longing for ‘‘modernisation’’ along traditional lines, and visions of a ‘‘post-modern’’ village with commuters working in the cities, but spending their spare time in the village with its opportunities for a more authentic life. With an adequate economic development, such villages could obviously serve as laboratories for a new rural–urban way of life, as do numerous villages in Western Europe. One of the features of the differentiated countryside is multifunctional agriculture. Because conditions outside conventional agricultural production vary greatly between rural areas, functions around conventional production also vary. However, in Chapter 5, as Martin Lenihan, Kathryn Brasier, and Richard Stedman note on multifunctionality in Pennsylvania, multifunctional agriculture has hitherto largely remained a concept and vision in macro-discussion and trade negotiations while little is known regarding attitudes at the local level. Consequently, they gathered focus groups in three types of districts in Pennsylvania in order to investigate the attitudes of both producer and consumer groups. The districts represented the preserved, the contested and the clientelistic countryside, according to the categorisation of the differentiated countryside described in Murdoch et al. (2003). The hypothesis was that attitudes should vary depending on the group (producers or consumers) and depending on the degree of penetration of consumers, the idea of ‘‘preservation’’, and similar interests in the district. However, the predicted differences seem rather small; rather, a somewhat traditional, conservative support for agriculture was expressed in all instances. For example, in the clientelistic district, the consumer group positively associated agriculture with the traditional work ethic and family values. The authors concluded that those formulating the policy and principles of multifunctional agriculture must take the grassroots level more into account than hitherto avoiding the policy distortions that

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implementation research has shown in a multitude of other arenas (Pressman & Wildavsky, 1973). However, this may shift the focus from issues such as direct payments decoupled from production, incentives to provide public goods and ‘‘cross compliance’’, to more traditional rural concerns such as property taxes and hunting. However, penetration of consumer groups and interests in the countryside is indisputable and ‘‘traditional rural attitudes’’ may surely be interpreted as the values neo-rurals seek while they, from a social scientist’s point of view, mostly live another kind of life and profoundly alter the countryside through their presence. In Chapter 6, Frank Vanclay and Tiina Silvasti present a range of ways of looking at the differentiated countryside by discussing socio-cultural processes that influence the worldviews and practices of farmers in Australia, Finland, and The Netherlands. The authors use two main approaches for this purpose: namely, farming styles and farming scripts. The farming style approach is related to diversity whereas the farming script approach explains conformity. Vanclay and Silvasti argue that diversity and conformity are not mutually exclusive, but reflect the myriad of influences on the lives of farmers. The conceptualisation and operationalisation of farming styles are not, however, unproblematic. Vanclay and Silvasti present the concept of ‘‘parables’’ in order to better analyse farmers’ stories containing strong normative messages. Some of the parables reflect farmers’ views on whether other farmers are ‘‘real farmers’’. Farmers are generally regarded as ‘‘real farmers’’ when they depend primarily on their farms for their economic livelihood. For example, lifestyle farmers, often permanently living in urban areas, are not considered ‘‘real farmers’’. Vanclay and Silvasti argue that the concept of script is compatible with, but not identical to, the concept of parable. In Finnish agriculture, three main scripts can be identified: the gender script, the script of hard work, and the script of farming as a tended garden. The authors found obvious complementarities between the Finnish scripts and the parables that emerged from the application of the farming style approach in Australia. Scripts and parables provide for the transmission of farming subculture. However, Vanclay and Silvasti hold that the script is almost contrary to farming style: styles of farming is a theory to explain diversity, where script is a concept that explains the common features of farming life. Farming styles and scripts are complementary; each concept is inadequate on its own. Together, the authors conclude, script, parable, and style provide complementary explanations for the conformity and diversity.

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GOVERNING DIFFERENTIATION The second part of the volume focuses on questions of governing differentiation. In Chapter 7, Pekka Salmi investigates the rather complicated governance of fisheries in Finland. This sector has traditionally been a functional mix of public and private, but has recently been increasingly conflict-ridden due to the expanding leisure fishing activities on the one hand, and to the ambitions of environmental experts to regulate the field on the other hand. Crucial bodies here include the fishery associations of individual water owners and the larger fishery regions established in the 1980s above the fishery associations. These fishery regions serve administrative functions despite not being part of the official administrative apparatus, which makes them interesting from a contemporary governance point of view. However, interviewed fishermen feel that the state in recent years has tightened its grip over the fishery sector, especially by widening the fishing rights of leisure fishermen through a provincial lure fishing fee. The state bureaucracy also has a clear tendency to claim supremacy in fishing matters, not least through a ‘‘scientific-environmentalist’’ discourse. Salmi’s conclusion regarding a desired co-management model involving state, market, and civil society is therefore not overly optimistic; it is in this case challenged mainly by the state administration’s new top-down approach. The role of leisure fishermen and non-local water owners is interesting: to some extent they are favoured by the state bureaucracy and held back by local water owners, but on the other hand they have the potential to serve as mediators between the state and the local levels because they can balance different views and maintain contacts in different settings. Salmi’s investigation thus reveals the penetration of non-local urban interest in Finnish fisheries and the normative implications this seems to have for the system of governance but surprisingly the state bureaucracy, more or less unwillingly, seems to jeopardise development towards a functioning co-management model through its scientific-environmentalist management discourse. The ultimate aim of governance in rural–urban areas is arguably to further sustainable development, a challenge that Ina Horlings, Pieter Tops, and Julien van Ostaaijen contemplate in the Dutch context in Chapter 8. On the one hand, several more or less sustainable development tendencies and future scenarios are discernible today. These include a broadening of agriculture’s functions and its integration in rural development in general; rural–urban networks emphasising consumption, but also an increase in farm scale and the decoupling of agricultural production from the rural environment. On the other hand, the authors mentioned different policy

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approaches of which the two main ones are ‘‘region-oriented policy’’ which is a sort of integrated development in regions orchestrated by the government, and ‘‘self-governance’’, which is centred around contracts, agreements, and ‘‘new rules of the game’’ in handling development matters. The authors conclude, however, that the road to sustainable development has several obstacles, some of which can be identified with the use of regime theory. For instance, current regimes in rural development predefine problems and distort co-operation between actors through inclusion and exclusion, a lack of trust and the incorporation of self-governance groups, thus draining them of vitality. As a remedy, the authors propose the formation of ‘‘vital coalitions’’ in rural–urban development, a possibility reviled by urban regime theory and research. Vital coalitions are a means of energising coalitions between different groups and interests, which can further goals by striking a balance between what the authors call the institutional, the instrumental, the cultural, and the situational logic of the governance situation. Important in this instance is also the sequence agenda-setting, coalitions, and modes of alignment and resources. The use and protection of natural resources are not only socio-culturally and economically important subjects for rural communities, but also form interfaces for various rural–urban interactions and contradictions. A crucial question for conflict mitigation is the extent and models of local and nonlocal groups’ involvement in planning and decision-making. In Chapter 9, Kirsten Leong, Daniel Decker, Bruce Lauber, Daniela Raik, and William Siemer explore how public participation is being used to overcome barriers in the governance of trans-boundary white-tailed deer management issues in the USA. They stress that the governance of wildlife issues requires addressing increasingly complex public issues and involving multiple stakeholders on different scales, across multiple jurisdictions and in different time frames. Urbanisation changes not only the physical, but also the socio-cultural landscape, which results in conflict over perceptions of human–wildlife interactions and wildlife management interventions. This is why wildlife management issues often lack socially agreed-upon objectives and solutions and are often called ‘‘wicked’’ problems. The authors hold that negotiation over the way the problem is defined, or framed, plays an important role in identifying potential solutions and determining the relative success of management interventions. The authors present case studies grouped according to paradigms relating to governance models, namely top-down, public input, and public

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engagement governance models. Approaches to public participation reflect historical development and paradigm shifts towards increasing public involvement, but this continuum should not be viewed as a progression towards an ideal governance model. The authors stress that both public input and public engagement approaches can effectively serve to overcome jurisdictional barriers in the trans-boundary governance of deer management issues. The public input paradigm is well suited to reach communities of interest, especially when formal stakeholder groups are easy to identify. The public engagement paradigm, on the other hand, attempts to maintain a social foundation capable of responding to problems that may be poorly understood and defined, such as wicked problems. The authors conclude that numerous case studies of urban–rural interface issues demonstrate how collaborative governance that includes significant stakeholder input and involvement often is necessary to achieve satisfactory outcomes. In Chapter 10, Mark Scott, Paula Russell, and Declan Redmond focus on ex- and periurbanisation in the Dublin area and how these are managed through public participation in planning and policy. The authors identify considerable growth paths in rural areas surrounding the capital, up to 80 km from the city centre, mainly along roads and railways. The target of the study is residents’ associations and how they influence or take part in planning and public policy. The general political-scientific discourse on the subject matter has been ambitious, and has emphasised both the goal to make public policy more efficient in the face of growing social complexity and the empowerment of citizens. The authors found, however, that the residents’ associations had rather limited potential to influence the course of events; the general attitude towards development was ‘‘growth under control’’ and neo-rural citizens could only win small victories, such as services and facilities that reasonably keep pace with fast-growing construction activity. The governance system observed was traditional in rural Ireland: clientelism where local politicians co-operate closely with economic actors and developers while acting reluctantly on citizens’ demands. Compared to Pekka Salmi’s investigation of the co-management of fisheries in Finland, where the state clearly has the upper hand to the detriment of real functioning co-management, the market seems to be in the same position in the case of Dublin’s exurban fringe. However, there are indications that the neo-rurals to a considerable extent manage to preserve the essential rural features of the exurbanised areas despite the rapid growth.

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Governing the complex impacts associated with exurban development poses challenges for rural communities, especially for those located near important natural resources, such as protected areas. In Chapter 11, Heidi Kretser, Jodi Hilty, Michale Glennon, Jeffery Burrell, Zoe¨ Smith, and Barbara Knuth study the challenges exurban development poses to communities adjacent to protected natural areas in the USA and suggest how collaborative approaches to governance may serve to minimise the adverse effects of such changes. In the USA, exurban development causes ten times more land-use change than do urban and suburban development. The authors summarise the changes exurban development brings to communities and natural resources near protected areas. They also present the contributions of one NGO to the governance of conservation and land management challenges within the context of two globally significant protected landscapes. According to the authors, managing diverse desires for public and private land near protected areas requires management regimes within which expertise, public participation, and regional approaches involve a mix of regulatory or voluntary incentives to ensure that resource use is equitably distributed and adequately protected. In these situations, governance that includes place-based (or regional) organisations and/or outside facilitators (or experts) able to work with state institutions and local citizens is essential. Collaboration with external planners, universities, non-profit groups, state agencies, and others provides communities access to otherwise unavailable information and knowledge about what tools may be appropriate for their situation. The case studies presented in this chapter demonstrate that communities are broadening participation in the public process by engaging not only permanent and part-time residents, but also the public and private sectors in governing responsibilities. Moreover, the ability to provide critical data and information demonstrates the importance of science (ecological and human dimensions) in the governance of the exurban frontier. New partnerships can bring the findings of biological and social science to the forefront of planning and decision-making. In Chapter 12, Veronica Hernandez-Jimenez and Nick Winder present an interesting example of research that combines discursive effort on problemframing and analytical effort on problem-solving. The authors find such an integrative approach the most suitable for dealing with conflicts in rural landscapes adjacent to large urban regions. They apply this approach to a case study that aims to improve policy recommendations and scenarios for sustainable land use in the region of Madrid.

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In the processes of land use planning conventional patterns of discourse and administrative structures marginalise the interests of frequently excluded or unacknowledged stakeholder groups. Collaborative planning is an important tool in the complex situations such as the land use planning in the Madrid region. Hernandez-Jimenez and Winder hold, however, that the problems of subsidiarity cannot be resolved by bottom-up or by topdown government alone. Integrative research involves hard (analytical) scientists, soft (discursive) scientists, and other stakeholder communities. The basic idea of the study is to alternate discursive periods of problemframing with analytical efforts of problem-solving. The research of Hernandez-Jimenez and Winder demonstrated the uncontrolled growth of urbanisation from the centre of Madrid out to the surroundings 30 km away, considerable tourism activity, especially in the northern region, and the unfortunate abandonment of traditional farming and livestock practices. The study of stakeholder engagement processes facilitated discussion about the opportunity for finding common interests in the community of stakeholders. On the basis of the stakeholder participation process, a booklet of proposed policy recommendations was compiled and addressed to all the identified stakeholder groups. In addition, a simulation model was developed to address the exploration of the likely impact of these various policy scenarios. These provided the users with intuitive and easily understandable dynamic maps and graphics. Some interest groups in the Madrid region have stressed, in line with their interests, that consensus is impossible due to the complexity of the system, but Hernandez-Jimenez and Winder highlight the importance of reaching at least measure of consensus. In addition, this consensus must be sustained long enough to facilitate executive action. The aim of this case study was to test whether negotiating and sustaining a consensus was possible. If this was the case, the lack of political will rather than the inherent complexity of the situation on the ground actually hindered consensus. On the basis of their results, the authors conclude that negotiating a partial consensus about the problems of sustainable development in the region of Madrid is possible. Moreover, they were even able to sustain the consensus long enough to facilitate model-based and analytical action that has identified key policy instruments for the region. One of the thought figures behind the conception of the new countryside is Ruth Liepins’ (2000) imaginative suggestion of diaspora communities, sustained first and foremost by electronic networks such as Internet. In Chapter 13, Sarolta Ne´meth presents her action-oriented study on information and communication technology (ICT) networks in Finland and

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Hungary and how they could co-operate, and merge with each other as well as, hopefully, give rise to new solutions and synergies. One point of departure is the experiments with community networks in North Karelia in Finland in the 1990s, experiments that became successful enough to inspire Manuel Castells, the leading international expert on the theme. The other point of departure is telecottage experiments, directly inspired by Swedish pioneer Vemdalen of Ja¨mtland in the 1980s that began in Hungary rather early. However, the most important factor in the process described in the chapter is probably the researcher herself; she discovered the network and telecottage experiments in the two countries and, as Hungarian researcher working in Finland, thought, that both should gain from co-operating with each other. The other side of the story is the North Karelian interest in ‘‘exporting’’ its model and the Hungarian insight that co-operation with Finland and North Karelia would further ICT applications that were already well under way and had engaged a large number of people. ICT systems do not easily find their way across national societal, applications, however. On the one hand, recourses, i.e., money must be available; unfortunately, the EU turned down all the joint applications that the Finnish and Hungarian partners had submitted. A common cultural frame and, first and foremost, a common language must also be shared and here the author/researcher/mediator found that the two communities depended on her far too much in their co-operation and fund-raising efforts. Perhaps, the image of Internet communities and tribes is misleading? Perhaps, this phenomenon has to do with an elite that with time, equipment and a fluent Lingua Franca can maintain discussion clubs while a real ‘‘rural people unite in cyber-space’’, is light years away?

TO CONCLUDE The contributions to this volume show that the rural areas in the countries and regions involved are marked by a considerable heterogeneity. These rural areas also seem to be laboratories for new kinds of rural–urban lifestyles, new industries and livelihoods, as well as new kinds of governance and regulation. At the same time, the theory of path dependency seems to depict development in many rural areas quite well and shows in this way the limits of both ‘‘voluntaristic’’ governance theories, allowing stakeholders to define their own future, and market theories arguing for the equalising effects of free trade. It goes without saying that the above findings clearly defy the stereotypical rural–urban dichotomy, while at the same time

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showing the difficulties in arriving at a substitutionary categorisation system, especially if it should go beyond mere descriptions and offer some theoretical and explanatory value. Major efforts are needed within the social sciences in this field in the years to come. A special feature, characterising exurbanisation and related trends is that ideologically, people seem to uphold a yearning for what is traditionally rural, even as they quite consciously develop a rural–urban lifestyle of their own and, by their own behaviour, change both rural environments and ways of life generally. This is a factor that makes the new rural–urban areas much more difficult to govern than would the ‘‘simple’’ clash of stakeholders’ interest. The chapters on governance show that a multitude of trials (and errors) is under way in this area. These trials must of course be related to the general heterogeneity discussed above, but must be especially related to the heterogeneity of political and administrative traditions. Thus, one can note a ‘‘pragmatic’’ stance towards governance in the American setting, while a sort of ‘‘new top-down’’ approach is discernible in Finland, with its tradition of political unity, and market and stakeholder coalitions seem pertinent in Western Europe. A trend seems to be emerging towards widening the definition of who is entitled to take part in rural–urban governance, not least through the increasing complexity of the processes involved and the need for experts and academics. However, a word of warning could be warranted here with regard to the tendencies of top-down-style scientific management in Finland and the generally enhanced position of environmental scientists in the wake of global warming; both the theory and practice of governance and co-management emphasise the need for inclusion and voice in these processes, and scientists with a ‘‘monopoly on truth’’ can clearly hamper this. ICT seems to promise several new regulatory alternatives, especially in rural areas, with their long distances and related communication and co-ordination problems, but the action study in this volume shows that the step from promises to functional applications in heterogeneous rural settings may be a long one.

REFERENCES Amin, A. (1994). Post-fordism: A reader. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Andersson, K. (2005). Producers of rural goods and services in five European countries: A comparative analysis of rural regions under urban pressure. Helsinki: Swedish School of Social Science, University of Helsinki.

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Andersson, K. (2007). New rural goods and services: The foundation of the new countryside? Helsinki: Swedish School of Social Science, University of Helsinki. Castells, M. (2000). Informationsa˚ldern. Ekonomi, samha¨lle och kultur. Band III: Milleniets slut, Daidalos, Go¨teborg. Coombes, M., & Raybould, S. (2001). Public policy and population distribution: Developing appropriate indicators of settlement patterns. Environment and Planning C: Government and Policy, 19(2), 223–248. Cromartie, J., & Swanson, L. (1996). Defining metropolitan areas and the rural–urban continuum: A comparison of statistical areas based on county and sub-county geography. Washington, DC: US Department of Agriculture. Csite, A., & Granberg, L. (2003). From village action of the Finnish rural policy network. In: K. Andersson, E. Eklund, L. Granberg & T. Marsden (Eds), Rural development as policy and practice: The European umbrella and the Finnish, British and Norwegian contexts (pp. 67–87). Helsinki: Swedish School of Social Science, University of Helsinki. D’Andrea, A. (2006). Neo-nomadism: A theory of postidentitarian mobility in the global age. Mobilities, 1(1), 95–119. David, P. A. (2000). Path dependence, its critics and the quest for ‘historical economics’. In: P. Garrouste & S. Ioannides (Eds), Evolution and path dependence in economic ideas: Past and present (pp. 15–40). Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Djurfelt, G. (1990). Fler enmansga˚rdar och deltidsjordbruk? Sociologisk forskning, 27(2), 2–21. Garrod, B., Wornell, R., & Youell, R. (2006). Re-conceptualising rural resources as countryside capital: The case of rural tourism. Journal of Rural Studies, 22(1), 117–128. Garrod, B., Youell, R., & Wornell, R. (2004). Links between rural tourism and countryside capital. Cheltenham: Countryside Agency. Hardt, M., & Negri, A. (2000). Empire. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Harvey, D. (1989). The condition of postmodernity. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Hervieu, B. (1991). Discontinuities in the French farming world. Sociologia Ruralis, 31(4), 290–299. Hugo, G., Champion, A., & Lattes, A. (2003). Toward a new conceptualization of settlements for demography. Population and Development Review, 29(2), 277–297. Kuhn, T. S. (1962). The structure of scientific revolutions. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Liepins, R. (2000). New energies for an old idea: Reworking approaches to ‘community’ in contemporary rural studies. Journal of Rural Studies, 16(1), 23–35. Marsden, T. (1999). Rural futures: The consuming countryside and its regulation. Sociologia Ruralis, 39(4), 501–520. Mitchell, C. (2004). Making sense of counterurbanisation. Journal of Rural Studies, 20(1), 15–34. Mormont, M. (1990). Who is rural? Or, how to be rural: Towards a sociology of the rural. In: T. Marsden, P. Lowe & S. Whatmore (Eds), Rural restructuring: Global processes and their responses (pp. 21–44). London: David Fulton Publishers. Murdoch, J., Lowe, P., Ward, N., & Marsden, T. (2003). The differentiated countryside. London: Routledge. Newby, H. (1986). Locality and rurality: The restructuring of rural social relations. Regional Studies, 20(3), 209–215. Overbeek, G., & Terluin, I. (2006). Introduction. In: Rural areas under urban pressure: Case studies of rural–urban relationships across Europe (pp. 21–26). The Hague: LEI Wageningen UR. Pahl, R. E. (1966). The rural–urban continuum. Sociologia Ruralis, 6(3), 299–327.

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Pearce, D., Markandya, A., & Barbier, E. B. (1989). Blueprint for a green economy. London: Earthscan. Pressman, J. L., & Wildavsky, A. B. (1973). Implementation: How great expectations in Washington are dashed in Oakland: Or, Why it’s amazing that Federal programs work at all, this being a saga of the Economic Development Administration as told by two sympathetic observers who seek to build morals on a foundation of ruined hopes. Berkeley: University of California Press. Prugh, T., Constanza, R., Cumberland, J., Daly, H., Goodland, R., & Norgaard, R. (1995). Natural capital and human economic survival. Solomons: ISEE Press. Rannikko, P., & Knuutila, S. (2008). Kyla¨n paikka. SKS: n toimituksia, Helsinki: Uusia tulkintoja Sivakasta ja Rasima¨esta¨. Rhodes, R. A. W. (1996). The new governance: Governing without government. Political Studies, 44(4), 652–667. Spectorsky, A. C. (1955). The exurbanites. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott. United Nations. (1952). Demographic yearbook 1952. New York. Urry, J. (2007). Cars, climates and complex futures. Paper presented in plenary debate about Mobilities at the XXII ESRS Congress, 20–24 August, Wageningen. Available at http:// www.esrs2007.nl/cat/45/News Wirth, L. (1938). Urbanism as a way of life. American Journal of Sociology, 44(1), 1–24.

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PART I DIFFERENTIATION PROCESSES: DEEP RURAL AREAS, PERIURBAN AREAS, POST-SOCIALIST COUNTRYSIDES

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CHAPTER 1 THE EMERGING SHORTAGE OF LABOUR IN FORESTRY IN A REMOTE CONIFEROUS REGION: A BRAKE ON THE MASSIVE USE OF BIOFUELS Olli Lehtonen and Markku Tykkyla¨inen ABSTRACT Purpose – This chapter aims at analysing the spatial pattern of the impending shortage of rural labour in North Karelia, Finland. The focus of the analysis is on forestry, which has a demand for labour that is spread evenly over the entire region. Methodology – Future population development up to 2020 is predicted by roll-up calculation model, which reveals the future potential of local labour in forestry by area type. Findings – Economic development shapes the socio-economic landscape. The economic boom since the mid-1990s towards advanced production and services has led to the strengthening of a concentrated regional structure in North Karelia. Forest resources are increasingly being utilized through labour living in the municipal centres, as the supply of competent labour in Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 25–55 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014004

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the distant and core rural areas has been on the decline. Therefore, in the future municipality centres will have to supply the labour force for forestry and its associated services within a reasonable commuting distance. Practical implications – In order to enable the efficient use of forest resources in the future new policy options such as more efficient forest management through the enlarging of the forest holdings to be harvested, the use of foreign labour, contract work and the better utilization of redundant rural housing and infrastructure should be considered as an addition to the traditional engineering approaches aimed at increasing mechanization. At any rate, if nothing is done, the aim of making more intensive use of forest resources and converting the forest biomass to energy may not be achieved in a region such as this.

INTRODUCTION Although local economies are becoming more and more influenced by global competition and the common policies of larger integrated economic areas such as the European Union, each region has its regulative legacy manifested in its economic structure and demography. Regulation theories emphasize that structural changes can be explained by specific national modes of production and that the processes of regulation take place in regional spaces as well (see Collinge, 1999). Many resource-based regions are affected by long periods of booms and busts, and it has been difficult for them to find a balanced form of demographic and societal development. Changes in regulative regimes on any geographical scale are likely to lead to rural restructuring, but it is obvious that various general and interregional economic and societal factors, such as improvements in productivity, economic integration and competition, are having powerful impacts on rural economic development, settlement structures and demographic characteristics. These factors may result in new economic structures that could have unpredictable regional implications and modify settlement patterns. Current mainstream regional policies in many countries have been focused more on deregulation than on regulation, and emphasis now tends to be placed on taking advance of such tendencies as globalization and competition between regions and localities, post-productionism and most recently the possibility for rural areas to become producers of bioenergy. In the Finnish economy the modes of production prevailing in agriculture and forestry have a legacy of strong regulative policies, of stepwise

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advancement to more efficient production and growing market orientation and of the attraction of new activities to rural areas. In a parallel manner, rural industrialization in remote areas has been regulated by the laws and decrees of regional policy since the late 1960s and co-regulated by the structural policies of the European Union since 1995. Since the early 1990s industrial and regional development has been promoted in conjunction with universities and research and development activities, with the aim of helping Finland to develop into an advanced research and information-intensive society (Castells & Himanen, 2001; Suorsa, 2007). All these economic development phases have had an impact not only on rural economic structures but also on settlement patterns and the demographic composition of the rural population. This chapter aims at analysing the spatial pattern of the impending shortage of rural labour in North Karelia, Finland, and its dependence on past socio-economic development. The focus of the analysis will be on forestry, which has a demand for labour that is spread evenly over the entire region in geographical terms. This research will indicate how the shortage of rural labour is in part the result of a long period of migration towards the centres and of the general suburbanization of the region. We will first analyse recent demographic development in North Karelia by postcode areas in a core-periphery setting, and will then complement this analysis with a factor-ecological model and spatial autocorrelation analysis of prosperity in North Karelia to show the dynamics of the spatial concentration of wealth since the early 1990s. In order to obtain a more structured picture of development opportunities and to develop a relevant areal division for analysing the future labour supply in forestry, a spatio-social classification of postcode areas was carried out by cluster analysis. The emergence of a potential shortage of labour has been predicted by estimating the population of North Karelia up to 2020 on the assumption that the demographic trend will continue as at present. The final part of the chapter will briefly discuss spatial issues and policy options in the utilization of forests in the light of the prediction that more entrepreneurs and employees will be needed in forestry to replace imported raw materials with domestic ones, to harvest wood for energy use and the refining of biofuels and to implement a more specifically tailored forest management system. It will be shown how long-term economic restructuring may lead to shortcomings in the rural labour markets under pressure from volatile global competition and the needs for utilizing forest resources in a more efficient and environmentally friendly way.

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PARADIGM SHIFTS IN REGIONAL POLICY Regional development constitutes a series of often cumulative processes having long-standing effects and influenced by numerous internal and external socio-economic factors which form a chain of developmental stages referred to as path dependence. The Finnish economy has been more dependent on forestry, wood-processing and farming than any other European economy for a long time, and the opening up of its rural areas to global competition has led to a decline in the less competitive, formerly sheltered, sectors of the economy. The emphasis on the development of new, innovative industrial activities in advanced economies has favoured urban areas and led to a continuation of migration. Much of the new production is not areal in nature and only a few branches can directly benefit from rural environments. Technical advances and rational economic thinking have led to large-scale production, a centralization of ‘‘power’’ and geographical concentration in many activities (Dahlgren, 1989, p. 12). Finnish regional policy has for many decades been aimed at a regionally balanced structure in order to utilize human and natural resources all over the country. In the first phase, from the late 1960s onwards, industrialization together with an industrializing regional policy strengthened the multi-nodal regional structure, so that it remained viable up to the late 1980s (Tykkyla¨inen, 2002). The recession of the early 1990s was one of the most severe economic crises that Finland has known, and recovery from it started in a spatially uneven manner, which manifested itself in peak volumes of net migration between municipalities, for example. The recovery emerged first in the largest cities and dispersed selectively to the peripheries. Since the early 1990s the main regional policy paradigm has been to improve the competitiveness of Finnish-based industries and create highly competitive globally operating clusters of industries (Fig. 1). Thus these ongoing processes, market forces and policy factors have been working towards a reorganization of the prevailing spatial structure. Globalization and economic integration were empowered in the 1990s. As Dunford and Perron (1994, p. 165) conclude, self-reinforcing trends emerged with globalization that led to increased economic interdependence, reduced national autonomy and deepening economic integration. These changes reduced national control and the possibilities for governments to manage and equalize regional differences inside the nation and its regions. National regional policy was ‘‘chained up’’. Globalization and integration became contingent on efficient transportation and communications networks, and therefore exposed areas unevenly to the globalization impulses.

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RESTRUCTURING POLICY: Investments in research & development, and Information Society initiatives since the late 1980s, deregulation of the financial markets and trade

INTEGRATION, EU 1995, EMU 2001

BALANCED REGIONAL DEVELOPMENT AIMS ARE REPLACED BY ASPATIAL COMPETITIVENESS

ECONOMIC GLOBALIZATION, WTO Uruguay 1994

Fig. 1.

LONG-TERM POLICY WAVES AND THEIR LEGACIES: Continuous rationalization in the primary sector since the mid-1960s, rural industrialization in the late 1960s and the 1970s, deindustrialization in the 1980s

BOOST IN ICT INDUSTRIES, RELATIVE DECLINE IN RESOURCE-BASED INDUSTRIES IN THE 1990s

CENTRES OF EXPERTISE IN THE 1990s, RISE OF URBAN POLICY

IMPULSES FROM THE GLOBAL MARKETS

REGIONAL RESTRUCTURING: DIFFERENTIATION, POLARIZATION

MIGRATION, DEMOGRAPHIC CHANGES, LABOUR MARKET IMBALANCES

Processes and Factors Affecting Regional Differentiation in Finland.

Since integration processes normally increase regional specialization, the removal of trade barriers and tariffs, changes in technology, demand shocks and foreign competition has affected particular regions unevenly. Integration has promoted development in some regions while others have suffered high unemployment and falling wages, or else have been left struggling with a shortage of labour. The general presumption has been that integration is the great equalizer, but with respect to industrial and demographic structures it will necessarily lead to a long period of adjustment (Braunerhjelm, Ruans, Seabright, Faini, & Norman, 2000, p. 19). The opening up of the Finnish economy to global competition and its poor price competitiveness in mass production together generated – a development policy driven by research and development and aimed towards more knowledge-intensive production, especially the Information and Communications Technology (ICT) industries (Fig. 1). The new regional and urban policy that emerged in Finland focused on creating innovative and attractive environments for investments, firms and highly qualified individuals and serving as seedbeds for glocally operating high-tech industrial clusters. The government supported cooperation between research organizations, industry and development organizations financially by means

30

OLLI LEHTONEN AND MARKKU TYKKYLA¨INEN

of its centres of expertise programme, which was launched in 1994 and it has been expanded several times. In contrast to its previous policy paradigm, this development policy has been distinctly aspatial (Suorsa, 2007).

RECENT REGIONAL DEVELOPMENT IN NORTH KARELIA The region of Finland to be studied here, North Karelia is of a size equivalent to two-thirds of Belgium and is located in the easternmost part of the country and within the coniferous forest zone (Fig. 2). It is an example of a resource-dependent NUTS 3 region in the north of Europe that is increasingly being boosted by state-led innovation policy and various regional policy projects. Although this is an empirical case study, its results may reflect more general problems and processes which other areas may face as the protracted rationalization of resource-dependent production reduces their labour force and leads to a vicious circle of depopulation (OECD,

Fig. 2.

The Location of North Karelia. Fifteen Municipalities and 141 Postcode Areas in 2008.

The Emerging Shortage of Labour in Forestry

31

2006, p. 32). For practical reasons we will concentrate here on North Karelia, but there are good reasons to believe that the results are valid, although geographically contingent, with respect to other peripheral regions in the north of Europe. The most commonly used geographical unit in Finnish regional analyses is the municipality, but because each municipality is rather heterogeneous in terms of population and demographic development, it is justified to use smaller and more homogeneous areal units in North Karelia in order to observe spatial patterns and their underlying processes. The postcode area constitutes the smallest regional statistical entity based on functionality in the distribution of a service, here the postal service. One-third of the region’s 168,000 inhabitants are concentrated in the regional capital, Joensuu, and its vicinity. During the last few years economic growth and development have been concentrated in this major travel-to-work area, and the spatial structure of North Karelia has become more uninodal. While the population of the city has grown to 57,000 inhabitants, all the other urban areas and rural municipalities outside have lagged behind. The 18 municipal centres that had previously achieved population growth have begun to decline and many municipalities are considering mergers. The success of the Joensuu area is bound up with its success in generating and attracting enterprises, the growth of the university and spin-offs from it and globalization impulses felt in industries. The ongoing concentration of population ensures that new workplaces in the service sector tend to be located in the city’s growing neighbourhoods. The rapid growth of ICT industries in the late 1990s created many new jobs in the manufacturing of plastics and metal products, but the largest local company in this field was recently closed. Joensuu is a significant locality for the manufacturing of forest machinery. Both branches were boosted by the centres of expertise programme, and the newest policy measures designed for the years of 2008–2013 are increasingly linked to selected high-tech production ventures. The university and the polytechnics have played a part in nurturing new businesses, a science park and its industrial activities. Although the most intense years of rural migration passed by a long time ago, the spatial concentration of population in North Karelia has continued in recent years. Population growth reverts to a decline as a function of distance from the core of the region and is negative in the areas outside the travel-to-work area of Joensuu (Fig. 3). Among the 141 postcode areas, only those closest to Joensuu show a growth in population, while the decrease in total population has been most severe in the most distant areas. Similar

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Changes in the Number of Inhabitants and of Children and Elderly People from 1995 to 2005 as a Function of Distance, by Postcode Areas. Source: SuomiCD (1996, 2006).

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Fig. 3.

Change in a number of inhabitants (%)

OLLI LEHTONEN AND MARKKU TYKKYLA¨INEN

The Emerging Shortage of Labour in Forestry

33

losses of population are characteristic of most of the marginal areas of northern Europe (Gløersen, Dubois, Copus, & Schu¨rmann, 2005, pp. 64–78). The number of children has increased only in the urban fringe of Joensuu, i.e., in the suburban belt of the city, and the decrease has been most severe in areas more than 50 km from away, where the number of children has declined about one-third in 10 years. Measured over all the postcode areas, population growth in 1995–2005 showed a close positive correlation with the proportion of children (r ¼ 0.83, po0.001) and a negative correlation with the proportion of people over 65 years old (r ¼ 0.66, p ¼ 0.006), although the population in the latter age group has been more stable geographically. The current demographic polarization consists of an ageing process combined with out-migration, as young adults are much more likely to migrate than older people (cf. Plane & Rogerson, 1994, p. 370). Migration often takes place first to a city, for study purposes, and then to suburbia, after graduation. The widening gap in the proportions of children and elderly people is bringing about a built-in mechanism by which the concentration of ageing people in these remote areas is causing a low birthrate there, and consequently fewer children. Economic growth tends to accelerate migration and generate incomes. The spatial redistribution of wealth in boom years is revealed by changes in mean income indices and in the number of households in the lowest income bracket from 1995 to 2005 in the postcode areas as a function of distance (Fig. 4). To purge the figures of currency conversions and the impacts of inflation, the mean income index were produced through standardization of the mean annual personal incomes in the postcode areas by dividing them by the average income level for North Karelia and multiplying the quotients by 100. Since the average income in North Karelia was obtained using the populations of the postcode areas as weights, each index value must be interpreted as a relative deviation from the average income in North Karelia. The changes in the income index reveal a geographical pattern which is related to distance and in many cases accessibility (Fig. 4). In relative terms, the income level has grown in the suburban areas of Joensuu and decreased farther away as a function of distance, indicating an increased spatioeconomic polarization. The change in the income index correlates closely with the change in population over the interval 1995–2005 (r ¼ 0.65, po0.001). The number of households living in the lowest income bracket has decreased in the areas located near to Joensuu and increased in the rest of the region. Thus, the change in the number of households in the lowest income bracket is the inverse of the change in mean income index. The formation of a high-income suburban ring (Fig. 2) and the decline in the

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Fig. 4.

Change in mean income index (%)

OLLI LEHTONEN AND MARKKU TYKKYLA¨INEN

The Emerging Shortage of Labour in Forestry

35

periphery were promoted by the boom years (Fig. 4). The only exceptions are the three most remote postcode areas (W150 km), which are located close to Sotkamo, a growing recreational area in the Kainuu region. The spatial redistribution of wealth is inherent to the dynamism of capitalism. Greater socio-spatial polarization is a consequence of job creation and the ability of industries to provide rewards and welfare payments (Dunford & Perrons, 1994, p. 166). The declining incomes and urban job opportunities are pushing people away from the distant areas, bringing about a negative multiplier effect, i.e., many public and private services are starting to erode, jobs are being lost due to declining local demand, and young people in particular are migrating (Bylund, 1989, p. 24; OECD, 2006, pp. 24–32). The spatial pattern of the change in workplaces indicates a geographical concentration of economic activity (Fig. 5). The high correlation between the changes in the numbers of residents and workplaces by postcode areas provides evidence of the dependence between work and living (r ¼ 0.76, po0.001). The spatially wider wave of rural restructuring that occurred after joining the EU in 1995 is still going on, as indicated by the negative correlation (r ¼ 0.69, p ¼ 0.003) between changes in jobs in 1993–2003 and jobs in primary industry. The unemployment rate declined over the whole region during the boom years, and many unemployed people moved to work in the growing labour markets of Joensuu, but some traditional industrial localities are still plagued by unemployment, a fact which generates a high oscillation in unemployment rate as the function of distance (Fig. 5). During the last 10 years the number of jobs increased only within a radius of 0–30 km from Joensuu, by 5,238, and decreased in the rest of North Karelia by 1,708. Many unemployed persons in remote areas have migrated, and many others have retired, but even so, a relatively large potential still existed in 2003, especially in ‘‘productivist’’ areas, as the higher the proportion of people working in primary industry is, the higher is the unemployment rate (r ¼ 0.65, p ¼ 0.006). In order to include socio-economic development in the detailed analysis in a more comprehensive way, the coherence of wealth was investigated by principal component analysis. The factor scores point to the kinds of socioeconomic environment in which the next generations will grow up and the residential environments in which they could be living in different parts of the region. Principal component analysis belongs to the tradition of factorecological modelling in geography, and similar original variables as were applied in this study have been used in many previous socio-economic analyses in Finland (Andersson, 1988; Vaattovaara, 1998; Kera¨nen,

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OLLI LEHTONEN AND MARKKU TYKKYLA¨INEN

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The Emerging Shortage of Labour in Forestry

Malinen, & Aulaskari, 2000; Suomen maaseututyypit, 2006). The approach adopted here was nevertheless complemented by accessibility variables, which are of importance in the kind of rural setting envisaged by the OECD (2006). The principal component analysis consisted of eight variables depicting socio-economic circumstances in the postcode areas. Close correlations existed between all of these except for the net value of property by household. The loadings in the years of 1999 and 2003 were almost identical and indicated an inverse relation between areas of high unemployment and high incomes (Table 1). The amount of the variance explained by the first component had grown since 1993, indicating greater homogeneity amongst the central variables involved in prosperity. The people in the high-income areas are better educated and the households more often face debt problems. The latter issue is often related to age and recent housing investments (Table 1). The first principal component is named the ‘‘prosperity component’’, as it consists of combinations of the original variables with higher loadings than a traditional threshold of 0.30 in all the cross-sectional years. The second principal component consists of the unemployment rate and mean property owned by the households. The total variance explained by this second component is much lower and the component is inversely correlated with the prosperity component. The first component was selected here for further analyses. An individual score on the prosperity component was calculated for each postcode area to demonstrate its combined characteristics. The higher the Table 1.

Factor Loadings on the Two Principal Components for Years 1993, 1999 and 2003.

Variable

2003 PC1

PC2

1999 PC1

PC2

1993 PC1

PC2

Median income (h) 0.97 0.05 0.92 0.19 0.96 0.09 Mean income (h) 0.93 0.06 0.93 0.02 0.94 0.13 Unemployment rate (%) 0.54 0.62 0.54 0.04 0.02 0.96 Mean of property owned by households (1,000 h) 0.05a 0.90 0.08 0.88 0.18 0.16 Persons with a university degree (%) 0.79 0.04 0.79 0.27 0.76 0.26 Persons in the lowest income bracket 8,107 h (%) 0.87a 0.19 0.54 0.67 0.31 0.38 Households with high income 47,000 h (%) 0.81a 0.36 0.85 0.01 0.79 0.20 Debtor households (%) 0.64a 0.36 0.70 0.40 0.69 0.21 Total variance explained (%) 58.5 17.5 52.5 17.9 45.6 23.6 Source: SuomiCD (1996, 1998, 2002, 2006). a Variable from the year 2004.

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factor score the more prosperous the area is, and conversely, the more negative the factor scores are the less prosperous the area is. Spatial proximity of similar factor scores on prosperity was scrutinized in terms of spatial autocorrelation. When spatial autocorrelation is positive, the factor score at a given location tends to be similar to the scores in nearby locations. In other words, if a factor score is high in a given location, the presence of positive spatial autocorrelation indicates that nearby scores are also high. Conversely, negative spatial autocorrelation is characterized by dissimilar scores in nearby locations. The strength of the spatial autocorrelation is measured by the Moran’s I, which varies from 1 to 1, with a value of 0 indicating a random spatial pattern for the phenomenon in question and values of 1 and 1 representing the highest geographical concentrations of dissimilar and similar factor scores, respectively (Odland, 1988). The rising Moran I indices reveal that similar areas have become more gravitated towards one other (Fig. 6). As the factor scores are standardized to a mean of 0 and a standard deviation of 1, the positive values refer to greater-than-average prosperity and negative values to its opposite, while the upper and lower quartiles denote the richest and poorest areas, respectively. The postcode areas which belong to the upper quartile of the

Fig. 6. Regional Differentiation in North Karelia, Described in Terms of the Highest, Lowest and Two Intermediate Quartiles of the Prosperity Principal Component.

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The Emerging Shortage of Labour in Forestry

prosperity component are highly concentrated in the travel-to-work area of Joensuu and some industrial localities, pointing to the core and the industrialized areas as the prosperous ones. Conversely, the border areas and areas with poor accessibility due to poor roads or surrounding lakes are the poorest. The geographical pattern in the upper and lower quartiles has been locationally relatively stable but has emerged more clearly during the last 10 years. This evidence for the concentration of prosperity implies a shrinking mean distance of the postcode areas in the highest prosperity quartile from Joensuu market square over the period 1993 to 2003. By 2003 this distance was 23.8 km and over 80 percent of the upper quartile areas were located within a radius of 30 km of the market square, whereas the mean distance had been 28.6 km in 1999, with 75 percent inside 30 km, and that in 1993 33.6 km, with 69 percent inside 30 km. Elsewhere in the region only a few isolated areas belonged to the upper quartile. The spatial distribution of the lower quartile was geographically highly dispersed. The mean distance from the market square in 2003 was 79.5 km in the lower quartile, which was higher than the mean distance of all the areas from the market square in 2003 (59.3 km). The polarization tendency is a social one, too, so that the mean and median income values in the lowermost quartile of the prosperity component were lower relative to those in the upper quartile in 2003 than they were 10 years earlier (Table 2). The ratio between the lower and upper unemployment quartiles grew from 1993 to 1999, but from 1999 onwards the later phase of the long economic boom improved employment more in the lower quartile by absorbing less paid labour. There are more net assets Table 2.

Values for the Lowermost Quartile in Relation to Those for the Uppermost Quartile (%).

Variable

2003

1999

1993

Median income Mean income Unemployment rate (%) Mean property owned by household Persons with university degree (%) Persons in the lowest income bracket (%) Proportion of households with a high incomea (%) Proportion of indebted households (%)

62.3 70.7 160.0 121.3 27.3 150.0 47.1 78.3

63.5 70.5 193.8 102.2 22.2 146.4 35.3 78.7

64.1 71.3 122.7 102.3 16.7 161.5 11.1 82.3

a

2005: 47,000 h (%), 2001: 46,000 h, 1995: 74,121 Finnish marks.

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among the poorest household, however, and less debts that are related to the life span of the families and house mortgages. There were more high-income households in the lowest quartile of the prosperity component in 2003 than 10 years earlier, indicating a growth in the variance in incomes within the lowermost quartile (Table 2).

CLUSTERS OF POSTCODE AREAS IN NORTH KARELIA Some of the postcode areas in North Karelia are much less populous than others, which tend to compromise full geographical coverage in the analyses. Sparsely populated postcode areas predominate on the fringes of the municipalities. The postcode areas between the 25th and 75th percentiles possessed from 186 to 1,282 inhabitants, while the smallest of all had 100 inhabitants and the largest 9,925. It is not reasonable to aim at full coverage, because the observations regarding areas with under 100 inhabitants are statistically too unreliable for forecasting. Nevertheless, the cluster analysis covers 99.2 percent of the total population of North Karelia. Cluster analysis is commonly employed in geography to reduce a large number of areas to clusters that are internally as homogeneous as possible (see Morrill, 1995; Pacione, 1995; Persson, 1995; Pettersson, 2001). For the purpose of cluster analysis all the values of the variables that are included have to be standardized to z-scores with a mean of 0 and a standard deviation of 1. Otherwise the variables with larger values would dominate the clustering. Since the method employed here does not make any distributional modifications, no other transformations of the data were performed. Municipalities rather than smaller functional areas have usually been used as cases when constructing rural area typologies (Kera¨nen et al., 2000; Suomen maaseututyypit, 2006). Studying the present case we used the results of earlier studies when selecting the variables, but performed the selection independently, especially from the viewpoint of accessibility and residential environment, both concepts that seemed to be relevant to the emerging labour shortage in a priori analyses. The variables selected for clustering were chosen to reflect accessibility (4 variables), demography (4 variables), economic structure and change (4 variables) and residential environments (2 variables) in the postcode areas (Fig. 7). To classify the postcode areas of North Karelia into sets which reflect similar development problems and socio-economics, a hierarchical cluster

The Emerging Shortage of Labour in Forestry

41

Fig. 7. Classification of Postcode Areas in North Karelia. Most of the Information is from 2005. Source: SuomiCD (2006) and State Provincial Office of Eastern Finland (2008).

analysis was performed by Ward’s method of squared Euclidean distances. Ward’s method applies variance-minimizing principles similar to an analysis of variance to evaluate the distances between clusters, making up the clusters by minimizing the total sum of squared deviations of every observation from the mean of the cluster to which it belongs (Dillon & Goldstein, 1984, p. 172). The clusters are formed step by step. This hierarchical cluster analysis is manageable in use because the number of postcode areas is fairly small and thus the results can be interpreted based on a dendrogram. Moreover, hierarchical cluster analysis suits cases where the number of clusters is not determined by any theoretical premise; namely, the method does not presume that researcher makes any assumption about the numbers of clusters, as is done in K-means cluster analysis. The empirically grounded four-cluster solution consists of clusters named core rural areas, distant rural areas, municipal centres and suburban areas (Fig. 7). The core rural areas are characterized by the highest proportion of primary production and the sharpest decline in the number of jobs during 1998–2005 (Fig. 7), but despite this development the proportion of children is fairly high and the mean age relatively low (ibid.). These are areas where

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people are working mainly in agriculture, while commuting by employees in the service sector does not play a significant role. The decline of jobs reflects the ongoing economic restructuring and indicates a shift towards the profile typical of distant rural areas. The distant rural areas are located a long distance away from services and municipal centres and have been severely restructured by out-migration and ageing of the population (Fig. 7). This means that socio-economic vitality is weak, as indicated by the lowest rate of new residences and a pronounced loss of jobs since 1998 (ibid.). The proportion of jobs in the secondary sector is the lowest, reflecting low competitiveness in manufacturing. These are marginal areas and the local people perceive them as backwoods. The values for the variables in the most populous cluster originate from the people living and working in municipal centres and their local hinterlands and in the central quarters of Joensuu. The residential buildings are located near services (Fig. 7) and the industrial structure differs from that of the core and distant rural areas. Most of the inhabitants receive their income from services and manufacturing. The decline in total population has been less marked in relative terms than in the two categories of rural area, but it is still negative by 8.5 percent. The settlements consist of urban, semi-urban and scattered structures, which constitute the housing style of local service centres constructed during recent decades, often combined with layers of former industrialization zones. This cluster of municipal centres reflects the legacy of the welfare state, where a municipality was committed to providing services at its core for the whole of its domain. The cluster of suburban areas is the only one where the total population and number of jobs have increased during recent years (Fig. 7). Young people have moved to the suburbs, as the low average age indicates. These places are located in the travel-to-work area of Joensuu but outside the core of the city itself. The rise of the suburban areas can be seen from the highest proportion of new residential buildings, nearly 20 percent having been constructed since 1990 (Fig. 7). The areal classification gives a more structural view of the current regional differentiation than single units and indicates bottlenecks in spatial development. The economic and societal structures are deteriorating in the most remote areas, and the agricultural areas have faced substantial restructuring, which seems to be leading to a decline in the future as well. The municipal service centres, both urban and semi-urban, which formerly provided a more multi-nodal type of service infrastructure in North Karelia, are not expanding any more. This classification and the processes underlying

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it provide powerful evidence that much of the region’s development is locked into a pattern that is destined to concentrate the population almost entirely in the residential areas of the regional capital.

SOCIO-ECONOMIC DYNAMICS IN THE AREA CLUSTERS A geographical polarization of the population and wealth prevailed during the boom, as jobs and inhabitants became concentrated in the suburban areas (Table 3). Earlier it was elderly people who tended to move to Joensuu and the municipal centres, but broader metropolitan development may have been considered attractive. Even the proportion of elderly people grew in the suburban areas, although their proportion within the total population there was still small, only 10 percent (Fig. 7). The distant rural areas have faced the severest decline, as all the indicators show (Table 3). The corollary during the economic upswing and opening up was that the distant rural areas lost much of their infrastructural competitiveness, which will have certain impacts on the future characteristics and developmental potential of these areas. A temporal comparison of the means and standard deviations of the factor scores on the prosperity component in each cluster reveals changes of the attributes of the clusters during the economic boom. There is a clear polarization between distant rural areas and suburban areas, in that the distance in prosperity measured by the difference in the means of the score values was widest between these and increased over the period 1993–2003 Table 3.

Percentage Changes in the Values of the Variables in the Clusters, 1995–2005 or 1993–2003.

Cluster

Inhabitants (%) Children (%) Population over 65 (%) Income index (%)a Lowest income bracket (%)a Unemployment (%)a Jobs (%)a a

Change between 1993 and 2003.

Core Rural Areas

Distant Rural Areas

Municipal Centres

Suburban Areas

17.9 29.6 9.1 1.4 2.8 26.4 19.4

24.7 38.5 3.3 2.5 8.8 35.8 22.2

10.0 28.5 13.9 3.4 5.6 32.8 4.9

9.2 0.7 35.6 6.4 7.5 26.1 30.1

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(Table 4). A relative deprivation has taken place in the distant rural areas, and the same trends prevailed in the core rural areas and municipal centres, as shown by the declining factor scores over those years. The mean of the factor scores for the suburban postcode areas increased from 0.973 to 1.513, indicating growing prosperity, and in fact these areas are the only ones where the factor scores increased on average. As the standard deviations in the suburban areas and municipal centres decreased, it must be concluded that the internal spatial homogeneity of these clusters increased (Table 4). The factor scores on the prosperity component are classified into quartiles and the frequencies calculated by postcode cluster areas in Table 5, in order Table 4.

Mean Prosperity Component Factor Scores for the Clusters.

Cluster

Core rural areas Distant rural areas Municipal centres Suburban areas

Table 5. Cluster

1993

1999

2003

Mean

Standard deviation

Mean

Standard deviation

Mean

Standard deviation

0.156 0.671 0.449 0.973

0.475 0.240 0.652 1.249

0.159 0.829 0.043 1.348

0.561 0.398 0.585 0.821

0.228 1.058 0.067 1.513

0.492 0.342 0.546 0.868

Proportions of the Prosperity Component Quartiles in the Clusters. Year

Prosperity Component Quartiles Lower

Intermediate 25–75%

Upper

Core rural areas

2003 1999 1993

20.3 20.3 22.0

71.2 67.8 69.5

8.5 11.9 8.5

Distant rural areas

2003 1999 1993

78.3 69.6 78.3

21.7 30.4 21.7

0 0 0

Municipal centres

2003 1999 1993

8.7 17.4 0

69.5 60.9 60.9

21.7 21.7 39.7

Suburban areas

2003 1999 1993

0 0 3.8

11.5 19.2 23.1

88.5 80.8 73.1

The Emerging Shortage of Labour in Forestry

45

to reveal the degree of match between the social and geographical classifications. The cross-tabulation reveals that none of the distant rural postcode areas belonged to the upper prosperity quartile during the entire period and none of the suburban postcode areas belonged to the lower quartile in 1999 or 2003. As expected, the w2 test shows that there is a close dependence between the prosperity quartiles and areal clusters in all years (2005: w2 ¼ 116.6, df ¼ 9, po0.001; 2001: w2 ¼ 85.7, df ¼ 9, po0.001; 1995: w2 ¼ 95.9, df ¼ 9, po0.001). Almost 80 percent of the distant rural areas were in the lower prosperity quartile, indicating that the heyday of the municipal centres is over (Table 5).

POPULATION PROJECTIONS IN CLUSTER AREAS AS A CONTINUATION OF RECENT REGIONAL DEVELOPMENT The continuation of depopulation and relative deprivation of infrastructure is a vicious circle which has been going on in North Karelia since the mid1960s. These processes may easily pose bottlenecks for the future utilization of areal resources such as forests, since this is contingent upon proper management and harvesting work throughout the region. This work requires skilled labour to use forest machinery and transport vehicles, often in two to three work shifts, throughout the region. The problems entailed in future population development can be analysed by means of a ‘‘roll up’’ calculation model (see Morrill, 1995). In our application the calculation is performed for each area cluster and not by postcode areas, because the former yield more reliable results. The variance in net migration in individual postcode areas includes such a high random component, for instance, that it would lead to less reliable results in a single area. The calculation is based on fertility and mortality statistics and estimates of net migration. Because of the limited coverage of the migration data available from census sources, we considered it sufficient for the present purpose to calculate net migration for five-year-age groups using the forward survival method as the most accurate means of identifying trends for the clusters (on the method, see Jones, 1990). Survival ratios and fertility rates were derived for the clusters as weighted means from the municipal data. The fertility rates from 2005 onwards are assumed to be the same as in 2007. Statistics Finland has produced annual mortality predictions up to 2020 (Statistics Finland, 2008).

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Two time periods, 1995–1999 and 2000–2004, were used to calculate the net migration rates. These were chosen in order to capture the net migration component of the recent regional development trends, and because they were easily available. In view of the lack of exact net migration information for postcode areas, net migration had to be calculated in terms of residuals. This is possible with the survival ratio method, which is normally defined as follows (Jones, 1990): M An ¼ Atþn  ðAt S A Þ where MAn is the estimated net migration of a cohort A over the intercensual period n; A the age and sex cohort at the beginning of the period (At) and at the end (Atþn); and SA the estimated survival ratio for cohort A – the proportion of persons in that cohort who can be expected to survive to the next census (Jones, 1990, p. 184). Net migration is calculated separately for all age and sex cohorts (n ¼ 36). The future age and sex cohorts are calculated as Atþ1 ¼ At  ðAt M A Þ  ðAt SAt Þ where Atþ1 is the age and sex cohort for the next time period; At the age and sex cohort at an earlier period; MA the net migration rate in that cohort and SAt the estimated survival ratio for that cohort over the time period t. The total population in time period t (Pt) is calculated as the sum of the age and sex cohorts in period t together with fertility in same period t (Ft) and can be denoted as X Pt ¼ Atn þ F t The calculation is based on certain generalizations, which may decrease the accuracy of the prediction. The observed spatial variations in mortality, for example, will lead us to question the assumption as to whether the survival ratios based on North Karelian life tables can properly be applied to each cluster population. We consider this a minor or random matter, and hence not fatal as far as the aggregated four-cluster results are concerned. Moreover, the survival ratios entail a measure of temporal uncertainty because predictions of the future possess growing uncertainty as a function of time (Alho, 1998). The predictions were based on the best possible data, however, and used subpopulations which meet the criteria for statistically reasonable forecasting. The roll-up calculations reveal that some parts of the distant rural areas in particular will have been totally abandoned by the end of 2020. The

47

The Emerging Shortage of Labour in Forestry

most drastic proportional decrease in total population would take place in the distant rural areas, where the decline between 2005 and 2020 would be 38 percent, although the absolute decline can be considered small by comparison with populations of the other clusters (Fig. 8). Similarly there would be a severe population decline of about 30 percent in the core rural areas, and the population trend in the municipal centres would likewise be negative, so that these areas would lose 15 percent of their population. Only the population of the suburban areas would increase, by 9 percent. This negative population trend will lead to declining opportunities and make the areas unfavourable for economic development. A declining and ageing rural population will affect the support for even basic levels of employment and services in the long run and will influence the capacity for work and entrepreneurship. This issue is not restricted to Finland, but has been observed elsewhere (Whitby & Powe, 1995). In the case of North Karelia, this development may anticipate a restoration of the spatial margin of profitability, the zero isoline for the difference between the acquisition costs and factory price for roundwood, beyond which the costs of harvesting roundwood would become more expensive than the revenues obtainable, leading to the cessation of harvesting in border areas, as was the case in the 1960s.

Population by area cluster in North Karelia 90000 80000

inhabitants

70000 60000 50000 40000 30000 20000 10000 0 2005 Core rural areas

Fig. 8.

2010 Distant rural areas

2015 Municipal centres

2020 Suburban areas

Expected Population Development in Clusters up to the Year 2020.

48

OLLI LEHTONEN AND MARKKU TYKKYLA¨INEN

WILL THE RECENT REGIONAL DEVELOPMENT PREVENT UTILIZATION OF OUR FOREST RESOURCES? The decline in fertility, ageing of the active population and persistent propensity for migration will lead to the changes in the ratio of people coming onto the labour market and leaving it and the respective volumes of labour available (Fig. 9). Where the ratio of the 15–19-year-age group to the 65–69-year group in 2005 was close to one in both the rural clusters and the municipal centres and about two in the suburban areas, it will decline by 2020 to about 0.5 in the rural areas and municipal centres and about one in the suburban areas, indicating a major ageing tendency. At the same time the numbers of retired people will have increased by 37 percent in the core rural areas, 32 percent in the municipal centres and 111 percent in the suburban areas by the end of 2020, mainly due to the high fertility after World War II. Two factors lie behind the decrease in the labour supply – one is demographic and the other socio-economic, and the both are contingent upon geography. The widening gap between the number of people coming onto and leaving the labour market in North Karelia will naturally lead to a decline in the supply of labour, and the differences between the clusters and the decline in reproduction with distance from the centre illustrate that the potential labour shortage will be more serious towards the peripheries. At the same time this decline in the labour supply may be attributed to low fertility in 1990s and to the selective out-migration that has been taking place since the mid-1960s. The roll-up calculations do not include any balancing mechanisms such as regional policy or in-migration, and thus they predict that the 15–19 year age group will be 72 percent smaller in the distant rural areas, 62 percent smaller in the core rural areas and 42 percent smaller in the municipal centres by the end of 2020 than it was in 2005. The decline will be more moderate in the suburban areas, however, only 5 percent. The small age groups will naturally lead to competition for young students and employees in industry and in education. The shortage of labour will also drive up wages and push employers to devise incentives to keep their employees and to attract new ones. Changes in ratio of people coming onto the labour market to those leaving it and the increasing need for labour in forestry will challenge the ability of qualified candidates to meet the increasing demand as anticipated. The purchase of roundwood from Russia is expected to decline sharply in the near future due

6000 5000 4000 3000 2000

Municipal centres

Suburban areas

People coming onto and leaving the labour market in 2005 15-19 65-69

Distant rural areas

7000 6000 5000 4000 3000 2000 1000 0

Distant rural areas

Municipal centres

Suburban areas

People coming onto and leaving the labour market in 2020 15-19 65-69

Core rural areas

Population Coming Onto and Leaving the Labour Market, by Postcode Clusters.

The Emerging Shortage of Labour in Forestry

1000 0 Core rural areas

Fig. 9.

49

50

OLLI LEHTONEN AND MARKKU TYKKYLA¨INEN

to Russian export duties, and the replacement of these imported raw materials with domestic timber will increase the demand for labour in North Karelia by at least 60 employees by 2010, mostly in forestry (Lehtonen & Tykkyla¨inen, 2008) and the aim of boosting the use of wood for energy generation is expected to increase employment in forestry by a further 150 employees by the end of 2015 (Pohjois-Karjalan bioenergiaohjelma, 2015, 2007, p. 54). Similarly workers would be required in the refining of biofuels from wood and wood residues, probably in 10–15 years’ time. Hence, the labour supply is a real issue in these vast but very sparsely populated remote areas. Such a change was not anticipated in the early 1990s, for instance, when the supply of forestry labour in Finland was estimated to be capable of meeting the demand (Elovirta, 1993, p. 18).

POTENTIALS OF NEW EMPLOYEES AND ENTREPRENEURS Polarization processes in terms of population, prosperity and living conditions in North Karelia are leading to decreases in the labour supply in the traditionally strong areas for forestry and making these areas less attractive. The traditional expectation has been that most of the forestry employees will come from rural areas, and in accordance with this, questionnaire surveys conducted in 1979 and 1989–1991 showed that over 50 percent of forestry students in Finland came from farms (Elovirta & Ihalainen, 1984, p. 17; Elovirta, 1993, p. 16–17). Long term out-migration from rural areas has nevertheless led to a situation in North Karelia at the moment where only 31 percent of students are from the two clusters of rural areas, 24 percent from the core rural areas and 7 percent from the distant rural areas (Table 6), while over half of the forestry students in the North Karelia, 55 percent, come from the cluster of municipal centres and 14 percent from that of suburban areas. If the students have a strong place attachment they will return to their home areas or similar settlements, and thus it will be important for the viability of certain subregional nodal structures in the future to keep commuting distances within reasonable limits. In relative terms, vocational schools attract forestry students most strongly from the cluster of distant rural areas, where these account for 4.5 percent of the 15–19-year-age group (Table 6). Such training is considered important in these areas, and students who have grown up there will probably return there to work, as they have become used to the

51

The Emerging Shortage of Labour in Forestry

Table 6. Students of Forestry in 2005, by Area Clusters. Cluster

Core rural areas Distant rural areas Municipal centres Suburban areas Total

Number 15–19 Age Number of Students as a % of the Students by Area of Areas Group, in 2005 Students 15–19 Age Group Cluster, in % 59

1,238

37

3.0

24.0

23

246

11

4.5

7.1

23

4,880

85

1.7

55.2

26

4,420

21

0.5

13.7

131

10,784

154

1.4

100

Source: Statistics Finland and Forestry Vocational School of North Karelia (2008).

lifestyle that prevails under such remote conditions. The vocational students from North Karelia seem to constitute the central pool of labour, because 85 percent of them are still in the same region two years after their graduation (Haarala, 2005, p. 72). In practice, however, increased place attachment does not provide much marginal for increasing the labour supply. As the 15–19-year-age group shrinks it is very probable that the number of forestry students will decrease at the same rate unless measures are taken to improve the attractiveness of forest work. Assuming that the popularity of the vocational school education in forestry remains at the same levels as at present in the various clusters, the largest absolute decline would take place in enrolment from the cluster of municipal centres, where the difference would amount to 40 students, or 46 percent (Fig. 10). The decline in the core rural areas would be more moderate, 19 students, although this represents more than 50 percent of the figure in 2005. By the same token, the decrease in students from the distant rural areas would be the smallest, on account of the small population potential, amounting to only four students, but this would still represent a relative decline of 63 percent. Polarization is a threat not only because of the expected spatial redistribution of enrolment but also because population growth in the suburban areas will not be able to compensate for the losses expected in other areas. To maintain student enrolment numbers in each cluster in 2020, the proportions of such students relative to their respective age group should be 6.0 percent in the core rural areas, 12.0 percent in the distant rural areas, 3.3 percent in the municipal centres and 0.5 percent in the suburban areas

OLLI LEHTONEN AND MARKKU TYKKYLA¨INEN

52

Calculated numbers of forestry students in postcode clusters 90 80

students

70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 Core rural areas

Distant rural areas 2005

Fig. 10.

2010

Municipal centres 2015

Suburban areas

2020

Projected Numbers of Forestry Students, by Area Cluster of Origin.

percent. If the current levels were to change only in the suburban areas, the popularity of going to forestry school in this cluster would have to increase four-fold, to 2.1 percent. Thus, even if the demand for labour were not to increase at all, vocational training in forestry would need to increase its attractiveness and careful consideration should be to where new students are recruited from. These problems in North Karelia are not unique, however, as similar trends prevail in many remote areas of northern Europe. Given that forest work is organized in small companies and managed by entrepreneurs, it may be observed that where only 14 percent of the total population of North Karelia lives in the two clusters of rural areas over 39 percent of the forestry entrepreneurs do so, while 27 percent live in the core rural areas and 12 percent in the distant rural areas. The rest of the forestry entrepreneurs, 61 percent, live in municipal centres (44 percent) or suburban areas (17 percent), even though over 86 percent of the total population of the North Karelia lives in areas falling into these two categories. Distant resources are best utilized on-site or in nearby areas, for otherwise it would be unprofitable to exploit them because of the long distances and high costs. Ageing raises one issue with regard to this group of entrepreneurs that needs to be solved in order to maintain the utilization of forest resources even at the current level. At the moment 23 percent of forestry entrepreneurs in North Karelia are under 40 years old and ageing will mean that over 40 percent are over 65 years old by the end of 2020 unless new people enter the business (Table 7). The age distribution of forestry entrepreneurs does

53

The Emerging Shortage of Labour in Forestry

Table 7. Ageing of Forestry Entrepreneurs, by Clusters. Proportions of Entrepreneurs Over 65 Years Old on the Assumption that the Current Entrepreneurs will Continue and No New Ones Will Enter the Business. Year Core Rural Areas Distant Rural Areas Municipal Centres Suburban Areas North Karelia

2005 2010 2015 2020

F

%

F

%

F

%

F

%

F

%

2 2 9 14

4.2 4.2 18.8 29.2

0 2 7 11

0.0 10.0 35.0 55.0

2 7 21 36

2.6 9.1 27.3 46.8

1 3 9 12

3.2 9.7 29.0 38.7

5 14 46 73

2.8 8.0 26.1 41.5

Source: Trade Association of Finnish Forestry and Earth Moving Contractors (2008).

not differ significantly between the area clusters (Kruskall-Wallis: w2 ¼ 3.29, df ¼ 3, p ¼ 0.35), so that ageing is likely to affect all areas in a similar way.

CONCLUSIONS This study points to a correspondence between socio-economic restructuring and the re-organization of spatial settlement structures. Economic development is the key element in shaping the socio-economic landscape, and the latest economic boom and restructuring towards advanced production and services can be seen to have generated an expanding suburbanization and led to the strengthening of a uninodal regional structure in North Karelia. At the moment forest resources are increasingly being utilized through the medium of a labour force living in the municipal centres, because the supply of competent labour in the distant and core rural areas has been on the decline. This supply is anticipated to decrease still further in the rural areas in the near future, so that intensified exploitation of the region’s forest resources will increasingly be dependent on employees living in municipal centres and even in the travel-to-work area of Joensuu. Demographic developments in the cluster of municipal centres outside Joensuu, where there is still a certain population mass left, will therefore be of great importance for relieving problems attached to the exploitation of rural resources in the future. It is these centres that will have to supply the labour force for forestry and its associated services within a reasonable commuting distance, especially in the fringe areas of North Karelia. Such agglomerations with their industrial infrastructure will serve as potential localities for developing new forest industries and the production of biofuels.

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Current regional development policy is heavily focused on promoting new technological solutions in the forest cluster, but efficiency has not been considered on a spatial dimension. Development measures should be undertaken in a more tailored way within the geographical space in order to enable the efficient use of forest resources in the future. In addition to traditional engineering approaches aimed at increasing mechanization, new policy options such as more efficient forest management through the enlarging of the forest holdings to be harvested, the use of foreign labour, contract work and the better utilization of redundant rural housing and infrastructure could offer potential solutions. In the remotest places compressed work schedules utilizing on-site infrastructure would be suitable for some employees. At any rate, if nothing is done, the aim of making more intensive use of forest resources and converting the forest biomass to energy will not be achieved in the northern peripheries.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Thanks are expressed to Malcolm Hicks for checking the language of the manuscript. This study is part of research project no. 117817 funded by the Academy of Finland and belonging to the SUSWOOD consortium in the Sustainable Production and Products Research Programme.

REFERENCES Alho, J. M. (1998). A stochastic forecast of the population of Finland, reviews 1998 (Vol. 4). Helsinki: Statistics Finland. Andersson, H. (1988). Urban structural dynamics in the city of Turku, Finland. Fennia, 162(2), 145–261. Braunerhjelm, P., Ruans, F., Seabright, P., Faini, R., & Norman, V. (2000). Integration and the regions of Europe: How the right policies can prevent polarization (Monitoring European Integration 10). London: Centre for Economic Policy Research. Bylund, E. (1989). Regional policy and regional research in Sweden. In: G. Gustafsson (Ed.), Development in marginal areas. University of Karlstad, Karlstad: Department of Geography. Castells, M., & Himanen, P. (2001). The Finnish model of the information society. Sitra Report Series 17. Collinge, C. (1999). Self-organisation of society by scale: A spatial reworking of regulation theory. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 17(October), 557–574. Dahlgren, B. (1989). Some reflections on the periphery – On processes and shifts of perspective. In: G. Gustafsson (Ed.), Development in marginal areas. University of Karlstad, Karlstad: Department of Geography.

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Dillon, W. R., & Goldstein, M. (1984). Multivariate analysis: Methods and applications. New York: Wiley. Dunford, M., & Perron, D. (1994). Regional inequality, regimes of accumulation and economic development in contemporary Europe. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 19, 163–182. Elovirta, P. (1993). Metsa¨tyo¨markkinoiden rakennemuutos ja metsa¨alalle rekrytoituminen, Metsa¨ntutkimuslaitoksen tiedonantoja 455. Helsinki: Finnish Forest Research Institute. Elovirta, P., & Ihalainen, R. (1984). Young people’s professional plans in forestry and agriculture, Folia Forestalia 591. Helsinki: Finnish Forest Research Institute. Gløersen, E., Dubois, A., Copus, A., & Schu¨rmann, C. (2005). Northern peripheral, sparsely populated regions in the European North. Nordregio Report 2005, No. 4. Haarala, M. (2005). Sijoittumisseuranta 2005, Ennakko 2010 hanke. Employment and Economic Development Centre for North Karelia, Tyo¨voimaosasto. Jones, H. (1990). Population geography (2nd ed.). London: Paul Chapman Publishing Ltd. Kera¨nen, H., Malinen, P., & Aulaskari, O. (2000). Suomen Maaseututyypit. Finnish Regional Research FAR, Research Papers 20. Lehtonen, O., & Tykkyla¨inen, M. (2008). Russian roundwood exports: The effects of tariffs on the Finnish border economy. Eurasian Geography and Economics, 49(6), 731–754. Morrill, R. L. (1995). Aging in place, age specific migration and natural decrease. Annals of Regional Science, 29(1), 41–66. Odland, J. (1988). Spatial autocorrelation. Newbury Park, CA: Sage Publications. OECD. (2006). The new rural paradigm. Paris: OECD Publications. Pacione, M. (1995). The geography of deprivation in rural Scotland. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers NS, 20(2), 173–192. Persson, L. (1995). Microregional fragmentation, contrasts between a welfare state and a market economy. Heidelberg: Physica-Verlag. Pettersson, O¨. (2001). Microregional fragmentation in a Swedish county. Papers in Regional Science, 80(4), 389–409. Plane, D., & Rogerson, P. (1994). The geographical analysis of population. New York: Wiley. Pohjois-Karjalan bioenergiaohjelma 2015. (2007). Regional Council of North Karelia, Joensuu. State Provincial Office of Eastern Finland. (2008). Unpublished statistics, Mikkeli. Statistics Finland. (2008). Available at http://www.stat.fi/meta/til/vaenn_en.html Suomen maaseututyypit 2006. (2006). Publications, No. 7. Helsinki: Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry. SuomiCD. (1996, 1998, 2002, 2006). Statistics Finland, Helsinki. Suorsa, K. (2007). Regionality, innovation policy and peripheral regions in Finland, Sweden and Norway. Fennia, 185(1), 15–29. Trade Association of Finnish Forestry and Earth Moving Contractors. (2008). Statistical material. Helsinki. Tykkyla¨inen, M. (2002). Spatial turns in manufacturing since 1970. Fennia, 180(1–2), 213–226. Vaattovaara, M. (1998). Pa¨a¨kaupunkiseudun sosiaalinen erilaistuminen. City of Helsinki Urban Facts, Research Series 1998, 7. Whitby, M., & Powe, N. (1995). Recent British experience of promoting rural development, rural realities: Trends and choices. In: A. Copus & P. Marr (Eds), Rural realities: Trends and choices. Proceedings of the 35th Seminar of the European Association of Agricultural Economists. Aberdeen: Aberdeen School of Agriculture.

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CHAPTER 2 FROM SUBURBIA TO RURAL BACKWATER: EXURBAN RURAL DEVELOPMENT IN GERMANY Florian Du¨nckmann ABSTRACT Purpose – The rural–urban fringe is a highly differentiated zone. This chapter takes a closer look at the different types of rural municipalities in the vicinity of metropolitan areas in the northern part of Germany. Methodology – The examination of the most important dimensions of rural development was done by means of a factor analysis. A cluster analysis was conducted in order to identify certain categories of municipal development paths and to ascertain possible causes for their spatial distribution (e.g., central-peripheral or regional). Findings – Five different types of development paths were identified: urban, residential, growing, agricultural and stagnant municipalities. The spatial distribution of these clusters suggests that the development of exurban areas is more fragmented than general explanations may suggest. Development paths which resemble a ‘‘rural gentrification’’ may first of all be found in ‘‘urban municipalities’’ and ‘‘residential municipalities’’. Anyway, often in immediate vicinity to these municipalities we either find municipalities which are characterized by a rapid growth of the population Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 57–78 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014005

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or still show clear traces of a local dominance of agriculture. Local development paths are shaped by a multitude of factors reaching from macro-economic impulses to the implications of regional planning and further down to the local socio-political dynamics in the municipality itself. Originality/value of chapter – The chapter analyses data on periurban development in Germany and contribute in this way to the scientific discourse on periurbanity in Western Europe.

INTRODUCTION The European countryside is changing profoundly: agriculture is in decline and city dwellers are moving increasingly to the villages. Zones of urban influence are steadily expanding into the surround regions of the cities. It is important to consider that rural areas do not necessarily lose their rural character in the course of this transformation process. On the contrary, we can often recognize a revival and reinforcement of certain ‘‘neo-rural’’ elements (nature conservation areas, affectionately restored farmhouses, stud farms, direct-from-the-farm shops, pick-your-own-farms etc.). The phenomenon of exurbanization, i.e., the shift of population growth from the suburban to the adjacent rural areas, is more than a mere overspill of the city into an undifferentiated countryside. It must be conceived as a transformation process in the course of which new types of land use and new groups with new perceptions of rurality appear in the countryside.

RURAL RESTRUCTURING AND DIFFERENTIATION The transformation of the countryside is an elementary one. Especially British rural geography discussed these processes intensively and coined the term ‘‘rural restructuring’’ (Marsden, Lowe, & Whatmore, 1990; Marsden, 1996; Tigges, Ziebarth, & Farnham, 1998). Although some authors question the adequacy of such a far-reaching theoretical concept in characterizing the social and economical changes experienced in the countryside of industrialized countries (Hoggart & Paniagua, 2001; Evans, Morris, & Winter, 2002), there is little doubt about which key processes make up the current transformation. It mainly consists of:  The shift from productivism to post-productivism in agriculture,  A transformation of rural areas from a space of production to a space of consumption,

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 An increasing susceptibility to gentrification processes in the course of which rural areas are transformed into ‘‘middle-class territories’’ and  An increasing disintegration and differentiation of rural places.

According to Marsden (1998), rural differentiation takes place mainly as a result of the gradual withdrawal of the nation-state from its once dominant role in rural development. In addition, once influential corporate networks (e.g., farmer’s associations) are losing ground. With this reduction in centralized regulation and support, new governance structures emerge in the countryside that entail both new options and new risks for rural regions and municipalities. And as the importance of agriculture decreases more and more, the dependency of rural development on only one core sector disappears, freeing a multiplicity to examine other possible development strategies. It is now up to the regional and local levels of regulation to find the most effective way to cope with the constant changes in social and economic conditions. Since potentials and capacities vary widely from place to place, no blueprint for rural development can be formulated and rural areas show a wide range of different development paths. In addition, regions and municipalities now find themselves competing directly for investors and high-income households. The degree of regional and local competitiveness depends on a complex series of internal and external factors. While the physical conditions for agricultural production (e.g., soil properties) no longer play a crucial role, consumption properties, like regional distinctiveness or a beautiful landscape, are becoming more important and the ‘‘authenticity’’ of a place is an economically significant factor, be it for the marketing of regional produce, for tourism or the recruitment of firms and wealthy households. The demand for landed property is particularly high in the countryside surrounding metropolitan areas. The potential for conflicts between these consumption uses and intensive agriculture is equally high. Whether the municipalities remain structured around agriculture or turn to other sectors – for example, recreation or housing – depends on the one hand on external factors (location, transportation connections, regional planning guidelines etc.). On the other hand, it depends on the internal pattern of interests and local politics (e.g., the division of political power between traditional elites and newcomers). The same is true for how the options either to promote local growth or to preserve the given structure are assessed. These different municipal development paths in effect lead to a fragmentation or at least to a differentiation of the countryside.

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In order to illustrate the general tendencies of rural differentiation Marsden, Murdoch, Lowe, Muton, and Flynn (1993) identify four ‘‘ideal types’’ of social and political formation in rural areas: Preserved countryside are characteristically the scenic regions near metropolitan areas, where local development strategies serve the preservationist interests of affluent commuter households. In the contested countryside, which lies beyond the immediate zone of urban influence, the traditional coalitions of farmers, landowners and local authorities are still influential. However, their position is increasingly contested by incomers who advocate a cautious mode of local development. In the paternalistic countryside large estates and farms are still in a position to guide regional development paths whereas the clientilistic countryside depends heavily on the stimulus of state subsidies. Even though the debate about rural restructuring and the emergence of the ‘‘new countryside’’ has been ongoing for more than 10 years, the idea that rural areas are currently experiencing a differentiation – or even fragmentation – is, from my point of view, still insufficiently documented by empirical work. Even though there is little doubt that differentiation is actually taking place in rural areas (Marsden, 1998) it is remarkable that the majority of the studies either analyze the general driving forces of rural change on a national and supra-national level or draw on the empirical research of local case studies. Few studies have been made on a regional level and take an empirical look at the spatial patterns that might emerge in the course of rural differentiation (Paquette & Domon, 2003). Since it is claimed that the important impulses for rural restructuring, like gentrification or the shift towards consumptive uses, emerge from the cities, the exurban hinterland of metropolitan areas should be especially interesting when it comes to highlighting the heterogeneity of different development paths. Therefore, this chapter takes a closer look at the different types of rural municipalities in the vicinity of metropolitan areas in the northern part of Germany. The fact that in the German planning system the responsibility for urban planning is situated at the local level, i.e., the municipalities are able to shape their development actively by means of local planning, makes Germany particularly interesting when it comes to looking at rural differentiation. Besides the distinctiveness of its planning system, the German case can make a valuable contribution to the regionally biased debate about rural restructuring. Although it is generally claimed that the restructuring process affects the countryside in the whole of Europe, detailed studies are relatively rare outside Great Britain, as for example, Evans et al. (2002) criticize. This is especially true for Germany, where academic studies mainly refer to concepts of regional development and often tend to see

From Suburbia to Rural Backwater

61

rurality as a kind of regional shortcoming that has to be compensated for with development initiatives. Few publications depart from a theoretical approach focusing on the changing meaning of rurality and explicitly deal with the idea of rural restructuring and the emergence of a new countryside (Laschewski, Teherani-Kro¨nner, & Bahner, 2002; Wilson, 2002). Like nearly everywhere else in industrialized countries, commuter distances in Germany are steadily increasing and exurban rural regions register among the highest rates of population growth (BBR, 2000). From the viewpoint of urban and regional planning, this shift of growth from the cities to rural areas is extremely worrying, since it is feared that it will lead to ‘‘dissolution of the city into the region’’ (ILS, 1997). For a long time, urban and regional planning in Germany only took marginal notice of the urban– rural contact zone, perceiving it exclusively in its relationship with and its implications for the city. Above all, these areas were regarded in terms of urban structures and functions and therefore interpreted as a ‘‘degenerated city’’. However, it is becoming ever more clear that the rural–urban fringe is a highly differentiated zone. A considerable part of rural Germany – the region 50 km and more around metropolitan areas – is in a state of radical transformation, not only in terms of its social structure but also its economic, political and cultural characteristics.

FACTOR ANALYSIS: DIMENSIONS OF DIFFERENTIATION For this analysis I examined the countryside surrounding three metropolitan areas in northern Germany: Hamburg, Bremen and Hanover. The examination of the differentiation of rural municipalities and its most important dimensions was done by means of a factor analysis. A cluster analysis was conducted in order to identify certain categories of municipal development paths and to ascertain possible causes for their spatial distribution (e.g., central-peripheral or regional) and the results of a survey conducted with about 100 municipal mayors was examined in order learn more about the internal conflicts and the development perspectives of the municipalities. The selection of the regions was based on the following considerations: On the one hand, I consciously abandoned the inclusion of an area in the Neue La¨nder in Eastern Germany, because the dynamic between urban and rural areas that prevails there is completely different from the circumstances in Western Germany (IO¨R, 1993). These strong differences between the old

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and the new Bundesla¨nder of the Federal Republic would have dominated the actual research question concerned with differentiation patterns between the municipalities. On the other hand the Bundesla¨nder Schleswig-Holstein and Lower Saxony have similar structures of communal organization with a separation between small units (municipalities) of political representation – often on a village level – and a superordinate administration level on which several municipalities are subsumed. Thus in these two Bundesla¨nder – in opposition to the rest of Germany – the identity of settlement unit and municipality is often still existent. A further question which had to be answered in the preliminary stages of the analysis concerns the definition of the object of investigation: rural municipalities in the surrounding countryside of metropolitan areas. Since the village unit is central to this investigation the selection was limited to municipalities with less than 5,000 inhabitants, in order to exclude small towns from the universe of the statistical analysis. However, this operational definition is not without problems, since when municipalities cover a number of villages, differences between the individual parts of the municipality are leveled. Moreover, some rural municipalities covering several villages exceed the number of 5,000 inhabitants and are thus excluded from the statistical universe. This fact is of importance, because these municipalities tend to concentrate in certain regions for example, the region Hanover. A wide radius around the metropolitan areas was included because long commuter distances of 50 km and more are no rarity. Besides that, the influence of large cities on rural municipalities can only be seen clearly when comparing them with other municipalities beyond the closer commuter range. Concerning the proximity to the city there were no restrictions, since, for example, between development axes we can find rural residential areas in direct neighborhood to urban areas. All municipalities with less than 5,000 inhabitants (N ¼ 674) from 17 Landkreise (counties) were included in this analysis. The factor analysis was based on 19 variables, which predominantly originate from the official statistics of the La¨nder Schleswig-Holstein and Lower Saxony (Table 1). These variables cover six important spheres of local development. With this selection I attempted to cover a broad spectrum with the smallest possible number of variables. For this reason I, for example, chose only the percentage of votes for the conservative party (CDU, Christlich Demokratische Union) and for the Green party as indicators for the voting behavior in the municipality since the numbers of voters for these two parties only partially correlate. The list of the demographic factors could also have included further characteristics (e.g., relative migration rate),

From Suburbia to Rural Backwater

Table 1.

63

Variables of the Factor Analysis.

General characteristics IN2002 PG8795 PG9502 RESP SETT

Number of inhabitants in 2002 Population growth between 1987 and 1995 Population growth between 1995 and 2002 Average real estate price Settlement area as per cent – portion of the entire communal area

Demography YOU ELD CHYOU CHELD HOUSEH

Youth ratio (o15 years) Elderly ratio (W64 years) Proportional change of the youth ratio between 1987 and 2002 Proportional change of the elderly ratio between 1987 and 2002 Average household size

Labor market WORKD UNEMP

Workplace density Unemployment rate

Communal tax revenue TAXA Real estate tax A (agricultural land) per inhabitant TAXB Real estate tax B (built land) per inhabitant BTAX Business tax per inhabitant Agriculture ARAGR CATUN Voting habits CDU GREEN

Area used for agriculture as per cent – portion of the entire communal area Cattle units (without horses) per inhabitant Per cent – portion of conservative voters (CDU, Christlich Demokratische Union) (Election for the Bundestag 2002) Per cent – portion of green voters (Election for the Bundestag 2002)

whereby, however, certain demographic issues would have entered the investigation more than once. This would have given the population structure a weight which does not correspond to its actual importance for the differentiation of municipalities. For example, if the relative migration balance would have been taken up as a variable immigration would have been measured twice: on the one hand, in the relative migration balance and on the other hand, indirectly in the population growth. The factors were extracted using a main component analysis. Later, they were rotated in a Varimax rotation. Non-existing values were replaced by average values. For the sake of clarity only loadings larger than 0.2 or smaller than 0.2 are specified in the table. Values of over 0.5 and below 0.5 are stressed.

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The resulting factor model is able to explain approximately 50 per cent of the existing variance between the municipalities with four factors. Regarding the large heterogeneity of the municipalities this value can be considered as sufficient (Table 2). The first factor loads positively on variables which are clearly associated with agriculture (above all TAXA and CATUN). Furthermore, with the portion of the conservative CDU voters it contains a variable which points to a socio-cultural dimension beyond the pure economic structure: The traditional agricultural milieux is still very committed to the conservative party, and it can be assumed that in the municipalities which exhibit a high value of factor 1 not only the farmers but also the predominant part of the non-agricultural population sees in agriculture the most important pillar of village life. Factor 1 thus Table 2.

Result of the Factor Analysis: Sorted Matrix of the Factor Loadings. Factor 1 – Agricultural Character

TAXA CATUN CDU IN2002 SETT ARAGR UNEMP YOU CHYOU PG9502 ELD HOUSEH TAXB WORKD BTAX GREEN CHELD PG8795 RESP Eigenvalue Per cent of variance explained Per cent of variance explained cumulative

.847 .763 .695 .658 .593 .496 .331 .213

Factor 2 – Demographical Dynamic

Factor 3 – Factor 4 – Urbanity Exclusivity

.254 .221 .386 .265 .824 .794 .719 .668 .709 .678 .543 .288 .250

3.378 17.78

2.605 13.71

1.948 10.25

17.78

31.49

41.74

.259

.627 .622 .540 .509 1.650 8.69 50.43

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characterizes the ‘‘agricultural character’’ of a municipality. This factor is rather linked with small municipalities, which exhibit a relatively small settlement area. The second factor covers demographic issues above all. It shows the degree to which the population dynamics of the municipality are shaped by the immigration of young households, i.e., by high values of YOU, CHYOU and PG9502. It describes the ‘‘demographic dynamic’’ of the municipality. Factor 3 shows high loadings on variables which can generally be considered as indicators of ‘‘urbanity’’: It refers to both economic dimensions (WORKD, TAXB and also BTAX) and socio-demographic characteristics like the negative loading on HOUSEH which is to be explained by a relatively high portion of households with only one and two persons. Factor 4 comprises variables whose connection does not reveal itself at first sight. Still the loadings on the two demographic variables (CHELD and PG8795) can be interpreted easily: They refer to the degree to which the municipality experienced a significant inflow of new households until 1995s. Now, more and more members of these households reach the retirement age. However, one may not think of this aging process as a piecemeal drain of unattractive peripheral municipalities due to an increased out-migration of the younger generations. On the contrary, the positive loadings on the variables RESP and GREEN suggest that this factor rather indicates a closure of attractive rural housing sites. Especially the sympathizers of the Green Party tendentiously have a good education, a high income, an urban life-style and also a pronounced want for a nature-near residential setting. Since it represents a relatively complex structure of cause and effect it is not easy to designate factor 4. I called the factor ‘‘exclusivity’’ whereby this does not mean that these residential sites are limited to households of the upper classes. It should rather denominate an unplanned or conscious tendency to ‘‘close’’ former target regions of urban–rural migration. This tendency to ‘‘roll up the drawbridge’’ is often promoted by the same people who have just moved to countryside in search for a quiet life.

CLUSTER ANALYSIS: TYPES OF DEVELOPMENT PATHS An examination of the factors can give information about the dimensions of differentiation of the rural municipalities. However, it cannot show whether there are certain types of communal development paths and to what extent

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these categories arrange themselves in certain spatial patterns. For this purpose the factor analysis was complemented by a cluster analysis. The cluster analysis aims at constructing more or less homogeneous classes of municipalities which show a maximum of heterogeneity between them. The identified categories should be as consistent and as distinguishable as possible. This inductive formation of categories was based on the factor values which were attained in the factor analysis. The combination of a factor analysis with a subsequent treatment of the factor values in a cluster analysis is common for geographical procedures of regionalization (see Bahrenberg, Giese, & Nipper, 1992). The cluster analysis was executed using the Ward procedure, which can be characterized by the fact that it identifies clusters which are quite equal in size. This procedure was indicated since some municipalities fall out of the general framework due to their local characteristics. Using the Ward procedure such outliers are rather forced into an existing cluster than put alone in an own category. The five clusters show a quite clear picture of their factor values (Table 3): The first four clusters can each be characterized by one factor which has a particularly high value (average value W 1.0). In cluster 1, factor 3 (urbanity) particularly stands out, thus this group was identified as ‘‘urban municipalities’’. The structure of the variables also emphasizes this impression: These are relatively large municipalities with a remarkably high level of prices for real estate and a high workspace density. On the other side, agricultural characteristics (TAXA, ARAGR, CATUN and in summary factor 1) are clearly less pronounced than in the other municipalities. Cluster 2 (‘‘agricultural municipalities’’) is linked to the high values of factor 1. However, this cluster shows particularly low values for factor 4 (exclusivity). This suggests that it relates to municipalities, where the process of rural transformation, comprising the transition from productive, agricultural uses to consumptive uses like housing, has not yet taken place. In these municipalities the productivist agriculture still represents the most important pillar of village life. In addition, the low real estate prices indicate that these villages are not particularly attractive for residential purposes perhaps because they are located on the periphery or hold little attractiveness due to their function as intensively cultivated agricultural areas. The typical municipality of cluster 3 embodies the exurban counterpart of the first two clusters in as much as it has no urban character because it is rather small and shows a low density of settlement and workplaces. Besides, indicators for intensive agriculture – first of all CATUN – are rather insignificant. However, some variables indicate a certain urban influence,

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Table 3.

Result of the Cluster Analysis: Average Values of the Variables for Five Clusters. Cluster 1 – Urban Communes

0.780 Factor 1 – Agricultural character Factor 2 – 0.297 Demographic dynamic 1.155 Factor 3 – Urbanity 0.462 Factor 4 – Exclusivity 2116 IN2002 PG8795 9.47 PG9502 6.32 103.71 RESP 10.23 SETT YOU 17.71 17.54 ELD CHYOU 34.49 CHELD 43.17 HOUSEH 2.310 24.27 WORKD UNEMP 5.28 TAXA 3.74 37.06 TAXB BTAX 101.39 ARAGR 60.45 CATUN 0.40 CDU 39.34 9.12 GREEN Number of 86 communes

Cluster 2 – Cluster 3 – Mature Cluster 4 – Agricultural Residential Growing Communes Communes Communes

Cluster 5 – Stagnant Communes

0.269

0.473

0



All Communes

1.478

0.175

0.201

0.167

1.121

0.845

0

0.309

0.217

0.169

0.689

0

0.510

1.087

0.287

0.690

0

378 2.49 3.56 34.48 2.64 19.61 16.69 21.34 26.64 2.496 9.91 4.54 16.76 22.40 69.49 81.90 4.84 48.82 7.31 107

780 15.96 6.31 71.16 3.93 18.07 15.30 29.86 56.64 2.686 9.49 4.65 7.80 26.77 21.28 74.54 1.18 40.37 9.77 155

1378 12.64 15.13 58.09 4.86 21.30 13.89 64.02 34.60 2.674 10.73 5.78 6.17 26.69 22.31 75.70 1.32 38.77 7.32 177

1618

6.13 2.24 32.13 5.05 16.55 18.66 18.20 26.53 2.689 11.01 5.34 6.88 21.90 19.40 67.97 1.42 34.32 5.69 149

1229 9.94 7.29 57.57 5.02 18.73 16.17 36.53 37.92 2.605 12.18 5.16 8.08 26.29 39.01 72.76 1.76 39.82 7.75 674

Notes: 1. The clusters were identified using the following procedure: First a hierarchical cluster analysis (Ward procedure) was executed using of the squared Euclidean distances as a measure for distance. Subsequently, the clusters were optimized with the k-means algorithm. 2. The cases in which the average value of the cluster deviates significantly (99 per cent level of significance) from the average value of the remaining municipalities. In case of a positive deviation the star () stands on the left and in case of a negative deviation on the right of the figure.

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for example, the real estate prices or with the percentage of votes for the Green Party. These are municipalities, which still give an impression of rurality concerning their physiognomy. However, they have experienced a noticeable change in their economic and social structure. The low workplace density combined with relatively high real estate prices are characteristics of dormitory villages. However, since the largest part of in-migration of commuters took place before 1995 the municipalities in cluster 3 can be called ‘‘mature residential municipalities’’. Also in the municipalities in cluster 4 the residential function dominates. However, in recent time they are still growing. This is not only shown by the high growth rates but also by the figures for YOU and CHYOU which are clearly above average. The increase of the population in these ‘‘growing municipalities’’ is due to the in-migration of young families. Considering the fact that population growth is automatically associated with construction activities we can suggest that many municipalities in this group might have gone through a noticeable physiognomic change in which they have lost part of their former village character. Finally, cluster 5 has negative means in all factors. A look at the demographic variables shows that these municipalities were only marginally affected by the process of sub- and exurbanization: Their growth rate was below the average both until and after 1995. The low values for CHYOU and CHELD indicate a relatively stable population structure especially in comparison to the ‘‘growing municipalities’’ and the ‘‘mature residential municipalities’’. The population structure is characterized by a relatively low percentage of children and young people and a high ratio of elderly. In many characteristics this cluster displays similarities with the ‘‘agricultural municipalities’’ (weak population growth and low real estate prices, small increase of young people and low revenues of real estate tax B). The crucial difference, however, is the lack of an apparent agricultural structure in these municipalities. Thus, in comparison to the other municipalities we can determine a rather weak development dynamic in this cluster and therefore call it ‘‘stagnant municipalities’’. However, this designation only refers to the development indicators drawn from the official statistical databases and implies no statement about possible social, cultural or political changes which do not manifest themselves in statistic numbers. In addition, it has to be noted that these municipalities are called ‘‘stagnant municipalities’’ in comparison with the whole of the municipalities examined. In another context (e.g., in comparison to rural regions in the Neue La¨nder) they could quite appear as dynamic municipalities.

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SPATIAL PATTERNS How strong are the spread effects of the metropolitan areas? Where are these categories located in space? And which consequences can be derived from this distribution? In Map 1 we can identify different spatial patterns of regional and local differentiation. In the surroundings of the metropolitan area of Hamburg we can identify a circular structure where the closest and almost full ring around the metropolitan area is made up by ‘‘urban municipalities’’ which also show a spatial orientation towards the development axes. Beyond this ring a central-peripheral succession from ‘‘mature residential municipalities’’ over ‘‘growing municipalities’’ up to ‘‘agricultural municipalities’’ or ‘‘stagnant municipalities’’ can be detected. This succession is particularly recognizable along the axis Hamburg-Bremen. The close association of the ‘‘mature residential municipalities’’ to the proximity of the metropolitan areas shows that certain characteristics of this group, for example, high real estate price and high percentage of Green voters, can indeed be interpreted as urban characteristics that stand in a close relationship to villages that function as residential municipalities for commuters. This does not mean, however, that these municipalities would have taken over an urban character. In these municipalities the villages very often appear to be very idyllic. It is in this zone where the restructuring of rural areas and the functional change from productive to consumptive uses (e.g., paddocks, golf courses, recreation areas) is particularly visible (Map 1). The succession from ‘‘mature residential municipalities’’ to ‘‘growing municipalities’’ around Hamburg can be interpreted as a sequence of ‘‘growth rings’’. As mentioned in the previous sections, the ‘‘mature residential municipalities’’ are characterized by a remarkable decrease of population growth after 1995 and by evidences of a ‘‘closure’’. The location of the ‘‘growing municipalities’’ shows that the focus of in-migration continues to shift further into the exurban area. However, only a detailed analysis of the regional and local development paths can finally clarify what might be the real causes of this spatial structure – the influence of superordinate regional planning or a shift of internal communal politics. Apart from this circular structure we can identify obvious differences between the metropolitan areas. The category of the ‘‘stagnant municipalities’’ clearly concentrates in Lower Saxony, particularly in the south of Bremen. To a certain degree this pattern might originate from the fact that the municipalities of Lower Saxony often cover more than one village and are generally larger than in Schleswig-Holstein. Thus existing differences between

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Map 1.

Location of the Communes of the Five Clusters.

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settlement units, for example, between central places and smaller, agriculturally shaped settlements, that belong to the same municipality might in parts be leveled. If one would analyze these individual villages separately, they would probably have been assigned to a different cluster (e.g., ‘‘agricultural municipalities’’). Since the reference frame of this analysis always lies in the universe of all surveyed municipalities, the strong differentiation of the municipalities in Schleswig-Holstein tends to obscure the existing differences between the municipalities of Lower Saxony. However, this effect should not be overestimated, since the influence of Hamburg and partly of Bremen is also clearly visible in the regions of Lower Saxony. Even if in the case of Hanover and Bremen only few municipalities of the suburban zone could be included in the analysis the spatial distribution of the ‘‘urban municipalities’’ and the ‘‘mature residential municipalities’’ shows clearly that the spread effects of Hamburg on its hinterland are obviously stronger and more widespread than in the case of Bremen or Hanover. This may be due to the absolute size and the strong economic impulses of Hamburg. Some communal clusters show a regional concentration: Remarkable is, for example, the difference between the northwest and the east of Hamburg. One recognizes a much stronger agricultural imprint in the northwest, while in the east a concentration of ‘‘mature residential municipalities’’ is evident. This fact can be traced back to natural conditions of farming and to historical differences in the agrarian structure. Besides that, in the eastern part the influence of the city of Luebeck as the further catchment area for commuters may be tangible. Last but not least, the attractiveness of the landscape could also contribute to the fact that in the eastern part of Hamburg the residential function is more pronounced. The region south of Hanover stands out in a completely different way: The concentration of ‘‘stagnant municipalities’’ and the absence of any ‘‘growing municipalities’’ is conspicuous. These municipalities are even striking in comparison to the majority of the other municipalities in the cluster of the ‘‘stagnant municipalities’’ since they constantly have extraordinary low values of all factors especially concerning the ‘‘demographic dynamic’’. This is no characteristic of the small municipalities since the entire region shows a negative migration rate. Apparently the effects of Hanover reach the region only very weakly. Being traditionally a region where handicraft and small industries shaped the economic structure of rural areas the agriculture plays no dominant role in the countryside. In the context of our investigation this region can be conceived as a peripheral rural area. Besides these broad distribution patterns there are also differences between vicinal municipalities inside one region. Such a small-scale differentiation is

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especially apparent looking at the distribution of the ‘‘growing municipalities’’. Municipalities of this cluster are present in nearly every part of the studied area, with the exception of the inner circle around Hamburg and of the region south of Hanover. We may attribute this structure to the influence of regional planning which tries to concentrate the building activity in individual nodes of growth according to the model of ‘‘decentralized concentration’’. The isolated ‘‘urban municipalities’’ which can be found in relatively peripheral locations originate from special local conditions. These are municipalities which have a relatively high workplace density, either because their local economic structure is characterized by a dominant touristic sector or because they possess the character of small country towns. Many municipalities in the exurban zone demonstrate an enormously high growth rate. Moreover, many of these settlements have experienced a fundamental transformation in their population structure within a short period of time. ‘‘Growing municipalities’’ are target areas for a substantial influx of young families and accordingly register a rapid increase in numbers of children and young people. ‘‘Mature residential municipalities’’ experience the opposite development: Their population structure is shaped by a process of rapid aging. Thus they show a possible future stage of the ‘‘growing municipalities’’ when the in-migration of young households will eventually decrease. Due to their small population, rural municipalities are especially vulnerable to the dangers of an unbalanced age structure – either a surplus of children and young people or of seniors. However, the analysis also shows that the influence of the individual metropolitan area on its hinterland can be very different. The impact of the growing metropolis Hamburg on its surrounding areas is much stronger than that of Bremen or Hanover. Yet the small-scaled differentiation of municipalities, especially in the hinterland of Hamburg, shows that exurbanization is more than simply a gradual extension of the city into a more or a less uniform rural area. Nor does it lead to a homogenization of the affected countryside. The development paths may differ strongly from municipality to municipality, so that ‘‘urban municipalities’’ can be located in direct vicinity to ‘‘agricultural municipalities’’ or ‘‘stagnant municipalities’’.

INTERNAL CONFLICTS In order to learn more about the internal factors that shape the trajectory of municipal development a survey with a sample of about 100 mayors was conducted. The questionnaire that was sent to the local authorities

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contained questions about local facilities and the development of settlement areas as well as about future perspectives and internal conflicts. Especially this last subject is interesting in the context of this discussion because it touches on a topic that is believed to be at the very core of the process of restructuring and differentiation: the assumed emergence of a preservationist and amenity-oriented lobby that grows as more and more newcomers from urban areas move into a village. If this assumption is true, then a significant distinction in the estimation of conflicts between the different categories of municipalities would necessarily be identifiable. A first look at the answers to the questions about the main areas of conflict in the municipality (see Fig. 1) suggests that local politics in small municipalities are a political domain with very few disagreements. Especially the internal conflict issues, like settlement and industrial areas or agriculture, are generally regarded as unproblematic. However, a look at the accompanying comments provides a more differentiated picture of the heterogeneity of the respective local situations. On the expansion of settlement areas a variety of conflict issues were mentioned: (A) a general incompatibility between residential and agricultural or industrial uses, (B) the rejection of new construction sites by parts of the residential population living in the immediate vicinity, (C) the load that the additional infrastructure (roads, extension of a water purification plant etc.) means on the municipal budget or (D) the refusal of farmers to sell their

Fig. 1.

Evaluation of Local Conflicts.

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land. In addition, some more general comments concerning the development path of the village are interesting. In some cases it is mentioned that it is the native population, which criticizes any form of growth, especially the expansion of settlement areas. In other cases it said that newcomers generally reject new residential zones. No significant differences between the clusters were to be determined in terms of conflicts concerning new sites for housing. However, the comments show some characteristic elements. Some specific constellations were exclusive to ‘‘agricultural municipalities’’ such as reports that the farmers refused to sell their land or that the range for new construction activities is limited due to existing mass animal husbandry enterprises. These comments indicate that agriculture indeed still has a dominant position in these municipalities. Agriculture is often seen as a key factor for the general development strategy of the municipality as the following comment clearly reveals: ‘‘We should keep in mind the fact that our village is a farm village and it should also remain so’’. For some ‘‘growing municipalities’’ it is reported that there is local resistance against further growth. Thus one mayor reports: ‘‘Since 1989 the municipality has grown from 2,800 to 4,000 inhabitants, which has partly led to displeasure among the established residents’’. In another case the formation of a citizens’ initiative against a new residential area is mentioned. Mayors from ‘‘stagnant municipalities’’, in contrast, indicate that there were no such conflicts since there was no demand for building land. If a municipality seeks to counteract the tendency towards becoming a dormitory village, it is necessary to attract employers and jobs. However, this may come along with adverse effects (noise, pollution, traffic etc.) for the amenity of the resident population, which in some municipalities leads to conflicts with residents living adjacent to such projects. Therefore, some mayors argue that industrial settlement should be limited to the cities and thereby accept or even welcome the character of a dormitory village for their municipality. A correlation (Spearmann’s rank correlation) of this answers with the factors identified in the factor analysis shows a slight but significant increase in potential for conflict that goes along with ascending values of the factor ‘‘exclusivity’’ (r ¼ 0.205). And the statistical test that compares the different clusters regarding their rank (Kuskal-Wallis test) reveals a significant difference between the ‘‘mature residential municipalities’’ and remaining municipalities. Nearly half of the mayors of ‘‘mature residential municipalities’’ see a potential field of conflict when it comes to the development of business and industry in their municipality. A possible explanation for this obvious difference may be found in a supposed distinction between two migration movements: ‘‘Exurbanization’’

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would then refer to a movement towards explicitly rural environments while ‘‘displaced urbanization’’ would lack pro-rural migration motives, averting urban areas because of the high real estate prices (Halfacree, 2001; Mitchell, 2004). While the first type opts consciously against an urban environment, the latter seeks as much urban infrastructure as possible and therefore welcomes the settlement of firms, a sign for the ‘‘urbanization’’ of the residential site. Even though this explanation works with crude generalizations concerning the complex motivational background of migration, it assumes that migration motives and the perception of the village vary among the different types of municipalities. ‘‘Mature residential municipalities’’ were characterized by the fact that although they show clear signs of an urban social structure, their physiognomy appears to be still rural. Therefore, in these municipalities we would find a high portion of typical exurbanites who appreciate the idyllic rurality of their residence. Often they commute to their urban workplaces and shoulder substantial temporal and financial costs just in order to ‘‘get the away from the city’’. Accordingly, their readiness to accept impairments to their amenity in order to foster the settlement of jobs in the municipality is quite small. The fact that agriculture is generally seen as an unproblematic issue can have several reasons. On the one hand, many such enterprises were removed from the village center in the course of farm consolidation programs, so that today there are only few points of contact between the resident population and the productivist agriculture. On the other hand, agriculture – although it is endangered today – is still seen as the core activity in rural areas. Many comments make clear that agriculture should have a privileged position in the village: ‘‘In a place that was shaped by agriculture the inhabitants know that they must live with farmers’’; ‘‘agriculture came first and newcomers must accept and tolerate this.’’ These statements, however, also show that this view is not shared by all inhabitants and that some feel themselves disturbed. Substantial protest up to the founding of citizens’ initiatives is raised against intensive pig husbandry or against the yield of liquid manure. Some more general comments indicate that there is a clear polarity between newcomers and natives concerning the valuation of the role agriculture plays in the village: ‘‘With the newcomers the farmers do not have the understanding they deserve’’; ‘‘the new inhabitants do not comprehend completely the meaning of agriculture’’ or simply ‘‘conflicts due to influx of townsfolk’’. It is remarkable how closely the conflict between agricultural production and residency is linked to the confrontation between the ‘‘old’’ village and the new citizens, although only a minor part of the native population – however one may define it – practices agriculture. This points to

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a cultural shift that goes along with the increased influx of households from the city. In the course of exurbanization new values, which stand in contrast to the traditional village culture, are brought into these municipalities, and the dominant role of agriculture is increasingly contested. Does this mean that the countryside will inevitably lose its rural character as the migration of households from urban into adjacent rural areas continues? A look at the development perspectives of the mayors shows a totally different picture. The interviewees were asked whether they would prefer a development with an urban or with a rural character for their municipality and approximately 50 per cent of the mayors selected the maximum value for rurality, i.e., they opted for a development with a strongly rural character. Thus a ‘‘development with a rural character’’ can still be considered the dominant idea guiding the municipalities in the exurban area.

CONCLUSION When looking at the possible implications for the rural areas affected by exurbanization it is important to stress that this migratory movement not only leads to a change in the socio-demographic structure as especially young families and affluent households move to the countryside (Phillips, 1993; Schmied, 2002). These processes also go along with a political and cultural transformation on the local level of the municipalities and villages. Newcomers who move from the urban areas to the countryside in order to ‘‘escape’’ the city bring along their ‘‘urban’’ cultural background and with it a set of values and ideas. In this manner, they soon start to question the traditional socio-political structure of local politics. When Cloke, Phillips, and Thrift (1998) and Hoggart (1997) claim that rural areas are subject to colonization of the middle class, they not only look at the socio-demographic change of population and of household structures but also at the ideological and cultural shift: The ideal picture of rurality held by the newcomers contains central social values of the middle class like community, stability or order. Likewise, aesthetic landscapes and ‘‘green’’ ideas became more important and the conventional mode of agricultural production was increasingly challenged. From the point of view of the city, the countryside represents the area between development axes and growth nodes – an area left out by urbanization where apparently no or only small-scale development takes place. This perspective obstructs the view of the profound changes taking place in these areas. It should have become obvious that small municipalities in the hinterland of metropolitan areas all took very different development

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paths; although none of these rural settlements show larger signs of urbanization. Thus, if one concentrates on absolute figures of demographic development in the course of suburbanization, theses cases are easy to overlook. There we will not find any concentration of construction, which may point to a dynamic process of urbanization. However, the low rate of growth does not necessarily equal a lack of attractiveness. Rurality is instead seen as an asset and not as a shortcoming. The conservation of rural and apparently ‘‘pre-urban’’ elements – for example, an open landscape or old outbuildings – should not be ascribed to an eventual lack of alternative uses but constitutes the result of conscious action. Especially in the proximity of metropolitan areas, most people see rurality as a positive quality of their residential environment and they are ready to pay an appropriate price for it. In order to conserve or/and develop this rurality, however, it is necessary to abandon the path of growth. However, the results of the factor and cluster analysis suggest that the development of exurban areas is more fragmented than these general explanations may suggest. Development paths which resemble a ‘‘rural gentrification’’ may first of all be found in ‘‘urban municipalities’’ and ‘‘mature residential municipalities’’. Anyway, often in immediate vicinity to these municipalities we either find municipalities which are characterized by a rapid growth of the population or still show clear traces of a local dominance of agriculture. So, there is no blueprint for rural development in exurban areas since local development paths are shaped by a multitude of factors reaching from macro-economic impulses to the implications of regional planning and further down to the local socio-political dynamics in the municipality itself.

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Hoggart, K. (1997). The middle classes in rural England 1971–1991. Journal of Rural Studies, 13(3), 253–273. Hoggart, K., & Paniagua, A. (2001). What rural restructuring? Journal of Rural Studies, 17(3), 41–62. ILS Institut fu¨r Landes- und Stadtentwicklungsforschung des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen. (Ed.). (1997). Am Rand der Stadt. Ballungsraumperipherie und Planungsschwerpunkt kommunaler Stadtentwicklungspolitik. ILS, Dortmund. IO¨R Institut fu¨r O¨kologische Raumentwicklung, (Ed.). (1993). Entwicklungstendenzen im Umland groXer Sta¨dte in den neuen Bundesla¨ndern am Anfang der 90er Jahre. IO¨R, Dresden. Laschewski, L., Teherani-Kro¨nner, P., & Bahner, T. (2002). Recent rural restructuring in East and West Germany: Experiences and backgrounds. In: K. Halfacree, I. Kovach & R. Woodward (Eds), Leadership and local power in European rural development (pp. 145–172). Aldershot: Ashgate. Marsden, T. (1996). Rural geography trend report: The social and political bases of rural restructuring. Progress in Human Geography, 20(2), 246–258. Marsden, T. (1998). New rural territories: Regulating the differentiated rural spaces. Journal of Rural Studies, 14(1), 107–117. Marsden, T., Lowe, P., & Whatmore, S. (Eds). (1990). Rural restructuring: Global processes and their responses. London: Fulton. Marsden, T., Murdoch, J., Lowe, P., Muton, R., & Flynn, A. (1993). Constructing the countryside. London: UCL Press. Mitchell, C. (2004). Making sense of counterurbanisation. Journal of Rural Studies, 20(1), 15–34. Paquette, S., & Domon, G. (2003). Changing ruralities, changing landscapes: Exploring social recomposition using a multi-scale approach. Journal of Rural Studies, 19(4), 425–444. Phillips, M. (1993). Rural gentrification and the processes of class colonisation. Journal of Rural Studies, 9(2), 123–140. Schmied, D. (2002). What price peace and quiet? Rural gentrification and affordable housing. The example of Cotswold District, South West England. Bayreuth: University of Bayreuth. Tigges, L. M., Ziebarth, A., & Farnham, J. (1998). Social relationships in locality and livelihood: The embeddedness of rural economic restructuring. Journal of Rural Studies, 14(2), 203–219. Wilson, G. A. (2002). Post-Produktivismus in der europa¨ischen Landwirtschaft: Mythos oder Realita¨t? Geographica Helvetica, 57(2), 109–126.

CHAPTER 3 WHY DID RUSSIA FAIL IN ITS AGRICULTURAL REFORM? A COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS OF PROPERTY RIGHTS IN RUSSIA AND THE BALTIC COUNTRIES Ilkka Alanen ABSTRACT Purpose – Chapter 3 analyses if Russia’s current problems in agriculture, particularly the slow growth of labour productivity are due primarily to the weak property rights of shareholders stemming from the privatisation and therefore attributed to Russia’s failure to implement the family farm project as supposed by the World Bank and many other international institution. Methodology – To compare the development of labour productivity and farm structure in Russia and the Baltic countries after decollectivisation. Findings – The comparisons show that the outcomes in Latvia and Lithuania are not in fact any better than in Russia, even though largescale farms here have largely been replaced by individual farms. They also show that the most likely explanation for the extremely poor results in Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 79–105 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014006

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Lithuania lies in the overly strong property rights of shareholders. Estonia’s success compared to Russia’s failure cannot be explained away by stronger property rights or family farming, but the reasons lie in the country’s more successful application of Soviet farming traditions, the capability of the middle class of former Soviet farms to maintain and modernise large-scale production in capitalist conditions. Originality/value of chapter – It calls into question one of the basic interpretations presented by World Bank, IMF, OECD and EBRD.

INTRODUCTION Researchers involved in projects financed by the World Bank, the OECD, the EBRD and other international organisations all seem to share the conviction that Russia’s current problems, particularly the slow growth of labour productivity, are due primarily to the weak property rights of shareholders stemming from the privatisation and re-organisation of Soviet farms. This, in turn, is attributed to Russia’s failure to implement the family farm project as recommended by the World Bank. Meanwhile, property rights in the Baltic countries are stronger, which is thought to explain why the reforms there have produced better results. Indeed the Baltic countries provide a useful point of comparison for the present analysis of property rights issues in Russia: while they share a common history, the Baltic countries differ from Russia in terms of their privatisation policies and the way the reforms have been carried out. This chapter compares the development of labour productivity and farm structure in Russia and the Baltic countries. The comparisons will show that the outcomes in Latvia and Lithuania are not in fact any better than in Russia, even though large-scale farms here have largely been replaced by individual farms. They also show that the most likely explanation for the extremely poor results in Lithuania lies in the overly strong property rights of shareholders. Furthermore, this chapter analyses the structure of dairy production in the Baltic countries to show that Estonia’s success compared to Russia’s failure cannot be explained away by stronger property rights or family farming, but the reasons lie in the country’s successful application of Soviet farming traditions, the desire of the middle classes on large farms to persist with large-scale production and the presence of political opportunities to do so. Under the conditions of capitalism, then, the development of large-scale production started on the strength of the same professional and

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practical knowledge, formal and informal institutions, cognitive models, etc. that were originally created under conditions of socialism on the basis of large-scale production.

SHOCK THERAPY AND ITS BACKGROUND Elster, Offe, and Preuss (1998, p. 3) simplify reality when they claim that, with the single exception of Poland, the post-socialist revolution was not preceded by any sustained organisational or political work by a counterelite. The Baltic countries did in fact see such counter-elites emerge in the struggle for independence. Especially in Estonia, the counter-elite had a fairly elaborate political programme that was ultimately aimed at independence (Palm, 1992). However, because of the pace at which the changes were moving ahead, the difficulties of predicting where they were heading, the newly elected officials’ lack of experience with market economy and the lack of financial resources, these elites had to rely on international organisations for support. The relationship of dependence that followed was further heightened as the small national economies became separated from their long-standing trading partners and as they sought political support from the international community for their newly gained independence. It is probably for these reasons rather than because of the underdevelopment of the counter-elite that the Baltic countries chose to leave the tasks of drafting, planning and monitoring the reform policy to technocratic international organisations, particularly the IMF, the World Bank, the OECD and the EBRD, which had considerable experience in managing national economies and their financial resources. However, it is clear from the country differences in the application of the same guidelines that transformation policies were formulated and implemented in close consultation with local elected politicians and appointed officials. By this time, these international organisations were very much under the influence of neo-liberal doctrines (Fourcade-Gourinchas & Babb, 2002), which emphasised the importance of economic competitiveness as the driving force behind all social life and which sought to minimise the influence of the state in every possible way (Lane, 2000, p. 181). The essence of these recommendations is best described as a form of ‘‘shock therapy’’: they amounted to an organic and extensive package of measures to be carried out simultaneously and swiftly in different sectors of the economy (see Pickel, 1997). The same package was recommended for all industries and all countries, regardless of their historical background. Concretely, this

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meant privatisation, the liberalisation of prices and foreign trade and a tight fiscal policy (e.g., cuts in subventions and a provision for bankruptcy). In the division of labour between the IMF and the World Bank, it seems that the drafting of an agricultural reform policy has been left to the World Bank. The same neo-liberal plan was proposed for the agricultural reform in all former socialist countries, even though nearly all developed countries have trade policy and subvention mechanisms in place to support their agricultural sectors (customs duties, import levies, etc.). The key recommendations document considered in this article is the World Bank report ‘‘Food and Agricultural Policy Reforms in the Former USSR’’ (The World Bank, 1992). The only in principal distinctive feature of the agriculture plan was that it recommended the replacement of the large-scale farm system of the Soviet era with a family farm system, since family farming was postulated more effective for its lower ‘‘transaction costs’’. However, these large-scale farms, whose ownership was restructured through the distribution of ownership shares, were assigned a temporary cushioning role in the transition. In the longer term all corporatist business organisations and all employee-owned large-scale farms, such as co-operatives and stockholding companies (ibid., pp. 75–77), were deemed inappropriate for agriculture (‘‘more conservative’’). Furthermore, the plan was to privatise the land and non-land assets held by former Soviet farms in the standard neo-liberal way as quickly as possible in mutual synchronisation, to do away with all subsidies and to force enterprises to adapt their production to the market economy (ibid., p. 47). As far as agriculture is concerned, the liberal reform policy has been spearheaded by Estonia, but also by Latvia and Lithuania, whereas Russia has been criticised on a number of accounts for preventing local agricultural enterprises from adapting to market conditions (EBRD, 2002, pp. 78–82; Lerman, Csa´ki, & Feder, 2004, pp. 49–51). In spite of the reform, Russian agricultural production has sharply declined, but it is not the decline in production as such that sets Russia apart from other countries. The decline in production can be simply attributed to such factors as the cessation of production in less fertile agricultural areas or otherwise artificially maintained production (Ioffe & Nefedova, 2004; Ioffe, 2004). The productivity of agricultural labour has also declined and remained at a lower level than during the Soviet era, while in the Czech Republic, Hungary, Slovakia and Estonia it has increased (see Macours & Swinnen, 2002; Rozelle & Swinnen, 2004, p. 411). However, it is precisely the decline in labour productivity that is a more serious problem from the standpoint of evaluating the reform, since ‘‘the Soviet and market

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agriculture differed primarily by the productivity of labour power’’ (Lerman et al., 2004, p. 39), and the whole reform was therefore focused on addressing that problem. In order to prevent bankruptcies of large-scale successors of former kolkhozes and sovkhozes, Russia has reverted some years later largely to the Soviet-type policy of ‘‘soft budget constraints’’, focusing on ‘‘subsidized credits and debt write-offs’’ (ibid., pp. 31, 149–150). Consequently, according to World Bank researchers, Russian agriculture is under no market force pressures to adjust its production or production organisation, and the problems on the farms continue getting worse. World Bank researchers have also suggested that the basic reason for this negative circle lies in the lack of strong ownership rights (Lerman et al., 2004, pp. 94–95, 105–106; Rozelle & Swinnen, 2004, pp. 426–427). In an attempt to explain and resolve these problems, the World Bank, the IMF, the OECD and other international organisations developed what has become known as the paper-share theory: ‘‘We can look at the two most visible and significantly striking manifestations of differences in approach to agrarian reform across the region: one is the policy of distributing physical plots to individuals as opposed to the policy of distributing land shares in the form of paper certificates of entitlement; the other one is the policy of establishing family farms versus the policy of maintaining collectives or cooperatives’’ (World Bank, 2000, p. 23). The paper-share theory thus associates strong property rights with the progress of the family farm project. Strong property rights ensure that the successors of kolkhozes and sovkhozes remain temporary. Family farms will only be established in their place if shareholders can convert their shares into physical land parcels. According to an explanation by the World Bank researchers, Latvia and Lithuania adopted strong property rights in connection with the reform, while Russia did not. We can weigh the evidence for this proposition by comparing Russia with the three Baltic countries, which share a common Soviet past. These four countries were in fact the top four agricultural performers in the Soviet Union: Estonia was the leading producer followed by Lithuania, Latvia and finally Russia in fourth place (see Lerman, Kislev, Kriss, & Biton, 2003, pp. 10–14). The comparison is made even more interesting by the fact that the three Baltic countries also differed from one another in terms of their privatisation policies, their implementation and to some extent in terms of the structural differences inherited from the Soviet era. In all three countries agriculture was strongly dominated by dairy farming, but household plot farming was much more significant in Lithuania than in Estonia, and most of these private household plot farmers kept cows, which was much less common

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in Estonia. Latvia was somewhere in-between these two other countries (Alanen, 2004, pp. 14–19). The relatively large share of household farming reflected the future prospects of the family farm system, since even if the potential family farms did not get a full complement of machinery from large-scale farms, it was expected that they would be able to develop ‘‘by specializing in high-value and labour-intensive products’’ for example in dairy or vegetable farming. Thus ‘‘the individual sector could follow low-input farming practices particularly avoiding reliance on machinery and equipment’’ (Lerman et al., 2003, p. 1015). It is particularly interesting to note that the Estonian and Latvian reforms resulted in the creation of two very different farm structures, even though their decollectivisation legislations were practically identical. On the other hand, the new farm structures in Latvia and Lithuania greatly resembled each other, even though the decollectivisation legislations in these two countries and their implementation differed quite widely. I will demonstrate that as far as the final outcome is concerned, the degree to which people in the Baltic countries were able to redeploy the resources they had accumulated during the Soviet era within the new system (with the help of the decollectivisation policy) was a much more important factor than alleged strong ownership.

REFORM POLICIES IN ESTONIA, LATVIA, LITHUANIA AND RUSSIA The agricultural reforms in Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and Russia had many features in common. In all four countries, the official policy at the end of the Soviet period was to create a family farm system alongside the existing large-scale production system, with generous financial support from the government. Funding was generally forthcoming in the early 1990s, but in the Baltic countries it began to dry up when most of the large farms were being restructured. In Russia the situation was much the same: Individual (private) farms (‘‘fermers’’) continued to receive financial support up to 1990, but support was then suspended in 1990–1991, only to continue in 1992–1993 – and then discontinued for good (Wegren, 2004, p. 187). All the agricultural experts I have interviewed in the Baltic countries agree on one thing: the strongest individual farms were usually those established with government support well before the decollectivisation of large-scale farms. In Russia, statistics lend support to the same conclusion

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(Wegren, 2005, p. 78). Even before decollectivisation, agricultural subsidies were drastically cut in all four countries, and in the early 1990s large-scale farms gained the right to file bankruptcy. And many of them did. Furthermore, large-scale farms were reconstructed and privatised by issuing ownership shares in the form of privatisation vouchers to former and current employees (based on years of service and salary). However, in the Baltic countries vouchers were also issued to holders of the property (cattle, machinery and buildings) which was seized during the forced collectivisation of agriculture, but the share of these restored assets always remained at less than 50 per cent of the total value of all privatised assets. New shareholders of privatised and restructured former Soviet farms then invested their non-land share vouchers mainly in some successor enterprises. In the case of stockholding companies, the shareholders forfeited their eligibility to reinstate some company assets, but they could sell their individual stocks. For the same reason, 25.6 per cent of land-share owners in Russia also lost control over their land assets, while 70.8 per cent leased them to the largescale farms, thus leaving the backdoor open to using the land themselves as family farmers (or to leasing or selling it to a third party) (Patsiorkovsky, O’Brien, & Wegren, 2005, p. 8). However, the new large-scale successor farms established in the Baltic countries in connection with decollectivisation were not allowed to own land. This made the establishment of large farms risky in the minds of many people, and consequently the number of large-scale farms set up in Estonia and Latvia remained lower than the shareholders would have wanted. Later it turned out that farming land was available for rent relatively easily. However, it was only in the late 1990s (Estonia and Latvia) or in the early 2000s (Lithuania) that Baltic large-scale farms were granted the right to own land, and indeed based on my field studies they have rapidly grown into owners of large land holdings. In Lithuania, central government set about creating new large-scale farms in the legal form of limited liability companies. Those limited liability companies (in addition to which they were always partnerships) were intended to be temporary, and therefore the share owners had right to claim their share back to be used for construction of their family farms. In connection with the issuing of shares, Baltic large-scale farms were generally broken up into smaller enterprises based on one or more technological units. These new agricultural enterprises typically consisted of an integrated dairy or meat production complex. Analogous private firms were established on the basis of former industrial (sawmill, brewery), construction and non-agricultural service units. In Russia, however, most enterprises remained undivided, and land and non-land assets were distributed to

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employees as paper shares (as voucher certificates), but not as a form of concrete assets (machinery, land parcels, etc.). Thus, a privatisation voucher might state that an employee owned 4.5 ha of arable land, but this piece of land was not partitioned as a separate title from the rest of the Soviet farm. In Russia the former Soviet farms also carried on with their previous nonagricultural activities – some of them even expanded these activities, while in the Baltic countries at least all industrial plants were separated from agricultural activities. In Russia, in contrast to the situation in the Baltic countries, the reconstructed large-scale enterprises also began to rekindle their bargaining relations with municipal and state organisations as well as their former non-monetary exchange relations with industrial and trade enterprises (Alanen, Nikula, Granberg, & Kopoteva, 2003). In Russia this move towards a ‘‘bargaining’’ economy was not limited to agriculture, but was a more sweeping long-term tendency (Woodruff, 1999). In the Baltic countries, land was primarily restored to former landowners and their heirs, but in addition it was possible for virtually anyone living in rural areas to acquire land around their buildings or elsewhere. Over 20 per cent of the farm land in each Baltic country was distributed in this way (Alanen, 2004, p. 31). There was no restitution in Russia, but even there it was easy for anyone to acquire land from the reserves held by district authorities. This land had been surrendered by Soviet farms (kolkhozes and sovkhozes) in conjunction with the reconstruction of farms (Wegren, 1998). Based on my field studies in the Baltic countries and in Russian Carelia, the availability of arable land for cultivation was not a particular problem, at least not before the late 1990s, and even since then there has only been a shortage of land for cultivation in a few areas with dynamic and growing large-scale farms. In Estonia and Latvia, decision-making powers over the decollectivisation of the non-land assets of Soviet farms were delegated to the local level. In the end, decisions on the establishment of new enterprises and the sale of non-land assets to share certificate holders were made by a general meeting of all the people who were entitled to share certificates (vouchers) of the Soviet farm. In Russia, privatisation followed the same pattern, with one notable exception: here decollectivisation did not include the restitution of collectivised property, but in the Baltic countries that property was restored to the former owners or their heirs. In Estonia and Latvia, the new large-scale agricultural enterprises (which for the most part were still much smaller than the original collective farms) were stockholding (mostly closed joint-stock holding) companies. However, some joint-stock holding companies were not owned by a number of

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shareowners but by single individuals or families. About 10 per cent of all enterprises in these countries, too, were organised as partnerships, i.e., as a variant of limited liability companies, recommended by the World Bank. Here, the shareholder could choose to take, granted the approval of the general meeting, his or her share in cash, or, if cash was not available, in the form of physical assets (machinery, buildings, etc.). In Russia, too, former collective farms were mainly turned into closed joint-stock companies and sometimes co-operatives. Even if the Soviet farm still remained legally a kolkhoz or sovkhoz, as was often the case, this had no bearing on the distribution of land shares (Wegren, 2005). In Lithuania the restructuring of Soviet farms and part of the sale of nonland assets to those entitled to shares was carried out in a top-down exercise by government officials, and as mentioned earlier, all of the restructured large-scale agricultural enterprises were partnerships. When these partnerships were established, people’s share certificates (vouchers) were in fact shares in physical assets, which was ideal for the family farm project. This is how a few farm employees interested in family farming could be brought together by an outside government official to form an alliance and purchase, for instance, a tractor to be shared1 between the three neighbours. The asset remained in the use of the restructured partnership farm as an investment by those alliance members, but it was easy to transfer later on to the use of the owners of family farms. This meant that the future of Lithuanian large-scale enterprises depended on the willingness of shareholders (who typically were pensioners and household subsistence farmers) to maintain their equity in that farm. The property rights of Lithuanian shareholders were optimally efficient in terms of the paper-share theory, and consequently their property rights were very strong. In Estonia and Latvia, as in Russia, the in-kind redemption of ownership shares was no longer possible after (mainly closed) joint-stock companies had been established. Instead, it was possible to sell one’s stocks. However, in closed joint-stock companies, other shareholders had the right of first refusal. Throughout the 1990s, when there was a shortage of capital and the credit system was still undeveloped, stock prices – according to my field studies – remained very low, even nominal. This meant that people who had the money and the initiative were able to accumulate large amounts of stocks, but there was little hope for those intending to establish or extend a family farm to get the money they needed to make the investments. A large part of the total value of all stocks was often spent on purchasing machinery services from the successor farm for privatised domestic plots or restored family farms for cultivation mainly for own consumption.

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Russian legislation did not prohibit the physical distribution or later the trade of land and non-land assets. The transfer of not only land, but also cattle, machinery, etc., was relatively easy during the period of kolkhoz and sovkhoz restructuring in 1991–1993, but often no more than three or four family farms were created out of each former collective farm (Wegren, 2005, p. 16). It was even possible to have whole large-scale farms replaced by family farms units, which is in fact what was done in some cases in Russia (Epstein, 2002, p. 187). However, after the reorganisation and privatisation of former Soviet farms, the transfer of land shares into concrete plots for personal use or trade has been and still is both difficult and costly (Lerman & Shagaida, 2006), since land shares have not been converted into physically demarcated plots. Large-scale successor farms retained the land in their use as before decollectivisation, but legally they were now in the position of renters of that land. In Russian agriculture, therefore, large-scale farming continued to dominate (as was the case in Estonia, although for other reasons, see later).

LABOUR PRODUCTIVITY Fig. 1 provides a useful vantage point for a comparison of the development of labour productivity in Russia and the Baltic countries. Fig. 1 is based on an index where both the number of employees in agriculture and the value of agricultural production were 100 in 1990. Thus, although the value of production (GAO) decreased in all four countries, the productivity of labour increased only in Estonia, because only there did the value of production decline at a slower rate than the number of agricultural employees. We can draw the following conclusions: (1) Estonia was the only country where the reform led to an increase in labour productivity. In all other countries, labour productivity decreased and remained significantly below the levels recorded during the Soviet era until the late 1990s. The Estonian reform started up slowly in 1991, gathering momentum in 1993 and by 1994 there remained no enterprises that had not re-organised (Alanen, 2004, p. 21). The diagrams above show that labour productivity began to increase immediately after re-organisation. In other words, the decollectivisation of non-land agricultural assets in Estonia resulted in improved labour productivity. (2) In Russia, the productivity of agricultural labour had decreased somewhat less than in Latvia and Lithuania by the end of the 1990s.

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However, the decrease in Russia remained relatively constant until 1995–1996, after which productivity began slightly to increase. The decline in productivity appears to have accelerated only slightly during the re-organisation of Soviet farms in 1992–1996. In Latvia and Lithuania, on the other hand, labour productivity declined sharply over a period of a couple of years after 1991, after which the situation improved somewhat. In Latvia and Lithuania the deterioration of productivity coincided with the culmination of the decollectivisation of non-land assets (1991–1992), which in these countries took place some 12–18 months earlier than in Estonia (Alanen, 2004, pp. 20–21). The restitution of land was also carried out very rapidly in Latvia, and in Lithuania it got off to a good start, even though it later slowed down. In both countries, perhaps just a shade more so in Latvia, the speed and synergy of the privatisation process came closest to the ideal proposed by the World Bank and its researchers. In Estonia, both the decollectivisation of non-land assets and restitution became bogged down in the country’s divided parliament. Not only was the process delayed, but there was much less synergy. As a result, the restitution process did not really get under way until after 1994, and it continued to remain rather sluggish until 1997 when the pace finally started to pick up (Alanen, 2004, pp. 19–23). Therefore, the labour productivity data from the Baltic countries points virtually to the opposite direction to the presupposions of the World Bank and its researchers (for more details, see Alanen, 2004). (3) The country that had the greatest difficulties in the early years was Lithuania, even though its re-organised large-scale enterprises came closest to satisfying World Bank recommendations. Instead of jointstock companies or co-operatives, the Lithuanians set up limited liability companies, i.e., partnerships, where shareholders are in a particularly strong position in relation to the company. I have interviewed partnership shareholders in all the Baltic countries. The vicious circle of transferring out assets and consequent farm closures was observed in all those countries. The only but at the same time determining difference compared to Lithuania was that in Estonia and Latvia, partnerships represented only a small proportion of the successors of kolkhozes and sovkhozes. The strong property rights of shareholders left partnership farm managers effectively unable to develop their large-scale farms in a commercially viable manner, and they had to use the uneconomic resources to support

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households, for instance, by continuing to provide subsistence farms with machinery contracting and other services in keeping with the Soviet tradition. Even more damaging was the fact that shareholders – i.e., not only family farmers or even household subsistence farmers, but also the large numbers of pensioners who owned more shares than their younger followers because of their longer careers on decollectivised Soviet farms – could ruin the technical foundation of the enterprise by demanding their share capital separated from large-scale farm for their own use. One or two people might not yet be a problem (the enterprise usually had enough cash to pay for the initial assets), but they could trigger a chain reaction: with cash generally in short supply, even the tangible assets of large-scale farms soon began to dwindle and those who did not immediately demand their share became concerned justifiably about whether they would later receive very little or worthless assets. Once this process got underway, it was not uncommon for the Annual General Meeting to decide that it was best to close down the company and divide the assets between the members, as long as it was still possible to distribute them among the shareholders in a relatively fair and orderly manner. Russian large-scale farms also provided support to their employees’ private household farms. Based on case studies some scholars have drawn the conclusion that in Russia, too, household plot farmers have had a largely negative impact on the development (labour productivity) of largescale farms (Amelina, 2000). However, according to a more comprehensive study, this support from large-scale farms had dwindled to next to nothing by 2001 (Wegren, 2005, p. 185). Therefore, as in Lithuania, Russian household farmers have not had a similar systematic negative impact as shareholders, although obviously there were some local differences. In summary, during the period in focus here, labour productivity in Russia did certainly not decrease more sharply than in Latvia or Lithuania. The only country that managed to increase its agricultural labour productivity was Estonia. How do we explain these differences? Could the differences observed between the Baltic countries be explained by the different farm structures or company forms?

EMERGENT FARM STRUCTURE IN THE BALTIC COUNTRIES We can gain a clearer understanding of the process of decollectivisation by comparing figures on labour productivity in the Baltic countries with

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reliable census data on dairy cattle sizes and the distribution of dairy cattle on different types of farms. There are four reasons for this. First, all the Baltic countries were highly specialised in dairy farming during the Soviet era, and therefore the overall success of decollectivisation can be reasonably evaluated on the basis of the industry structure of dairy farming. Secondly, it was easy to transfer cattle from one farm to another, so their redistribution to any number of small farms was not as big a problem as the redistribution of most machines and buildings. There were few serious takers of those machines and buildings, which were only suitable for largescale production. Thirdly, we have a relatively large amount of data on private household farming in the Soviet era, which indicate that these farms could indeed take cows. Fourthly, cattle size provides a reliable indicator of whether the farm is a household (subsistence) farm, a (semi-subsistence) smallholding, a (commercial) traditional family farm, a potential modern family farm or a capitalist large-scale farm corporation. A private household farm on a former Soviet farm usually had a single cow, but the cowshed often had room for a few more. After decollectivisation and in the context of land restitution and other land distribution, the household farm could increase its herd and transform sooner or later into a smallholding or (often step by step) into a traditional or even modern family farm. Below, I call those farms that have 3–9 cows (semi-subsistence) smallholdings, while those with just two cows or less I refer to as household (subsistence) farms. Farms with between 10–29 cows come closest to the traditional Western family farm. The most modern family farms have at least 60–70 cows, because farms with an automatic milking system (of the kind that are now used on the most advanced farms in older EU countries) were able to have up to 60–70 cows per system and still manage with family labour. In practice, the technology in the Baltic countries was much less sophisticated during the first 8–10 years after decollectivisation. During that period there existed no more than a few farms that could manage more than 30 dairy cows with family labour; that would have required investments in modern technology. The most potential modern family farms were those that according to censuses had 30–49 heads of cattle. A typical collective farm cowshed housed 50–80 cows, which after decollectivisation would need 5–10 people to look after it. According to my interviews, these large-scale and capitalist farms with herds of at least 50 cows were mainly based on an inheritance from Soviet cowsheds (technological units). Legally they were organised in the form of various kinds of farm corporations. There are obviously a number of technical, economic and social factors that impose severe constraints on these potential transformation processes.

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For example, former private household farmers on Soviet farms typically had their own cowsheds, but since they were unable to take out a loan to renovate them or to build a new one, the size, condition and equipment of their cowsheds imposed definite limits for cow keeping. Only exceptionally old cowsheds (mainly from the time of former independence) were large and (after some renovations) sophisticated enough to sustain a small traditional family farm cattle, but not much larger than 10 cows (see Alanen, 2004, pp. 40–41). Table 1 shows the distribution of cattle and cows based on cattle size. The comparison is only slightly compromised by the fact that the agricultural survey in Lithuania was conducted two years after the Estonian and Latvian surveys. Based on earlier and less reliable data, the number of small herds and their proportion of the total cattle had declined sharply in Lithuania after 2001. The table above reveals three distinct tendencies: (a) the large number of household farms; (b) the high degree of concentration of dairy production in Estonia and (c) the special problems of the Lithuanian rural population.

Table 1.

Percentage of Dairy Herds and Cows in the Baltic Countries by Farm Size. Estonia (1)

Year

Latvia (2)

Lithuania (3)

2001

2001

2001

2001

2003

2003

Farm size

Herds (%)

Cows (%)

Herds (%)

Cows (%)

Herds (%)

Cows (%)

1–2 Cows 3–9 10–29 30–49 50–99 100–

74.9 18.0 4.5 0.7 0.6 1.4

13.0 11.5 9.7 3.5 6.0 56.5

78.6 19.1 1.8 0.2 0.1 0.1

40.5 30.8 10.2 2.6 3.2 12.8

78.0 20.4 1.4 0.1 0.1 0.0

44.5 36.0 7.9 1.6 1.6 8.4

100.1 17,775

100.0 128,258

99.9 73,888

100.0 193,408

100.0 193,413

100.0 451,00

Total per cent Total N

Sources: 1. 2001 Agricultural Census I, General Data, Crop Production, Livestock, p. 109, Statistical Office of Estonia, Tallinn. 2. Results of the 2001 Agricultural Census in Latvia, p. 224, Central Statistical Bureau of Latvia, Riga. 3. Number of Livestock and Poultry 2004, p. 13, Statistics of Lithuania, Vilnius.

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The Large Number of Household Farms In all three countries, dairy farming is characterised by the numerical dominance of very small herds, of which household farms (1–2 heads) account for 75–78 per cent, and together with traditional small holdings (3–9 heads) for up to 93–98 per cent of all herds. Dairy production on such a modest scale cannot on its own provide a sufficient livelihood (not even above the poverty line, see also Poviliunas, 2007, pp. 166–170). This question ties in closely with the poverty problem (Alanen, 2004, pp. 48–50), as indirectly admitted in the OECD assessment: ‘‘The employed populations in Latvia and Lithuania include large numbers of subsistence farmers, most of whom contribute only marginally to GDP and cannot pay taxes or social insurance contributions at normal rates’’ (OECD, 2003, p. 8; for a more comprehensive analysis, see Alanen, 2004, pp. 48–50).

The High Degree of Concentration in Dairy Production in Estonia Even though Estonia has almost as many small cattle herds as the other two Baltic countries, it differs markedly from its neighbours in that the cow population here is concentrated on farms based on former Soviet cowsheds (technological units). These cowsheds account for 62.4 per cent of all cows in Estonia, but for just 15.9 per cent in Latvia and 10 per cent in Lithuania. This explains why Estonian dairies do not have to collect their milk from smallholdings, which is often of a poor quality and entails high collection costs. Latvian and Lithuanian dairies, on the other hand, would not survive without the milk produced by the smallest farms. Overall, Estonia has been more successful in preserving the technological units of the Soviet farms than its neighbours, and this, more than anything else, explains the growth of total agricultural productivity in Estonia. It also proves that corporate farms organised as mainly limited stockholding companies can flexibly adapt to emerging capitalist conditions, because virtually all farms in Estonia with at least 100 cows are such joint-stock companies. What is not shown in Table 1 is that milk production per cow fell more sharply both on large-scale farms and even more so on household farms in Lithuania than on the corresponding farms in Latvia (Alanen, 2004, pp. 35–36). Again, Estonia had the least problems in this area. Since the remaining large-scale farms in Lithuania at the same time had more problems with dairy production than the corresponding farms in Latvia, we

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can assume that these problems are attributable to the partnership form of enterprise that has characterised Lithuanian large-scale production. The difference between Estonia and Latvia can be explained by the better success of Estonians in preserving and modernising the Soviet large-scale tradition and dairy production at its core. This, in turn, as I have suggested earlier (2004, pp. 50–53), can be attributed not only to possible cultural differences and other minor factors, but first and foremost to the fact that due to parliamentary delays (Pajo, Tamm, & Teinberg, 1994, p. 5), share owners had one to two years more time than their Latvian counterparts before decollectivisation to deliberate, plan and set up strategic alliances and to purchase shares from other share owners, which was necessary to create large-scale enterprises during the decollectivisation phase. In all likelihood, the greater speed of the Latvian restitution policy and the consequent better synchronisation with the decollectivisation of non-land assets also led to a greater distribution of non-land assets to different owners than in Estonia. Estonia was less successful in synchronisation, because the final land restitution law and its execution were also delayed by 2–3 years after the decollectivisation of non-land assets (Alanen, 2004, p. 23).

The Difficulty of Setting Up a Family Farm System, Mostly in Lithuania As was pointed out earlier, the World Bank and its researchers assumed that ‘‘by specializing in high-value and labour-intensive products, the individual sector could follow low-input farming practices, particularly avoiding reliance on machinery and equipment’’. During the early 1990s old and newly established small-scale farms started to specialise in dairy production in all the Baltic countries (Alanen, 2004, pp. 278–279). They thus appeared to be replicating the strategy of small farmers in northern parts of Europe and America since the late 1800s (Friedmann, 1978), i.e., overcoming the diseconomies of scale associated with small-scale production by specialisation. However, Latvia and especially Lithuania, where households kept cows in large numbers even during the Soviet era, have had considerable difficulties in upgrading their household and smallholding farms into family farms. Latvian and Lithuanian farmers managed to create fewer than 2,000 traditional family farms (herds of 10–29 cows) and 100–200 potential modern family farms (30–49 cows). Surprisingly, Estonian farmers have been somewhat more successful in this respect, even though the reproduced large-scale production in Estonia is largely based on old Soviet structures.

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If we add together the figures for traditional family farms and potential modern family farms, we find that they accounted for 13.2 per cent of all cows in Estonia, 12.8 per cent of cows in Latvia and for only 9.3 per cent of cows in Lithuania. However, even more important than this is perhaps the fact that the sector with the greatest future potential for developing into modern family farms is strongest in Estonia (3.5 per cent of cows) and weakest in Lithuania (1.6 per cent of cows), while Latvia ranks in-between these two countries (2.6 per cent). The explanation for Estonia’s slightly better success in this comparison may be quite simple: as Estonia lagged behind in the process of land restitution, the relatively few family farms that had been established before the decollectivisation of non-land assets were in a better position to acquire additional resources during the decollectivisation of Soviet farms, while in Latvia and Lithuania the competition between new farmers was tougher. Lithuania was the least successful also in this regard. Even though Lithuania adhered more closely than the other countries to the neo-liberal doctrines prescribed, the Lithuanian government failed most in its attempts to transform the Soviet private household farming tradition into family farming. Instead, household subsistence farming has remained firmly entrenched in Lithuania. In addition to the decline and disappearance of the large-scale farming system in Lithuania, the decision to adhere to the World Bank doctrine led to the family farming project becoming even more deeply bogged down than in other Baltic countries.

SOVIET HERITAGE FOR POTENTIAL FUTURE DEVELOPMENT Although these kinds of detailed comparisons between countries and explanations of the partial successes of family farms may be interesting, they are not particularly important. What matters most is the general conclusion: the aim of replacing Soviet large-scale farms by family farms failed to a lesser or greater extent in all three Baltic countries, and in this respect the outcome was quite independent of the decollectivisation policy and its implementation. Ultimately the reason why the strategy recommended by the World Bank has failed so spectacularly lies in its underestimation or complete disregard of the potential for material and social development offered by the Soviet tradition of large-scale production.

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This applies not only to the aspects of technical and social heritage (education, practical skills) directly related to formal institutions (enterprises and their technology units, educational establishments, research institutions) and infrastructure (roads and utilities, irrigation systems, etc.), but also to the informal institutions (modes of collaboration, division of labour, networking, understanding) underlying the formal institutions, as emphasised by institutional economics (see North, 1997) and by path dependency theoreticians in sociology (see Stark & Bruszt, 1998). This is why history cannot be disregarded – yet the radical decollectivisation strategy prescribed by the World Bank did exactly that, even though Stalin’s quite analogous collectivisation policy was still fresh in the memories of people in post-socialist countries. They were certainly remembered by the bitter employees of former kolkhozes and sovkhozes, who in my interviews time and time again referred to the similarities between these two coercive and repressive processes. Conversely, it can be said that family farming in these countries lacked a tradition where family members are socialised on their home farms to a number of technical and commercial family farming skills and a division of labour well before the establishment of the farm. Furthermore, the farms lacked the support of associations (e.g., farmers’ cultural associations), deep-rooted interest groups, parties and co-operative organisations (Granberg, 2007, p. 54), which for decades had prepared the way for effective integration of modern family farms and other formal institutions such as the food industry, counselling and the education systems. The above-mentioned informal institutions (and formal co-operative institutions based on them) cannot be imposed top-down, but they must be allowed to evolve from the bottom-up. This is an example of the asynchronicity of the various sub-systems of social development as described among others by Parsons (1966, pp. 21–29) and later in his many works by Niklas Luhmann. This asynchronicity of social life was the starting point for the work of Ralf Dahrendorf, when he set out to formulate a transition strategy for postsocialist countries in 1990, a strategy that still provides a viable alternative to the neo-liberal shock therapy currently practised. Dahrendorf (1990, pp. 77, 81, 92–93) argued polemically that the economic reform can be completed in the space of six years, but the development of civil society (and adequate cognitive models and lifestyles) may take up to 60 years. Even though older people in the Baltic countries had some experience of family farming, this experience was gained in horse-powered agriculture; consequently it was more harmful than beneficial for these older people as they took up farming or advised their children in the skills of farming.

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My interviews indicated that the conservatism of traditional peasant culture in particular prevented new farm owners from taking effective advantage of the opportunities presented by the transitional phase. As family farms lacked the support of government and/or governmentregulated institutions, especially the finance, education and counselling system, and did so from the outset of the decollectivisation phase to the EU era, it is hardly surprising that family farming was slow to develop. Indeed, the best family farms had been established by the time of the peasant farms, well before the decollectivisation phase. The best peasant farms gained strength and independence with the support of the government and largescale farms before the onset of effective decollectivisation, and they had often been set up by the managers and specialists of Soviet farms instead of true representatives of the peasant tradition. This is why family farming in Latvia and Lithuania did not become any stronger than in Estonia, despite their stricter adherence to the World Bank recommendations. The neo-liberal family farm reforms did, however, manage to destroy most of the large-scale production tradition in Latvia and Lithuania. Paradoxically, the path dependency on the Soviet tradition is still seen in these countries in the role played by household (subsistence) farms and (semi-subsistence and low income) smallholdings (in the context of land restitution and other means to receive land) that mainly have evolved from Soviet household farms as the most important producers of agricultural products. This applies at least to the field of dairy farming, in which both of these countries specialised in the Soviet era. If instead of copying the Western family farm system the Baltic governments had had to advise and help to initiate innovative ‘‘rearrangements, reconfigurations, and recombinations’’ of the formal and informal institutions of the Soviet era, as it could be applied on the basis of Stark and Bruszt’s (1998, p. 7) path dependency concept, then the chances of a successful agricultural reform would have been considerably better. As the reform in Estonia was decentralised and delayed, local agricultural actors were in the position to learn from the successes and mistakes of their predecessors. This opportunity for learning can be seen as one of the key determinants of development in Estonia (cf. Aligica, 2003, pp. 9–10). This is why Estonian large-scale farms did not only survive, but were able to re-organise and modernise themselves in such a way that labour productivity was increased on the same foundations of dairy farming that was the basis for all three Baltic countries’ specialisation in the Soviet era. According to my interviews, the best large-scale farms generally appear to be those that were not even divided at the beginning of the decollectivisation

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process into lots, for which shareholders at a later phase of the reform would have bidded. On these best farms, employees became direct stockholders in an undivided agricultural enterprise, just as in Russia, with the exception that in Estonia non-agricultural activities had been separated from agriculture during the reform (Alanen et al., 2003).

PROPERTY RIGHTS OR OTHER REASON? REFLECTIONS ON THE FAILURE OF REFORM IN RUSSIA The biggest difficulties seen in Lithuania are primarily attributable to the very strong property rights of shareholders in its partnership system. Even though the Lithuanian government closely followed World Bank guidelines in seeking to replace large-scale production with family farms, their policy was not in fact conducive to the establishment of family farms. On the contrary, it has complicated the management of large-scale farms, caused a massive drain on their capital stock and ultimately, through the destruction of large-scale technology units, the loss of the social and material heritage of the Soviet farming system. In Lithuania, the development of family farms has been an even slower process than in Estonia and Latvia. Therefore, if the Russian reform had followed the Lithuanian model, I cannot think of any logical reason why the consequences there would have been any different. Large-scale production would have been destroyed, but family farms would have remained too weak, especially as they – much in the same way as family farms in the Baltic countries – lacked the formal and informal institutions needed to support the establishment and development of family farms as well as the infrastructure required by small-scale agriculture. This is why most of the workers who would have lost their jobs on large farms would, as in Lithuania, have remained household subsistence farmers or semisubsistence smallholdings. Comparisons between the Baltic countries and Russia are complicated by the fact that in the Baltic case, the privatisation of land by means of restitution implied a much sharper distinction between the land reform and non-land asset reform than in Russia. Anyway, in the case of Latvia, I have proposed that the speed at which the processes were completed and, paradoxically, the closer synchronisation of the two processes may, in contrast to the World Bank’s shock therapy assumptions, have made it even

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more difficult for the Latvians to preserve their technology units than it was for the Estonians (Alanen, 2004, pp. 25, 46–47). It can also be argued that the successful synchronisation actually strengthened the property rights of those voucher owners who had already recovered their family land that was collectivised after Soviet occupation. In many cases this probably motivated them to spend their vouchers on machines and other similar items that they needed on their private farm rather than to invest them in stocks of largescale successor enterprises. Therefore, the de facto stronger property rights in Latvia have both undermined the technology units of large-scale farms, and at the same time they have increased competition for scarce non-land assets, which were usable also on family farms. That is why exactly those non-land assets usable for family farms were too widely scattered among the beneficiaries for the formation of viable single farms. According to Epstein (2002, p. 187) a similar distribution of non-land assets between all landowners was even carried out in a few rare cases in Russia under the supervision of research institutes. However, this resulted instead of viable family farms merely in a ‘‘substantial worsening of the social situation’’. Epstein’s text remains only a passing comment and, as such, does not constitute sufficient evidence. It is, however, in keeping with the conclusion I have drawn above that the development of family farms has been largely independent of those differences in concrete processes through which large-scale farms in those four countries were privatised. Therefore, a strengthening of land share rights in Russia would probably only have led to a shift towards the Latvian model. Hence, any procedure that undermines the hard core of Soviet farms, i.e., their technology units, would also undermine large-scale production, but offer only minimal help to family farms. In more concrete terms: only a small portion of the non-land assets extracted from large-scale farms (such as cows) could be readily transferred to many small farms, while it was impossible to transfer the main bulk of those assets (i.e., the large-scale cowsheds and their fixed technology, such as feeding systems) at all, or the assets were ill-suited to the new needs (even the tractors were too big), or there were too few of them (tractors and combine harvesters), and farmers were unable to build the necessary machinery systems (a tractor needs ploughs, a trailer, etc.). As late as 2002, household (subsistence) farms still accounted for 54 per cent of the total value of food production in Russia, with private farms (‘‘fermers’’) accounting for 4 per cent and large-scale farms producing the rest. Based on these figures alone, there is no great difference between Russia and Estonia. The case of Estonia goes to show that Russia’s low level

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of labour productivity cannot be explained away by reference to the preservation of technological units or large-scale farming more generally. It is important to reiterate here that the property share rights in Estonia’s already re-organised corporative enterprises are none stronger than they are in Russia. The question as to why productivity in large-scale production in Estonia increased whereas on large-scale farms in Russia it does not require careful thought. Even though large-scale production remains the backbone of agriculture in both these countries, only the Estonians succeeded in quickly turning the tide in a more positive direction. Research has shown that the rural population, not only in Russia but in all the Baltic and Central European countries was reluctant to relinquish large-scale production, and researchers involved in World Bank projects regarded this sort of conservatism as an anti-reform element (see Alanen, 2004, p. 44). However, my own field research (Alanen, 2002) shows that the rural population in the Baltic countries was by no means an unambiguously conservative force, but the old ‘‘kolkhoz system’’ was widely criticised. The criticisms came above all from the middle class of Soviet farms, i.e., professionals with a college and university education (such as agronomists and veterinarians), engineers and elite workers (the latter were mainly in charge of the machinery system). Even the top managers of Soviet farms during the reform period shared many of these criticisms. During the decollectivisation phase kolkhoz chairmen who had once been the ‘‘personifications of local power’’ (Alanen, 2001, p. 70) became dependent on the middle class of Soviet farms, even in their programme proposals (Alanen, 2004, pp. 46–47). These same middle class people were also more committed than anyone else to large-scale production, despite their criticisms. The value of their education, professional status, income and modern way of life all depended on a work organisation based on large-scale production. The middle class also produced the ‘‘citizen activists’’ of the decollectivisation phase (Alanen, 1999, 2001). So, even though the middle class in the Baltic countries was critical of the ‘‘kolkhoz system,’’ it did not want to see large-scale production replaced with a family farm system. For the majority of these people,2 becoming a family farmer would have implied an involuntary step backward to a more traditional way of life. Above all, the middle class wanted to modernise and democratise the large-scale production heritage independent on it that ‘‘the kolkhoz system’’ in the countryside not only symbolised the crisisridden Soviet economy in general, but also (in the Baltic countries) embodied Soviet occupation and national oppression. As well as being pro-independence, the middle class was pro-modern. From the standpoint

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of the middle class, the proponents of the World Bank guidelines were ‘‘conservatives’’, even ‘‘traditionalists’’. I have often heard my interviewees make these kinds of complaints, especially in Estonia (see also Alanen, 2001, p. 126; Alanen, 2002). This middle class modernisation did not differ from the main current of Western social science. The most important classic of sociological modernisation theory is Talcott Parsons (1961, pp. 227–233, 238). For him, modernisation required the explicit replacement of family farms with a corporatist business system based on a formal rationality and the creation of a separate core family – as he has suggested in his most important rural sociological essay ‘‘Some considerations on the theory of social change’’. This perspective on the criticism of the middle class and its modernisation efforts differs fundamentally from the family farm ideology or, on a wider scale, from peasantism. For example, Stephen K. Wegren, whose critical articles and books have been an invaluable source of inspiration for this article, also tends to analyse decollectivisation from a far too peasantist perspective, for instance as a ‘‘giving reform’’ (in contrast to collectivisation as a ‘‘taking reform’’, see Wegren, 2005, pp. 14–15). To transfer this thinking to the decollectivisation phase, we need to postulate such peasantist conflict-of-interest contents as the ‘‘hunger for land’’. Based on my interviews, a longing for the family estate and the pre-WWII way of life also took hold of many people in the Baltic countries, particularly among old-age pensioners and (older) unskilled labourers in remote villages (Alanen, 2001, 2002). However, for the Soviet middle class, at least as far as the Baltic countries are concerned, the closure of large-scale production was first and foremost a ‘‘taking reform’’. When Wegren, in ‘‘The Moral Economic Reconsidered’’, criticises the argument that Soviet farm workers were opposed to the Russian reform (and were in this sense conservative), it should be noted that the goal of the Russian reform was not (as was the case in the Baltic countries) the closure of large-scale production, but the development of family farming alongside large-scale production. The Estonian government tried to replace large-scale production with family farms, but as in Latvia it decentralised decision-making to the local level. However, because of delays in the decollectivisation process in Estonia, there was plenty of time to debate the issue and to learn from the experiences of pioneering enterprises in Estonia, as well as from enterprises in Latvia and other countries, such as the former GDR. Debate at the local level and practical action geared towards preserving large-scale production were enough to challenge the hegemony that the family farm discourse had gained among Estonian politicians, media and general public and that was

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in perfect keeping with the guidelines of international institutions (see also Alanen, 1999; Alanen, 2001, pp. 136–141; Alanen, 2004, pp. 44–47). This result clearly underlines the importance of interest analysis and subjective action, which have been largely ignored in research on decollectivisation or remained a matter of speculation about the conservatism of managers or employees (for one of the few exceptions, see Wegren, 2005, pp. 69–103). In Russia there was even more time for farms to adapt and to implement the reform than in Estonia. It seems that they were also much in the same position in terms of agricultural subsidies, inflation, competition from foreign imports, loss of export markets and failure to pay for products (see OECD, 2002; Tamm, 2001), although there has still been no systematic comparative research on this subject. However, unlike Estonian agricultural enterprises, Russian agriculture (very much like Russian industry, see Woodruff, 1999) initially reacted to the shock therapy of the early 1990s by trying to protect itself against the commodity markets and sought support from the informal networks of the Soviet era by bartering its products with other enterprises and, rather than by means of specialisation, by diversifying its production and by relying on its old social networks in public administration rather than adapting its production to market economy. Only much later, thanks to the turn of events during the Putin administration, has large-scale production managed to consolidate its economic position (Wegren, 2005), but in the meantime the difference in labour productivity between Russia and Estonia had become very pronounced. I believe that this reaction to shock therapy is the ‘‘black box’’ that, once opened, will provide us with a better explanation of its failures (in comparison with Estonia) than do weak property rights.

NOTES 1. The number of tractors fell well short of the number of household farms and family farms that needed tractors. 2. This does not exclude the possibility that there were also people who supported the family farm project, called for large-scale farms to be closed down and took up family farming themselves – but they did not represent the majority of the middle class.

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North, D. (1997). The contribution of the new institutional economics to an understanding of the transition problem. Wider Annual Lectures No. 1. UNU/Wider, Helsinki. OECD. (2002). Agricultural policies in transition economies: Trends in policies and support. Paris: OECD. OECD. (2003). Labour market and social policies in the Baltic Countries. Paris: OECD. Pajo, M., Tamm, M., & Teinberg, R. (1994). Restructuring of Estonian agriculture. Estonian Ministry of Agriculture, Report 94-BR 15. Talinn, Estonia and Midwest Agribusiness Trade, Trade Research and Information Center, Center for Agricultural and Rural Development, Iowa State University, Ames, Iowa. Palm, T. (1992). The suurupi program: Estonian economic policy for the transition. Journal of Baltic Studies, 23(3), 283–298. Parsons, T. (1961). Some considerations on the theory of social change. Rural Sociology, 26(3), 219–324. Parsons, T. (1966). Societies: Evolutionary and comparative perspectives. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall. Patsiorkovsky, V., O’Brien, D., & Wegren, S. K. (2005). Land reform and land relations in rural Russia. Eastern European Countryside, 11, 5–17. Pickel, A. (1997). Jump-starting a market economy: A critique of the radical strategy of economic reform in light of the East German experience. In: A. Pickel & H. Wiesenthal (Eds), The grand experiment. Debating shock therapy, transition theory, and East German experience. Boulder: Westview Press. Poviliunas, A. (2007). Lithuanian local community movement as a resistance to rural exclusion. In: M. Heinonen, J. Nikula, I. Kopoteva & L. Granberg (Eds), Reflecting transformation in post-socialist rural areas. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Rozelle, S., & Swinnen, J. F. M. (2004). Success and failure of reform: Insights from the transition of agriculture. Journal of Economic Literature, 42(2), 404–456. Stark, D., & Bruszt, L. (1998). Postsocialist pathways. Transforming politics and property in east central Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tamm, M. (2001). Agricultural reform in Estonia. In: I. Alanen, J. Nikula, H. Po¨der & R. Ruutsoo (Eds), Decollectivisation, destruction and disillusionment – A community study in southern Estonia (pp. 407–438). Aldershot: Ashgate. The World Bank. (1992). Food and agricultural policy reforms in the former USSR. An agenda for the transition. Country Department III: Europe and Central Asia Region, Studies of Economies in Transformation, Paper Number 1. The World Bank, Washington, DC. Wegren, S. K. (1998). Agriculture and the state in Soviet and post-Soviet Russia. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Wegren, S. K. (2004). From communism to capitalism? Russia’s agrarian relations in the twentieth century and beyond. Journal of Peasant Studies, 31(3 & 4), 369–399. Wegren, S. K. (2005). The moral economy reconsidered. Russia’s search for agrarian capitalism. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Woodruff, D. (1999). Barter of the bankrupt. Politics of demonetization in Russia’s federal state. In: M. Burawoy & K. Verdery (Eds), Uncertain transition. Ethnographies of change on the postsocialist world. Lanha: Rowman & Littlefield.

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CHAPTER 4 THE FUTURE OF RURAL COMMUNITIES IN BULGARIA Eckhard Dittrich and Rumiana Jeleva ABSTRACT Purpose – The purpose of this chapter is to explore rural life in Bulgaria. It is part of a research project that compares rural life in Russia, Estonia, Eastern Germany and Bulgaria after the breakdown of the communist regimes. Methodology – The research represents a qualitative approach. Participant observation and in-depth interviews are its material base. Findings – The case study of a Bulgarian village demonstrates clearly that institution building is completed: the organizations of democracy and the mechanism of the market have been established, private property being restituted. But the villagers interpret the developments not in tune with these developments. Old patterns of political cleavages are renewed and pronounced aloud now. The village is split up into two groups, red and blue, representing the former communists and the others. Another cleavage agreed upon by both groups is represented by deep aversions to Gypsies, excluding them from the community and thus constituting its fragile identity. Overwhelming is a sentiment of apathy that is far from any political or social awakening.

Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 107–126 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014007

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Originality/value of chapter – The chapter presents field research done in a Bulgarian post-communist village and contributes in this way to the knowledge of the transformed rural areas in Eastern Europe.

INTRODUCTION This chapter is the outcome of an international project with the title: Way from the cities: Life in the countryside in Eastern Europe. Rural Life World in Russia, Estonia and Bulgaria. The project’s purpose was to study the impact of social and economic restructuring processes in agricultural areas: labor conditions, labor-related arrangements, communal life and lifestyles of rural milieus. This chapter represents only a small part of our results. We focus on the changes of mentality in the rural communities of post-socialist Bulgaria. The basic question is ‘‘what makes the new institutions work?’’ We are convinced – as are many other observers – that the implementation of the institutions of democracy and the market does not make them work automatically. Being socially embedded they rest upon the people that make them work. In the Bulgarian rural life world, the changes have been connected with new economic and political actors who are partly the old ones, who, as persons, were active already under communist rule with its planned economy, for example, in state-run cooperatives. How do they cope with the new requirements? Who are the new or old local actors that take the ‘‘new’’ as a chance for changes in their personal and social life projects? Methodologically, our analysis can be taken as an attempt to describe the changes deeply penetrating the Bulgarian village via the prism of its new actors – representatives of cooperative farms, private farmers, self-employed producers and their families, etc. That is, we try to reconstruct macropolitical decisions and the processes of formation of new institutions through the actors’ point of view or to say it in another way – ‘‘from below’’. Our aim is to illustrate the different views of the different types of actors about the possible future of the Bulgarian village in general, and the village of Z. in particular; as well as to show how this community (‘‘the village’’) as a locus and context of individual and social behavior plays a role in the everyday life of the villagers. Our basic thesis is that the implantation of the new market institutions and rules of democratic government into the social practice of the actors can be best understood by depicting the interpretative schemes

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(Deutungsmuster, Ulrich Oevermann) of our interviewees. They represent collectively produced answers to objective social conditions. After the process of ‘‘institution building’’ during the first phase of the post-socialist transformation, the basic question for future development became how these institutions were to be made workable. The eye of the needle for this is the modes of perception and interpretation that are available to the villagers and that we tried to reconstruct in interpreting the in-depth interviews we made with them. Trying to understand their everyday life, the individuals base their thoughts upon schemes of interpretation which are available to them due to the collective systems of reason and meaning, deeply enshrined in historical, cultural, social, political and economic understandings of their everyday life (Luckmann, 1998, 2002; Oevermann, 1973, 2001a, 2001b).

WAYS OF STUDYING POST-SOCIALIST VILLAGES: CONCEPTUAL DEVELOPMENTS AND EMPIRICAL RESULTS IN BULGARIA The concept of the industrialized village was developed within the framework of the aforementioned international research project (Oswald, Ernst, & Dittrich, 2005) to facilitate implementation of a comparative logic for the analyses of the individual cases in Russia, Bulgaria and Estonia. The concept of the ‘‘industrialized village’’ gathers into focus the understanding of the previous unity of the agrarian structures and everyday life typical for the villages during the communist years. In that period, country-specific processes of modernization took place mainly based on: (a) industrialization and mechanization of production, (b) concentration of production in large units and (c) the organization of village life in accordance with an enterprise, in this case, the state-run cooperative. Villagers became farm laborers and developed a consciousness that can be looked upon parallel to that of industrial workers in the state socialist countries. Within the official ideology, peasant orientations were believed to be relics of the past that had to be overcome. In the final phase of the country-specific modes of modernization, the villages turned into homogeneous ‘‘industrialized villages’’. The different changes in the countries of our sample were measured against the ideal type (Weber, 1980) of a communist village. Thus a frame was developed within which the interpretative schemes of the villagers could be reconstructed. The comparison gave us a first insight into the new villages and basic frames of reference for people’s behavior and thought.

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Table 1 below presents some of the preliminary results concerning the reforms after 1989 and their impact on key factors of the modes of labor and life in the post-socialist villages. It is based on analyses of changes that took place in Bulgaria and elsewhere in the course of the epochal change of 1989 that aimed at democracy and a liberal market economy. We would like to emphasize that the ‘‘industrialized village’’ is just an analytical instrument. It is used in our attempt to describe the changes in the frame conditions for executing the transformation to the democratic market economy (political and legal context, forms of governance), and at the same time shows the distinctions in the different countries. Using the concept of the ‘‘industrialized village’’, we aim to illustrate some basic pathways of disintegration undergone by the previous uniformity (totality) of the life world of the socialist rural community in the different countries in Eastern Europe; we pay special attention to the ways and methods of production, the forms of subsistence, the management of social risks such as poverty and unemployment, as well as the changes in the social status of the people in the villages. The changes yield a multifaceted and broad-spectrum picture of the reforms and predetermine the establishment of different forms of economic activities and new economic social actors in the rural regions of the ex-socialist countries. This presents a full contrast to the previous uniformity and unity of the agrarian structures and the people’s lifestyle in the villages in the survey. Table 1 demonstrates that the political, legal and economic reforms in the Bulgarian village studied by us are to a large degree advanced and their development towards a market economy is irreversible due to the new actors who have a strong vested interest in the upholding of the reforms. There are a large number of various new economic actors in place – two cooperatives, full-time private farmers, part-time farmers, agricultural workers in the cooperatives, self-employed producers and a little factory. Meanwhile the problems of self-organization and self-governance clearly stand out in the village municipalities, as well as the organization of life (Lebensfu¨hrung), the cost of living in the villages and the transformation of their social structures. The considerations that follow will be especially focused on the presentation of the case study in Bulgaria – the little village Z.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE BULGARIAN VILLAGE Z. The Bulgarian village Z. is situated some 10 km southwest of the small town of N.Z and about 12 km south of the Sredna Gora Mountain. At the time of

Table 1.

Political context Legal context Forms of agroproduction

Estonia

Bulgaria

North Russia

South Russia

Siberia

Transformation of the ‘‘Industrialized Villages’’ in the Different Post-Socialist Societies. East Germany

Yes

Archaic

Yes

According to Marginalized family/household

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Yes

Restructured

Isolated cases

Yes

Restructured

Restructured

State/public

Symbiosis city Archaic and village State/ enterprises/ family Depending on the Marginalized status of the family

Symbiosis city and village Family

Market reform/ Market reform/EU Hesitant market Unstable agricultural and land property reform/institutional unification accession reform vacuum Property restitution Property restitution Property Controversial/stagnant privatization restitution Production for Large enterprises Production for Large enterprises Large and small Cooperatives/ personal personal enterprises farmers, consumption consumption private landowners In progress Enforced ‘‘from the top’’/prevailing informal agreements/norms

Marginalized

Self-governance Formally in place, but without power Production for Seldom personal consumption Management of life Supported by funds (Lebens-fu¨hrung) and transfers Social security State run

Social status

Source: Oswald et al. (2005).

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the survey the village had about 500–600 residents, of which 408 had a permanent address registration at the village. The mayor of the village also pointed out the fact that there are about 100 people from the gypsy (Roma) ethnic minority. The data gathered in the course of the study show that at least 50–70 persons live in Z. without any temporary or permanent registration. A large part of this group includes the so-called returned immigrants. These people often do not register at Z., but instead keep the address registration of the place they originate from.

STRUCTURES OF ECONOMIC ACTIVITY IN THE VILLAGE OF Z. Judging by the climate and geographical layout of the village, we can clearly define it as an agricultural countryside settlement. The first impression of any visitor in Z. is of an all-embracing agrarian economy. There is a farmyard surrounding almost every house. The farm usually includes a barn for sheep, pigs, cows, bulls or poultry, and a shed for green crops and fodder. Almost every house has a garden where the family grows fruit and vegetables. In most cases the produce is only for household consumption. Another big part of the yard is occupied by corn or other crops for the livestock or by vegetables, which are produced for people’s own needs. Big yards are common for the houses in the village – usually between 2,000 and 3,000 m2. As already mentioned, villagers normally plant corn, vegetables and fodder for the livestock in the back yard; otherwise their neighbors judge them as ‘‘poorly organized’’ and disrespect them if the yard is left uncultivated. Although most yards are quite large, one can see very few flowers and decorative trees or plants. A midwife who had retired and come to live in Z. shared her view with us that she dreams of and longs for a city-type yard ‘‘with nothing edible in it, but full of flowers’’. There are two agricultural cooperatives in the village, a small repair workshop, three stores and the municipal administration. The few social institutions include a commuting doctor, a vet, a dentist and a postman who come only on certain days of the week to the village. A bakery is run by the two cooperatives. Paid jobs for the people in the village are only provided by these. Another field of economic activity is the personally owned farms, established by the local people after 1989. But they offer quite limited earnings. These farms mainly cultivate their own private land. In accordance

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with official statistics they have to be classified as micro-farms. The economic activity of these actors in the village is a mixture of various forms of production orientated towards subsistence, this subsistence market being of dominant importance to them. But the main economic actors who have a clear social impact and influence over business and social life in the village of Z. are the two agrarian cooperatives, in particular their board members. Of course the overwhelming importance of the old ‘‘kolkhoze’’ for the lives of the villagers does not exist any more. It not only provided for jobs, but also organized the cultural and social life and could even influence careers in and outside of the village. Housing and holidays, schooling and festivities are no longer influenced or even determined by the old all-embracing institution. But many of its leading personnel are still in leading positions; the cooperatives in their new forms are by far the biggest employers, running bakeries and shops and making donations, and many owners rent out their land to the cooperatives and thus have a stake in their well-being.

MIGRATION AND SOCIAL STRUCTURE IN Z. Mobility has been a normal experience for the villagers. According to statistics, in 1850 the village consisted of about 120 households and 12 big families. Only 60 years later, in 1910, the number of households had grown to 160. In 1962 the village had 293 households and 1,046 people. In 2003, the population had declined by 50 percent. The main reason for the decline was the migration process during the years of socialism. Schooling of the children and jobs in the cities were said to be the most prominent motives behind this out-migration. It coincided with the changes in the agrarian policies and the intentions of the then-ruling communist party for the development of the Bulgarian village through the process of industrialization, mechanization and concentration. There is no evidence of a great and sustainable out-migration towards towns and cities during the transition period. According to the available data, the intense migration to the city took place during socialist rule, for reasons mentioned earlier. After 1989, the migration in place is mostly temporary and seasonal. Lack of jobs is the main obstacle prompting the people of Z. to migrate and settle in a city. Small settlements in Bulgaria show a strong desire for emigration abroad. The village of Z. is no exception. The empirical material gathered clearly shows that a very high percentage of young people (about 50 percent) find a temporary job in a West European country to support their families. At the time of the survey,

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about 15 people from the village were working in Greece, Cyprus, Italy, or Germany and had left the village for a shorter or longer period of time. There is another group of young people who work away from the village of Z – at the construction sites on the Black Sea coast and in mountain resorts or in the international cargo shipping business, and are away for quite a long time. After 1989, there has been a process of ‘‘returning to the village’’. Those who returned to Z. are mainly retired people who are going back to the place they had grown up in, after spending all their lives in nearby or remote cities (Nova Zagora, Sofia, Stara Zagora, Bourgas, etc.). We called this group ‘‘the returnees’’. There is no accurate statistics about their number, but the data we obtained pointed to about 30 households, or 50–70 people. Most of these ‘‘returnees’’ have settled to live here a year or two after their retirement, at age 55–60. Most of them returned and settled in Z. during the period 1993–1996, which coincided with the reform processes in the village and the new organization of the farming business: the liquidation of the Territorial Complex Agrarian Cooperative (TCAC) and the restitution of arable land to the real owners and their heirs-in-law, the establishment of new structures (agrarian cooperatives and corporations) and the hopes for better life which came with them. On the other hand, that was the period of the Bulgarian transition, when the country suffered galloping inflation, bankruptcies, closing of factories and mass layoffs. All that led to an unprecedented devaluation of savings, high unemployment and poverty rates, which hit mainly people of pre-retirement age. As a survival strategy, those people chose to return to the countryside in order to minimize their cost of living and compensate for the income shortage by producing their food – milk, meat, vegetables. The ‘‘young retirees’’ not only provided for their own existence, but, as all respondents said, also helped their children by supplying them with food. As a result of the processes described earlier – the out-migration of mainly younger people during the communist era and the immigration of pensioners – we may conclude that the residents of Z. are mostly older retired people. This is the reason for the natural decline of the population. But the so-called ‘‘returnees’’ or ‘‘the restoration group’’ – people who retired from a job in the city in the mid-1990s – are a considerable ‘‘asset’’ for the village. They set up their own survival strategy and developed some businesses. They opened shops in the villages, established micro-farms to breed cattle, started milk-collection points or cultivated various crops. Being deprived of the so-called ‘‘goods of modernity’’, which by then were available in the city only, these people pursued various means to compensate

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for the deficits in the social and cultural sphere that the rural and country life had to offer. For example in Z., the ‘‘NGO’’ which works for the restoration of the church and the graveyard is mainly composed of returnees.

THE FORMAL POWER VERSUS THE INFORMAL LEADERS The village is a community where face-to-face communication dominates. Nevertheless, there are also hierarchies. In our sample village, there is a split of power. According to the law for the territorial and administrative development of Bulgaria, a settlement with the size of the village Z. is a ‘‘mayor-run community’’. Its budget is allocated by the bigger administrative unit – ‘‘the municipality’’. The budget of the village is defined on the basis of the number of people living in the community. In this particular case, the village of Z. entirely depends on the municipal budget. At the same time, the village of Z. and all other villages with a population of over 500 people, directly vote for a mayor who governs the village and represents its people in the municipal council. The mayor of Z. is a ‘‘young’’ man (39-years-old) and has been governing the village for three 4-year mandates. The notions ‘‘young’’ or ‘‘old’’ are here used as by the villagers. He is a graduate of the Forestry Engineering University in Sofia, a member of the Bulgarian Socialist Party (BSP), and was re-elected in October 2003 with the support of his party. But according to the persons interviewed, the mayor is a controversial figure. Some people believe he is not a man of competence and initiative. Another group, even supporters of his very own party BSP, argue that he is not the perfect match, and has not done much for the development of the village, but still he is our man. Locals tend to accept him as a formal and official leader of the village, but not as the real leader. The indisputable though informal leader of the village of Z. is the chairman of the smaller, but financially more stable and better-organized agricultural cooperative. All persons interviewed shared the opinion that he is ‘‘a person of expertise’’ (an agronomist), but he is also a ‘‘manager’’ with a vision for the future. His cooperative has become a stable institution; he invested in better and modern equipment. Apart from all those qualifications and the abilities proven in practice (the cooperative he manages obtained a bank guarantee and won a project for purchasing expensive

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equipment under the European Union SAPARD-program), the people from Z. also add that he is ‘‘young and attractive’’. In the eyes of the villagers, this makes him an undisputed leader and a respected man in the village. Another highly respected person in the village is the local nurse. She has been living there for years and regardless of the changes in the healthcare system over the different periods of the reform, she willingly and readily helps everybody who needs care. ‘‘She is an all-in-one for us – a doctor, a professor and assistant’’. She never refuses help and because of her ‘‘good heart’’ and understanding she has a high reputation, though in fact she is not a real leader. We can conclude that the formal power is important for the people of the village. It is perceived as something real and existing, but it is debatable to what extent it is a real factor for the social integration of the village as the ‘‘kolkhoze’’ was formerly. In conclusion we would like to point out that the reforms towards a market economy and democracy show clearly the irreversible disintegration of the old structures and organizational principles of the ‘‘industrialized village’’ typical for the period of socialism. With its new social and economic actors devoted to a new type of economic activity, and due to the changes in the legal system and social reforms, the village that we use as an example in our survey can no longer be labeled an ‘‘industrialized village’’. Nevertheless, there is also continuity in personnel and especially in the perceptions of many villagers, which will be discussed further below. The presentation of the Bulgarian village of Z. in the contextual concept of the ‘‘industrialized village’’ has to be supplemented by an attempt to explain these perceptions, or in other words, the institutional analysis has to be supplemented by sociology of knowledge and action. Any analysis of transformation needs to explore the interpretation and the acceptance of the changing lifestyles on the part of the active participants in the changes themselves. The concept of the ‘‘industrialized village’’ puts a strong focus on the frame conditions (the context) of the changes and is rather indifferent to attitudes, experiences and the readiness for taking up common actions. That is why in the text further on we shall switch the perspective to the interpretative schemes of the social actors. The analysis is based on the understanding that social actors’ knowledge is spontaneously theoretical. In an attempt to understand some phenomena of their environment, individuals apply certain schemes of perception and interpretation acquired as part of the collective systems of meaning and interpretation, each of which outlines its own tradition (Luckmann, 1998, 2002).

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OBSTRUCTIONS AND POSSIBILITIES IN THE PROCESS OF SOCIAL CONSTRUCTION IN THE RURAL COMMUNITY OF THE VILLAGE Z. In this section, we focus on village identity, especially on the sense of belonging, on homogeneity and heterogeneity and on village life and its perspectives. We try to reconstruct the schemes that guide the villagers’ own perceptions. As they have grown in the past, we need to tackle this topic, too. We want to show that in this particular case of Z. the process of transformation has been influenced by several factors. The economic and social changes require that the actors be re-orientated in their minds and ways of thinking, perception and behavior. Such changes influence their readiness to become part of a ‘‘new’’ common unity – the common ‘‘we’’. In other words, the changes are accompanied by the establishment of new or the restoration of old social-interpretative models by the social actors in the village. Further on in this chapter we will talk about the rebuilding and reconstruction of the model based on the ideological opposition – ‘‘red vs. blue’’ – which is typical for the first years of transformation in Bulgaria and makes up for group realignment or homogeneity or heterogeneity in our sample village. Another focus is on ‘‘them and us’’ which, in the case of the village of Z., means analysing the ethnic differentiation and separation among Bulgarians and gypsies. We consider these two ideological oppositions as sources of pressure for reorientation. We cannot discuss here their embeddedness in the broader processes of individualization and modernization of rural regions ‘‘governing’’ the social construction and reconstruction of the community. Instead we largely stick to the reconstruction of the interpretative schemes of the villagers.

POLITICAL DISINTEGRATION AND DIVISION IN Z. The lack of integration by formal political institutions and the political disintegration in Z. is rooted in the beginning of the partisan movement. The village of Z. had 15 partisans. After September 9, 1944, the partisans returned home from resistance against fascist rule, took over power in the village and initiated the establishment of a local cooperative. As a result, the village of Z. was the first place in the region where a communist cooperative was established. Since this first foundation of a cooperative, the village went

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through all the metamorphoses in the communist party’s visions for the development of the Bulgarian village and the expansion of agrarian production, the processes of mechanization and industrialization, the establishment of the agrarian industrial complexes and so on. At the beginning, joining the cooperative was a voluntary act but later it turned into a coercive one. People who did not join were subjected to terror and persecution. Houses belonging to some of them were burnt down; some people were even shot dead without any trial. As a result of that terror, fear was widespread in the village by the end of the 1950s, and all private farmers joined the cooperative to avoid repression. Today, the ‘‘communist’’ organization in the village (now socialist) has about 20 members. They have transformed into the Bulgarian Socialist Party (BSP). They still gather for meetings, but they all confess they are old now and are ‘‘losing the initiative’’. Their last impact was the election of the village mayor for a third mandate. The members and the supporters of the BSP work in the bigger and the older of the two cooperatives in the village, in the library, in the post office and the mayor’s office. The active members of the party sit in the managing board of the cooperative, which people call ‘‘the red cooperative’’. It is in poor financial condition. The other cooperative, ‘‘the blue cooperative’’, is developing quite well for the time being. The reason for the establishment of the second cooperative in the village in 1993 was the general split between ‘‘reds and blues’’, or communists and anti-communists in the country. There was a trend of establishing new structures to oppose any still existing former communist structures because the latter were believed to still follow ‘‘the party line’’ and to ‘‘serve particular interests only’’. Here is an argument that one of the respondents who was involved in the events of that period, shared with us 10 years after the dissolution of the old communist cooperative This cooperative is communist, the union is fascist. However that was not the essence. In general, people simply split up back then . . . I think there was a lot of accumulated resentment against certain leaders . . . People simply would not work with them and that’s why the two separate establishments appeared, the two forms rather. In fact, they were one same thing. Fair to say, one and the same technology and the same machines. Nearly 90 per cent of their equipment were machines from the former TCAC, which was then undergoing liquidation. The same with the members – those that worked for the TCAC.

The better financial situation of the ‘‘blue cooperative’’ over the last few years is the reason for one of the respondents why ‘‘there is no way back to the past’’; and the chairman, who defined himself as a ‘‘manager’’, said that

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political division in the village is gradually fading away and losing its previous meaning, by giving way, in his opinion, to a sound business logic. In scientific literature it is argued that, during periods of transition, the old forms of integration are gradually replaced by an orientation towards economic activity and success. But it is also largely disputed whether economic action can serve integration purposes. The willingness to follow the young leader shown by more and more private owners of arable land, turning away from the bigger communist cooperative with its tradition of integrating the whole village, can be taken as a search for a new identity, a new symbol that might give reason to one’s own life. But this argument has to be judged against the mental orientation of the villagers as expressed by them, since they still see the world largely in ideological oppositions, as ‘‘red’’ against ‘‘blue’’. ‘‘Blue’’ being more successful than ‘‘red’’, it serves as affirmation that there is no way back to the old institutions. The chairman was alone with his opinion that the political division in the village is fading away. Success seems to make up for reorientation. But what happens if success is lacking?

THEM AND US: THE GYPSY MINORITY IN Z. The Roma minority living in the village is very poor with hardly any prospects for betterment. Summer and autumn, which are the harvest seasons, are also seasons of high theft rates. Anything that farmers produce and own may be stolen. Thefts range from any agro-products to irrigation pipes and other steel objects, which belong to the cooperatives or individual farmers. Thefts are attributed to Roma and provoke a very negative attitude towards the minority group. Bulgarians consider them ‘‘bad’’ and ‘‘thieves’’, not because they are poor, but because gypsies prefer ‘‘the easy way, and not hard work’’. The Bulgarian population of Z. generally believes that the government and the high-ranking politicians patronize the gypsy minority and their behavior because gypsies are easily manipulated into voting favorably during elections. People name the mayor of the village as an example of someone who used the local gypsies this way during the last elections. The people we interviewed believed that the state does not defend their property from the raids of the gypsies. That is why there are cases where people end up taking the law into their own hands and quite often virtually fight to protect their property. The other possible ‘‘solution’’ against ‘‘the pest of thieves’’ is to quit any farming business and stop producing because most of the produce gets stolen, as some people argue.

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Often, during the active farming season, when theft on the field happens more frequently, actions are undertaken against the gypsies, who are normally the perpetrators. These campaigns are run by the law enforcement institutions – the police, the mayor etc., – but there are also local volunteers, workers from the agrarian cooperatives and individual farm owners. When we persistently pushed to tell us how they manage to curb the gypsies from stealing, our respondents in Z. kept giving us evasive answers of the kind: We have our own ways after the state refuses to defend us. Among themselves, these ‘‘campaigns’’ are called ‘‘round-ups’’. No other forms of integration being given, Roma become a mechanism for negative integration of native Bulgarians. The common foe leads to a feeling of togetherness among them. In front of one of the two stores in the village there are often drunken gypsy men and quarrels start. Sometimes the drunken gypsies swear at the shop assistant, who is a Bulgarian, and humiliate her by calling her names. The Bulgarian people do not come to that place, because they are afraid of the drunken gypsies and consider themselves as being of ‘‘higher rank’’ than the gypsies. The following quotation can be read as an example. An 80year-old woman who lives near the store, reports I tell you, the mayor is young, he’s afraid. And the rest – too. Elder people are also afraid, and it seems that the mayor guards the gypsies – not a word against them. The other day – Redjeb and another one started at Katya, the shop-assistant. You know what they did and said to her. I was shopping. She scolded them ‘cause they were smoking inside. She doesn’t let them, because she will have to pay fines for that, and this Redjeb, then, started: ‘‘Whatever you say, but we are over you now, the Bulgarians are no more than 100–150 people, we are more than you, we lead the way’’. And she spoke back to him: ‘‘I’ll get you by the collar and throw you out, because I have the right to do it’’. And Redjeb snapped back: ‘‘C’mon, c’mon, we’ll jump, and you’ll be alone’’. You see that’s what he says. And I thought of telling the mayor, but then I thought again: My son will find out about it, and will be angry, I should just sit quietly on my old arse . . .

FORMS OF VILLAGE LIFE IN Z. Under state socialism social life was organized by the cooperative. Today, shared social life hardly exists in the village. No school, no kindergarten, no youth club, no commonly organized festivities; only the library is still open for some hours per week. New forms of social life are hardly developing. Two women who moved here from the city are making attempts to arrange public celebrations for Women’s Day, the First Day of the Spring,

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etc. The initiators are two sisters – one is the owner of the private grocery shop in the village and a former labor union expert, now retired, and the other one is her sister, a 54-year-old woman who was laid off from her job as a teacher in the nearby town and now works as a salesperson at her sister’s grocery store. Well, what are we supposed to do with them? (.) This idea is my sister’s and mine. It was last year: there was a small bar in the village. It was really nice. The owners are here. He is a farmer, his name is D. His wife used to be a waitress and knows this business. She kept the bar really nice and clean. (.) Now, at Gencho’s bar, you only see those gypsies. Gypsies, gypsies – and after that you have to wash the glass properly. We arranged Women’s Day celebrations last year at that bar. The First Day of Spring, too, with a luncheon. Don’t ask me how many people showed up . . . Few can afford the cost. You know, personally, I recently assumed this principle – I sit down and let my soul loose. (.) The nice bar is not there this year and we had no place for celebration. I spoke with the mayor, but he offered one shabby room. Later, we asked for the wedding hall in the Cultural Center. I have never been in that wedding hall upstairs. The mayor said it is private property of the Community Center and the heating is shut off. I answered back that even if we have 15 women at the gathering, each would pay 1 Lev and that covers heating, but we want to have the party. It is Women’s Day, after all! He refused though. If I were a mayor . . . If, say the mayor . . . If . . . He’s got the education, but education doesn’t make one’s upbringing. How many women gathered? We did gather, surprisingly many – 27 women. A record-high number! What should happen is that the mayor says: ‘‘You are welcome in my office’’. It is about one day only! Big deal! But we are in opposition. He and I especially.

In addition to celebrations on various occasions, the women in the village organize excursions throughout Bulgaria every year. There have been four excursions over the last two years. Two of them were arranged by the mayor, but those were not well received, because of their ‘‘commercial nature’’. The other two were arranged by the women from the village led by the two sisters. They made the transportation arrangements. The women visited a flower exhibition and cultural heritage sites. There were unoccupied seats at the last excursion and the organizers invited people from the neighboring village to join. Our respondents pointed out that one of the reasons for the low level of social activity and initiative for public events amongst the villagers is that there is no person who could ‘‘lead the people’’. But the formal leaders, such as the mayor, do not display and are not attributed the necessary authority to gather villagers around social activities. But it is not only the leadership scheme combined with the polar ideology between ‘‘red’’ and ‘‘blue’’ that

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hinders self-organization. For example, the mayor’s attempt to form a women’s choir failed because of objections of husbands, as he himself explained to us. These consequences of a lack of social life are far-reaching. Confined to the village to make a living, to ‘‘generally speaking, the reign of a dull villagers’ life’’ and with hardly any social life given, people in Z. have a ‘‘mass interest’’ in gossip and conceive intrigues, etc. But the village as a meaningful resource for the development of one’s own life perspectives hardly exists. The identity of the village largely stems from constructing a border, an ethnic cleavage, not from the common activities of its inhabitants. Therefore it is not surprising that many residents, on one hand, proclaim that there is no way back but, on the other hand, they talk about social life during communist rule and complain about its loss.

OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM ABOUT THE PROSPECTS OF THE VILLAGE The interviewed residents of Z. see a gloomy picture of the future prospects of their village. The population is shrinking, ‘‘of course’’ because of the worsening age structure, the fact that the size of the Roma minority in the village is increasing at the expense of Bulgarians. The interviewees’ aim is to leave the village, to move to a city, or even go abroad. Here are opinions of two residents of Z. regarding the future of their village. We would like to point out that the retired woman, aged 85, and the ‘‘young’’ male farmer and wholesaler share their pessimistic views about the development of Z. ’Cause there are no people here. There are no Bulgarians. That’s all gonna be Gypsies left here! There! Peter died yesterday and the house is empty now. His father walks on two crutches. He’s fading and does not want to go to live with his other son in the city. Says he wants to die here. And the other houses are left empty. Everybody died, these people. All died. Young people, old people, everybody died. Oh, I very much wish there would be such a prospect (for the village), but at least for the next 10 to 15 years . . . I am pessimistic. Pessimistic. People grab their suitcases every day and go somewhere else.

Invariably, if one tries to outline the question of the future development of the village of Z., one has to discuss the village–city connection. The village is thought of as a neglected and deserted place, not the right place to live in. The right place is the city. So, if someone sees an opportunity, he tries to get

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detached from the village, for example, by buying an apartment in the city for the family to live in, sending the child to a school in Sofia, or getting married to a city person and so forth. These orientations towards the city as an esteemed place to live in reproduce notions that were already widespread in socialist times. Despite all rhetoric, the countryside was then perceived as a hinterland, as backward, while cities were looked upon as spaces of culture, progress, modern lifestyles etc. Today, the village is considered by the people who work and live in it as a place which has to be ‘‘modernized’’ – in other words, which has to have a more city-like look. Taking into account the struggle for survival of the majority of villagers, this orientation toward urban life must be looked upon as a flight from reality You mean many retired people should return to the village? Younger people could return here as well, but why in the future? Distances in Bulgaria are not as big as in the other countries. Like it is in Poland. That’s the way they do it in Poland. He’s got a farm out of town, small house and the fields around. He comes back at 4 from work and starts working. And they are much better off. Why not this way? One person should have a job, like my daughter-in-law who works in Stara Zagora as a pharmacist, and sometimes, even on Thursday night, depending on her colleague from the other shift, she comes over. Stays for 2–3 days here. The next week she may not be able to come. Then my son would go to town to her. People can work both here and there. One in the family should have a job in town – more security in that job –and the rest of the time live here (in the village). Saturday, Sunday – why not be here?

At best, our villagers dream of work in the city and the village alike. Village life itself is not the center of options for the future. Real perspectives for it come from turning it into part of modern city life, which is a place for relaxation and recreation from urban life. In the process of studying the Bulgarian village, we found proof that a key criterion of the villagers’ public life, such as self-governance, is undergoing restructuring, construction and transformation. Under the condition of collapsed key principles of the ‘‘industrialized village’’ as part of the postsocialist development, the residents of Z. are facing the need of finding new, effective centers of meaning to unify themselves. Only thus could new possibilities for collective action appear. But exactly such a new scheme for collective action is not clear. Instead we see political hostility and business rivalry between the new economic actors (the two agro-cooperatives); we see ethnic cleavages and gossip. Some social activities restart in order to overcome the deficits in communication, culture, lifestyle, etc. of life in the village, but they do not seem very promising. Women have an active role in this, especially women of the group that we call ‘‘young retired

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persons – returnees’’. They invent ad hoc new forms of self-organization but up to now their activities have not evolved into sustainable structures. Whether this is possible is a debatable question. The orientation towards the city is a key component in the self-understanding of the villagers. The city is perceived as the ‘‘rescue place’’ from the hardships of village life and agroproduction. We believe that only under extraordinary circumstances can the lives of village residents in themselves become a source of local identity. At the very moment, however, there are only small hints at such a development in the village of Z. For most of the residents, their perceived future does not lie in their own lives in rural communities and the opportunities generated there, but somewhere else.

CONCLUSION In conclusion we would like to underscore and emphasize that the survey of the opportunities and obstacles facing the development of the rural communities shown here thoroughly depicts the role of the social actors for the success of the reforms and the transformations in the East European village in general, and in the Bulgarian village of Z. in particular. The important point here about the particular case of the village of Z. is that we could differentiate three social-interpretative schemes that guide the perception and actions of the villagers. Firstly, there is the scheme of political differentiation: ‘‘blues’’ and ‘‘reds’’. It serves to interpret reality along political, social, moral and economic positions and abstracts largely from mixtures, from critical positions. It implies nearly automatically the economic positions: ‘‘for’’ or ‘‘against’’ market relations. Morally it defines fascists and exploiters, socially the decline of village life and the loss of importance of villages in the ongoing changes. It is not at all by accident that in the first place this social-interpretative scheme comes to be at the core of the processes that disintegrate the rural community. And it hinders considerably the development of self-help and self-governance, as any problem arising is attributed to the false political position and not to the problem itself. Secondly, we could decipher another interpretative scheme, which one may term negative integration. It excludes the gypsy minority from the identity of the village as a whole: ‘‘they differ from us’’. The decline of the village is largely connected with the Roma population. They have too many children, which changes the weight of the different groups in the village; they

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represent moral decline and political opportunism; they are an economic threat, at least to the small farmers. It seems that the identity ‘‘Bulgarian’’ is largely upheld negatively, that is, via the creation of an insurmountable wall against the Roma, who are perceived as being responsible for many, many evils the villagers face. Thirdly, there is the ‘‘still alive and kicking’’ scheme, nourished by the differentiation between the city and the village. The understanding that the city may offer far better conditions – for working and living – is not only active and shared by the villagers of Z. This scheme seems to gain more and more supporters, especially among those who benefit from the reforms of the 1990s. Being successful seems to mean to develop opportunities that are located in the cities only. The political and the economic changes did not lead to the ‘‘rebirth’’ of the Bulgarian village. On the contrary, they just aggravated the desire of the successful private agrarian farmers, owners of small micro-farms and small shops to at least migrate between city and village. Whether chances will result from this hoped-for symbiosis between city and village must be left to further research. In post-socialist Bulgaria, institution building is formally completed. The industrial village of the past has been abolished and new conditions for social life exist. But perceptions have not changed in the same way, nor, perhaps, at the same pace. Methodologically, it seems necessary to accept that there is only a loose coupling between institutions and perceptions, that interpretative schemes develop their own rules of consistency that do not necessarily follow or fit neatly with new frames of references which institutions like democracy or the market offer to different actors.

REFERENCES Luckmann, T. (Ed.) (1998). Moral im Alltag: Sinnvermittlung und moralische Kommunikation in intermedia¨ren Institutionen. Gu¨tersloh: Verlag Bertelsmann-Stiftung. Luckmann, T. (2002). Vera¨nderungen von religion und moral im modernen Europa. Berliner Journal fu¨r Soziologie, 12(3), 285–293. Oevermann, U. (1973). Zur Analyse der Struktur von sozialen Deutungsmustern. [Online], Manuscript. Available at www.rz.uni-frankfurt.de-hermeneu/download.htm. Accessed on March 18, 2003. Oevermann, U. (2001a). Zur Analyse der Struktur von sozialen Deutungsmustern. Sozialer sinn, 2(1), 3–33. Oevermann, U. (2001b). Die Struktur sozialer Deutungsmuster – Versuch einer Aktualisierung. Sozialer sinn, 2(1), 35–81.

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Oswald, I., Ernst, F., & Dittrich, E. (2005). Das industrialisierte Dorf. Zur Transformation la¨ndlicher Lebensweise in postsozialistischen Gesellschaften. In: R. Kollmorgen (Ed.), Postsozialistische Lektionen, historische und interkulturelle Vergleiche (pp. 241–257). Mu¨nster: Lit Verlag. Weber, M. (1980). Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Tu¨bing: Mohr.

CHAPTER 5 PERCEPTIONS OF AGRICULTURE’S MULTIFUNCTIONAL ROLE AMONG RURAL PENNSYLVANIANS Martin H. Lenihan, Kathryn J. Brasier and Richard C. Stedman ABSTRACT Purpose – The policy approach of multifunctionality – that agriculture has benefits beyond the production of food and fiber – has been debated within global trade negotiations. Little is known about the perceptions of agriculture’s multifunctional nature at the local level. These perceptions may be particularly pertinent in rural locations undergoing rapid transformations of the agricultural system, economic base, and related land uses. This chapter describes research conducted to examine the perceptions of agriculture’s impact on local communities and the policy choices needed to support agriculture’s multifunctionality. Methodology – Six focus groups were conducted in Pennsylvania, USA. Counties were selected to represent three differentiated rural spaces (contested, clientelist, preserved), in which production and consumption interests claims vie for control of rural land. Participants represented both Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 127–149 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014008

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production and consumption interests, and described their perceptions of local agriculture and policy preferences. Findings – Production and consumption interests across the study sites expressed views consonant with global discussions, in that agriculture provides significant positive impacts and few negative. However, locally specific issues related to taxes, land use planning, and farmland preservation dominated discussion. Participants supported a mix of policy tools (voluntary, regulatory, educational), but gave little credence to federal programs. Research limitations/implications – Policy initiatives to support agricultural multifunctionality need to be sensitive to local conditions and create an enabling environment to allow multiple stakeholders opportunities to identify issues and preferred policy mechanisms. Originality – Previous research has identified multifunctionality concepts at the global level; this chapter localizes multifunctionality, and examines potential hurdles to implementation.

INTRODUCTION Agricultural policy specialists across the globe debate how agricultural production should be supported and regulated by public policy. Food exporting nations like Brazil, Argentina, and Australia argue that government intervention in agriculture should be curtailed as part of the World Trade Organization (WTO) agricultural negotiations. This laissez faire approach has been resisted by the European Union, South Korea, Japan, Norway, and Switzerland, who argue that agriculture cannot be subjected to the same principles of liberalization as other economic sectors due to its social and environmental effects that go beyond the production of commodities. Potential functions of agriculture include amenities (e.g., providing open space, wildlife habitat, ecological services, income and employment for rural residents, and food security) and disamenities (such as non-point source water pollution and odor) (Batie, 2003; Bromley, 2000; Buttel & Zepeda, 2002; Durand & Huylenbroeck, 2003; Potter & Burney, 2002). This argument, known as ‘‘multifunctionality’’, has become part of the global discourse on agricultural policy reform and was acknowledged by the WTO as a ‘‘non-trade’’ concern in its 1995 ‘‘Global Agreement on Agriculture’’.

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Multifunctionality discourses are part of a broader discussion related to defining agriculture’s current state, future direction, and policy mechanisms for moving it in the direction desired. This global discourse has significant import for local rural communities, as leaders react to rural restructuring – changes in agriculture, population changes, divergent claims on local land use – and the selection of policy mechanisms to address these issues (Marsden, 1999). This chapter examines the extent to which the concepts underlying multifunctionality are found within local discourses, who articulates these discourses, and what policy approaches they support. We ‘‘localize’’ the multifunctionality discourse through by examining the results of focus groups conducted in three communities in Pennsylvania representing various types of ‘‘differentiated rural spaces’’ (Murdoch, Lowe, Ward, & Marsden, 2003). We explore the relationship between the multifunctionality discourse and production/consumption claims over rural land use, gaining insight into how multifunctional-style programs are accepted or resisted, depending on local conditions and interests.

MULTIFUNCTIONALITY OF AGRICULTURE IN GLOBAL POLICY The EU argues that agriculture plays a crucial role not only in environmental protection and food security, but also in ensuring the socioeconomic viability of rural areas, food safety, and the protection of animal welfare. Policy prescriptions to support multifunctionality include introducing decoupled single farm payments requiring producer adherence to minimum environmental, food safety, and animal welfare standards. Farmers who voluntarily enhance environmental quality are eligible for additional payments. Conversely, the United States’ position on the issue of multifunctionality has been ambivalent. On the one hand, the United States has often sided with the food exporting nations in opposing the EU and other countries wishing to use the argument to resist trade liberalization. However, the United States included multifunctional-style programs in the 2002 farm bill, increasing spending on agri-environmental payments by approximately 80 percent (Baylis, Rausser, & Simon, 2005). Scholarly debates on multifunctionality have treated the concept with skepticism, arguing it represents a disguised form of protectionism,

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bolstering the interests of privileged farmers (Swinbank, 2001) and transnational agribusiness interests from developed countries (Peine & McMichael, 2005). However, other scholars argue that multifunctionalstyle policies represent a post-productivist agricultural transition where the worst exigencies of the productivist food regime (dumping food surpluses, soil erosion, water pollution, public health scares) are reversed, and replaced by a safe, quality-oriented, environmentally friendly food regime (Wilson, 2001). These interpretations of the multifunctional agriculture debate have largely adopted a top-down political economy approach to explaining the concept’s significance. Scholarship on this topic focuses on macro-level actors (such as policy makers and farm lobbyists) to the neglect of local actors, such as farmers, consumers, and non-farm rural residents who passively respond to outside policy forces (Burton & Wilson, 2006). It is therefore unclear how the macro-level debates complement or contradict the expectations of a range rural actors responsible for negotiating, implementing, and interpreting the policy programs that result.

AGRICULTURAL MULTIFUNCTIONALITY AT THE LOCAL LEVEL Research that goes beyond macro-level policy debates focus on broad societal expectations of agriculture’s multifunctional role. Many of these studies focus on public support for farmland preservation (CSRA, 2000; Duke, Ilvento, & Hyde, 2002; Furuseth, 1987; Hellerstein, 2002; Kline & Wichelns, 1996; Welle, 2001). Other studies examine attitudes towards agricultural policy (Duffy & Molnar, 1989; Kull, Klay, Stefan, & Evans, 2004), urban/suburban dweller attitudes toward agriculture (Fix, Wallace, & Bright, 2001; Sokolow, 2000), relations between farmers and non-farmers (Sharp & Smith, 2003; Singletary & Kelsey, 1996), and agrarian values (Dalecki & Coughenour, 1992). Overall, studies show a high level of support for the occupation of farming and farmland protection (CSRA, 2000; Duke et al., 2002; Furuseth, 1987; PCEE, 1999). The basis of this support appears to be agriculture’s multifunctional character: environmental concerns, maintaining open space, protecting local food supplies, cultural heritage, protecting water quality, and protecting wildlife habitats (Duke et al., 2002; Fix et al., 2001; Furuseth, 1987; Hall, McVittie, & Moran, 2004; Hellerstein, 2002;

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Kline & Wichelns, 1996). However, there is confusion regarding the relative importance of agriculture’s various functions. Hellerstein (2002) and Furuseth (1987) emphasize food security, cultural heritage, environmental protection, and aesthetics. Kline and Wichelns (1996) prioritize the natural environment, while food security and farming as a way of life are viewed as less important. It is thus difficult to determine from the existing literature the relative importance of agriculture’s different functions. A more crucial question is how these broad public sentiments are manifested in local socio-economic contexts or how attitudes vary according to respondents’ connection with agriculture. Considering multifunctionality’s increasing relevance as a concept in international and federal policy arenas, it is also worth exploring, at a local level, people’s perspectives on the various policies designed to support the non-commodity functions of agriculture. The relationship between global and local is complex, drawing on multiple historical relations of production, culture, geography, power, and politics resulting in unique localities (Murdoch et al., 2003). Programs supported agricultural multifunctionality developed at the macro level may be resisted and reinterpreted locally during implementation (Elmore, 1980; Lenihan, 2006; Long, 2001). It is therefore critical to understand local discourses of multifunctionality and the specific socio-economic and geographic factors affecting the development of these discourses.

CONCEPTUALIZING MULTIFUNCTIONAL AGRICULTURE IN A DIFFERENTIATED RURAL SPACE Most of the debates over agriculture’s multifunctional role focus on what constitutes legitimate rural land use claims. The related concepts of rural restructuring and differentiated countryside give us some insight into how this debate has emerged (Marsden, Murdoch, Lowe, Munton, & Flynn, 1993; Murdoch et al., 2003). Traditionally, the commodity production function of agriculture was unchallenged. It was assumed that farmers were primarily responsible for food production, and that they were naturally good stewards of the land. In the decades following the World War II, farmers were encouraged to optimize production and given a range of public policy supports to pursue this goal (Potter, 1999).

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Since the end of the 1970s the assumption that rural land use is primarily agricultural, along with farmer’s land stewardship role, have been challenged. This was partly because agriculture’s political and economic relevance was undermined by the very success of the optimization model of production. Both agricultural policy and technological developments encouraging production intensification also helped concentrate production in the hands of smaller numbers of producers and reduced the agricultural workforce (Evans, Morris, & Winter, 2002; Wilson, 2001). These trends were compounded by economic globalization and the liberalization of the terms of trade in agricultural commodities (Marsden, 1999). Running parallel to agriculture’s declining political and economic significance are social and political changes challenging agriculture’s preeminent role as a rural land use. These changes include increased personal mobility in the form of commuting, migration, tourism, and recreation (Renkow & Hoover, 2000). People who previously had little contact with agriculture are now interested in visiting and residing in rural places, and in turn exert pressure to regulate the environmental consequences of agriculture (Marsden, 2006). Taken together these forces contribute to an overall process of rural restructuring which involves a number of contradictory trends encouraging intensification and spatial concentration of agricultural production, as well as the emergence of consumption claims on rural land use (Murdoch et al., 2003). Such consumption claims might include demands to enhance agriculture’s amenity aspects, such as quality and specialty food production, visually attractive landscapes, and recreation spaces. The process of rural restructuring is also spatially uneven, penetrating different rural spaces at different levels, depending on residents’ characteristics and value orientations (production, consumption, or amenity protection), local power structures, urban proximity, natural conditions, and national policy regimes (Holmes, 2002; Murdoch et al., 2003). What results is a differentiated rural landscape, with different rural spaces characterized by different claims on land use, coupled with structural factors affecting local capacity for action. To reflect these changes, Murdoch and colleagues (2003) developed ideal types of rural areas in a differentiated countryside. These types include the preserved, contested, paternalistic, and clientelistic countryside. The preserved countryside represents high amenity value rural areas and are characterized by networks of anti-development and preservationist interests who use local government structures to protect environmental amenities in the face of rapid economic growth. In such areas, the values of

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consumption-oriented (often middle class) social groups, that prioritize the agriculture’s non-commodity functions, dominate. The contested countryside exists outside the main commuting zones. Although commercial farmers and development interests may seek to pursue economic growth through agricultural intensification and rural industrialization, these proposals are constantly challenged by incoming ex-urban residents. On the one hand, production-oriented social groups (e.g., farmers and agribusiness) advocate agriculture’s centrality to economic development, food security, and natural resource management (Wilson, 2001), while promoting policy initiatives that protect the entire agricultural sector from market forces or environmental regulation. On the other hand, social groups prioritizing the consumption value of rural areas are concerned with agriculture’s negative impact on the natural environment and quality of life and advocate increased regulatory control over agricultural operations (Wilson, 2001). The paternalistic countryside is characterized by the dominance of wellestablished large-scale farmers and landowners over local land use decisions. This group may well view themselves as custodians of the land and the local traditions associated with it, and emphasize agriculture’s beneficial impact on cultural heritage and environmental protection. The clientelist countryside is where agriculture is dependent on government payments and land use decisions result from corporatist relationships holding together networks of local farming, landowning, financial, and government organizations. In such areas there is likely to be continued emphasis on the importance of agriculture to local economic development, food security, and cultural heritage. Preferred policy initiatives of both production and consumption groups might include efforts to modernize the agricultural sector. These categories provide an important organizing concept for this study, as they capture the uneven differentiation of rural areas, how the pace of change is contingent on a number of endogenous and exogenous networks, and the ability of networks of production-oriented and consumptionoriented individuals and organizations to take action (Murdoch, 2006; Murdoch et al., 2003). In this study, we examine the discourses surrounding the multifunctionality of agriculture within the context of different levels of penetration of consumption interests into traditional agricultural areas of the state of Pennsylvania, USA. The objective of this chapter is to explore how this debate plays out among social actors who have differing interests in the agri-food sector, and to make comparisons between the debates occurring in different types of rural areas within a region traditionally highly

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dependent on agriculture but facing rapid urbanization, and within the context of the debate on multifunctionality at the global level of governance.

STUDY LOCATION: PENNSYLVANIA The nature of agricultural production in Pennsylvania is in the process of dramatic transformation. New technological developments (e.g., antibiotics, genetically modified organisms) combine with new management practices such as animal confinement to increase production scale and intensity. Traditional small and medium scale agricultural operations are being marginalized. The population of rural Pennsylvania is changing, with growing numbers of rural residents having little connection with agriculture. This group includes urban commuters, ex-urban retirees, and people living at the interface of rural areas and the suburbs of Pennsylvania’s urban centers. Taken together, these trends contribute to the contentious debate in Pennsylvania over what constitutes appropriate forms of agricultural production. These debates take place in a number of different issue spaces including permitting processes for large-scale livestock facilities, municipal land use decisions, farmland preservation programs, and federal and state nutrient management policies. At the root of these conflicts are differences among community members’ perceptions of what agriculture is, what it should be, and its current and potential effects on the local economy, natural environment, and quality of life. Using Murdoch and colleagues’ (2003) differentiated countryside framework, we identify three ideal types of rural communities in Pennsylvania. Berks County, in southeastern Pennsylvania, represents the preserved countryside. Berks County has significant agricultural resources but also significant development pressure. The number of farms has decreased by close to 16 percent between 1997 and 2002 (US Census of Agriculture, 2002) while the population increased by 11.0 percent between 1990 and 2000, far higher than the state average of 3.4 percent, (US Census Bureau). Agriculture is experiencing some vertical integration and intensification in the county with close to 5 percent of farmers in the county producing livestock (poultry, cattle, and hogs) under contract to major processors or input suppliers in 2002 (US Census of Agriculture, 2002). Along with this decline and intensification are attempts to protect over 46,000 acres of farmland through farmland preservation programs, the most of any county in the state (County Statistics for ACE Participants in Pennsylvania, 2005).

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Perry County, in central Pennsylvania, represents the contested countryside. Perry County is concurrently experiencing development pressure from an influx of residents from the Harrisburg area and intensification and concentration in agriculture. The number of farms in Perry County decreased by 8.6 percent between 1997 and 2002, while 5.5 percent of farms in the county are producing livestock (poultry, cattle, and hogs) under contract (US Census of Agriculture, 2002). Perry County’s population increased 5.9 percent between 1990 and 2000, higher than the state average of 3.4 percent. In contrast to Berks County, Perry County preserved a total of 4,596 farmland acres as of 2005, ranking 23rd in the state (County Statistics for ACE Participants in Pennsylvania, 2005). Somerset County, in southwestern Pennsylvania, represents the clientelistic countryside. The county has a relatively traditional agricultural structure with little decrease (2.8 percent) in farm numbers between 1997 and 2002 and only 1.6 percent of farms in the county producing livestock (cattle) under contract with processors (US Census of Agriculture, 2002). The county had a relatively stable population, increasing by 2.3 percent between 1990 and 2000 (US Bureau of the Census, 2000). As of 2005, only 557 acres were enrolled in farmland preservation programs (County Statistics for ACE Participants in Pennsylvania, 2005). We expect multifunctionality discourses and policy preferences to differ across these rural spaces, based on the relative power of the production and consumption-oriented groups within counties. In the preserved county (Berks), the discourse is expected to revolve around consumptionoriented benefits of agriculture, including open space, aesthetics, and environmental quality. Policy preferences are likely to revolve around farmland preservation and planning and zoning regulations allocating specific spaces to agriculture. In the contested county (Perry), the multifunctionality discourse and policy preferences are expected to differ between production and consumption interests. Production interests are more likely to emphasize the agriculture’s economic benefits as well as its food security, cultural heritage, and environmental functions. Consumption-oriented interests are more likely to emphasize the agriculture’s amenity aspects. Policy preferences will differ in the degree to which they advocate for regulation of the sector. In the clientelistic county (Somerset), the discourse on multifunctionality is likely to be similar between the production and consumption interests, and focus on agriculture’s multiple beneficial functions. Policy preferences are likely to focus on improving agricultural viability.

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RESEARCH METHODS The data for this chapter were generated through focus groups held in each county during the summer of 2005. In each county two focus groups were held – one composed of people representing local organizations interested in the amenity value of rural areas (community development groups, tourism interests, recreation groups, conservation organizations, education interests, and businesses). These are referred to as the consumption-oriented groups. The other set of focus groups included representatives of production interests in rural areas – such as farmers, the Farm Bureau, agri-businesses, farm agencies etc. These are referred to as the production-oriented groups.

Participant Recruitment and Composition Potential focus group participants were identified through contacts with county extension educators and other agency representatives. A total of 49 people participated in the focus groups – 27 in production groups, and 22 in consumption groups. The majority (71 percent) of the participants were male. There were different levels of participation in each county, with the groups in the clientelistic county attracting the largest number of participants (n ¼ 21), while those held in preserved county were poorly attended (n ¼ 10).

Focus Group Procedures The focus group discussions lasted between 45 and 60 min and were audio recorded. Discussions were guided using a question schedule seeking participant perceptions of agriculture’s positive impact on local quality of life, its negative impact, potential differences in impacts by farm type, social and economic processes threatening agriculture’s positive role or accelerating its negative impact, and actions necessary to enhance agriculture’s positive impact and reduce its negative impact. Each session was attended by a trained facilitator and a note-taker.

Data Analysis Procedures The recorded discussions were transcribed, and the resulting transcripts coded and analyzed using qualitative data analysis software (N6r).

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Paragraphs representing the statements of individual participants were used as the units of analysis. These units were subjected to both open and focused coding procedures. Open coding procedures were designed to summarize in one or two words the key issues in a given statement, for example, scenic landscapes, economic stability, employment, etc. Focused coding procedures involved assigning codes to each paragraph based on a coding scheme developed from the open coding process.

RESULTS Below are summaries of the discussions that occurred in the focus groups, organized first by county type (preserved, contested, and clientistic), then by participant type (production or consumption).

The Preserved County (Berks) According to the rural restructuring thesis, land use discourse in localities characterized as preserved rural spaces tend to be dominated by the values of consumption-oriented social groups. Agriculture’s amenity functions, such as the provision of open space and recreation, are prioritized and manifested in policies emphasizing farmland preservation and strict planning or zoning regulations. However, in Berks County an array of functions and policy preferences were discussed. The beneficial effects of agriculture identified included employment, tax revenues, cultural heritage, open space, visual aesthetics, provision of food, wildlife habitat, and water quality. There was significant agreement between the consumption and production groups on the benefits agriculture provides. For example, both groups emphasized agriculture’s economic role, including the relatively low cost of community services farms demand: It [agriculture] reduces the taxes needed to maintain the government. If you replaced all the farmland with houses you’d have a huge increase in taxes in the area. (production group)

Furthermore, agriculture was valued because it provides employment. Agriculture is the ‘‘backbone of commerce’’ (consumption group) in Berks County, and has a major impact on the manufacturing (farm inputs) and food processing sectors.

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As expected, the production group did emphasize agriculture’s role in maintaining rural environmental quality: I think we have very good water quality in Berks County because of all the open agricultural land. I don’t think people give enough thought to the value of the fields and how much we return ground water. (production group)

Other important environmental benefits included the maintenance of game habitat and the protection of air quality. There was also some discussion of agriculture’s contribution to cultural heritage in the form of a strong work ethic and the high value placed on farming as an autonomous sphere of work. One participant in the consumption-oriented group mentioned ‘‘an agricultural heritage’’ which included ‘‘a slower pace of life, smaller quaint villages, hard work, self sustaining households . . . ’’. Finally, participants from both groups recognized agriculture’s role in providing open space and important view-sheds, adding to the ‘‘unique character of the county’’. However, participants distinguished between open space and farmland. People may desire space for recreational activities such as walking or bike riding, but that this is a ‘‘different kind of open space than farming. Farming is an industry.’’ This suggests that even the consumption-oriented interests emphasize the economic benefits of agriculture and the need to allocate appropriate spaces for this activity. Both groups were reluctant to talk about the problems associated with agriculture. When the question of problems with agriculture was raised in the production group, it provoked a strong reaction: I disagree. I don’t think there are any costs associated with . . . agriculture whatsoever . . . I truly believe there are some misconceptions about agriculture . . . (production group)

It was instead argued that agriculture was a scapegoat for a diverse range of problems including water pollution and flies. Only brief mention was made by the consumption group of how the odor coming from agricultural operations might detract from people’s appreciation of the sector’s positive aspects. It was also argued that agriculture plays a beneficial environmental role in areas such as flood control. This readiness to defend agriculture is surprising in a context where consumption-oriented values were expected to be dominant. A wide range of policies was suggested in both groups, such as land use regulation, voluntary private approaches, as well as public education efforts. However, the emphases differed between the groups. The production group highlighted the need for education and voluntary approaches.

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Public education efforts were crucial to overcoming misconceptions about agriculture, and individual farmers needed to work with their neighbors to help the non-farming residents better understand farming. A system of incentives and disincentives were needed to ensure that farmland in Berks County could be preserved while development could be curtailed. In the consumption group, policy solutions focused on maintaining agriculture as a beneficial activity in the county, particularly through land use management and zoning. Concern was expressed about the plethora of small municipalities responsible for making planning and zoning decisions: In a perfect world, we would eliminate all municipal planning and create one central planning authority. (consumption group)

Even though Berks County ‘‘had more regional planning than any other county in the state’’ it still only allowed for a minimum level of coordination between township supervisors on planning issues. Farmland preservation was also discussed in the consumption group. According to one respondent Berks County has the ‘‘seventh largest land preservation program in the country’’ (consumption group). Farmland preservation was a ‘‘feel good thing, like apple pie and motherhood’’, but it was also criticized as being too reactive, and unable to compete with private developers. This critique of farmland preservation is surprising in the context of the preserved county.

The Contested County (Perry) We expected little agreement between consumer and production-oriented groups in the contested county. It was expected that the production-oriented group would stress the economic importance of agriculture along with its contribution to food security, while the consumption-oriented group would focus on policy measures to control agriculture’s negative features and enhance its positive aspects. However, in Perry County there was significant agreement between the production and consumption groups concerning a wide array of benefits associated with agriculture. These included economic (tax revenues and employment), cultural, aesthetic, environmental (wildlife habitat, water quality), and food provision benefits. Although the two groups generally discussed a similar range of benefits from agriculture, the production group tended to emphasize economic benefits (tax revenues and employment) more than the consumption group.

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The production group spoke specifically of agriculture’s contribution to a steady and reliable source of wealth: I think it stabilizes the community from the income standpoint . . . sometimes the dairy industry is down and the poultry industry is up or all industry is up. It provides a little more continuity and stability and diversity for farmers to make a living or the community to thrive. (production group)

Agriculture was also believed to have a positive impact on public expenditures, as ‘‘farmers demand less services from the local government than urban people’’ (production group), while large-scale operations make important contributions to the ‘‘local tax base and generate more business for the community’’ (production group). One benefit associated with agriculture identified by the consumption group was the ready availability of quality food. It also supplies a lot of fresh nutritious food to people in this area and surrounding area . . . not only just fruits and vegetables, but meat also. You have many people not necessarily buying most of their meat the grocery store . . . (consumption group)

Both the production and consumption groups stressed that agriculture contributes to the visual environment, along with wildlife habitat and water quality. One participant in the consumption group stated ‘‘ . . . by having so much of this open space we also lack of a lot of pollution’’. It was further argued that agriculture created a habitat for game animals such as deer and wild turkey. Both groups discussed agriculture’s cultural benefits. One participant in the consumption group described the contribution farm households make to a sense of community: They may not necessarily be within sight of our house, and they are not going to interfere with our life, but if we would need help they would be there. (consumption group)

It was also argued that agriculture had important cultural consequences. One participant, who was a teacher in a local school, claimed agriculture provided children with a rich legacy: I teach in a high school and it provides a lot of heritage for the kids that you may not experience in other areas. I have kids in my class they have family legacies passed down from one generation to the other and every generation that comes up you know that they are part of this family that farms in this area and they are really proud of what they have accomplished and what they have. (consumption group)

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Members of the production group also discussed the ways in which agriculture leads to the community’s sense of patriotism, as well as ethics of independence and autonomy in work. Both groups discussed the negative impacts of agriculture, focusing specifically on environmental problems such as pesticide drift, odors emanating from large animal operations, dust, water pollution, and soil erosion. However, the range of issues addressed were more limited in the production group than the consumption group, and tended to be blamed on a few types of farmers. One participant in the production group articulated agriculture’s major problems in the following words: The disadvantage of agriculture . . . two of them that I see that alarm me. One is the new generations that are willing to do away with strip-cropping . . . And I just can’t believe that people, the new next generation doesn’t realize that you can’t raise corn, corn soybeans, soybeans, and expect that the soil does not end up in the Chesapeake Bay. (production group)

It was also argued that the environmental problems associated with agriculture were mostly caused by large-scale animal operations, which had little stake in the local community. Many of these enterprises were thought not to be owner-operated, but managed by an employee who may be less concerned about the environmental consequences of production. Participants in the consumption group discussed to a significant extent agriculture’s negative effects, which conforms to expectations from the rural restructuring thesis. This discussion focused almost exclusively on the environmental problems associated with intensive agricultural production. One problem, discussed at length, was the odor associated with intensive hog operations. . . . when some of these big operations first came into the area they really got the reputation of the being really stinky. I mean, stinky to the point that even farmers were saying, ‘‘Now wait a minute, this odor is really too strong and it’s an everyday, everyday. (consumption group)

However, participants in the consumption group were also willing to defend intensive operations of this nature arguing that ‘‘they have learned how to work it and . . . cut back on the smell . . . ’’ This willingness to defend agriculture is surprising given the assertions of the rural restructuring thesis. Other environmental problems discussed in the consumption group included the public health concerns surrounding the use of certain pesticides as well as the risk posed to water quality from agricultural run-off. Policy recommendations differed between the production and consumption groups. Within the production group, there was a wide-ranging

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discussion about policy options, but with an emphasis on voluntary and educational approaches. For example, participants recommended greater use of farmland preservation programs, federal conservation programs, and initiatives to educate farmers about good agri-environmental practices and the public about the importance of agriculture. While there was some skepticism about the role of federal conservation programs which thought to reward farmers who created environmental problems, it was also stated that new programs, like the ‘‘Conservation Security Program’’, reward good environmental stewardship. When discussing policy options, the consumption-oriented group focused mostly on land use planning and zoning regulation. This was despite the fact that there was a good deal of opposition to the use of such instruments But another thing that is really not popular here is governmental control and zoning to plan for future growth . . . planning for the growth to kind of buffer the odors that you’re talking about. Buffer the applications on the field and we still have parts of the county that are very anti-zoning and planning for the future. (consumption group)

Major problems surrounding planning regulation discussed by the consumption group included the lack of a tradition of regulating land use by municipal governments in the county, and the lack of enforcement of existing ordinances. The fact that there are many municipal governments responsible for land use planning in the county makes the task even more difficult.

The Clientelist County (Somerset) According to the rural restructuring thesis, clientelist localities are likely to have a discursive consensus between consumption and production-oriented groups on agriculture’s contribution to local economic development, food security, culture, and heritage. It was also expected that both groups would strongly support policy initiatives enhancing agriculture’s economic potential. As expected, there were few differences between the production and consumption-oriented groups in the clientelist county (Somerset) in terms of types of benefits, problems, and preferred policies discussed. Both groups talked of similar benefits: economic effects (employment and tax revenue), cultural heritage, open space and visual aesthetics, the provision of food, and the protection of wildlife habitat. The economic contribution of agriculture to job retention and tax revenue received the most attention in

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both groups. It was further argued that agriculture had significant ‘‘economic multipliers’’ (production group) within Somerset County, and Somerset equipment dealers were cited as an example of ‘‘viable local employers’’ (production group). According to one participant in the consumption group, agriculture is the ‘‘Number one economic driver in the county’’. The dairy sector was believed to be particularly important, valued at over $1,000,000, and creating a trickle down effect in the local economy due to demand generated for ‘‘equipment, implements, jobs etc’’ (consumption group). Participants in both groups expressed concern over changes in agriculture, particularly the growth in scale and vertical integration in the livestock sector. The discussion stated that these changes affect agriculture’s potential positive economic impact in the county, because these operations tend to purchase their inputs and sell their products outside the county. Another important function attributed to agriculture within both groups was providing food. It was argued that ‘‘reliable and safe food is a basic necessity’’ and that farming should be protected for that reason. However, it was felt that agriculture’s role in this regard was undervalued by society as ‘‘Everyone wants cheap food, but are not willing to pay for it’’ (production group). Participants in the consumption group stressed that agriculture enhances food security, ensuring that the country is not ‘‘dependent on outsiders’’, and provides a quality local source of foodstuff. The consumption group also discussed the impact of agriculture on the cultural heritage of the county. One participant claimed that the loss of a farm meant the ‘‘loss of heritage, which is not something you can put in a museum’’. In discussing cultural heritage, participants placed a strong emphasis on the ‘‘strong work ethic’’ and ‘‘family values’’ which farming instills. Members of both the production and consumption groups described the importance of the visual environment provided by agriculture. Members of the production group described the ‘‘sheer beauty’’ of the farmed landscape, which is appreciated by both ‘‘local and non-local people’’ and can increase tourism. Members of the consumption group characterized farmland as ‘‘scenic’’ and ‘‘attractive’’. It was further argued that ‘‘Farmers see themselves as stewards’’ and that ‘‘the wildlife population does well with farming especially the black bear and dear population’’. Possibly because the production and consumption functions of agriculture are seen as fitting together so neatly, there was very little attention paid to the costs associated with agricultural activity. In fact, participants in both groups strongly defended agriculture against accusations that it could be

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environmentally damaging. Participants in the production group stated that while it was understood that there are some problems associated with agriculture such as noise, odor, and dust, it was also felt that agriculture was treated as a scapegoat: Some people think we have caused all the problems – Farmers get blamed for everything. (production group)

Even though it was felt that agriculture’s environmental costs were overstated, it was acknowledged that the sector did create traffic problems at certain times of the year, and that the county’s roads and bridges could not accommodate the large machinery currently used by farmers in the county. Policy solutions across both groups emphasized voluntary approaches and increasing educational opportunities for both farmers and non-farmers. The production group focused on programs that could maximize farming’s economic contribution, such as inclusion in the county’s comprehensive economic development plan. They also suggested promoting alternative marketing opportunities. Similarly, a number of participants in the consumption group argued against government involvement in agriculture, believing it was counterproductive and resulted in programs that paid ‘‘farmers to take land out of production’’. It was further argued that the government was expecting farmers to deliver environmental goods without compensation through issuing ‘‘unfunded mandates’’. Instead, it was argued that farmers should form cooperatives to help themselves, or there should be greater reliance on the free market. It was however felt that government agencies such as the Natural Resource Conservation Service and cooperative extension should play a role in providing technical assistance to farmers, and helping them adapt their management systems to a changing economic climate. However, these agencies were struggling to maintain their budgets.

DIFFERENTIATED VIEWS ON AGRICULTURE’S MULTIFUNCTIONALITY The breadth of functions attributed to agriculture within the macro-level policy debate included environmental goods such as open space, wildlife habitat, and water filtration; economic benefits like income and employment; and other collective goods such as cultural heritage. Certainly there was a strong emphasis placed on all these types of functions by the various groups consulted for this study. However, certain benefits were

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also mentioned that could be considered unique to the Pennsylvania context like the important role of agriculture in relation to property tax revenues, or the complex relationship between farming and hunting. Also, there were important differences in terms of which groups, in which sites, emphasized which benefits. For example, both the consumption and production-oriented groups in the clientelist county emphasized agriculture’s contribution to the economy and food security. In the contested county, both groups agreed on agriculture’s cultural heritage importance, but agriculture’s economic benefits were discussed more by the productionoriented group. In the preserved county, it was largely agreed that agriculture was both economically and environmentally beneficial. The degree of consensus between consumption and production-oriented groups in the different sites about the benefits provided by agriculture was surprising given the expectations based on the rural restructuring thesis. This also demonstrates that the consumption and production functions of agriculture were largely perceived as being complementary rather than in conflict. Within the macro-level policy debate on multifunctionality there is little discussion of agriculture’s negative externalities. The reluctance to engage in this debate was also evident in the study sites chosen for this study. For the most part, participants in both production and consumption-oriented groups were eager to defend agriculture against its detractors. This was true even in the consumption-oriented groups in the contested county. This support may represent evidence of a strong agrarian ideology overriding local particularities and the biases one would expect within production and consumption-oriented groups. Those negative externalities discussed in the consumption-oriented groups were exclusively focused on environmental quality, with the greatest amount of attention being paid to the odor problems of intensive animal operations. Macro-level policy approaches to multifunctionality largely focus on federal farm payments designed to reconcile the protectionist interests of farmers with global pressures for liberalization and societal demands for improved environmental quality. The resulting instruments include decoupled direct payments, cross compliance, and incentives for providing public goods. Despite the fact that the design and implementation of these instruments dominates both global and national farm policy debates, they received very little attention during the focus group discussions. Instead study participants tended to focus on property tax reform, farmland preservation programs as well as planning and zoning restrictions. This reinforces Marsden’s (1999) assertions surrounding increased popular

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demand for engaging in decision-making processes on issues affecting quality of life at the local level of governance. This emphasis on local conditions and relationships – regardless of the global policy discourse – points to the need for careful consideration of how federal policies are perceived and experienced locally. Voluntary programs providing incentives for farmers to implement conservation practices rely on agency personnel and farmers to interpret the legal requirements and incorporate subsequent practices. If there is a discrepancy between the policy’s design, and local perceptions of the program’s intent, potential outcomes, and practices, farmers are unlikely to volunteer. This is especially the case when such programs are characterized by hierarchical decisionmaking systems, along with large number of checks and decision points for ensuring compliance. These programs tend to create greater opportunities to divert or delay program implementation. As a result the overly complex nature of these programs tend to stifle the initiative necessary of street level agency personnel and farmers ultimately responsible for program implementation (Elmore, 1980; Pressman & Wildavsky, 1973). The problem is compounded by the fact that standardized solutions developed at significant distance from the problems they are designed to mitigate tend to be illadapted to unique local contexts and ecologies, failing to draw on farmers’ local knowledge systems and practices (Elmore, 1980; Marsden, 2006). The resistance and reinterpretation that results may derail policy efforts to enhance agriculture’s multifunctional role.

CONCLUSION As Murdoch and colleagues (2003) note, the ideal types they identify should be considered organizing typologies for understanding the constellation of interests in particular localities. By examining the values held by residents and the power networks existing in each location, it is possible to identify probable outcomes of local decision-making. By drawing on local organizational representatives, our focus groups partially captured the relevant resident groups and networks, but may not have fully reflected the extent of the actor networks that influence local decision-making. It is difficult to discern, given the composition of focus groups and the methodology’s crosssectional nature, the relationship between the discourses used within the focus groups and that of individuals who compose the networks of power within the localities. Further, it is difficult to necessarily assume the interests of groups within localities. These interests should be defined empirically, not

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a priori, through detailed analyses of local conditions (Murdoch et al., 2003). It was clear in the focus groups, as manifested in the relative consensus across the production and consumption groups, that there were more similarities than differences in articulated interests, and the policy prescriptions these groups believe will fulfill those interests. Our analysis provides insight into the ways in which globally derived policy preferences for promoting agriculture’s multifunctional role may be challenged at the local level. Broad policy initiatives fail to address the differentiated nature of contemporary agricultural production systems and rural landscapes, and the contested power relationships between production and consumption-oriented social actors in rural places. According to our study, preferences for the particular positive functions of agriculture can vary between one rural area and another, and between different social groups in a given rural area. Thus, policy initiatives designed to protect and enhance these functions need to be sensitive to local preferences, provide opportunities for discussing and negotiating which benefits or costs need to be addressed, and through what kinds of policy mechanisms. This suggests that macro-level policy programs should be designed to create an enabling environment and a suite of tools for local government and agrarian and social movement organizations to address locally defined concerns surrounding the multifunctional nature of agriculture. The inclusion of individuals from multiple local interest groups can open avenues for democratic management of natural resources that may truly challenge productivism as the primary orientation in many rural regions (Lockie, Lawrence, & Cheshire, 2006).

REFERENCES Batie, S. S. (2003). The multifunctional attributes of Northeastern agriculture: A research agenda. Agricultural and Resource Economics Review, 32(1), 1–8. Baylis, K., Rausser, G. C., & Simon, L. K. (2005). Including non-trade concerns: The environment in EU and US agricultural policy. International Journal of Agricultural Resources Governance and Ecology, 4(3/4), 262–276. Bromley, D. W. (2000). Can agriculture become an environmental asset? World Economics, 1(3), 127–139. Burton, R. J. F., & Wilson, G. A. (2006). Injecting social psychology theory into conceptualizations of agricultural agency: Towards a post-productivist farmer selfidentity. Journal of Rural Studies, 22, 95–115. Buttel, F. H., & Zepeda, L. (2002). Multifunctionality: The European perspective and what it could mean for American agriculture. PATS Staff Paper No. 5. Madison. University of Wisconsin Extension, WI.

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County Statistics for ACE Participants in Pennsylvania. (2005). Available at http:// www.co.berks.pa.us/alp/lib/alp/statistics/county_stats_for_ace_2005.pdf. Accessed on March 25, 2007. CSRA. (2000). Attitudes toward farmland preservation: A survey of Connecticut residents. Storrs, CT: Centre for Survey Research and Analysis at the University of Connecticut. Dalecki, M. G., & Coughenour, C. M. (1992). Agrarianism in American society. Rural Sociology, 57(1), 48–64. Duffy, P. A., & Molnar, J. J. (1989). Attitudes toward government involvement in agriculture: Results of a national survey. Southern Journal of Agricultural Economics, 21(1), 121–130. Duke, J. M., Ilvento, T. W., & Hyde, R. A. (2002). Public support for land preservation: Measuring relative preferences in Delaware. University of Delaware, Department of Food and Resource Economics Research Report, REC RR02-01. Durand, G., & Huylenbroeck, G. V. (2003). Multifunctionality and rural development: A general framework. In: G. V. Huylenbroeck & G. Dur (Eds), Multifunctional agriculture: A new paradigm for European agriculture and rural development. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate Publishing. Elmore, R. F. (1980). Backward mapping: Implementation research and policy decisions. Political Science Quarterly, 94(4), 601–616. Evans, N., Morris, C., & Winter, M. (2002). Conceptualizing agriculture: A critique of postproductivism as the new orthodoxy. Progress in Human Geography, 26(3), 313–332. Fix, P. J., Wallace, G. N., & Bright, A. D. (2001). Public attitudes about agriculture in Colorado. Fort Collins, CO: College of Natural Resources, Colorado State University. Furuseth, O. J. (1987). Public attitudes toward local farmland protection programs. Growth and Change, 18(3), 49–61. Hall, C., McVittie, A., & Moran, D. (2004). What does the public want from agriculture and the countryside? A review of evidence and methods. Journal of Rural Studies, 20, 211–225. Hellerstein, D. (2002). Farmland protection programs: What does the public want? Economic research service/USDA. Agricultural Outlook, pp. 27–30. Holmes, J. (2002). Diversity and change in Australia’s rangelands: A post-productivist transition with a difference. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 27, 362–384. Kline, J., & Wichelns, D. (1996). Public preferences regarding the goals of farmland preservation programs. Land Economics, 72, 538–549. Kull, S., Klay, R., Stefan, S., & Evans, L. (2004). Americans on globalization, trade and farm subsidies. College Park, MD: Program on International Policy Attitudes. Lenihan, M. (2006). State, social movement, and producer perspectives on multifunctional agriculture in the global food regime. Unpublished PhD dissertation, Pennsylvania State University, University Park, Pennsylvania. Lockie, S., Lawrence, G., & Cheshire, L. (2006). Reconfiguring rural resource governance: The legacy of neoliberalism in Australia. In: P. Cloke, T. Marsden & P. Mooney (Eds), The handbook of rural studies. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Long, N. (2001). Development sociology: Actor perspectives. London: Routeledge. Marsden, T. (1999). Rural futures? The consumption countryside and its regulation. Sociologia Ruralis, 39(4), 502–520. Marsden, T. (2006). The road towards sustainable rural development: Issues of theory, policy and practice in a European context. In: P. Cloke, T. Marsden & P. Mooney (Eds), The handbook of rural studies. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.

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Marsden, T., Murdoch, J., Lowe, P., Munton, R., & Flynn, A. (1993). Constructing the countryside. London: UCL Press Limited. Murdoch, J. (2006). Networking rurality: Emergent complexity in the countryside. In: P. Cloke, T. Marsden & P. Mooney (Eds), The handbook of rural studies. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Murdoch, J., Lowe, P., Ward, M., & Marsden, T. (2003). The differentiated countryside. London: Routeledge. PCEE. (1999). The first Pennsylvania environmental readiness for the 21st century survey report, Pennsylvania centre for environmental education. Available at http:// www.pcee.org/Research/research_21stF_1Main.asp Peine, E., & McMichael, P. (2005). Globalization and global governance. In: V. Higgins & G. Lawrence (Eds), Agricultural governance: Globalization and the new politics of regulation. London: Routeledge. Potter, C. (1999). The double dividend. In: M. R. Redclift & G. P. Zanias (Eds), Agriculture and world trade liberalization: Socio-environmental perspectives on the common agricultural policy. Wallingford, UK: Cabi Publishing. Potter, C., & Burney, J. (2002). Agricultural multifunctionality in the WTO – Legitimate nontrade concern or disguised protectionism? Journal of Rural Studies, 18(1), 35–47. Pressman, J., & Wildavsky, A. (1973). Implementation. Berkeley: University of California Press. Renkow, M., & Hoover, D. (2000). Commuting, migration, and rural–urban population dynamics. Journal of Regional Science, 40(2), 261–287. Sharp, J., & Smith, M. B. (2003). Social capital and farming at the rural–urban interface: The importance of nonfarmer and farmer relations. Agricultural Systems, 76, 913–927. Singletary, L., & Kelsey, T. W. (1996). Nonfarm attitudes towards farming: A case study in Chester county, Pennsylvania. Sustainable Community Development series, No. 2. Department of Agricultural Economics and Rural Sociology. Cooperative Extension, The Pennsylvania State University. Sokolow, A. D. (2000). Agriculture in urbanizing communities, listening forum. University of California, Davis, July 21. Outline of Presentation to USDA Policy Advisory Committee on Farmland, Davis, CA. University of California, Davis. Swinbank, A. (2001). Multifunctionality: A European euphemism for protection, paper presented at the FWAG conference, multifunctional agriculture: A European model? Stoneleigh, UK: National Agricultural Centre. US Bureau of the Census. (2000). State and county QuickFacts. Available at http://quickfacts. census.gov/qfd/ US Census of Agriculture. (2002). Available at http://www.nass.usda.gov/Census_of_ Agriculture/index.asp Welle, P. G. (2001). Multiple benefits from agriculture: A survey of public values in Minnesota. Bemidji, MN: Bemidji State University. Wilson, G. A. (2001). From productivism to post-productivism . . . and back again? Exploring the (un)changed natural and mental landscapes of European Agriculture. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 26, 77–102.

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CHAPTER 6 UNDERSTANDING THE SOCIOCULTURAL PROCESSES THAT CONTRIBUTE TO DIVERSITY AND CONFORMITY AMONG FARMERS IN AUSTRALIA, FINLAND AND THE NETHERLANDS Frank Vanclay and Tiina Silvasti ABSTRACT Purpose – Using examples from Australia, Finland and The Netherlands, we describe the sociocultural processes that influence farmers. We outline the styles of farming approach as an explanation of diversity (heterogeneity) and the farming scripts approach as an explanation of conformity (continuity and tradition). Methodology – This chapter is a theoretical comparison that draws on earlier work of the authors. The research into styles of farming used focus groups and interviews, while the research on farming scripts is based on an

Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 151–167 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014009

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analysis of biographies submitted for a national writing competition or gained by narrative interview. Findings – We argue that there are a number of farming scripts that may well be universal, at least within family farming in western cultures. We found that the concept of styles of farming is a useful heuristic device, but that it was difficult to use in practice to use to classify farmers. We conclude that both style and script are needed to account for the full range of sociocultural influences on farmers. Practical implications – Our chapter seeks to expand understanding of the social lives of farming families and to increase the realisation that farming is a sociocultural practice. Efforts to change agriculture need to be mindful of this fundamental dimension of farming practice if they are to be successful. Originality – The analysis we have undertaken is the only theoretical comparison of these approaches.

INTRODUCTION This chapter presents a range of ways of looking at the differentiated countryside by discussing the varied sociocultural processes that influence the worldviews and practices of farmers. The premise of this chapter is that farmers are female and male individuals (usually living together in families) who actively respond to a range of influences on the farm and on their lives, and proactively develop a range of strategies for addressing them. Farmers are active agents in the construction of their lives and circumstances, and not mere passive pawns in larger political economic processes. Nevertheless, as human actors who are participants in a local cultural context, they incorporate normative influences (albeit with some personal modification) and contribute to the ongoing development of these sociocultural expectations. This chapter considers the sociocultural processes that contribute to conformity and diversity amongst farmers. It specifically articulates the styles of farming approach (van der Ploeg, 1990, 1994, 1995, 2003) as an explanation of diversity (heterogeneity), as well as presents a farming scripts approach (Silvasti, 2001, 2003a, 2003b; Vanclay, Silvasti, & Howden, 2007) as an explanation for conformity (continuity or tradition). Diversity and conformity are not mutually exclusive, but are indicative of the myriad of influences on the lives of farmers.

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UNDERSTANDING DIVERSITY WITH A FARMING STYLES APPROACH The farming styles approach, as elaborated by van der Ploeg and colleagues (e.g., Commandeur, 2003; Leeuwis, 1993; van der Ploeg & Long, 1994), is an attempt to explain diversity amongst farmers in a particular location and commodity. The underpinning view of this approach is that heterogeneity in agriculture is not random, nor just a matter of differences in the physical characteristics of the land, nor of the different (structural) factors affecting farmers. Rather, it is a reflection of social differences between farmers, particularly the differing worldviews and strategies (and their associated rationales) for surviving in a changing operating environment (or sociopolitical context). Diversity can be explained by the manifestation of a range of farming styles, with farming practice being the physical expression of a style (Vanclay, Mesiti, & Howden, 1998). For a particular commodity in a particular region, the range of styles can be identified through social research (Howden, Vanclay, Lemerle, & Kent, 1998; Mesiti & Vanclay, 2006; Leeuwis, 1993; van der Ploeg, 2003). While the styles of farming approach of van der Ploeg has changed over time (see Commandeur, 2003; Vanclay, Howden, Mesiti, & Glyde, 2006), the essential idea is that within a specific farming community there is a set of discrete styles (strategies of farming) of which farmers are aware, and from which they actively choose to guide their management practices. By identifying with a style and being part of the style itself, farmers contribute to the evolution and reproduction of that style over time. The styles are created through sociocultural processes and as a response to structural forces (e.g., market pressure and regulation). A farming style combines three elements: norms about how farming ought to be practiced, a cultural repertoire of practices, and the external context. A style is a prescription or a model about a way of farming. A principle of the approach is that in a particular situation a range of styles is legitimate – there is more than one way to farm successfully. As well as accommodating different personal aspirations, the range of styles in a commodity-location needs to accommodate the varying market situations of different farmers. The range of styles therefore varies across commodities and localities, there is no uniform set of styles. Ideally, a set of styles should collectively explain the diversity in agriculture in a specific region. The following extract from van der Ploeg gives some sense of the concept in terms of dairy farmers in Friesland (The Netherlands).

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There is considerable heterogeneity to be found in dairy farming in Friesland, a heterogeneity that can in no way be ordered and classified in unilinear terms. Farmers themselves understand and order it in terms of different farming styles. Heterogeneity for them is not a random phenomenon: it entails specific clusterings. Each ‘cluster’, i.e. each ‘way of farming’, is the outcome of the specific strategies of the actors involved. In other words, the complex ‘totality’ of the dairy farming sector does not represent, at least for the farmers, a chaotic reality, a total confusion, neither does it represent a not yet complete transition towards ‘competitive farming’. On the contrary, it is a meaningful whole, composed of many different styles. The latter are described in an every day language that, from a strictly academic point of view, might seem confusing, ambiguous and imprecise. But to the farmers themselves, this everyday-language is quite unequivocal . . . I refer to terms such as cowmen, breeders, economical or greedy farmers, big farmers and intensive farmers. For Frisian farmers each term is an umbrella, a metaphor, linked to very precise, detailed and multi-dimensional discourses. Taken together, these terms refer to the cultural repertoire with which Frisian dairy farmers define, reproduce, adapt and/or transform their farming practices. (van der Ploeg, 1994, p. 19)

The strong position taken by van der Ploeg is that in the face of the pressures of modernisation, farmers do not have to conform to a singular agro-industrial notion of farming but have considerable room for manoeuvre in terms of the way they trade off intensification and extensification. For van der Ploeg, any form of change potentially increases diversity in agriculture. While we are somewhat critical of the van der Ploeg conceptualisation and methodology (Vanclay et al., 1998, 2006), we do consider that the styles of farming approach is a useful way to understand diversity in agriculture, and although probably best understood as an heuristic, the approach can be used to classify farmers. Curiously, while the farming styles approach explains diversity, it is also a process of conformity. According to van der Ploeg, farmers select from the discrete range of styles on offer in a locality. Thus, rather than each farmer creating their own strategy anew, they ‘conform’ to the existing styles. While the styles do change over time, farmers are actively involved in the transmission and reproduction of the styles through farmer talk. The styles become a narrative that is continuously developed, rehearsed, adapted, negotiated and transmitted in the sharing of stories with others. In our view, the farming styles approach (or van der Ploeg at least) tends to reify the concept of ‘style’. In contrast, we argue it is an heuristic device rather than an empirical reality (Vanclay et al., 2006). Nevertheless, the farming styles approach is a useful way of understanding how farmers actively construct their farm, and how this explains the range of ‘styles’ that exist in each farming region. We also feel that the farming styles

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approach tends to fail to appreciate the social nature of the lives of people (including farmers), and it needs to be augmented by an understanding of the sociocultural dimensions of rural life, such as provided by the farming scripts approach of Silvasti (2001, 2003a, 2003b). The insights from the identification of farming ‘parables’ in Howden’s work are also informative as to the content of farmers’ talk and the limitations of the focus group methodology (Howden & Vanclay, 2000; Howden, 2001; Vanclay et al., 2006).

UNDERSTANDING CONFORMITY WITH A FARMING SCRIPTS APPROACH Utilising the concept of cultural script from symbolic interactionism, Silvasti (2001, 2003a, 2003b) researched the survival of traditional farming and farmers’ ways of life in the context of the modernisation of Finnish agriculture. Way of life is a combination of normative and subjective elements associated with the life history and living conditions of individual, family and local community. A way of life is organised, transmitted and communicated through scripts that outline its various dimensions. Scripts are cultural models combining cultural, ideological and social factors at the level of society, and are reinforced by personal experience, knowledge and belief at the individual level. Silvasti’s data comprised biographies gained through narrative interview (Denzin, 1989; Josselson & Lieblich, 1993; Mishler, 1986) as well as autobiographical texts submitted for a Finnish national writing competition. These were analysed for common themes and elements. Scripts were identified as commonly occurring stories that have a strong normative character. Silvasti compared the emergent scripts of contemporary farmers with various descriptions of traditional Finnish peasant farmers. As contemporary Finnish farmers utilised a range of scripts that describe peasant farmers, Silvasti (2001) concluded that they retain elements of a traditional peasant way of life. The most common element across the stories was the importance of keeping the farm in the family, of handing the farm on to one’s children; a script Silvasti calls ‘continuity of the family farm’. This script has been identified in much rural sociology research (see de Haan, 1994; Salamon, 1992; Segalen, 1983; Vanclay, 2004). The role of this script in maintaining traditionality is underestimated, as it influences all other issues (cf McAllister & Geno, 2004). Many other scripts were also present,

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including three that are described in detail below: the gender script (Silvasti, 2003a), the script of hard work and the script of farming as a tended garden (Silvasti, 2003b).

The Gender Script In the traditional peasant family there was a strong gender hierarchy. Only if there was no son, or the son was unable to farm, could the daughter take over the farm. Even then, she usually married a younger son from another farm with him becoming master. The position of young women was especially miserable. After marriage, the enslaved daughter-in-law became embroiled in a lengthy battle to gain control of her new home. As the daughter-in-law, she had to live with her husband’s family, and to them, she was a stranger, an outsider and treated as such (see Apo, 1993). Today, division of labour is still gendered and men are still considered superior. Farms are still handed down to sons. Women become associated with a farm by marrying an inheriting son. Cohabitation with parents-inlaw still occurs, and is a major source of conflict. Increasingly, parents-inlaw live in a separate house nearby, but close enough to control the daughter-in-law and inheriting son. Marriage, and the legal transfer of land, only provides a symbolic transfer of authority and power. Silvasti (2001, 2003a) found that most of the problems women experienced emerged from their relationship with their mother-in-law. Young women are forced to fight for autonomy and sovereignty in the traditional feminine space of the home. Usually the mother-in-law wants to retain control and this has a major impact on the wellbeing of the young wife. You learn how to argue [with your husband] so that your mother-in-law doesn’t hear, to make love so that the bed doesn’t creak, eat so that nobody notices. You learn how to cry in secret and how to be without crying. (translated from Silvasti, 2001, p. 194)

Different manners and habits also caused problems. In the peasant worldview, hard work (industriousness) was regarded as the highest virtue. Good manners, skill and diligence were important sources of respect during childhood. Therefore, orientation to work was an especially emotive matter of self-esteem, and a daughter’s identity was strongly associated with the work they do. The culture [in my new family] was so different – all the habits were so different. I don’t know if it was culture shock, but I remember how I used to be a ‘princess’ in my own

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family, and here, I was just a ‘maid’. I had to keep quiet. I was merely a worker! (translated from Silvasti, 2001, p. 188)

According to the gender script, a son should never contradict his father, nor should he always take his wife’s side for fear of being seen as ‘henpecked’. This can create difficult situations for young husbands, and a typical response is non-involvement in conflict, especially between his mother and his wife. This largely explains the lack of discussion about husbands in the stories told by daughters-in-law. Your mother-in-law gives you lessons about how they have always lived, and how they will always live, in their house. If you complain to your husband, he says ‘‘Oh, that’s my mother, that’s what she is like. She doesn’t mean anything bad.’’ (translated from Silvasti, 2001, p. 195)

Women’s self-identity is often described as being relational – the self is not determined by the experience of individuality, but by the experience of being a part of a totality. Daughters-in-law have to navigate a complex array of new intersecting cultural scripts, which are not usually articulated, often vague and sometimes contradictory. When Sirkka, one of Silvasti’s interviewees, described her childhood family, she emphasised its unity and democracy. In Sirkka’s case, despite her best efforts, this unity did not emerge in her new family. As a result, she felt homeless and like a stranger. After some time, Sirkka divorced. This was a shock for the community and even her own mother had a falling-out with her believing that Sirkka should have resigned herself to the situation. Sirkka’s mother, like most community members, believed the subordinate position of the daughter-in-law to be self-evident, justified, natural and appropriate. The traditional script leads women to interpret the subordinate position of daughter-in-law as natural (Shortall, 1992). Jaana was a 27-year-old woman who had inherited the farm. Although she had a brother, his chronic illness meant that it had always been evident that he could not take over the farm. Jaana’s parents were very traditional. They wanted continuity of the farm and therefore Jaana was their only avenue. It was not surprising, therefore, that Jaana always wanted to be a farmer and did a degree in agriculture. For her, agriculture was a career, a vocation: My parents always said that Jaana will be the isa¨nta¨ – the master of the farm. In Finnish, isa¨nta¨ is a male farmer. The word has a strong connotation of power and masculinity. Isa¨nta¨ is the master of a farm. He is the one who manages the farm. He is responsible for the tasks assigned to males according to the gendered division of labour. Isa¨nta¨ was always exclusively

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male. Ema¨nta¨ is the wife of the master. She is responsible for the work, which, according to the traditional peasant script, is determined to be feminine. She is the prominent figure of the household and respected as such, but the isa¨nta¨ dominates. For a man to be called ema¨nta¨ is a major insult – ema¨nta¨ is female! Jaana’s parents consciously raised their daughter in the role of successor. Initially, Jaana thought being called isa¨nta¨ by her parents was a joke. However, she internalised the role of successor and isa¨nta¨. When she now calls herself isa¨nta¨, it is no joke. She is the one who runs the farm. She is the manager. She will not become an ema¨nta¨ even after marriage because she will retain control of the key tasks which make her the isa¨nta¨. She disconnects gender from the occupational roles traditionally tied to gender. For her, being an isa¨nta¨ is an occupation not dependent on gender. Jaana’s case is interesting because in spite of this redesignation of occupational and gender roles, she has very traditional ideas about gender. When asked, why she calls herself an isa¨nta¨ and not conventionally an ema¨nta¨, she answered Jaana: Because – of course I like cleaning and baking, but since I was a little child, I preferred to work in the fields. Silvasti: So, there is a clear division of labour on the farms, I mean which are ema¨nta¨’s or isa¨nta¨’s tasks? Jaana: Oh yes, on a farm there is. In principle, a woman should, by her nature . . . take care of household chores and so on, but on a farm most of the real farmwork is everything other than the household chores. That is why I am an isa¨nta¨. (translated from Silvasti, 2001, p. 207)

Jaana’s ideas about gender roles were clearly traditional. When asked why she called herself an isa¨nta¨, she described the different duties of women and men. When asked about the division of roles, she answered how women should act. At the same time, she revealed not only the traditional cultural script concerning the division of labour, but also the culturally consistent interpretation of woman and womanhood – that by nature women should take care of the reproduction of the family and household. In Jaana’s discourse, the division of labour and the associated role models are consistent with the traditional cultural script. However, she does not accept these traditionally inflexible and static categories as given. Instead, she actively constructed a model of the division of labour suitable for her purposes. Her model includes womanhood and being an isa¨nta¨. It is essential to notice that she does not act as an ‘independent woman farmer’

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and hence step out of the traditional script. She accepts the traditional roles, and in her narrative she uses traditional interpretations of what it is to be a woman or a man in a farming context. Specifically, she acts according to the rules of the traditional peasant script, but in a postmodern way she navigates in the system of traditional role models and chooses features appropriate for herself. Thus, she is not a ‘woman farmer’, she is an isa¨nta¨. This is her way of renewing and modernising the traditional script while still preserving its essential character. Jaana retains the most crucial goal of the peasant script, the continuity of the farm, as well as accepting the traditional roles and the division of labour. However, as an individual she is capable of identifying options and is free to make choices (see Silvasti, 2003a). The cultural model of male as head of the farm is not restricted to the peasant script, it has also been internalised by surrounding communities and institutions (Haugen, 1998), as Anne’s story reveals. With no son in the family, Anne took over the running of her family hog farm at age 24. In the beginning, Anne was full of optimism. However, over time she lost customers .

The reason was that I became an isa¨nta¨. I suppose that customers thought that a young, beautiful woman is not convincing in the business of breeding hogs. I believe that if I was a man, the customers’ trust in my professional skills would have been greater and the volume of sales higher. (translated from Silvasti, 2001, p. 210)

Being the wrong sex created a vicious cycle for Anne. Because she was not convincing, sales declined. Potential customers interpreted this decline as a lack of skills, which in turn drove away more customers. Key stakeholders – like customers, other farmers and farmer organisations – found it hard to challenge the traditional script that establishes man as the natural and rightful manager – as the isa¨nta¨. In her narrative, Anne referred to body politics – how power and conflict return ultimately to the individual body. Anne was not only a woman, but young and beautiful. In the quote earlier, the typical body politics in the agricultural context is crystallised. It is not only a question about social position or masterhood (isa¨nta¨), nor economic relationships or possession, it is also a question about the body – its size, form and power (Bryant, 1999). It can be argued that it was her body that caused her business troubles. According to the peasant script, she lacked something essential, an important quality that was needed to legitimate her position. Anne’s position as master of the farm was regularly questioned. When strangers visit the farm, they usually ask for the isa¨nta¨. Last summer, for example, a couple drove up to the farmyard and after shaking hands with me, they asked if the man working with the load of straw over there was the isa¨nta¨. ‘‘No, he is a hired

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farmhand’’, I replied. ‘‘Oh, here comes the isa¨nta¨’’, they said, feeling better when my boyfriend, who works in a non-farm occupation, came from the other direction. It always makes me angry and depressed that my work doesn’t get the respect it deserves, and that people just want to find someone who satisfies their image of the head of the farm, and that it has to be a man. It doesn’t matter if he is my father, a hired hand, or my boyfriend! (translated from Silvasti, 2001, p. 212)

Economic difficulties, problems with assuming her position as the master and feelings of being an outsider led to Anne to experience psychological problems. She gave up breeding hogs and gave up the dream of continuity.

The Script of Hard Work For farmers, ‘real work’ means physical labour producing visible results. Working in the fields, caring for animals, building and repairing, are examples of ‘real work’. During harvest, the results of hard work are manifestly visible, almost symbolically. Fat animals and abundant crop yields are displayed and celebrated, and the hard work of the farmer is acknowledged by the whole community. When asked to describe a ‘good farmer’, respondents often emphasised that the way the farm looks (its shape, condition and general appearance) is an indication of the farmer himself. Farmers regard the concrete and visible manifestation of their work to be rewarding and personally satisfying. At the same time, the public visibility of the farm reveals to the wider community the behaviour and characteristics of each farmer. The public reward for hard work is community recognition through the tangible appearance of the farm – that on this farm there is an industrious and hard working farmer, someone who is decent and moral. Farmers may have autonomy, but there is a public expression of their work, and strong pressure to conform. One implication of the cultural script concerning the social value of ‘real work’ was that it was very hard for farmers to adjust to the new agricultural situation that accompanied Finland’s membership of the European Union in 1995. Under the Common Agricultural Policy, sale prices of most agricultural products became so low they barely covered production costs. The majority of farm income was achieved ‘behind the desk’, by filling in forms for subsidies. This devalued the social value of farming, and is a threat to the cultural script of hard work. Prior to Finland’s membership of the EU, agriculture was also heavily subsidised, but then the subsidies were included in the prices received by producers, so the system encouraged hard work, rewarding farmers who produced more and/or better quality. Now,

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there is a contradiction between the cultural script and what is rewarded. Farmers now complain that there is no incentive to engage in real work, and they are aware of a new form of work emerging, ‘apparent farming’. I have lost interest in extracting every last kilogram of yield . . . In future, I will calculate very carefully the boundary between ‘farming’ and ‘apparent farming’. It is sufficient just to use minimum inputs and it is not desirable to try to do too much. I have also lost my interest in further expansion. (translated from Silvasti, 2001, p. 231)

This means that there is no reward for doing anything more than the minimum necessary to qualify for subsidies. Additional effort brings no additional return, so why bother. This attitude reveals the productionist strategy of farmers. There is a perception in the farming community that farming, i.e., ‘real work’, means maximising harvest (i.e., yield and quality), and anything less demanding is considered to be ‘apparent farming’ (see Silvasti, 2003b).

The Script of Farming as a Tended Garden Another important script is farmer as steward of God’s garden. The garden metaphor reinforces the productionist ethic as gardens are places where humans work to transform the landscape (Thompson, 1995). When nature is conceived as a garden, untamed or untended land represents decline and disarray. In farming communities, the script of hard work ensures that land is well-tended. Accordingly, farmers believe production to be natural and right, and that transforming the landscape is being a faithful and responsible custodian of God’s garden. This approach to thinking about nature conflicts with environmentalists’ ideas about nature as wild and untouched areas left to natural cycles. For farmers, the natural cycle is planting in the spring and harvesting during the autumn (see Silvasti, 2003b). For farmers who have internalised the peasant script, land which cannot be cultivated, tended or used productively, is not valuable and is regarded as wasteland or barren land. In Finland, these areas tend to be swamps or rocky areas, but in farmers’ opinion even protected areas (conservation areas) are included in the conceptualisation of wasteland. For farmers, beautiful and respected landscape is ‘a tended landscape’ or farmland. According to the script, landscape is not to be conserved or preserved (and therefore ignored and neglected), but to be cultivated and shaped. A constantly changing environment, such as a farm, serves as a sign of industriousness, of hard work, of virtue. To maintain the farm’s viability, and more importantly its

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legitimacy, it is necessary to keep up with agricultural and technological progress inevitably leading to a degree of change.

UNDERSTANDING CONFORMITY THROUGH FARMING ‘PARABLES’ Howden and Vanclay (2000; Howden, 2001; Howden et al., 1998) utilised a farming styles perspective in their research with grain growers in the Riverina region of New South Wales (Australia). Using a combination of focus groups and in-depth case studies, they found that there were problems with the van der Ploeg conceptualisation of farming styles and its operationalisation (see Vanclay et al., 1998, 2006, 2007). They concluded that the identification of the styles of farming that might exist in a region was difficult because of the presence of ‘parables’ in the talk of farmers and the potential for these parables to be confused with farming styles. They considered that the ‘styles’ that emerged from the focus groups were a mythology that was given a (misplaced) legitimacy by the focus group method. The stories that were vocalised were little more than demonisations or caricatures of other farmers and were not true farming styles. Nevertheless, these stories abound in farmers’ talk and are part of the farming subculture (Vanclay, 1992). The stories were already familiar to the researchers and this led them to accept initially the stories as styles. Despite the pejorativeness of the stories, Howden and Vanclay (2000) called them ‘parables’, because they contain strong normative messages. Some examples of the parables Howden and Vanclay identified are:  Diesel burner (or a machinery man): A farmer who is perceived to cultivate excessively and/or has a passion for machinery.  Perfectionist: A farmer with an obsession for tidiness around the farm, will always have equipment neatly lined up, will have straight rows of trees up the driveway, will have perfect fences, will do everything properly almost to the point of obsession.  Lazy farmer: A farmer who fails to do enough work to make the farm look cared for.  Tinkerer: A farmer who spends too much time in the shed tinkering with machinery.  Autocrat: An older male farmer who, despite having a middle-aged son on the farm, refuses to surrender decision-making power and/or financial control.

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 Committee farmer: A farmer who spends all their time going to committee meetings and conferences, is probably on the executive of the local Landcare group or catchment management committee, and probably has another family member, share farmer or employee who is the real farmer.  Old rich (or blueblood, silverspoon): A farmer who was wealthy in the past, but who has been unable to maintain their wealth over the years, but who nonetheless believes and behaves as if they had considerable influence and importance. Some labels applied to whether a landholder was a real farmer or not. While ‘seachange’ and ‘treechange’ are relatively new words, there has always been a degree of interest by urban people in farming. The labels, hobby farmer and lifestyle farmer, are normative descriptions that carry some disdain. Each state in Australia has its description of absentee landowners, for example, Pitt Street farmers (NSW), Queen Street farmers (Queensland) and Collins Street farmers (Victoria). In general, a person is only regarded as being a ‘real farmer’ when they are primarily dependent on the farm for their economic livelihood. A farmer who is supported by off-farm income is labelled derisively as a safety-net farmer. Other farmers, such as lifestyle farmers, are not regarded as being ‘real farmers’, and consequently are not always considered in discussions about types of farmers.

STYLE AND SCRIPT AS MECHANISMS OF CONFORMITY AND DIVERSITY There are obvious complementarities between Silvasti’s cultural scripts in Finland and the parables that emerged from the application of the farming styles approach in Australia. The script of hard work, for example, is embodied in many of the Australian parables. Hard work is an ethos (script) that permeates all farming styles, with one parable, lazy farmer, developed to sanction against farmers that do not work as hard as they should. The gender script is also pronounced in the Australian context (Alston, 1995, 2006; Pini, 2005), and while Australia lacks the words to differentiate between isa¨nta¨ and ema¨nta¨, except perhaps farmer and farmwife or farmer’s wife (Bryant, 1999), the concept applies in much the same way in Australia as it does in Finland. To some extent, in Finland (Silvasti, 2003a) and in Australia (Alston, 1995), the gendered construction of farming is being challenged in individual situations, but the dominant ethos remains strongly gendered (Alston, 2006; Pini, 2005). Handing on the farm to the eldest son,

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or at least to one’s children, has frequently been described as the most important driving force for Australian farmers (Vanclay, 2004; Vanclay & Lawrence, 1995), and so, in Australia as in Finland, continuity is the dominant script influencing all others (cf McAllister & Geno, 2004). It is quite likely that these are nearly universal scripts about farming, at least in industrial settings and/or western cultures. Vanclay (1992, 2004; Vanclay & Lawrence, 1995) and others (e.g., Phillips & Gray, 1995) have suggested that the second dominant script is the notion of ‘good farm management’. While this did not explicitly emerge in Silvasti’s research, it is strongly, albeit implicitly, present amongst Finnish farmers. Like the script of continuity, it affects all other scripts. To some extent, the notion of good farm management is embodied in the script about the tended garden. Here, hard work is required to transform nature into a farm landscape that has social approbation. The concept of good farm management is more than a script about farm management practice, it is also a cultural script about appropriate social behaviour, about norms, values and attitudes befitting of a ‘good’ farmer, about the preferences for dress, music and politics. It is the very subculture of farming life and the attitudes of agrarianism and stewardship that go with it (Vanclay, 1992; Vanclay & Lawrence, 1995). Scripts address the fundamental values of the rural subculture. They become embedded in parables about farmers and farming, and they serve as a form of cultural transmission. Farmers are consciously aware of some of the parables and scripts that exist about farming. On the basis of these and other influences, they form their own self-image of themselves as farmers, and they develop a notion of the farm they seek to create. However, in attempting to progress towards this personal self-image and farm ideal type, they must deal with certain situations. The milieu in which they operate changes, for example, commodity prices change and seasons are unpredictable. In Australia, they may experience drought years. In Finland, the system changed with Finland’s entry to the European Union. The concept of script provides an account of commonality in the farming subculture. It provides a basis for the transmission of cultural values and worldviews across generations. Scripts become personified or embodied in the form of parables to assist in the process of cultural transmission. Farming styles, on the other hand, provide an account of diversity. They provide an explanation of the body of knowledge and ideas appropriate to a particular situation. Since change is a consistent feature of rural life, styles also account for resistance to change, they provide strategies for coping with change and they adapt to changed environments.

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The concept of script is compatible with, but not identical to, the concept of parable. However, script is almost opposite to farming style, in that styles of farming is a theory to explain diversity, whereas script is a concept that explains the common features of farming life. Scripts, like parables, provide for the transmission of the farming subculture. Potentially there could be different scripts for different styles, but scripts tend to be general and overarching, whereas parables tend to be specific and directly related to particular styles. To some extent, cultural scripts are meta-parables (or supra-parables). Scripts transgress styles and establish the common elements of the farming subculture (Vanclay, 1992). Parables, on the other hand, are a personalised embodiment of a script. The moral of each parable is the cultural script that the parable conveys. Parables, scripts and styles are metaphors, and metaphors are fundamental to human comprehension (Lakoff & Johnson, 1980, 1999). As opposites, farming styles and scripts are complementary. Each concept is inadequate on its own. As a categorisation, farming styles theory does not explain all aspects of farming life (Howden, 2001). Similarly, the concept of cultural scripts on its own only provides for an explanation of the broader aspects of farming culture, and is an account of the value system, or worldview, of individual farmers and does not explain the diversity of practice. Together, script, parable and style provide complementary explanations for traditionality (conformity) and diversity.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This chapter utilises some material previously published in the Australian journal, Rural Society (2007, Vol. 17, No. 1, pp. 3–18). Permission for revision was provided by the publisher, eContent Management P/L. The concept of parable was developed in conjunction with Peter Howden. Thanks also to Luciano Mesiti and Scott Glyde for their involvement in research into farming styles in Australia.

REFERENCES Alston, M. (1995). Women on the land. Sydney: University of New South Wales Press. Alston, M. (2006). I’d like to just walk out of here: Australian women’s experience of drought. Sociologia Ruralis, 46(2), 154–170.

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Apo, S. (1993). Orjatyto¨sta¨ oman kodin valtiaaksi. Na¨kemyksia¨ kahdeksasta maalaisela¨ma¨n kuvauksesta. In: U. Piela (Ed.), Aikanaisia (pp. 125–148). SKS, Helsinki: Kirjoituksia naisten omaela¨ma¨kerroista. Bryant, L. (1999). The detraditionalization of occupational identities in farming in South Australia. Sociologia Ruralis, 39(2), 236–261. Commandeur, M. (2003). Styles of pig farming: A techno-sociological inquiry of processes and constructions in Twente and the Achterhoek. Ph.D. thesis, Wageningen University, The Netherlands. de Haan, H. (1994). In the shadow of the tree: Kinship, property and inheritance among farm families. Amsterdam: Het Spinhuis. Denzin, N. (1989). Interpretive biography. Thousand Oaks: Sage. Haugen, M. (1998). The gendering of farming. European Journal of Women’s Studies, 5(2), 133–154. Howden, P. (2001). Working with the grain: Farming styles in broadacre cropping. Ph.D. dissertation, Centre for Rural Social Research, Charles Sturt University, Wagga Wagga, Australia. Howden, P., & Vanclay, F. (2000). Mythologisation of farming styles in Australian broadacre cropping. Rural Sociology, 65(2), 295–310. Howden, P., Vanclay, F., Lemerle, D., & Kent, J. (1998). Working with the grain. Rural Society, 8(2), 109–125. Josselson, R., & Lieblich, A. (Eds). (1993). The narrative study of lives. Newbury Park: Sage. Lakoff, G., & Johnson, M. (1980). Metaphors we live by. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Lakoff, G., & Johnson, M. (1999). Philosophy in the flesh. New York: Basic Books. Leeuwis, C. (1993). Of computers, myths and modeling. Wageningen Studies in Sociology Number 36, Department of Sociology, Wageningen Agricultural University, Wageningen, The Netherlands. McAllister, J., & Geno, B. (2004). Australian farm inheritance. Rural Society, 14(2), 178–192. Mesiti, L., & Vanclay, F. (2006). Specifying the farming styles in viticulture. Australian Journal of Experimental Agriculture, 46(4), 585–593. Mishler, E. (1986). Research interviewing: Context and narrative. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Phillips, E., & Gray, I. (1995). Farming practice as temporally and spatially situated intersections of biography, culture and social structure. Australian Geographer, 26(2), 127–132. Pini, B. (2005). Farm women: Driving tractors and negotiating gender. International Journal of the Sociology of Agriculture and Food, 13(1), 1–12. Salamon, S. (1992). Prairie patrimony: Family, farming and community in the Midwest. Raleigh: The University of North Carolina Press. Segalen, M. (1983). Love and power in the peasant family. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Shortall, S. (1992). Power analysis and farm wives. Sociologia Ruralis, 32(4), 431–451. Silvasti, T. (2001). Talonpojan ela¨ma¨: Tutkimus ela¨ma¨ntapaa ja¨senta¨vista¨ kulttuurisista malleista. Helsinki: SKS. Silvasti, T. (2003a). Bending borders of gendered labour division on farms. Sociologia Ruralis, 43(2), 154–166. Silvasti, T. (2003b). The cultural model of ‘the good farmer’ and the environmental question in Finland. Agriculture and Human Values, 20(2), 143–150.

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Thompson, P. (1995). The spirit of the soil. London: Routledge. van der Ploeg, J. D. (1990). Labor, markets, and agricultural production. Boulder: Westview. van der Ploeg, J. D. (1994). Styles of farming: An introductory note on concepts and methodology. In: J. D. van der Ploeg & A. Long (Eds), Born from within: Practice and perspectives of endogenous rural development (pp. 7–30). Assen: van Gorcum. van der Ploeg, J. D. (1995). From structural development to structural involution. In: J. D. van der Ploeg & G. van Dijk (Eds), Beyond modernisation: The impact of endogenous rural development (pp. 109–146). Assen: van Gorcum. van der Ploeg, J. D. (2003). The virtual farmer: Past, present and future of the Dutch peasantry. Assen: van Gorcum. van der Ploeg, J. D., & Long, A. (Eds). (1994). Born from within: Practice and perspectives of endogenous rural development. Assen: van Gorcum. Vanclay, F. (1992). The social context of farmers’ adoption of environmentally-sound farming practices. In: G. Lawrence, F. Vanclay & B. Furze (Eds), Agriculture, environment and society (pp. 94–121). Melbourne: Macmillan. Vanclay, F. (2004). Social principles for agricultural extension to assist in the promotion of natural resource management. Australian Journal of Experimental Agriculture, 44(3), 213–222. Vanclay, F., & Lawrence, G. (1995). The environmental imperative: Ecosocial concerns for Australian agriculture. Rockhampton, Queensland: Central Queensland University Press. Vanclay, F., Mesiti, L., & Howden, P. (1998). Styles of farming and farming subcultures: Appropriate concepts for Australian rural sociology? Rural Society, 8(2), 85–107. Vanclay, F., Howden, P., Mesiti, L., & Glyde, S. (2006). The social and intellectual construction of farming styles: Testing Dutch ideas in Australian agriculture. Sociologia Ruralis, 46(1), 61–82. Vanclay, F., Silvasti, T., & Howden, P. (2007). Styles, parables and scripts: Diversity and conformity in Australian and Finnish agriculture. Rural Society, 17(1), 3–18.

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PART II GOVERNING DIFFERENTIATION

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CHAPTER 7 RURAL–URBAN RELATIONS IN LIVELIHOODS, GOVERNANCE AND USE OF NATURAL RESOURCES – CONSIDERATIONS OF FISHERIES IN THE FINNISH ARCHIPELAGO SEA REGION Pekka Salmi ABSTRACT Purpose – This chapter focuses on ways urban – and other non-local – pressures have influenced a rural archipelago area by studying changes in fisheries-related livelihoods, use of natural resources and regulatory regimes. Design/methodology/approach – The material for this chapter comprises mainly of structured and semi-structured interviews with fishers and other stakeholders in the Archipelago Sea and in the A˚land Islands, SW Finland. A governance approach is used, taking into account the interactive social, economic and ecological systems embedded in institutions, social networks and cultures. Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 171–189 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014010

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Findings – The economic importance of traditional fishing livelihood has diminished, but fishing still holds a strong position in the culture and life mode of the local people in the studied archipelago areas. In families selling fish, this income stands typically for a part of the household income and especially wage work has become an important income source in the pluriactivity. Providing services for the tourists and summer cottage dwellers is a potentially growing source of livelihood. The increased recreational use of the Finnish Archipelago Sea has changed the ownership structure of the land area, mostly due to the popular summer cottage dwelling. New public fishing rights for (often urban) recreational fishers have narrowed the scope of the local decision-making and aroused resistance among the local archipelago people. Originality/value – Rural–urban relations and governance aspects have been rarely studied in relation to the use of natural resources. This chapter gives new insights into the multifaceted roles of new urban influences in rural settings.

INTRODUCTION Traditional natural resource-based occupations such as fishing have had a hard time coping in modern societies. In Finland, fishing can be broadly considered as a rural activity, although many fishers are integrated with the urban life mode (Eklund, 1994, p. 11) and fisheries have many connections to urban areas especially through the market chain and governance regimes. Along with the urbanization of society, the demand for fish in cities became increasingly important for producers. In addition to the producer–consumer relation, rural–urban relations have become increasingly varied during recent decades and are connected to the changes in governance systems. Lately demands related to recreational use and environmental protection have become strong in coastal areas. This has affected fisheries as well. The strong importance of coastal areas for the rural as well as urban communities and the increase of new interests and stakeholder groups have aroused conflicts, which has led to proposals for more integrated planning and management of the areas (e.g., Bruckmeier, Ellega˚rd, Morf, Pı´ riz, & Ungfors, 2001; Visser, 2004). Coastal zone management faces a huge challenge in coping with the diversity, complexity, dynamics and risks along the coastal areas (Jentoft, 2004).

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This chapter focuses on ways urban – and other non-local – pressures have influenced a rural archipelago area, the Archipelago Sea Region, Southwestern Finland, by studying changes in fisheries-related regulatory regimes, livelihoods and use of natural resources. The Archipelago Sea Region is situated in the Baltic Sea, a relatively shallow basin of brackish water. The observed changes in the quality of the surface waters indicate light eutrophication. In the inner archipelago the islands are larger, but further from the mainland the islands are small and rocky. A relatively large network of ferry connections has provided the inhabitants with opportunities to live also in the outer parts of the archipelago. A special feature of the Finnish fisheries governance is that the water areas near to the coast and in the archipelagos are under private ownership connected to the possession of land. The increased recreational use of the studied archipelago areas, especially for summer cottage dwelling, has changed the land ownership structure. This has contributed to fragmentation and non-localization in the ownership of water areas and enabled urban dwellers to become actors in local fisheries governance. On the other hand, new public fishing rights for (often urban) recreational fishers have narrowed the scope of the local decision-making and aroused resistance among the local people in the Archipelago Sea. The economic importance of traditional fishing livelihood has diminished, but fishing still holds a strong position in the culture and life mode of the archipelago inhabitants. In families selling fish, the income received usually constitutes only a part of the household income due to the seasonality of the fishing opportunities and the diminishing profitability. Providing services for the tourists and summer cottage dwellers is a potentially growing source of livelihood. Fish farming started 20–30 years ago in order to compensate for reduced employment in fishing and agriculture in the Archipelago Sea Region. Due to its effects on water quality, fish farming has faced resistance, especially from urban dwellers who often possess summer cottages in the area. The empirical material for this chapter was collected during an EU-funded international project, which studied aquaculture and coastal economic and social sustainability (AQCESS) and a national ‘Water owners’ profile’ project 1998–2003. In the AQCESS project 113 personal interviews were made with commercial fishers covering nine municipalities in the Archipelago Sea and in the A˚land Islands (Fig. 1). These municipalities were Bra¨ndo¨, Fo¨glo¨ and Kumlinge in the A˚land Islands, Kustavi, Ryma¨ttyla¨ and Velkua in the northern Archipelago Sea and Inio¨, Houtska¨r and Nauvo in the southern part of the Archipelago Sea. The province of A˚land belongs to Finland, but has

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Fig. 1. Municipalities of the Archipelago Sea Region. Note: The nine case study municipalities of the AQCESS project are marked with three grey shades. The material for the ‘Water owners’ profile’ project were collected regarding the waters surrounding the municipality of Nauvo and those to the north of Nauvo.

considerable autonomy, aiming mainly at the preservation of the Swedish language and culture (Andersson & Eklund, 1999, p. 379). The nine case study municipalities of the AQCESS project are marked with three grey shades. The material for the ‘Water owners’ profile’ project were collected regarding the waters surrounding the municipality of Nauvo and those to the north of Nauvo. The interviews in the AQCESS project were made in 2002 and a substantial set of questions were asked concerning household economy, fishers’ attitudes towards their work and the support from other stakeholder groups (Salmi, Ma¨kinen, Salmi, & Seppa¨nen, 2004). The questionnaires collected background information about the person, basic quantitative data about fishing activities and the economics of fishing in addition to its relative importance in the household. The core material from the ‘Water owners’ profile project’ includes semi-structured interviews with water owners, commercial and recreational fishermen and other stakeholders within two Fisheries Regions (Velkua and Nauvo) in the Archipelago Sea (Salmi, Muje, Salmi, & Virtanen, 2001; Salmi & Nordquist, 2003).

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THE GOVERNANCE APPROACH The problem of fishery management is often considered to be an economic problem in the harvesting sector caused by fishermen’s behavior, but this narrow perspective neglects the social and cultural dimensions in the fisheries. In this chapter, I apply the ‘governance approach’ (e.g., Kooiman, van Vliet, & Jentoft, 1999; Kooiman, 2003), which takes into account the interactive social, economic and ecological systems embedded in institutions, social networks and cultures. The rural–urban relations in fisheries are approached using two examples: (1) pluriactivity and life mode in the livelihood and (2) water ownership and rights for recreational fishers. These examples illustrate some of the problems and relationships between the various groups and between the rural and the urban in a diverse and complex system. They deal with the fishery-related tensions which the local groups in the archipelago area have faced, and the problems and views concerning better governance. The concept ‘co-management’ has been widely used in the literature concerning social issues in fisheries with emphasis on improving management by involving the fisher groups in the decision-making together with the state authorities (e.g., Wilson, Raakjær Nielsen, & Degnbol, 2003). The governance approach broadens the perspective from the development of the management system towards social-political interactions, i.e., the multi-lateral relations between social and political actors and entities (individuals, organizations, institutions) (Kooiman, 2003, p. 11). Co-governance lies between self-governance and hierarchical (top-down) governance modes and attempts to strike a balance between the state, market and civil society, because all these three spheres are needed to cope with the diversity, complexity and dynamics of fisheries (Kooiman et al., 1999). Kooiman (2003) also conceptualizes orders of governance in three forms: 1st, 2nd and meta order governance. First-order governance refers to the day-to-day activities of social-political governors in solving societal problems or creating opportunities. Second-order governance involves care for the operation and maintenance of governing institutions. Kooiman (2003, pp. 167–168) states, ‘Compared to everyday problem-solving and opportunity creation, addressing institutional questions usually has a political rather than a social character . . . ’. Meta governing can be translated into ‘governing how to govern’ and is an essential part of social-political or interactive governance, because it is the forum where the normative principles for governing are formulated and tested (Kooiman, 2003, p. 188).

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At the end of this chapter I briefly revisit Kooiman’s modes and orders of governance to study different aspects of rural–urban relations in fisheries.

PLURIACTIVITY AND LIFE MODE OF THE FISHING LIVELIHOOD Livelihoods and Pluriactivity The Archipelago Sea Region has historically been characterized by a maritime peasant economy, which combined agriculture with fishing. Also shipping and transportation formed an important economic sphere (Andersson & Eklund, 1999, p. 379). The most dramatic decline of employment in the primary sector of the Finnish archipelago has taken place in agriculture, but employment from fishing has also decreased markedly. For example, in the Swedish-speaking parts of the Archipelago Sea the number of full-time fishermen dropped from 2,000 in 1934 to 100 in the 1970s and correspondingly the number of part-time fishermen fell from 1,450 to 80 (A˚bolands Fiskarfo¨rbund, 1977, 2006). The number of full-time fishermen in the Archipelago Sea was roughly 500 in the 1980s, but only 197 in the year 2000 (Saarinen & Saarinen, 2001). However, partly due to the expansion of fish farming in the 1980s, fish-based livelihoods are still important in many archipelago municipalities. The Archipelago Sea Region has become the most important area for Finnish aquaculture production, which is based on the rearing of rainbow trout. In one generation, the Archipelago Sea Region has been transformed from a production landscape of fishing peasants towards one of leisure, recreation and consumption. Today the majority of the population is engaged in the public welfare sector, tourism, recreational services and transport. The increase of the public sector in the 1970s and 1980s, along with the strengthening of the Finnish welfare state, enhanced employment in transport and services. The region fared rather well demographically and economically during the last 10–15 years of the 20th century due to a strong regional cultural system and entrepreneurial traditions that had developed to meet the new requirements (Andersson & Eklund, 1999, pp. 377, 380, 387). Leisure and tourism are on the frontline of the current development discourse and the new economy, largely based on part-time work and new types of archipelago pluriactivity (Andersson, 2006). The cultural heritage connected to sea and fisheries forms a significant corner stone of the

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identities of individuals in the archipelago areas, in spite of the decrease of its economic importance. The cultural system is also strongly characterized by Swedish language, not only in the A˚land Islands but also in the southern parts of the Archipelago Sea. The population is small (250–2000) in the archipelago municipalities studied in the AQCESS project (Fig. 1). The recreational use of the area has various dimensions from dwelling in summerhouses to boating and organized tourism. There are about 9,000 summerhouses in the case study areas. For example, in the municipalities of Inio¨, Nauvo, Ryma¨ttyla¨, Taivassalo and Velkua there are more cottages than permanent inhabitants. Along with this development the stakeholder groups connected to fishing and fish farming have multiplied and especially the interests and values of summerhouse owners and other recreational users of the archipelago area have become more decisive than, for example, 50 years ago. The coastal fishing in Finland is traditionally operated by fishermen’s households rather than firms or larger companies. Fishermen typically own their fishing equipment and especially in the archipelago areas they harvest the nearby waters of their home island on a seasonal basis. This part-time nature of fishing reflects the seasonally varying availability of target fish species in the fishing grounds, but also the traditions of pluriactivity in the archipelago. The present situation of fishermen’s income combination strategies was studied in the AQCESS project, where fishermen’s households were divided into four main categories according to the importance of income sources: (1) fishing, (2) agriculture, (3) wage work and (4) serviceoriented households. The first two groups represent the traditional emphasis on the use of local natural resources as the basis of the livelihood. Households belonging to the first group rely on both fishing and fish farming and the second group combine fishing incomes with those from farming, forestry and horticulture (see Salmi, 2005). The wage-working combination comprises fishing households, which receive most of their income from paid work. The incomes are often generated from work on an island boat or a ferry or in some other occupation in the public sector. Nearly one half of all the interviewed fishermen belonged to the wage work group. The service-oriented category comprises fishermen’s households which acquire part of their income direct from the tourist industry or from their own firm providing services for the leisure sector, for example building summer cottages for urban dwellers. The seasonal nature of the archipelago fishing is reflected in the fact that fishermen work only, on average, on 147 days and 1,180 h throughout the year. The average total income before tax of all interviewed households

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Table 1. Average Annual Household Incomes and Personal Fishing Incomes, Working Hours and Earnings per Hour in Year 2000. Livelihood Orientation

Average total household income before tax (h) Fishing income earned by the interviewee (h) Annual working hours Income per hour (h)

Fishing

Agriculture

Wage work

Services

All

26,279

28,499

34,436

25,926

30,770

16,030

7,410

5,854

5,444

8,923

1,656 9.68

1,120 6.62

831 7.04

1,737 3.13

1,180 7.56

was h 30,770 (Table 1). The service- and fishing-oriented households received smaller average incomes than other groups. However, the most professional fishermen received the best hourly incomes from fishing.

Life Mode and Perceptions of Other Stakeholder Groups A fisherman in the Finnish archipelago regards the income from fishing as an important element in making a living for the family, but seldom calculates the profitability of fishing operations in terms of hourly income. The informants were asked to respond to the statement ‘When I think about the opportunities to continue my livelihood I compare my income per hour with other occupations’ and only 22 per cent of the interviewed fishermen agreed with that argument. Informants commented that ‘You can’t ’t do that, or you would stop fishing’ and ‘You must leave your watch home when you are an entrepreneur’. They stated that there should be enough income to make a living, but economic motivations were rarely highlighted in the answers. Regardless of the livelihood strategy, the fishermen emphasized the way of life and freedom provided by the work. They have a life-long commitment to their occupation and are reluctant to leave their home islands (Salmi, 2005). The strong emphasis on independence and way of life as positive aspects of the fishing occupation and the non-monetary aims of work (enough to make a living) indicate that most of the interviewed archipelago fishermen carry the values and ideas of the ‘simple commodity production’ life mode presented by Højrup (1983, 1989). According to Højrup (1983, p. 19) life modes carry their specific ideologies and reflect systems of practices related to work,

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family life and leisure. Economic conditions are one but not the only element molding the practices. Simple commodity production is characterized as particularly resistant to market fluctuations – a production unit of this kind can function for long periods of time without earning revenues commensurate with business calculations. The purpose of the family enterprise is ultimately to earn enough to be able to remain self-employed: to keep production rolling and assure, if possible, a future of self-employment for the children (Højrup, 1983, p. 23). In the Finnish archipelago municipalities, the fisher-peasants’ traditions and life mode are important even in cases where wage work contributes most of the fisher’s household incomes. The AQCESS project studied fishermen’s aspirations concerning the support from (1) local people, (2) the tourists, summerhouse dwellers and providers of recreational services and (3) the EU, the state and its authorities. Most of the fishermen considered that local people are supportive, whereas a clear majority felt that the authorities did not value or support their livelihood. Attitudes towards the recreational sector varied largely. It was no surprise that those respondents who are in connection with, and dependent on, the leisure sector most often considered recreational users and providers of the services as supportive. The same livelihood group most seldom regarded the locals as not supportive. The support from the EU, the state and authorities was often connected with financial assistance in investments, fish transportation, fuel costs and compensations for damages caused by seals. The damage to fishing caused by the fast growing grey seal population was considered as a serious threat to the occupation and consequently the new legislation forming seal protection areas aroused irritation. Problems in getting financial compensation irritate commercial fishermen in the Archipelago Sea, as in many areas along the Finnish coast. An interviewed fisherman who combined fishing with agriculture did not understand the unequal position of fishers compared with other livelihoods: why does the state compensate for losses in connection to agriculture and reindeer husbandry but not for losses to fisheries. According to the legislation, the financial support is linked to the proportion of the personal fishing income, which must exceed 30 per cent of the total incomes. The part-time fishermen criticized the limit system, which excludes support to fishermen who combine different income sources. Fishermen in other livelihood strategy groups than the fishing-oriented one were also annoyed by the channeling of state support to big fishing enterprises outside the small-scale sector. Among all the groups studied, a general suspiciousness towards the aims of the authorities was visible. Alongside the perceived lack of economic

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support for part-time fishing, the interviewed fishermen were morally annoyed about the marginalization of their interests, values and knowledge in the strengthened top-down fisheries policies. The typical complaints in regard to the lack of support from the state, the authorities and the EU included the increased bureaucracy and paper work and authorities’ concentration on making new laws, quotas and restrictions which diminish the fishers’ freedom. One interviewee commented that the authorities do not, for example, discuss the drafts for the regulations with the commercial fishermen. In the A˚land Islands the authorities of the provincial government were considered to take actions in line with fishermen’s needs more often than in the other studied areas. It seems that the physical and probably also cultural distance between fishermen and the authorities is smaller in the autonomous province of A˚land than in the other parts of the studied Archipelago Region.

WATER OWNERSHIP AND RIGHTS FOR RECREATIONAL FISHERS The Archipelago Sea and A˚land Islands form the center of food fish farming and processing and the fishing waters are productive. Moreover, the region is one of the most popular and attractive areas for recreational fishing in Finland: about 135,000 persons fish at least once a year in the area (Moilanen, 2005). Some of the recreational fishermen are permanent or part-time dwellers (cottage owners), but many pay visits to the area from the cities nearby. The development of rod fishing, particularly trolling, has led to more mobile and specialized fishing activities. Commercial and recreational fishermen operate in the same water areas, harvest the same fish stocks and even partly use the same fishing methods (gill nets). The official fisheries governance system in Finland is a combination of local decision-making by the water owners and a top-down management system by the state. Archipelago water areas, like most of the coastal and inland waters, are under private ownership in conjunction with possession of land. The decision maker is commonly a collective, a shareholders association, which jointly controls the interests of individual owners in fishery matters (Salmi & Muje, 2001). In addition to these fishery associations, there are also a large number of waters managed solely by individual owners. Commercial fishermen commonly dwell near the shoreline and thus they are often also water owners through the possession

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of land. In many cases they, however, need permission for fishing also in other water areas than their own. The Fisheries Regions, which are more extensive management organizations than the fishery associations, were founded in the 1980s and they offer a broader forum for decision-making among water owners and other groups of fishermen than the fishery associations. The tasks of the Fisheries Regions are partly administrative, although they do not form an official branch of the Government (Vihervuori, 1992; Sipponen, 1998). In the Archipelago Sea, as well as in many other areas in Finland (Salmi & Muje, 2001), the establishment of Fisheries Regions has been seen as an effort by the state to take part of local decision-making away from the local level. Many local owners in the archipelago areas do not accept these institutions, which are said to be a part of useless bureaucracy. They feel their options for control and management of their water area is endangered when taking part in the Fisheries Regions, although the Regions work on many important tasks under the authorization of the fishery associations and private water owners. The upper layers were founded in order to enhance the ‘rationality’ of the management system with an emphasis on the fishing opportunities of the modern groups of recreational and commercial fishers. The strengthened state level of the decision-making regime has promoted urban and recreational interests by changing the management structure and the fishing licence policy. Several rights of non-owners have been protected by law: for example, ice fishing with a rod and angling with a rod and natural bait are allowed irrespective of the ownership of the water (so-called every man’s rights). The latest change enhancing the fishing opportunities of non-owners was the adoption of a provincial lure fishing fee in 1997, after a lively debate in Parliament and the media. The water owners opposed this new legislation and interpreted it as interference to private ownership and local decisionmaking. In a series of paid announcements published in a widely circulated newspaper, the owners even argued that the state was socializing private property (Pirhonen & Salmi, 1998). The provincial lure fishing fee system is not implemented in the A˚land Islands.

Local Arguments Against the Lure Fishing Fee System In the interviews of the ‘Profile of the water owner’ project, local water owners regarded the state-organized lure fishing fee system frequently as the main problem of fishery management in the archipelago area. Recreational fishers’ relatively free access to private waters created bitter feelings.

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The resistance to the new system was justified by various arguments, which can be divided into three main categories: (1) the licence system causes harm to commercial fishing and the tourist industry, (2) lure fishermen disturb nature, fish reproduction and people using the shore and (3) the licence system hampers the local management and control of fisheries. According to the local water owners, recreational lure fishermen harm the operations of commercial gill-net fishermen. Many interviewees put forward statements about the harm caused by rod fishermen: commercial fishermen find spoon-baits in their nets, and lures can also break the nets. It is not so much a question of economic loss, but an addition to the diversity of problems in commercial fisheries. Especially the situation where a highly valued livelihood is being disturbed by recreationalists from outside was considered unbearable. The criticism was directed mostly at those trollers who arrive from afar using their own boats, rather than at the summer cottage dwellers. It was commented that commercial fishing has taken second place to leisure fishermen, who do not know how to behave in the archipelago area. Many water owners also argued that the positive effects of fishing tourism on the local economy have decreased due to the arrival of the new licence system. It was argued that before the change there was a higher demand among recreational fishermen for renting cottages and for other services that arose from the issue of fishing licenses for privately owned waters. Some water owners near the tourist cottage areas find the present situation unjustified, because the fishing pressure from the tourists cannot be controlled anymore and the owner is not sufficiently compensated for this. A common statement was that many recreational fishermen do not show enough consideration for the natural environment. Leisure fishers’ fast motorboats disturb the life of sea birds and it was claimed that fishermen go ashore to rocks and small islands while the birds are nesting. Several water owners were worried about the state of the pike stocks as a result of the change in recreational fishing pressure. They would like to protect the pike’s spawning areas from fishing, but the state-organized lure fishing licence system prevents such attempts. The water owners also blamed the lure fishermen for behaving arrogantly towards the local people and other dwellers. They come too close to the shore and disturb other people using the area. Especially the summer cottage owners prefer peaceful surroundings near their shore and jetty, for example, when they are swimming or bathing in the sauna. The fall in income from providing licences and the annoyance towards the system seem to have reduced the motivation for local owner-based fisheries management. According to the interviewed water owners, the adoption of

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the provincial lure-fishing fee has reduced the motivation for both looking after fish stocks and supervising the compliance with fishing rules in the studied area. The water owners find it difficult to control fishing, because they are no longer exclusive licence providers in their waters. Since the intervention by the state, the local water owners feel it is no longer their business to supervise fishing; that task belongs to the authorities and the Fisheries Regions.

Water Ownership and Local Decision-Making The reduced motivation of local management is also connected to the diminished power position as such. ‘Our toes have been stepped on’, as one water owner puts it. The application of the state-organized provincial lure fishing fee system reflects the long roots of the value and interest conflict. Already in the early 1970s commercial fishermen were worried about the shift of control from the water owners and commercial fishermen to those promoting recreational interests (Bergman & O¨sterholm, 1975, p. 172). The fisheries contradictions form only one element in the wide field of problems dealing with the governance of natural resources in the Archipelago Sea area – the local level decision-making powers have been weakened in other issues as well. The discussion concerning the fishery management rights of the local people has features parallel with the heated debates on nature conservation and private ownership of land and water. People in the archipelago are particularly forceful defenders of the institution of private ownership (e.g., Taxell, 1989, p. 56). The interviewed water owners, who also are land owners, often referred to the conservationists’ and state’s activities in the area. The dispute concerning the EU-initiated Natura 2000 network program aroused bitter comments from the interviewees. They claimed that the program has a thin basis and it does not take the views and problems of the landowners into account, and that decisions are made behind their backs. It was even argued that it is a question of socializing private property. Also the establishment of the Archipelago Sea National Park has aroused controversies between the local people in the area and the environmental sector (Andersson & Eklund, 1997; Helle´n, 2001). In the case of the lure-fishing fee, the strong rhetoric in favor of private water ownership reflects the need to keep the management rights in the hands of the local people. In this meaning ownership can be said to be a symbol of the community’s self-determination (Salmi & Varjopuro, 2001).

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The local water owners in the Archipelago Sea consider the rights of the recreational water users as secondary to those of commercial fishing. In their opinion, fishing restrictions and the subsidizing policy of the authorities have contributed to the decrease in commercial archipelago fisheries. The commercial fishers interviewed in the AQCESS project claimed that the introduction of the lure fishing fee system revealed the state’s negative attitudes towards the commercial fishers. Some even held that authorities prefer recreational fishing and thus want to get rid of the commercial sector. Interestingly, also in the service-oriented livelihood group, in spite of their generally positive attitudes towards the recreational sector, the liberation of recreational fishers’ access to fishing waters was regarded as harmful for fishing tourism. In the Swedish-speaking part of the archipelago, representatives of the fisheries advisor organization emphasized that their organization supports especially the interests of commercial fishermen rather than those of the water owners or recreational fishers. In other parts of the country the advisory organizations are tightly connected to enhancing the interests of the water owners. Who actually are the water owners? In the rhetoric supporting the local autonomy in decision-making the water owners are often seen as local people. In the Fisheries Regions of Nauvo and Velkua the majority of shareholders in the fishery associations did not dwell permanently in these municipalities. This is due to the structural change in the land ownership, especially the selling of small summer cottage lots, which include a small share in a water area. In the Velkua Region 80 per cent of the shareholders in an association possess a summer cottage. However, the summer cottage owners are not always city people without prior connections to the area, but a considerable part of them have their roots in places where they dwell in their leisure time. For example, many pensioners, with a history of living in the place either permanently or as a cottage owner, are eager to dwell in the islands for long periods although they are not registered as local residents (Bergbom & Bergbom, 2005). In spite of the fact that the number of non-local owners usually exceeds that of the locals, the practical decision-making of the fishery associations tends to emphasize local views. The local permanent dwellers possess larger water areas and participate in the meetings more often than the non-local water owners. In the beginning of the 21st century more than one half of the participants in the fishery associations’ meetings in the studied archipelago municipalities were locals (55 per cent in the Fisheries Region of Nauvo), but this balance may change along with the further increase of the summer cottage dwelling.

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DISCUSSION Earlier, I have presented some insights about urban and large-scale changes and challenges for a rural area using the fisheries in the Finnish Archipelago Sea Region as an example. The changes are multifaceted and take various paths. It is, however, reasonable to conclude that urban influence in fisheries, as well as in the archipelago areas in general, has become both stronger and more extensive. The role of the urban people has broadened from consumers to stakeholders. Recreational fishermen and the owners of summer cottages have become especially important stakeholders affecting rural development and the fisheries sector. Concurrently, the resource management regime, especially the upper layers, has been expanded, steered by bureaucratic and academic policy spheres (see Jamison, 1997) and thus strongly influenced by values, interests and knowledge alien to the rural people. Similar development has occurred in the environmental sector, which affects the preconditions of the fish-farming livelihood. At the core of the ‘fish farming conflict’ are the consequences of rainbow trout rearing on the water quality in the Archipelago Sea Region, and this substantially limits the economic space of the livelihood. For the people in the Archipelago Region fish farming is an important new link in the long chain of fishing-peasant livelihoods. Thus the vitality of the local community has been threatened by conservation and recreational interests. Knowledge has an important role in the confrontations between the local archipelago people and the ‘environmental-recreational coalition’. Timo Peuhkuri has studied the role of knowledge in the fish farming conflict, and states that The conflict displays tensions between local and translocal views and forms of knowledge. The laypersons mistrust in scientific knowledge is linked with their critical attitudes towards motives, interests and values of outside actors. Producers and users of scientific research are seen as a part of the complex of social and cultural power representing urban recreational interests, ecological fundamentalism and an alienated connection to nature. This complex is seen as a threat to the way of life in close connection with nature, to the local ownership of natural resources and to the local rights of decision. (Peuhkuri, 2004, p. 5)

In their resistance and attempts to adapt to the new situation, the local people lean on their distinct life mode and claim that their livelihoods and culture have been ignored in the new management regime. However, the environmental administration and environmentalists stress the importance of technical and biological knowledge, and hence the position of social and cultural knowledge has remained weak.

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The presented examples reflect tensions in natural resource management between the state, which holds a strong position, and the civil society and market spheres. A general trend seems to be that the fisheries management regime and use rights have been changed in a top-down way to meet the interests of recreational, often urban, fishermen, but there are also other types of change. One is that the new wage work opportunities in the public sector have strengthened the features of urban life mode, in many cases as an addition to the more traditional archipelago livelihoods. The expanded summer cottage ownership in the archipelago areas has brought new urban groups not only into day-to-day interaction with the locals but also into the local decision-making arena. Many of the summer cottage dwellers can be regarded as semi-local, because of their roots and part-time dwelling in the area. These new participators in the local owner-based management are in most cases onlookers in the practical decision-making (1st order governance by Kooiman, 2003), but they have significant potential for balancing the tensions between the groups. Another crucial question concerns shifts in the institutional arrangements (2nd order governance) and the power in the management regime. The further the decision-making departs from the local level, the easier it may become to arrange the participation of the recreational and environmental (urban) interests and values, but the weight of local knowledge, values and culture easily becomes lower. Co-governance, where the state and stakeholder groups participate on an equal basis in the management, provides a framework to develop the legitimacy and performance of the resource decision-making regime, including options for balanced rural–urban interactions. The development of co-governance forms a real challenge for the Finnish fisheries system, because of the managerialistic,1 scientifictechnical ideals (meta-governance) behind the state level of the system. When compared to Swedish fisheries these ideals seem to differ: Swedish researchers have held the local-level fisheries governance as both ecologically and socially sustainable (Sandstro¨m et al., 2002) and fisheries co-governance is being developed, for instance, in Swedish archipelagos by the fisheries administration (Yrkesfiskaren, 2005). It is not far-fetched to say that the norms and values in Finnish fisheries and environmental governance have become significantly urban, while the fishing activities occur mostly in rural areas. The local resistance towards institutional changes, like the new legislation concerning recreational fishing rights, can be seen not only as securing the local economy but also as a form of ‘cultural resistance’ (Skogen & Krange, 2003) in trying to defend the

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(symbolic) community and rural life mode against the perceived dangers from outside. On the other hand, the Archipelago Sea Region holds positive options for further developing the new livelihood combinations and collaboration between the rural and the urban. There are already examples of functioning local committees, which also bind recreationalists and urban dwellers to the tasks of mitigating conflicts and developing the new economy (Andersson, 2006).

NOTE 1. In a ‘managerialist model’ the environment must be scientifically monitored and expertly managed and technological innovations are seen as solutions to the problems (Benton, 1994).

REFERENCES A˚bolands Fiskarfo¨rbund, (1977). Femtio a˚r i A˚boland. A˚bolands Fiskarfo¨rbund 1926-1976. Unpublished report, Ab Sydva¨stkusten, A˚bo (in Swedish). A˚bolands Fiskarfo¨rbund, (2006). Available at http://www.ab.fiskarforbund.parnet.fi/ forbund.htm. Accessed on April 13, 2006, (in Swedish). Andersson, K. (2006). Va¨xelverkan ska¨rga˚rd-stad – ett framtidskoncept fo¨r A˚boland? Ska¨rga˚rd, 29(1), 45–51 (in Swedish). Andersson, K., & Eklund, E. (1997). Wildlife management and natural resource regime transition: The case of the Finnish Archipelago Sea National Park. Paper prepared for the Research Conference Society, Environment and Sustainability – The Nordic Perspective, Oslo, August 25–27, 1997. Andersson, K., & Eklund, E. (1999). Tradition and innovation in coastal Finland: The transformation of the Archipelago Sea Region. Sociologia Ruralis, 39(3), 377–393. Benton, T. (1994). Biology and social theory in the environmental debate. In: M. Redclift & T. Benton (Eds), Social theory and the global environment (pp. 28–50). London: Routledge. Bergbom, G., & Bergbom, K. (2005). Befolkningsfo¨ra¨ndringar och a¨gofo¨rha˚llanden pa˚ utska¨ren i Ska¨rga˚rdshavet 1954–2004. Ska¨rga˚rd, 28(1), 57–67 (in Swedish). Bergman, K., & O¨sterholm, H. (1975). Fiskets utvecklingsmo¨jligheter. In: H. O¨sterholm (Ed.), Ska¨rga˚rd i omvandling. Miljo¨ och ma¨nniska i Finlands ska¨rga˚rd (pp. 165–172). Borga˚: Nordenskio¨ld-samfundet i Finland (in Swedish). Bruckmeier, K., Ellega˚rd, A., Morf, A., Pı´ riz, L., & Ungfors, A. (2001). Ha˚llbar kustutveckling – Planera fo¨r konflikter! Human Ecology Research Series – SUCOZOMA Report 2001:1 (in Swedish). Eklund, E. (1994). Kustfiskare och kustfiske i Finland under den industriella epoken. Studier i en yrkesgrupps yttre villkor, sociala skiktning och organisation 1860–1970, SSKH

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Skrifter 5, Svenska social- och kommunalho¨gskolan vid Helsingfors universitet, Forskningsinstitutet, Helsinki (in Swedish). Helle´n, K. (2001). Kansallispuisto merkityskehyksissa¨ – Saaristomeren biosfa¨a¨rialueen asukkaiden ajatuksia Saaristomeren kansallispuistosta. Alue ja Ympa¨risto¨, 30(1), 33–47 (in Finnish). Højrup, T. (1983). The concept of life-mode. A form-specifying mode of analysis applied to contemporary Western Europe. Ethnologia Scandinavica: A Journal for Nordic Ethnology, 13, 15–50. Højrup, T. (1989). Det glemte folk. Livsform og centraldirigering. Institut for europæisk folkelivsforskning, Statens byggeforskningsinstitut, København (in Danish). Jamison, A. (1997). Polariseringens dilemma: Om framva¨xten av miljo¨forskning i Sverige. VEST Tidskrift fo¨r vetenskapsstudier, 10, 23–39 (in Swedish). Jentoft, S. (2004). Coastal culture – Premise or outcome? In: A. Sjo¨stro¨m (Ed.), Rights and duties in the coastal zone. The Beijer Occasional Paper Series, conference CD, Stockholm, Sweden. Kooiman, J. (2003). Governing as governance (p. 249). London: SAGE Publications. Kooiman, J., van Vliet, M., & Jentoft, S. (1999). Creating opportunities for action. In: J. Kooiman, M. van Vliet & S. Jentoft (Eds), Creative governance. Opportunities for fisheries in Europe (pp. 259–272). Aldershot: Ashgate. Moilanen, P. (2005). Vapaa-ajankalastus 2004 (Recreational fishing 2004, in Finnish), SVT Maa-, metsa¨- ja kalatalous (Agriculture, Forestry and Fishery) No. 62, p. 50 (in Finnish). Peuhkuri, T. (2004), Tiedon roolit ympa¨risto¨kiistassa. Saaristomeren rehevo¨ityminen ja kalankasvatus julkisen keskustelun ja pa¨a¨to¨ksenteon kohteena, (Roles of Knowledge in Environmental Conflict. Debate and Decision Making Concerning Eutrophication and Fish Farming Industry in the Archipelago Sea Region, in Southwest Finland (in Finnish with abstract in English), Turun yliopiston julkaisuja, Series C, Vol. 220. Pirhonen, M., & Salmi, P. (1998). Viehekorttikiistan argumentit. Kamppailu kalavesien ka¨ytto¨- ja omistusoikeudesta, Finnish Game and Fisheries Research Institute, Kala- ja riistaraportteja nro 129, Report (in Finnish). Saarinen, M., & Saarinen, T. (2001). Ammattikalastuksen nykytila Saaristomerella¨ ja strategia vuosille 2002–2006, Saaristomeren Ammattikalastajat ry – Ska¨rga˚rdshavets Yrkesfikare rf. Report (in Finnish). Available at http://www.sakl.fi/sampi/pdf/selvitys.pdf Salmi, J., Muje, K., Salmi, P., & Virtanen, P. (2001), Paikallinen vesialuehallinto ja muuttuva kalastus. Velkuan kalastusalueen intressiryhmien na¨kemyksia¨, Finnish Game and Fisheries Research Institute, Kala- ja riistaraportteja nro 238, Report (in Finnish). Salmi, J., Ma¨kinen, T., Salmi, P., & Seppa¨nen, E. (2004). Rannikkokalastus ja kalankasvatus Lounais-Suomen saaristossa. AQCESS -hankkeen sosio-ekonomiset havainnot, Finnish Game and Fisheries Research Institute, Kala- ja riistaraportteja nro 312, Report (in Finnish). Salmi, P. (2005). Rural pluriactivity as a coping strategy in small-scale fisheries. Sociologia Ruralis, 45(1–2), 22–36. Salmi, P., & Muje, K. (2001). Local owner-based management of Finnish lake fisheries: Social dimensions and power relations. Fisheries Management and Ecology, 8(4–5), 435–442. Salmi, P., & Nordquist, J. (2003). Kenen ehdoilla kalavesia¨ ka¨yteta¨a¨n? Kalavesien omistus ja intressiryhmien na¨ko¨kulmat Nauvon kalastusalueella. Finnish Game and Fisheries Research Institute, Kala- ja riistaraportteja nro 285, Report (in Finnish).

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Salmi, P., & Varjopuro, R. (2001). Private water ownership and fisheries governance in Finland. Proceedings of the IIFET 2000 Conference, July 10–13, 2000, conference CD. Sandstro¨m, O., Holmstro¨m, B., Lappalainen, A., Neuman, E., Ojaveer, H., Salmi, P., Stora˚, C., Varjopuro, R., & Vetemaa, M. (2002). ‘‘Fo¨rvaltningsmodeller fo¨r O¨stersjo¨ns ska¨rga˚rdsfiske och vattenbruk’’, Projektrapport fo¨r den Nordiska Miljo¨- och Fiskeristrategin, Nordic Council, TemaNord No. 521 (in Swedish). Sipponen, M. (1998). Fisheries regions – A tool for co-operation in fisheries management? In: P. Hickley & H. Tompkins (Eds), Recreational fisheries. Social, economic and management aspects (pp. 263–278). Oxford: Fishing News Books, Blackwell Science. Skogen, K., & Krange, O. (2003). A wolf at the gate: The anti-carnivore alliance and the symbolic construction of community. Sociologia Ruralis, 43(3), 309–325. Taxell, C. (1989). Samha¨llsutvecklingen och ska¨rga˚rden. Kontakt och konflikt i Ska¨rga˚rden, Nordenskio¨ld-samfundets tidskrift, 49, 52–57 (in Swedish). Vihervuori, P. (1992). Environmental law – Finland. Deventer: Kluwer Law and Taxation Publishers. Visser, L. (2004). Reflections on transdisciplinarity, integrated coastal development and governance. In: L. Visser (Ed.), Challenging coasts, transdisciplinary excursions into integrated coastal zone development (pp. 23–47). Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, MARE Publication Series No. 1. Wilson, D. C., Raakjær Nielsen, J., & Degnbol, P. (Eds). (2003). The fisheries co-management experience. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Yrkesfiskaren, (2005). Fiskeriverkets samfo¨rvaltningsinitiativ. 17 intresseanma¨lningar – sex project utvalda. Yrkesfiskaren No. 4/2005, pp. 4–5 (in Swedish).

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CHAPTER 8 REGIMES AND VITAL COALITIONS IN RURAL–URBAN REGIONS IN THE NETHERLANDS$ Ina Horlings, Pieter Tops and Julien van Ostaaijen ABSTRACT Purpose – The chapter answers the question if urban regime theory (URT) can provide a useful framework to understand and solve problems of cooperation in regional processes in rural–urban areas. Methodology/approach – The chapter is a theoretical discussion on problems found in contemporary rural spatial governance. Findings – URT can provide a framework for understanding the obstacles encountered in regional development and is a promising perspective for the analysis of regional processes. A solution for problems in regional cooperation can be found in so-called ‘vital coalitions’, forms of vital interaction between regional actors, based on energy and productivity, that can create a ‘capacity to act’ in regions that have become ‘gridlocked’ by current procedures and regulations.

$

This chapter is based on papers on vital coalitions presented at the ESRS conferences for rural sociology in Hungary (Horlings, 2005) and in Wageningen (Horlings, 2007b).

Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 191–220 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014011

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Research limitations/implications – A modern URT, applied in a regional context: (1) Can point out ‘how power is organised to act’; (2) Analyses informal networks between actors as bases for cooperation and vitality, and as a possible starting point for new (cultural) counter-regimes and (3) Offers insight into regional complexity and cooperation and into emergent regimes. Practical implications – Vital coalitions are forms of self-governance, that introduce new agendas and function as forms of niche-innovation in regions. This can lead to the forming of new ‘cultural regimes’ in which the motives and values of civilians are a key element. Originality/value of the chapter – The value of the chapter lies in the use of concepts in regions from a fresh new perspective, by translating the URT from a local, urban context to a regional rural–urban perspective.

CHANGES IN RURAL–URBAN RELATIONS AND PLANNING PROBLEMS A large part of the Dutch countryside consists of regions which fall under urban influence. In these ‘rural–urban areas’, the quality of the landscape is under pressure. Specific landscapes, characteristic land uses and their particular flora and fauna are disappearing (RIVM, 2002). Physically, many of these areas are still dominated by agriculture, but the declining economic situation, together with the increase in farm scale, are threatening the quality of the small-scale landscape. These areas have a growing importance for recreation and tourism. They are undergoing a transformation from a domain dominated by agriculture to a domain dominated by the consumer demands of a growing urban middle class, often described in symbolic and cultural terms (nature, authenticity, freedom, etc.). The notion of a ‘consumption countryside’ illustrates this transformation (VROM-raad, 2004, p. 227). Urban development exerts a growing influence on these regions. The housing market is becoming more regionalised and the spatial patterns of citizens’ recreational behaviour are crossing urban boundaries (Mommaas, van den Heuvel, & Knulst, 2000). Instead of lying outside the city, rural areas now find themselves lying ‘in between’ urbanised spots. In these

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‘metropolitan landscapes’ a growing intertwining of urban and rural activities can be seen. The enlarging of urban activities and the expansion of the housing market are bringing about a suburbanisation of work and supply functions. Urban–rural boundaries are disappearing in rural areas (Verwijnen & Lehtovuori, 1999). Environmental, social and regulatory problems are closely interrelated, and are bringing about a process of rural transition in these regions. The increase in scale of various rural functions (agriculture, water, housing, infrastructure) is eroding regional boundaries. For this reason, spatial planning is facing difficulties in fulfilling its integrating function. A complicating factor is that what constitutes an adequate size for regional development can be quite variable, depending on geographic environment, natural resources and amenities, skills and infrastructure (OECD, 2006, p. 114). Traditional regional planning procedures can only provide part of the solution to the integration challenge. The complex rural issues are proving difficult for the current institutions to manage. One of the problems is that the ‘administrative gap’ at regional level hampers an adequate development of rural–urban regions. Municipal policies, sectoral national policies and attempts by provinces to fulfil the role of intermediary organisation, all come together at regional level. Although many governmental organisations are involved, there is no one body with exclusive decision-making power. This is why the situation is perceived as constituting a gap in regional governance (Van den Brink, van der Valk, & van Dijk, 2006). Hajer and Zonneveld (2000) argue that the Dutch planning system is not fit to deal with the complex and interwoven problems posed by scarcity of space in the Dutch regions. Van den Brink describes the example of self-referentiality of government, the so-called ‘urban–rural divide’, in the context of the rural– urban landscape. This urban–rural divide is caused by spatial policy being divided across urban planning departments, housing departments and departments of rural development, not only at a national level but also at provincial and municipal levels (Van den Brink et al., 2006). The central question in this chapter is: how can transition processes that contribute towards sustainable development be stimulated in areas under urban influence? The trend towards decentralisation throughout Europe is giving new responsibilities to sub-national levels. At the same time, the greater attention devoted to place-based policies means there is an increased focus on the role of local entities in the implementation of such policies. Bottom-up approaches are being encouraged in several countries. This leads to

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questions such as ‘Which obstacles to cooperation and coordination exist at local rural policy level?’ and ‘What are the most effective mechanisms for enabling different local actors to work together?’ In various European countries, partnerships are facing a number of potential obstacles such as the complexity, rigidity and fragmentation of national and supranational policies that impact on rural development (OECD, 2006, pp. 114, 127). In this chapter we investigate whether the Urban Regime Theory (URT) and the concept of vital coalitions can provide a theoretical framework for understanding the obstacles that are encountered in regional development and whether they can offer a promising perspective for the analysis of regional processes, focusing in particular on cooperation. We define sustainable development here as the attaining of a balance between economic, socio-cultural and ecological issues without causing negative effects in space (other countries) or time (future generations) (Telos, 2002). In this chapter we will analyse the following aspects. Firstly, we distinguish various future trends for sustainable development in areas which fall under urban influence. We also describe new forms of policy, based on the change from government to governance. More specifically, over the last decades in the Netherlands we have witnessed new forms of region-oriented policy and self-governance at regional level. These new activities, methods and prospects are not unproblematic. In order to analyse these problems, the concept of regimes is helpful. This is an analytical approach designed to throw some light on the obstacles. We introduce the URT, developed in the context of urban renewal in the United States, a theory that can offer a fresh, new perspective on regional complexity. Based on this theoretical framework, we explain how public–private cooperation is hampered in rural regimes. Based on the URT, we analyse whether a possible solution to the obstacles might be found in specific networks, the so-called ‘vital coalitions’, a form of vital interaction between regional actors, based on energy and productivity. Our hypothesis is that vital coalitions can potentially create a ‘capacity to act’ in regions that have become ‘gridlocked’ by current procedures and regulations. Vital interaction requires the balancing of different types of logic in regional processes. In the final paragraph some conclusions are drawn.

SCENARIOS FOR SUSTAINABLE REGIONAL DEVELOPMENT AND POLICY-MAKING After the Second World War the dominant paradigm in rural planning and research was rationalisation, illustrated by an increase in farm scale, a rise in

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food production, the intensification and technological modernisation of agriculture and regional land reform projects. In the days of planning euphoria in the 1950s and 1960s, there was a strong belief in macroeconomics and the possibilities it offered for developing peripheral areas and underdeveloped countries (see Rostow, 1960). Since the middle of the 1980s the dominant top-down policy has been supplemented by a new approach focusing on local resources. This endogenous approach (Long & van der Ploeg, 1994, pp. 1–2) considers material and immaterial resources to be of great importance. These are part of a region-specific cultural repertoire of solutions and innovations, rooted in specific historical experiences and traditions. The method is rooted chiefly in the ‘actor-oriented approach’, developed by Long and Van der Ploeg, which makes use of concepts such as agency and structure. In this approach farmers demonstrate their agency by instigating new initiatives to deal with regime obstacles. Based on Giddens, Van der Ploeg (2001) defines agency as the power of actors to form networks and combine individual projects into a new whole. This interpretation of agency focuses on the social embeddedness of human interactions and the importance of collective action (Bock, 2002). To achieve endogenous development, ‘room for manoeuvre’ is an essential precondition which requires consent in order to change the current regulation (Van der Ploeg, 1997). However, development by different actors causes conflicts, resistance and negotiation with regard to definitions, interests and resources (Long, 1997). According to Flemming (2007) most rural research and practice in Europe focuses on endogenous relations: multi-functional agriculture, rural entrepreneurs, improved living conditions in rural areas, local amenities etc. Rural development is a multi-level, multi-actor and multifaceted process (Van der Ploeg et al., 2000). According to Marsden, different key spheres can be distinguished which reflect the differentiated countrysides and their networks: (1) mass food production, (2) quality food markets, (3) agriculturally related changes and (4) rural restructuring (Marsden, 1998; Murdoch, Lowe, Ward, & Marsden, 2003). What are the implications of the differentiated countryside for rural policy? Rural policy cannot rely on top-down or bottom-up approaches alone. The danger of top-down policy is its lack of sensitivity to specific characteristics of the local rural context. The danger of bottom-up policy is that it neglects regime factors which originate outside the local context. The development processes described earlier compete with each other. As a result, any ‘integrated’ rural policy faces the problem of having to work out how the different development processes and supply chain links can be

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integrated into the differentiated rural spaces. A consequence of this view might be that the differentiated countryside requires regionally differentiated development regimes. According to Marsden, a precondition for spatial policy might be an approach that incorporates urban and rural areas. Such an approach may: ‘attempt to maximize the synergies (for instance production-consumption linkages, value streams) between urban and rural places within a regional context and be more realistic about the degree to which rural areas can capture economic and social value from rural products, services and resource use’ (Marsden, 1998, p. 116). Flemming (2007), too, mentions the need for more rural–urban incorporation. In addition to the endogenous approach, he argues in favour of strengthening a new pillar of rural research and action, one that takes greater account of the rural economy in its close interrelationship with, and dependency on, the urban economy. This new pillar comprises knowledge production, industry, service, culture and institutions. The OECD (2006), in a report entitled ‘The New Rural Paradigm’, identifies a new, multi-sector, place-based approach to rural development which seeks to identify and exploit the varied development potential of rural regions through new industries such as rural tourism, manufacturing and ICT. Such an approach requires the development of new collective governance arrangements. It concludes that sustainable regional development should take account not only of agricultural development, but also of rural–urban relations and non-agricultural businesses. Based on this statement, we can expect the following future regional developments: (1) An increase in farm scale. This development strategy fits within the national agricultural regime that was dominant in the Netherlands after the Second World War. By increasing farm scale both production costs, and the use of chemicals and artificial manure per kg product, can be lowered. New elements in this strategy have been introduced over the last decennia, such as more extensive land use in order to lower the nitrogen-loss per hectare, and cooperation with other agribusinesses. (2) A development towards an ongoing decoupling of agricultural production and the environment. This scenario can be seen as a continuation of the paradigm of rationalisation, mechanisation and an increasing in farm scale described earlier. Over the last century the relationship between farms and their surroundings has disintegrated. Van der Ploeg (1992) describes this as a ‘decoupling’ of agricultural production from the local resources. Greenhouse horticulture is a good example of this, where

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production occurs without using the soil. In the future an ongoing process of decoupling is expected in the form of intensive farming on industrial sites and new types of agro-industrial production. The sphere of mass production that Marsden mentions, fits within this scenario. However, possibilities for sustainability can be created by clustering intensive, multi-sector farm businesses at one location. Advantages of such clustering include lower transport costs, more efficient use of energy and an exchange of resources and waste streams between sectors. (3) The broadening of agriculture and rural development by introducing new functions such as nature, landscape, the production of regional quality products, tourism, healthcare and water management. The goal is to maintain and develop the quality of agricultural landscapes while preserving such values as tranquility and open space. Sustainable goals focus on landscape and nature protection, water management and a lower input of chemicals and minerals. European rural policy, which has resulted in instruments such as ‘regional development plans’, INTERREG and LEADERþ, focuses mainly on this perspective. Such things as ‘quality food markets’ and ‘agriculturally related changes’ fit within this scenario. (4) A rural–urban network development that defines rural landscapes as spaces of consumption, paying attention to societal demands, designing new concepts based on rural–urban relationships and non-agricultural entrepreneurship. In this scenario new actors enter the rural policy arena (VROM-raad, 2004). The goal is to attract new investors who function as new carriers for spatial quality. This is linked to what Marsden calls ‘rural restructuring’. Across many rural spaces the main restructuring of the land base has little to do with the agricultural sphere. Here, extraagricultural processes exploit the redefined rural resource, such as housing (Marsden, 1998).

DEVELOPMENTS IN POLICY-MAKING Transition in rural–urban regions, where restructuring is the challenge, is a complex process within the current situation in which national government plays a less dominant role in regional rural planning, and regional and local governments are redefining their roles and tasks. As a reaction to failing governmental legitimacy and effectiveness in the past, governments have found new approaches based on the assumption that governmental professionals no longer have the necessary means to manage and control

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their surroundings on their own. They are becoming increasingly dependent on the knowledge and involvement that exists within society. Technical expertise is insufficient; social expertise is indispensable (Stoker, 2003). This is what some call the ‘horizontalisation’ of public management which has been a topic of much discussion over the last 10 or 15 years. This approach is very broad and encompasses a number of different lines of thought (Torfing, Sørensen, & Christensen, 2003). These are all based on the shared proposition that the classic hierarchical model of public administration is not fit for purpose, and that a number of forms of ‘horizontal arrangements’ have arisen in its place. Even though governments have always relied on other agencies to aid them in realising state objectives, the central role of ‘the state’ is decreasing (Jessop, 1997). Concepts such as network management, interactive decision-making and co-production, all relate to this ‘horizontalisation’. They are manifestations of more fundamental changes in the relationship between government and citizens (Lovan, Murray, & Shaffer, 2004). ‘Governance’ as an alternative to ‘governing’ consists of formal and informal regimes based on the interaction, partnership and cooperation between public and private actors, or the selfregulation of the latter (Rhodes, 1997). It has to do with a rediminishing of the role of the state, with market forces taking over some of the functions and producing some of the goods and services previously seen as state prerogatives, and with a shared commitment to resource allocation and conflict resolution (Schmitter, 2002). Governance, it is often remarked, attempts to solve the problems of legitimacy, effectiveness and efficiency posed by traditional policy-making (Kooiman, 2002; Schmitter, 2002). It involves working across boundaries, both within the public sector, and between the public, private and ‘voluntary’ sectors. It deals with strengthening the interaction capabilities between government organisations and society. The rise of governance is seen as a blurring of boundaries both between and within the public and private sectors. In Stoker’s (1998) view, this serves to restructure collective action and to re-establish an order based on social cooperation, mutual interest and accommodation. Changing power relations between state, market and civil society lead not only to new styles of governing, they also ‘solidify’ into new relationships and arrangements. Examples of these new relationships between state and civil society can be found in the context of rural regional policy. How have these arrangements developed over the last decades in the Netherlands? In the next section we will focus on some types of rural policy-making in a regional context.

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TYPES OF RURAL POLICY-MAKING: INTERACTIVE REGION-ORIENTED POLICY AND SELF-GOVERNANCE In rural regions, various types of formal and informal reflexive policymaking can be seen as an expression of new relationships between state, market and civil society. A good example of this is Interactive regionoriented policy and self-governance.

Region-Oriented-Policy: Balancing Between Bottom-Up and Top-Down Region-oriented policy functioning as a kind of ‘network governance’ comprises the following distinctive features:  Government initiative taken as the starting point;  Instead of dealing with one dominant sector, one single policy objective or one single point of view, the approach aims at integration, synergy and ‘win-win’;  An integral approach to rural problems;  An emphasis on negotiation between public and private partners and  Joint decision-making and the formulation of regional visions and measures at regional level. Some examples of region-oriented policy in the Netherlands between the 1990s and the present include:  The ‘ROM areas’ aimed at the integration of spatial and environmental policy,  ‘Valuable Man-made Landscapes’ and  The ‘Reconstruction Areas’ in eastern and southern parts of the Netherlands. The ROM policy was designed in the framework of the national policy on spatial planning (Vierde Nota Ruimtelijke Ordening, Min. van VROM, 1989) in order to integrate planning and environmental policies at a regional level. ROM areas such as ‘Schiphol’ and ‘Gelderse Vallei’ (Gijsberts, 1995) serve to illustrate that the ROM policy, aimed at integrating policy measures by negotiating with various stakeholders, turned out to be an instrumental– technical approach institutionalised in traditional arrangements. Its effect

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was that environmental measures were weakened during the process (see also Min. van VROM, 1998). The aim of the Valuable Man-made Landscapes policy was to enable regional and national governments to maintain and develop the values (nature, landscape, recreation) of these important agricultural regions at the same time as achieving economic goals. The Valuable Man-made Landscapes policy focused on regional processes and the stimulation of bottomup initiatives. This led to new alliances between actors. However, the informal relationships and new ideas ended up conflicting with regional institutional processes such as spatial planning procedures (Novioconsult, 1998; Pleijte, Kranendonk, Langers, & Hoogeveen, 2000). New regional forms of interactive policy over the past few years can be seen in the Reconstruction Areas in the Netherlands. The environmental problems caused by intensive cattle farming were the driving force behind the reconstruction. During the process, the aims have been broadened into an integral approach to all rural problems: economic, social and ecological. The many actors involved in this process are organised into reconstruction committees: regional and local governments, farmers’ organisations and a broad range of societal organisations. In the reconstruction areas, broad cooperation between private and public actors is organised, leading to consensus building and reconstruction plans. An evaluation of the reconstruction plan for ‘De Peel’, however, shows that opportunities for the self-organising capacities of concrete initiatives are still being insufficiently utilised (Haarmann, 2004). Cooperation mainly takes the form of traditional arrangements within reconstruction committees and negotiating processes with the usual interest groups. This leads to a process of consensus building that can sometimes prevent the input of innovative solutions from new actors who are not able to participate. In an overview, Frouws and Leroy (2003) state that region-oriented policy is an exercise in social mobilisation, building consensus and settling conflicts. Moreover, new local and regional coalitions arise, most of them temporary. But in their view it does not constitute a thorough governmental renewal. In her dissertation, Boonstra (2004) concludes that region-oriented policy has triggered intensive cooperation between governmental institutions and NGOs, mobilisation of resources, joint problem definition and action and insight into constraining legislation. But in spite of these accomplishments, the potential of this policy with regard to public support, participation, mobilisation and integrating capacity has only been partially accomplished. Opportunities to mobilise new actors, resources and discourses are being

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missed. In addition, representatives of the NGOs involved tend to become stuck in their old patterns (Boonstra, 2004). Based on the literature on different forms of interactive rural region-oriented policy, we draw the conclusion that governments try to mobilise societal capacity in rural areas through horizontalisation, forms of co-production and by stimulating negotiation between public and private actors. They come up against the boundaries of their management capacity, however. Problems occur such as clashing discourses, dominant power relations, selective choice of actors and the hampering of cooperation between interest groups. The problem is that actors try to solve new rural problems with new styles of governance but using traditional coalitions. In particular, problems of regional cooperation arise. Regional development requires the involvement of innovative ideas and partners, but public and private actors face the risk of incorporation in ‘solidified arrangements’ that are not suited to facing the new challenge.

Self-Governance: Searching for ‘Room to Manoeuvre’ The forms of region-oriented policy described earlier are illustrations of the transition from ‘governing to governance’. According to Pellizoni (2004), this transition is also visible in the development of voluntary regulation. Rhodes (1997) also sees the self-regulation of private actors as an element of governance. This creates possibilities for ‘bottom-up’ groups within civil society to take responsibility for sustainable development in their own region and to participate in regional cooperation. Key characteristics of types of self-governance in the Netherlands are:  The development of voluntary instruments such as covenants, contracts and regional agreements between public and private actors and  A focus on flexible policy solutions, experiments and ‘changing the rules of the game’. To illustrate this, we focus here on one type of innovative, ‘bottom-up’ rural group, called agri-environmental associations, which comprise groups of farmers and civilians working together in environmental care, and nature and landscape management (Melman, 2003). A recent overview shows that since 2001 the number of these associations has increased from 90 to approximately 124 and that they now cover more than half of the agricultural land in the Netherlands (Oerlemans, van Well, & Guldemond, 2004). Empirical studies show that this type of cooperation can contribute to sustainable development both locally and regionally. Farm activities, for

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example, include environmental measures, species management, field margin management, parcel management and the maintenance and creation of landscape elements (Hees, Renting, & de Rooij, 1993; Horlings, 1997; Oerlemans et al., 2004). The most successful regional self-organising groups in the Netherlands have the knowledge and professionalism to cooperate with governments (Horlings, 1996). A good example of public–private partnership is the ‘self-governance’ of the Den Haˆneker association, in the southwest of the Netherlands. This association launched a model for an integral regional contract with the province, 12 local governments and at least 15 other organisations in order to achieve goals with regard to nature, landscape, housing, recreation and tourism, transportation, livability, economy and archaeology (Clausman, 1998; Den Haˆneker, 2004). Many innovative associations try to establish durable relations with governments by entering into contracts or covenants. Experiences with a number of regional covenants have illustrated that the extent to which governments are able to play a flexible negotiating and bargaining role, in order to reach goals by creating more room to manoeuvre for entrepreneurs, is crucial to cooperation (CLM, 1999; Hees, 2004). However, in the current situation several institutional barriers are obstructing the development of regional cooperation. These barriers include a narrow focus on sector-based instead of integrated rural policy, European regulations, existing power relations and a bureaucratic role attitude on the part of civil servants. Experiences with the two types of policy-making described earlier, regionoriented policy and self-governance, show that although the current arrangements and partnerships used in rural policy strengthen governmental legitimacy they are insufficiently effective. At regional level, the ‘policy management gap’ is not effectively addressed by these forms of governance. An explanation for this is the way rural regimes are organised and how they influence regional cooperation. In the next paragraph we examine the concept of regimes and then we describe how cooperation is hampered by rural regimes.

THE CONCEPT OF REGIMES The obstacles described in previous sections can be explained by introducing the concept of regimes. This concept is the subject of a broad debate. Regimes are interpreted in a number of ways ranging from forms of

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public–private cooperation, organisational networking and sets of rules within innovation theory, to policy arrangements (see, e.g., Klijn & Teisman, 2000; Rip & Kemp, 1998; Geels, 2004; Geels, Schot, & Verbong, 2004; Arts, van Tatenhove, & Leroy, 2000; van Tatenhove, Arts, & Leroy, 2000). We will not go into that debate here (see Horlings, Tops, van Ostaaijen, & Cornelissen, 2006). A feature shared by these various approaches is the basic assumption that the network society consists of different types of relationships between diverse actors. In this chapter we use a regime concept based on the theoretical background formed by URT in which the regime concept indicates ways in which configurations of private–private, public–public and public–private coalitions are formed by, and in turn structure, urban development agendas (Davies, 2002; Dowding, 2001; Goodwin & Painter, 1997; Lauria, 1997; Stone, 2002). URT is not only a helpful analytical framework for understanding the problems described in previous sections, but can also potentially offer a new perspective on regional complexity and cooperation, as we will see in the next chapters. We describe here in brief the thinking underlying the URT. The concept of urban regimes goes back to the research carried out by Stone in 1989 into the active role of the black middle class business community in transforming race relations in the US city of Atlanta. Stone studied the politics of the city of Atlanta over a period of more than 40 years after Second World War. He noticed a coalition of urban actors who each had their own goals but were not able to accomplish them without others: the black community that became a powerful group within the city and ‘gained control of city hall and the business elite’ (Stone, 1989). The notion of ‘urban regimes’ forms an elaboration of the regime concept drawn from international relations theory (Mossberger & Stoker, 2001). In both cases the regime concept has grown into a dominant paradigm in attempts to develop a third way that lies somewhere between approaches stressing the role of policy and planning in structuring social reality, and approaches stressing the role of business and economics (Mossberger & Stoker, 2001). To put it another way, the regime concept stresses the importance of the mutual embeddedness or co-evolution of governmental and non-governmental/market coalitions. Both in the field of international relations theory and in the field of regional or urban studies, the ‘capacity to act’ very much depends on forms of co-production or co-evolution which on the one hand bring together public and private resources, while on the other hand they distribute selective incentives (new jobs, new facilities, new sources of profit, administrative power, etc.). Regimes have histories of

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collaboration, based not so much on complete forms of consensus over values and beliefs, but rather on a common participation in the realisation of ‘small opportunities’ (Stone, 1993). Essentially, URT is about how cooperation can be established between different actors in society in order to get things done. ‘To be effective, governments must blend their capacities with those of various nongovernmental-actors’ (Stoker, 1995, p. 58). That capacity is not presupposed but must be created and maintained. Power within URT is not a matter of social control, but of social production (Stoker, 1995, p. 55). It is not about ‘who governs’ but about how to develop the capacity to govern. ‘The power struggle concerns, not control and resistance, but gaining and fusing a capacity to act – power to, not power over’ (Stone, 1989, p. 229). Leadership is essential in this process. The act of power is to build a regime and achieve the capacity to govern. This form of power is intentional and active. Actors are willing to cooperate with other actors who possess essential resources, for example, money or knowledge, to achieve their desired goals. Of course, resources are not equally divided among the different actors: some actors are more important than others. Control over the important resources is therefore essential. According to Stone, a regime can be defined as ‘an informal yet relatively stable group with access to institutional resources that enable it to have a sustained role in making governing decisions’ (Stone, 1989, p. 4). Regime analysis therefore focuses on ‘the conditions under which such effective long-term coalitions emerge in order to accomplish public purposes’ (Stoker, 1995, p. 55). A regime is informal because regimes do not operate on the basis of a formal hierarchy. Actors can have their own formal (institutional) basis within their organisation, but in their mutual contacts within the regime, the coalition is based on an informal method of coordination. In later work, Stoker calls a regime a ‘specific type of network’ (Mossberger & Stoker, 2001, p. 817). The URT is especially useful in complex situations where there is either very little hierarchical ‘command and control power’ or none at all. The theory admits the influence of structural factors in the institutional multilevel context on the one hand, but also analyses the ways actors can change ‘the rules of the game’ on the other hand. Until now the URT in the Netherlands has been mainly applied in a local, urban research context (Tops, 2004; Tops, 2007). However, our hypothesis is that the theory is open and flexible and suitable for a regional (rural) development context. Regimes are characterised by stability, dominant ways of thinking and routines and a reserved attitude towards innovation. Regimes can consist of

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Table 1.

Instrumental and Cultural Regimes and their Characteristics. Defining Characteristics Instrumental

Cultural

Purpose

Project realization

Main motivation of participants Basis for sense of common purpose Quality of coalition (congruence of interests) Composition of coalition Relationship with environment (local) Relationship with environment (non-local)

Tangible results Selective incentives Political partnership

Redirection of ideology, discourse or image Expressive politics Strategic use of symbols Competitive agreement

Elite Exclusive orientation

Elite and ‘mass’ (citizens) Inclusive orientation

Dependent

Dependent

public and private actors, and may have a key role in defining problem situations and in selecting actors for decision-making networks. Following and adapting Mossberger and Stoker, we can make a distinction between two kinds of regimes: the instrumental regime and the cultural regime (Mossberger & Stoker, 2001, pp. 825–826). An instrumental regime focuses on economic development and short-term results. Actors who are not necessary for the regime are excluded. A cultural regime strives for a clear change of direction within society. Coordination at the highest level, which is a typical feature of instrumental regimes, is not enough (Ward, 1996, p. 432). A cultural regime needs broad acceptance. Symbols play an important role in this process of image formation (Table 1).

PROBLEMS WITH PUBLIC–PRIVATE COOPERATION IN RURAL REGIMES With the aid of the regime concept we can analyse the problems described in previous sections. Our view is that the current rural regimes are hampering regional cooperation in projects based on region-oriented policy and selfgovernance. We identify two main aspects:  The pre-definition of problems by current rural regimes and  The structure of current rural regimes and the way participation and cooperation is organised.

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Pre-Definition of Problems To a certain extent, discussions about rural problems are pre-defined within rural regimes. The following examples serve to illustrate this. Firstly, in regional policy processes differing views on regional identity can hamper cooperation. Regional identities are social constructs, related to social relationships. Regional identities can therefore be seen as ‘acts of power’ (Simon, 2004). Governments often have more power to promote and ‘reconstruct’ identities than civilians. As a result, the definition of rural identities in region-oriented policy is often dominated by governmental institutions. This can be illustrated in the context of the spatial planning of rural areas in the Netherlands. This planning focuses on morphological, functional aspects of the rural space, rooted in the artificiality of the landscape (Goverde, 2000). This creates tension between governments and voluntary groups. These groups have a different view of rural identity and this perspective is rooted in their personal socio-cultural experience. This is particularly evident in the reconstruction areas, where the physical-spatial point of view clashes with the logic of the people. The reconstruction plans disregard non-spatial aspects ‘that cannot be shown on a map’. People’s experiences, the inhabitants’ socio-cultural wishes and non-spatial issues are too often disregarded (Haarmann, 2004). The second example is connected with the fact that different actors often represent different discourses and different views on sustainable rural development. These different discourses are not represented equally and have differing degrees of ‘persuasive power’ in rural development processes. Earlier we distinguished three directions of development. Public and private actors often represent different discourses and this leads to conflicts and hampers cooperation. Conflicting discourses appeared, for example, during the foot and mouth epidemic in the Netherlands when the image of rurality held by citizens and (hobby) farmers conflicted with the dominant economic and export-oriented interests of central government (Van der Ziel, 2003).

Structure of Regimes It is not only the way in which problems are defined within rural regimes but also the establishing of networks that can hamper cooperation. The main question is: who’s in and who’s not? The main obstacles to cooperation are:  Inclusion and exclusion of actors in the policy arena,

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 Creation of distrust and  Incorporation of self-governance groups. We will illustrate these examples below. Inclusion and exclusion. Despite the diminishing role of traditional interest groups, new actors face difficulties in trying to enter the national policy arena when new rural policy is being formulated (Horlings, 2004). The question of who can enter the policy arena is power-driven. A study on the role of women in reconstruction processes in two Dutch provinces shows that on a regional scale women play a fairly limited role in the decision processes (Bock, Derkzen, & Joosse, 2004). Another example is the administrative experiment set up by the Ministry of Agriculture in the last decade of the 20th century which was aimed at the self-regulation of five environmental cooperatives. This project failed because the proposals for self-regulation clashed with the dominant routines and procedures. ‘The Department of the Ministry concerned refused to develop agency’ (Van der Ploeg, 2001, pp. 411–414). Lack of trust. Cooperation within rural regimes depends on trust between public and private actors. However, Van der Ploeg describes the community of parties involved in rural development as one that is composed of ‘distrust’. Innovative farmers choose their own development path, thus clashing with the development project of the expert system, governments and their own union (Van der Ploeg, 2001, pp. 359–377). Symptoms of a lack of trust on the part of the government are a ‘legalisation’ of agreements, bureaucratisation and an increase in the regulation of regional policy. The experiments with regional contracts in the Netherlands show that representatives of innovative private organisations within civil society come up against the power-driven and complex rules of the game that are set by large bureaucratic institutions such as regional and local governments. Explicit and implicit procedures and rules hamper cooperation between public and private parties. Subsidy regulation clashes with the private actors’ lack of resources (knowledge, professionalism and possibilities for co-funding). Incorporation of self-governance groups. Rural regimes can incorporate private actors into an interactive decision-making process. This tension creates a major dilemma for private actors: in order to realise more ‘room to manoeuvre’, they have to participate in institutional structures. The result can be high ‘transaction costs’ with the attendant risk of vitality loss. Our conclusion is that the concept of regimes is helpful for analysing the problems in region-oriented policy and projects of self-governance (Table 2).

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Table 2. Rural Regimes and Cooperation Problems Between Public and Private Actors. Problem Pre-definition of rural problems Structure of regimes

Examples Power-driven view of identity Clashes between discourses Inclusion and exclusion of actors Lack of trust Incorporation of self-organising initiatives

CREATING NEW CAPACITY TO ACT IN REGIONAL DEVELOPMENT BY VITAL COALITIONS? In this section we will deal with the question of whether ‘vital interaction’ can provide a solution for the obstacles described in the previous sections. Interaction with citizens and social and private organisations is an essential feature of modern governance. The emergence of cultural regimes is one expression of the necessity to organise public decision-making in an interactive way. Interactivity in regional processes, however, has to be linked with vitality if it is to attract citizens. Modern citizens are not prepared to spend a great deal of time on public decision-making if it is not made attractive to them. A link with tangible results and a context that is inspiring and energising is indispensable. Productive interaction therefore increasingly needs to take the form of vital interaction. Vital interaction is a form of interactive decision-making in which cooperation between actors is energising and productive. By productive we mean that results are achieved; by energising we mean that the interactions give energy and inspiration to those who are involved. Vitality is a combination of productivity and energy. Vital interaction takes shape in the form of ‘vital coalitions’. Vital coalitions are ‘forms of self-organisation in which citizens, social organisations, private actors and/or governments take the initiative to work together, based on a shared goal, concern or interest’. The hypothesis is that certain combinations of influential actors under certain conditions can organise acting capacity and change the status quo (Horlings et al., 2006). This may even affect the institutional setting (regime) of regional development. Vital coalitions start out as relatively small initiatives but can exert multiple effects, for example, making people active, combining

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institutions that have never worked together or mobilising energy within a neighbourhood. While cultural regimes are the expression of a newly developing relationship between (urban) state and (local) society at the system level, vital coalitions are the expression of the same type of developments at the level of concrete projects in the urban environment. Vital coalitions can be seen as self-organised networks of actors that occur in ‘niches’ (incubation rooms for innovation). The concept of niches is taken from innovation theory (Geels, 2004). In ‘self-organisations’, actors share a sense of urgency with regard to rural problems and develop a common perspective on possible solutions. Vital coalitions contain features which distinguish them from other forms of cooperation between government and social organisations. These specific networks are energising and productive, focus on informal relationships and are able to create new political power. The key characteristics of vital coalitions are: (1) a sense of urgency, (2) entrepreneurship and leadership and (3) a stimulating governmental role (Tops, 2007). What is the sense of urgency underlying the creation of new acting capacity? While the current arrangements used in Dutch rural policy strengthen governmental legitimacy, they are not sufficiently effective as we explained earlier. The new forms of governance do not effectively address the problem of the ‘policy management gap’ at regional level. In itself, the shift from government to governance can be evaluated positively. However, obstacles occur such as clashing discourses, insufficient use of selfregulation and inflexible arrangements. These problems cannot be explained from the perspective of networks alone, but require a regime approach and a perspective on creating ‘enabling power’. There is a sense of urgency, especially for regional governments. Tops (2006) describes how governments are seeking a new relationship between collective and individual responsibility on the part of their citizens. Forms of interactive policymaking tend to deteriorate into dead-end debate. Citizens need to be given more responsibility and the opportunity to take it. Vital coalitions need to be sought, new relationships between government and society.

Types of Logic Interactivity is not simply a way of increasing the effectiveness of government. Since interactivity involves working beyond the boundaries of government agencies, it requires allowing for systems of logic other than

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those that have been inspired by the routines and needs of government. This situation intensifies tensions that are already latent in the operations of public administration, bringing them more sharply to the surface. Two of these tensions are of particular importance: the tension between institutional and situational logic, and that between instrumental and cultural logic. These tensions can be neither removed nor avoided; they express ambiguities that are part of reality itself. It is possible, however, to make the tensions productive; vital interaction requires that these tensions should be recognised and that a certain balance should be created in dealing with them. In institutional logic, the operations of government and the principles and routines upon which they are based form the point of departure. Planning, managing, control and predictability are all matters of considerable importance. Key concepts in the institutional argument include comprehensiveness, accountability and political primacy. Rules, procedures, prescriptions and routines dictate what is proper and ‘how it ought to be done’. Concrete situations in social reality are the starting point for situational action. Key concepts in the situational argument include commitment, productivity and orientation towards results. In situational logic, concrete situations take precedence over institutions. The starting point is how actors in concrete situations can achieve results. Actors’ efforts and involvement provide the impetus for activities and determine the form of cooperation. Trust, intuition and belief drive the process. People do things that they believe in and work together with others because they trust them. Such trust is not known but experienced. This way of working also has its own logic. Some things are accepted while others are not. It is obvious that both types of logic are mutually dependent. Institutional logic becomes mired in bureaucratic incapacity unless it is corrected and complemented by forms of situational logic. Situational logic, in its turn, dissolves into chaos unless it is embedded within a framework of institutional logic. In spite of their mutual dependence, however, institutional and situational logic cannot simply be combined, as they are ultimately rooted in different principles. A cultural perspective on administration can be contrasted with an instrumental perspective on administration. In the instrumental approach, the central question is how a policy problem may be efficiently and effectively solved. In this approach, policy-making is combined with a perceived distance between ‘norm’ and ‘reality’. It is primarily an instrumental, results- and solution-driven activity. Thus, interaction becomes a means of achieving efficient policy-making that is substantively enriched by

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Instrumental logic

Institutional logic

Viable interaction

Situational logic

Cultural logic

Fig. 1.

Four Perspectives.

the insights of citizens (‘experiential experts’) and which is made procedurally more successful due to the broader support it generates for the policy. In the cultural approach, the question of which instruments should be deployed for solving pre-specified problems is of less importance than the question of how the relevant interactions and interpretations will take shape, for example, whether cherished positions, uses and habits will be respected in the process, thereby leading to meaningful negotiation between the various systems of values. Actors ally themselves with policy processes for reasons that have to do with cherished, though often dormant, norms and values; they express opinions of how the world ought to work. The two-dimensional tensions described earlier are constantly present in interactive decision-making. Together, they form four distinct positions, each representing different interests (Fig. 1). We assume that viable interaction can arise when sufficient space exists within a process for all four of these perspectives. Such a viable interaction cannot be designed, but instead originates in practical action. In an optimal situation, a certain balance between the various types of logic is possible; tensions are not reasoned away but recognised and made productive.

Vital Coalitions as an Analytical Tool How can we use the concept of vital coalitions as an analytical framework to describe and understand regional processes? Dimensions of vital coalitions comprise mutual agenda-setting, mutual resources, a mutual action space

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Table 3. Aspects of Vital Coalitions

Aspects of Vital Coalitions.

Agenda-Setting

Ideas and opinions on transition Problem definition and story lines Activities Language, slogans, mottoes and symbols

Coalitions

Modes of Alignment

Resources

Actors

Rules and procedures

Money

Roles

Expectations

Power

Initiative Pro-activity

Personal relations (In)formality

Influence Knowledge

Leadership

Energy, passion, motivation and commitment Emotions

Skills/ competences

Representation Scale

and effective modes of alignment between both public and private actors. We have developed this analytical framework further by describing the different aspects of these dimensions (Table 3). By the term agenda-setting we mean the process in which ‘story lines’ for the region are formed. Story lines are the ideas, goals, visions, images and opinions used by stakeholders to express their motivation and involvement. These story lines are often illustrated by slogans, symbols and mottoes for the region and can help bring about not only a change of mind in people but also a change of heart. By coalitions we refer to the issue of ‘who’s in and who’s out’ and the forms of cooperation that occur. A coalition refers to negotiation, co-production and cooperation between private actors, public actors, citizens and/or knowledge institutions. An important feature of the regional processes is the modes of alignment, the way actors interact and the formal and informal rules they agree on. Informal cooperation can create ‘room to manoeuvre’, a way to circumvent the dominant routines and procedures of the rural regime. Important factors for creating vitality include energy, motivation, commitment and the enthusiasm to work together towards a common goal. Personal relationships and emotions often play an important role. Therefore it is important to take ‘facts as well as feelings’ into account. Resources are an important precondition for an effective regional process. We distinguish power, money, influence and skills and important resources. Through cooperation actors are able to gain the resources they lack on their own.

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Vital Coalitions and Regional Sustainable Development In theory, vital coalitions are temporary. They can ‘fade away’ due to a loss of vitality, or they can lead in two different directions. Firstly, vital coalitions are able to adapt to the rural regime. Rural regimes are selfreferential systems that have an inherent resistance to change. This resistance can find expression in forms of fixation. Examples include principle-fixation, goal-fixation and form-fixation. Procedures and routines can be seen as form-fixation. Bang (2004) sees a danger of the politicisation of civil society and the incorporation of conventional practices. This creates a dilemma for private initiatives: in order to reach their goals and create ‘room to manoeuvre’, they have to participate in institutional structures. The result can be high ‘transaction costs’ with the attendant risk of vitality loss. Secondly, vital coalitions have the potential to contribute to the development of new regimes by challenging the current regime and ‘rules of the game’, and introducing new ways of thinking. This may ultimately result in the breakdown of the rural regime, leading to new, more culturally oriented regimes. Additional empirical research is needed in order to throw more light on this matter. As far as sustainability is concerned, the strategic question is whether vital coalitions can contribute to sustainable development. Sustainability is not in itself a characteristic of vital coalitions: this depends on the goals of the coalition. Vital coalitions are also not a pre-described regional transition model, but may be the outcome of various regional processes, such as a regional dialogue, the development of new product-market combinations, organising partnerships or building urban-rural networks. However, this requires an ‘unfreezing’ of institutional, organisational and individual conditions (both structure and attitudes). One way in which vital coalitions can come about is in the form of innovative socio-economic opportunities. The ‘driving force’ behind building coalitions here lies in the combined investment opportunities for entrepreneurs who organise themselves around these opportunities in chains, clusters or regional multi-functional business communities. Potentially promising examples can be found in a number of regions which fall under urban influence, such as Heuvelland in the Netherlands (see Horlings & Haarmann, 2007a, 2007b), the region near Cork in Ireland and the South Downs near London (see ZKA, Urban Unlimited en Universiteit van Tilburg, 2005; Sonneveld, 2007). The developments in these regions fit within the shift from subsidy-driven development to development through

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investments in different countries, as the OECD describes. The OECD advocates governance arrangements in which public agents do not dominate, but where there is strong representation by the private business sector to capitalise on new opportunities and resources generated by public or collective action (OECD, 2006, p. 114). According to Sotarauta (2005), and based on an extensive overview of the human factor and leadership in regional development, the human aspect, especially the role of individuals, is a neglected area in European regional development studies. Based on two regional evaluation studies in the Netherlands, we observed that leadership, personal relationships and individual passion are important success factors (see Horlings & van Mansfeld, 2006; Horlings & Haarmann, 2007a, 2007b). A hindering regime factor in regional transition processes is the clear divide that still exists between urban and rural governments and between vertically organised policy domains. A first step might be to follow a rural–urban network strategy towards sustainability and the alignment of urban and rural agendas.

CONCLUSIONS In this chapter we have described a number of changes in rural–urban relations together with various perspectives that can be distinguished in the transition currently taking place in agriculture and rural landscapes, including:  An ongoing development towards increasing the scale of production;  Efficient intensification and technological development within agribusiness;  The broadening of agriculture and rural development through new functions such as tourism, environmental care and water management and  A rural-urban network development, defining rural landscapes as ‘spaces of consumption’, designing new concepts based on rural–urban relations and non-agricultural entrepreneurship. We have stated that the different scenarios reflect differing discourses and problem definitions. They also require different arrangements between actors involved in rural issues. The current debate about rural development and policy is mainly dominated by assumptions taken from the first two scenarios. Rural regimes are also organised along these lines. In the near future, new rural–urban relations and non-agricultural businesses will play a more important role in sustainable regional development. This fits within the ‘new rural paradigm’, as described by the OECD (2006).

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New, innovative perspectives on rural development require new forms of cooperation between state, business and civil society. We analysed two forms of policy in the Netherlands from recent decades: (1) Interactive region-oriented policy and (2) Self-governance. We concluded that within these forms of policy the search for innovative new perspectives is organised within traditional arrangements. The constellation of actors in rural regimes influences the way rural problems are defined. In other words, a regime is a ‘value-inclusive system’. New actors, such as non-agricultural entrepreneurs, civilians and urban representatives, face difficulties when trying to introduce their own problem definitions, to participate in rural decision processes and to cooperate with institutionalised governments. Their ‘room to manoeuvre’ is limited. A hindering regime factor in regional transition processes is the clear divide that still exists between urban and rural governments and between vertically organised policy domains. A first step might be to follow a rural– urban network strategy towards sustainability and the alignment of urban and rural agendas. The central question is whether regime theory can provide a useful framework for explaining the regional problems described. Can views from a fresh, yet related, perspective such as the urban context provide new insights? We described a modern version of the URT in order to discover whether this framework might offer lessons for sustainable rural development. We conclude that the modern URT has advantages as a theoretical framework. Firstly, URT points out ‘how power is organised to act’ and how the potential for self-governance in society can be stimulated. Governments have a diminishing number of options for acting as a hierarchical command and control power, but instead seek a role as ‘enabling power’. Secondly, the theory analyses informal networks as bases for cooperation and vitality and as a possible starting point for new (cultural) counter-regimes. Thirdly, experiences with urban regimes offer insights into emergent regimes, and especially into the success factors for and obstacles to (informal) cooperation between actors. Another interesting point which emerges is that regimes are described as providing a common basis for cooperation in the form of new ‘vital coalitions’ between actors that can then create a ‘capacity to act’. In the United States, the focus was originally on cooperation between government and businesses whereas in the Netherlands there has been an additional emphasis on the role of civil society. The influence of citizens is seen as a necessary precondition for effective government. The framework also offers

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an insight into the tensions that can arise between instrumental, cultural, institutional and situational logic. Last but not least, URT analyses ‘cultural regimes’ in which discourses and the motives and values of civilians form a key element. At the project level, the concept of vital coalitions is useful for analysing regional processes. Dimensions of vital coalitions comprise: (1) agendasetting, (2) coalitions, (3) modes of alignment and (4) resources. It is our view, based on a number of empirical projects, that ‘modes of alignment’, especially personal relationships and individual passion, play an underrated role in regional processes.

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CHAPTER 9 OVERCOMING JURISDICTIONAL BOUNDARIES THROUGH STAKEHOLDER ENGAGEMENT AND COLLABORATIVE GOVERNANCE: LESSONS LEARNED FROM WHITE-TAILED DEER MANAGEMENT IN THE U.S. Kirsten M. Leong, Daniel J. Decker, T. Bruce Lauber, Daniela B. Raik and William F. Siemer ABSTRACT Purpose – The purpose is to explore public participation as a means to overcome jurisdictional barriers in governance of trans-boundary wildlife management issues. Methodology/approach – We present one model, defining six philosophical approaches to public participation, then examine relationships between these approaches and traits of stakeholder communities, revealing three distinct governance paradigms: top–down governance, Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 221–247 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014012

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public input, and public engagement. These paradigms illustrate that the different approaches represent fundamentally different types of participation, not simply varying amounts of participation. Using case studies from the United States, we demonstrate how some state, federal, and local government institutions have successfully applied public input and public engagement models of governance to suburban white-tailed deer management. While both models can be used effectively, certain approaches may be preferable to others depending on specific management context, public participation goals, and target publics. Findings – Public input approaches appear better suited to addressing complex problems and communities of interest, while public engagement approaches may better resolve wicked problems that affect communities of place. Future research is needed to clarify the relationship between success of governance paradigms and contextual considerations. Originality/value of chapter – The chapter goes beyond many existing approaches to public participation and governance and presents interesting findings related to exurbanized and protected areas in the USA.

INTRODUCTION Since 1970, more Americans have lived in suburbs than anywhere else (Morgan & England, 1999). Rapid exurban growth continues to change the face of the countryside, blurring the separation between urban and rural environments. Some species of wildlife are adapting to the changing landscape, bringing new challenges to jurisdiction over wildlife management. The result is increased interdependence between different levels of government responsible for managing wildlife that cross jurisdictional boundaries. Governance has always played an important role in natural resource programs. Increasingly, the form of governance has been recognized as having significant influence over effectiveness of and success in management of natural resources. We define governance as the set of rules, structures, interactions, and processes that shape how decisions are made (Graham, Amos, & Plumptree, 2003; Hempel, 1996). This chapter explores how public participation is being used to overcome jurisdictional barriers in governance of trans-boundary white-tailed deer management issues. During the progressive era in the United States (1890s–1920s), many state and federal natural resource management agencies were created for

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governance of common pool natural resources such as wildlife. At that time, the dominant governance paradigm was an expert model of top–down policy making, regulation, and enforcement. In most situations, wildlife species were the responsibility of state governments (state wildlife agencies), except migratory birds, which were regulated by the federal government (e.g., U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service). Land use (habitat) regulation was relegated to local government and private landowners. Parks and protected areas (ranging from federal to state, county, and city parks) also were established as ‘‘islands’’ of habitat and, for the most part, were managed independently from adjoining land parcels. Under this traditional governance strategy for wildlife conservation and management, laws and policies were grounded on the premise (and actual situation) that wildlife were a ‘‘rural’’ resource, and managed under the public trust doctrine largely on a landscape scale that fit this rural perspective on wildlife. Wildlife of primary interest were game and furbearer species, plus some ‘‘pests’’ of forest products, crops, and livestock. Stakeholders of primary interest were sportsmen and women, farmers, ranchers, and forest owners. This model was relatively uncontested for most of the 20th century. The top–down governance model first came into question with environmental laws and policies of the late 1960s and 1970s that instituted public input, such as the National Environmental Policy Act of 1969 (42 U.S.C. y 4321 et seq.) and corresponding state laws (e.g., New York State Environmental Quality Review Act, 1978, 6 NYCRR Part 617). The Endangered Species Act of 1973 (50 C.F.R. y 402) also brought attention to additional species, broadening wildlife management from the game species orientation that had prevailed since inception of the wildlife management institution. Beginning in the 1980s and 1990s, public input models of governance came under scrutiny. Urban and exurban areas continued expanding into adjacent rural landscapes, depleting natural wildlife habitat, and threatening some wildlife species; simultaneously, other species were recovering from once low levels and expanding their ranges into the new habitats created by areas of medium-density residential and commercial development, resulting in increased health (disease transmission to humans and pets), safety (vehicle collisions and attacks on humans), and economic (property damage, ornamental plant damage) concerns (DeStefano & DeGraaf, 2003). The standard state agency methods of wildlife management developed and applied across rural landscapes typically were not feasible, effective, or socially acceptable in these humandominated environments and often were thwarted by local government

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ordinances and laws. In the wake of the growing human–wildlife interactions on the urban–rural interface, public engagement models of governance emerged. Citizens now are expecting to provide input in the form of deliberative democracy that considers local community needs and social norms, and state and federal policies are reflecting these expectations (Daniels & Cheng, 2004). The emergence of alternate governance models reflects the increasing complexity and ‘‘wickedness’’ (a perspective described broadly later in this chapter) of wildlife management on the urban–rural interface, a situation well illustrated by the diversity of stakeholder-involvement approaches applied in white-tailed deer management. Deer are a concern because of the extent and severity of impacts being experienced from human–deer interactions (i.e., economic loss, disease, vehicle collisions, ecological change, etc.), their common occurrence and abundance on the urban–rural interface, and the conflicting social values that usually surround deer management. Although state governments typically regulate deer management by establishing broad constraints for community action (i.e., harvest regulations, method of take, and quantity of animals harvested are specified), increasingly much of the critical decisionmaking involves communities (local government institutions). Also, even though parks and protected areas adjacent to these communities may have authority for wildlife management within their boundaries, wildlife do not respect those boundaries; achievement of both park and community goals requires recognition of the interdependence of each jurisdiction on the other. To explore and illustrate attempts to overcome multi-jurisdictional and multi-stakeholder natural resource management issues on the urban–rural interface, we describe attributes of the three main governance models that have developed in response to broad societal trends, as well as their implications for public involvement in wildlife management. Using examples from our research program over the last 15 years, we demonstrate how some state, federal, and local government institutions have successfully applied the different governance models to suburban deer management. We come at community-level management of deer impacts from three perspectives – the federal government as an example of a large landowner with local community neighbors, the state government as holding the primary wildlife management authority, and the local government as the level where acceptable objectives and specific actions must be determined. We conclude the chapter with a summary of lessons learned and further research needed.

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GOVERNANCE MODELS AND APPROACHES TO PUBLIC PARTICIPATION The term ‘‘public participation’’ can be applied to many forms of interaction and communication among and between government decision makers and citizens. Approaches to public participation have been described as a continuum that reflects the degree of citizen engagement and power in the decision-making process (Arnstein, 1969; Chase, Siemer, & Decker, 2002; Decker & Chase, 1997; National Park Service, 2003; Smutko & Garber, 2001). Decker and Chase (1997) defined five broad philosophical approaches in the way governmental agencies addressed stakeholder input and participation: authoritative, passive-receptive, inquisitive, transactional, and co-managerial. The continuum is expanded here to include a sixth category, intermediary, which often is described by managers but was not captured in the original taxonomy (Fig. 1). Each of these philosophical

Fig. 1. Management Approaches to Stakeholder Input and Involvement (Modified from Decker & Chase, 1997). Note: Bars Indicate Relative Degree of Influence on Policy and Natural Resource Management Decisions by Stakeholders and Managers. The Intermediary Approach is Added as Refinement of Original Taxonomy. Paradigm Shifts Refer to Changes in Conception of Community Structure, Function and Capacity for Collective Action Reflected in the Different Approaches to Stakeholder Participation and Role in Governance.

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approaches has different implications for citizen roles in governance, from objectives of stakeholder engagement, to relative decision-making power and forms of participatory processes (including direct, participatory democracy, Table 1). In addition, these approaches imply different understandings of ‘‘the public.’’ The public can be conceptualized as an aggregate of individuals or as groups of individuals with the ability to act collectively (i.e., communities). Likewise, groups can be understood from macro or micro perspectives, which differ on three dimensions: community structure, function, and capacity for collective action (Warren, 1978). Structure refers to whether communities are defined by their component social structures and institutions or social-psychological aspects (i.e., sense of belonging). Primary functions can be task functions, undertaken to control a group’s social and physical environment and yield a high outcome for its members, or maintenance functions, activities that maintain interdependence among group members. Collective action can be either internally driven or externally driven. Assumptions about these three dimensions are implicit in the six approaches, which reflect three distinct governance paradigms with respect to public participation (Table 2). These paradigms reinforce the idea that rather than describing an increase in the amount of public participation as the continuum progresses, the philosophical approaches represent fundamentally different types of public participation. Each approach is best suited to particular management contexts and types of publics. As noted earlier, governance of wildlife management requires addressing increasingly complex public issues and involving multiple stakeholders at different scales, across multiple jurisdictions, and in different time frames. Thus, ability to identify stakeholders and apply different approaches to stakeholder participation to different facets of public wildlife management issues is an increasingly important skill for wildlife managers. We next provide an overview to each approach,1 grouped by paradigm. Each paradigm gives advantages to some segments of the public over others. Further, some approaches within paradigms may not be logistically feasible in all situations. Experience suggests contexts where each approach may be most fruitful for governance of wildlife on the urban– rural interface. For each of the paradigms involving active solicitation of public participation (Paradigms 2 and 3), we provide two case studies to illustrate application of approaches based on the particular management context.

Table 1. Approach Authoritative (nonparticipation) Passivereceptive Inquisitive

Intermediary

Transactional

Co-managerial

SH

Objectives

Improve management climate, solicit input, stakeholders help make decisions

Decision by NRMA, may share Improve management climate, some responsibility for solicit input, stakeholders decision with the public help make decisions

SH Decision by NRMA, based on recommendations from the public

Decision by NRMA alone Improve management climate, provide information, build awareness Decision by NRMA alone, with Improve management climate, minimal input from public consider stakeholder input for informed consent SH Decision by NRMA alone, with Improve management climate, solicit stakeholder input opportunities for public to provide input

Decision-Making Power

One-way communication, receive unsolicited comments from the public Two-way asymmetric communication, actively solicit comments from representative SH groups Two-way symmetric communication, seek dialogue between NRMA and representative SH groups Two-way symmetric communication, seek dialogue between NRMA and stakeholders, as a group Two-way symmetric communication, seek dialogue between NRMA and stakeholders, as a group

One-way communication, to inform the public

Form of Participation

Approaches to Public Participation and Corresponding: Models of Communication, Objectives, Decision-Making Power, and Forms of Participation.

SH

Model

NRMA

SH

NRMA

NRMA

NRMA

SH

SH

SH

SH

NRMA

SH

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NRMA

Decision shared by NRMA and Improve management climate, the public solicit input, stakeholders share responsibility for decisions and implementing actions

Notes: NRMA, Natural Resource Management Agency; SH, Stakeholder Groups. Arrows designate flow of information; single-headed arrow indicates one-way communication, double-headed arrow indicates dialogue. Source: Adapted from Chase, Siemer, and Decker (2002) and Smutko and Garber (2001).

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Table 2. Model

SH

SH

NRMA SH

SH

SH

Social structures and institutions

Community Function

Specific/task functions

General/maintenance functions

Community Capacity for Collective Action

MU is part of community; participation is a manifestation of internally driven collective action

MU is separate from community; participation is collective action in response to external forces (represented by NRMA)

The public who interact with the NRMA is an aggregate of individuals, not a collective. These individuals also may belong to groups with specific interests, but they do not act collectively in their direct interactions with the NRMA

Community Structure

Approaches to Public Participation; Implied Assumptions About Community Structure, Function, and Capacity for Collective Action; and Paradigms for Understanding the Public.

SH

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SH

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Approach

NRMA

NRMA

Paradigm 1: Top-Down Governance Model Authoritative (nonparticipation) Passive-receptive

Inquisitive

SH

Paradigm 2: Public Input Governance Model

Intermediary

SH

NRMA

SH

Shared systems of beliefs and symbols

Paradigm 3: Public Engagement Governance Model Transactional

Co-managerial

NRMA

Notes: NRMA, Natural Resource Management Agency; SH, Stakeholder Groups; MU, Wildlife or Public Land Management Unit. Arrows designate flow of information; single-headed arrow indicates one-way communication, double-headed arrow indicates dialogue.

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PARADIGM ONE: TOP–DOWN GOVERNANCE MODEL Adopting an authoritative or passive-receptive approach to participation risks treating the public as an aggregate of individuals. Stakeholders are not considered in terms of the collective; thus, community structure, function, and capacity for collective action and contribution to wildlife management are not considered. In the authoritative approach, the government wildlife agency disseminates information to stakeholders but does not actively seek input, relying instead on a politically appointed commission or established informant network. While informational communication is an important element of most outreach efforts, the authoritative approach has been criticized when it assumes a decide–announce–defend process, where public meetings are used ritualistically to announce and defend policies and the public comes with no real role in decision–making, only the opportunity to vent (McComas, 2001; Walesh, 1999). In the passive-receptive approach, individual stakeholders may take initiatives to provide input to wildlife management decision-making by an agency, but the management agency does not facilitate this process. Bias can be expected with such input; studies have shown a wide variety of preferred and avoided methods of making opinions known among wildlife management stakeholders (Chase, Decker, & Lauber, 2004). Thus, input received in this process is unlikely to be fully representative of or generalizable to perspectives of the affected stakeholders overall. From the standpoint of governance, the agency simply asserts its statutory authority over wildlife in this paradigm and does not actively seek involvement from the public. Stakeholders can affect the situation through political action directed at elected officials, ballot initiatives where permitted, and litigation.

PARADIGM TWO: PUBLIC INPUT GOVERNANCE MODEL The second paradigm views the public in terms of the component social structures and institutions that make up stakeholder communities. These groups largely exist to ensure that specific interests of their members are satisfied, i.e., to perform task functions. In the inquisitive approach, government wildlife agencies actively solicit stakeholder input but do not

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engage in dialogue. For example, stakeholders may be asked to respond to questionnaires, provide written comments about specific topics, or attend public meetings where their comments are recorded. Initiative is taken by the government to reach stakeholder groups that represent different interests, such as members of recreational user groups, local community leaders, grassroots organizations formed around one or more stakes in the wildlife management issue, tour operators, or environmental organizations. The government wildlife management agency is thought of as separate from the community, setting up social as well as physical boundaries between the government agency and stakeholders. This emphasis on social structures and specific functions establishes an environment based on ‘‘us’’ and ‘‘them;’’ the wildlife management agency and various stakeholder groups can be either aligned as in ‘‘us’’ with ‘‘them,’’ or opposed as in ‘‘us’’ against ‘‘them.’’ The intermediary approach introduces symmetric communication between stakeholders and the government wildlife management agency (i.e., dialogue that leads to mutual learning for both parties). Dialogue is encouraged between individual stakeholder groups and the management agency, e.g., when agency staff attend regular meetings of stakeholder associations, or when one-on-one discussions are initiated at open housestyle meetings. However, there is little emphasis on dialogue between stakeholder groups with different concerns. Instead, agency staff act as intermediaries in deciphering similarities and differences in stakeholder positions and interests. The status of the government management entity as being outside the local community is reinforced. In this approach, agencies may use social science research as market research to become informed about desires of different stakeholder groups (A. Cheng, Colorado State University, personal communication). While having potential to improve relations between the government agency and individual stakeholders, this approach has been criticized when it is used as a ‘‘divide and conquer’’ tactic that does not give stakeholders the opportunity to learn from each other about disparate perspectives and the broader context of the issue (Lauber & Knuth, 1998). This approach limits the ability of stakeholders to provide well-informed input and leaves the agency with power to interpret various inputs and retain a closed decision-making approach to governance. In addition, a single individual can be a member of multiple stakeholder groups, or may not identify fully with any single stakeholder group or set of interests. Because of its focus on recognized stakes and established stakeholder groups, the intermediary approach also runs the risk of stereotyping stakeholders.

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Case One: Public Consultation, Gettysburg National Military Park, Gettysburg, PA Gettysburg National Military Park in Pennsylvania is a unit of the US National Park Service established to commemorate the historical Civil War battle that occurred on the site. A park superintendent oversees management of this park along with the adjacent Eisenhower National Historical Site. Combined, these two sites cover about 2,400 ha. About half the area is agricultural land, the other half is historic woodlots that existed at the time of the battle in 1863. The park contains some privately owned in-holdings, and the Borough of Gettysburg itself is surrounded by the park on three sides. Land uses adjacent to the park include residential subdivisions and agriculture. Policy to preserve the individual battlefields as nearly as possible in their condition at the time of the battle is implemented in part by maintaining the historic farmhouses and using fields for agricultural purposes, providing visitors with an opportunity to experience the local environment in a close approximation of the historic pattern of agricultural lands, orchards, woodlots, and woods (Lee & US National Park Service Office of Park Historic Preservation, 1973; Pratt & O’Connor, 1994). The park is managed by a federal agency, the National Park Service, so it is under federal jurisdiction and the park’s enabling legislation does not allow deer hunting in the park, a restriction that can only be changed through an act of the US Congress. In the early 1980s, National Park Service staff became concerned that deer were preventing the park from meeting cultural landscape management objectives, namely, growing historic crops on the battlefield and maintaining the historic woodlots in perpetuity. A study by Penn State University found the deer density (130 deer/km2 of forest) greatly exceeded the level commensurate with maintenance of historic crop lands and woodlots (Storm & Yahner, 1989). In 1993, a deer management planning process was initiated, with the purpose of creating an intervention aimed at reducing the number of deer in the park as necessary to achieve cultural resource objectives. Five deer management action alternatives were evaluated fully in the environmental impact statement process: no action, trap and transfer, contraception, special regulations to allow more hunting in areas adjacent to the park, and direct reduction. As required by the National Environmental Policy Act of 1969 (42 U.S.C. y 4321 et seq.), park staff engaged in a number of public consultation efforts to record the diversity of public viewpoints and preferences for different alternatives. These efforts included a nominal

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group process to identify public concerns and priorities, public comment periods, and open public meetings. Direct reduction was chosen as the preferred alternative and implemented in fall 1995, with the goal to reduce and then maintain deer at a density of 10 deer/km2 of forest. In the second year of implementation, residents of communities adjacent to the park filed a lawsuit to stop deer removal, but the suit was dismissed. Another lawsuit was filed the third year. Concerns of the plaintiffs focused on procedure and emphasized safety, economic concerns, trust, and legitimacy in addition to esthetic (people were upset by seeing wounded and dead deer) and spiritual values (Davis v. Latschar, 2000, 202 F.3d 359). The suit prevented continued program implementation for almost two years, but the park eventually won the suit and a subsequent appeal. The deer density of 10 deer/km2 has now been achieved and the program continues today to maintain deer at this density. The approach used by Gettysburg National Military Park involves public consultation associated with an environmental impact statement process to guide decision-making on federal land. The process is focused on achievement of the fundamental management objectives on the unit of land over which a manager has jurisdiction. The hallmark of this model is an effort by area managers to evaluate deer management alternatives in light of how those actions are likely to impede or facilitate achievement of fundamental objectives. This approach fulfills federal legal mandates for public consultation and is a good example of inquisitive and intermediary approaches to solicit and consider stakeholder input when a rural management unit is viewed as relatively independent from the adjacent more urban community. A Paradigm 2 (i.e., public input) approach such as this could be practiced with respect to management of deer on other units of land under state or federal jurisdiction if those lands have clearly described objectives that are not being met because of deer-related impacts (e.g., the managers of a national wildlife refuge might employ this approach if deer are perceived as impeding the conservation purposes for which a particular wildlife refuge was established). As an approach to governance, this approach falls short when action is needed by adjacent communities to achieve desired effects on the park or when park actions have collateral impacts on adjacent communities, because these outcomes usually result in subsequent problems and search for solutions. In addition, the perspectives voiced in the lawsuit indicate that some local community members may not share the same beliefs and attitudes as park managers about techniques typically utilized in rural wildlife management.

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Case Two: Collaboration of State and Local Government to Resolve Deer Issues on the Urban–Rural Interface Jackson County covers 1,600 km2 in western Missouri, including most of Kansas City and 17 other cities and towns. The county population is 650,000. With an 8,900-ha county park system and a number of state-owned conservation areas, deer habitat is plentiful in the county. Concerns about deer in Jackson County arose in the late 1980s and since then the deer density has reached as many as 74 deer/km2 in some locales. The remarkably high deer density led to large numbers of deer–vehicle collisions in urban and rural areas, as well as severe crop damage (running at 40–60 percent crop loss for some farmers). For approximately 20 years, two levels of jurisdiction, Jackson County Parks and Recreation (JCPR) and the Missouri Department of Conservation (MDC), have worked to address deer problems – focusing on the county parks and the state-owned conservation areas, respectively. During the period when deer problems were emerging in Jackson County, such problems were surfacing in urban areas throughout Missouri. MDC recognized that, because of the unique characteristics of urban areas, it needed to develop a flexible and adaptable approach to urban deer management, which included sharing responsibility for governance of the deer resource. The state agency set goals for urban deer management: conserving green space and native wildlife while keeping wildlife at levels compatible with urban areas. Additional staff were committed to urban deer management efforts. In general, MDC believed that advocating too strongly for regulated hunting, the normal prescription for rural deer management, as a solution to urban deer management problems would be ineffective because lethal control was known to be unacceptable to some communities. Instead, MDC sought to play the role of a technical advisor to local municipal government, helping communities assess the characteristics of their deer population, set goals, and evaluate available options for achieving their goals. MDC believed communities were more likely to follow through on their decisions when those decisions were truly their own. In other words, the state essentially assumed a support role to local governance of deer management. In Jackson County, however, MDC had a dual role. It served as technical advisor to JCPR when JCPR developed plans for deer management on the county parklands it managed. But MDC was a large landowner in its own right in Jackson County and had the responsibility for developing deer management plans on the state-controlled conservation areas. In these jurisdictions, MDC was the authorized decision maker.

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Consequently, governance of deer management in Jackson County has been pursued at two levels of government represented by two agencies – JCPR (county [local] level) and MDC (state level). Both agencies adopted very similar approaches to public involvement that are good examples of Paradigm 2. They identified stakeholders likely to be most affected by their deer management plans – primarily farmers and residents living in the immediate vicinity of the parks and conservation areas. They made a concerted effort to solicit input from these stakeholders and keep people fully informed about their plans through meetings and mailings. In at least one case, they went door to door in neighborhoods adjacent to one conservation area to disseminate information about their plans. However, they never sought approval from affected stakeholders before implementing their plans. Rather, JCPR and MDC both concluded that reducing deer damage was a priority of the community as well as the agencies and set policies necessary to accomplish this objective. Both agencies chose to use controlled hunts (both archery and muzzleloader hunts) to manage deer on the affected properties. The specific guidelines for the hunts have repeatedly been revised to increase effectiveness, by focusing effort on different properties, authorizing use of different hunting implements, allowing hunting at different times of year, etc. The public response has been largely positive and supportive. Two factors were influential in making this approach to public involvement successful. First of all, deer management took place on properties that were controlled by two individual agencies. Although they wanted local stakeholders to be supportive of their efforts, they were not dependent on those stakeholders’ agreement to conduct management activities. Secondly, residents of Jackson County, unlike some other communities of Missouri, were largely supportive of the use of hunting as a way to manage deer. Although the areas in which they lived were urban, their perspectives were compatible with rural values in which hunting is an accepted part of their way of life. The value-based conflicts over the appropriate treatment of animals that can stymie some management efforts were not an issue in Jackson County.

PARADIGM THREE: PUBLIC ENGAGEMENT GOVERNANCE MODEL The third paradigm represents another change in conception of the public on all three dimensions, emphasizing common interests over competing

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interests. An important feature of the transactional approach is interaction among stakeholder groups and between them and staff of the government wildlife management agency (Decker, Lauber, & Siemer, 2002). Emphasis is placed on developing trust between the agency and the public; learning about the multiple perspectives stakeholders hold about the wildlife issue; acknowledging and integrating different types of expertise (e.g., local or traditional knowledge in addition to expert, scientific knowledge); debating the pros and cons of alternative goals, objectives, and actions; and reaching compromises that reflect a balance between articulated stakes and impacts (Decker, Brown, & Siemer, 2001; Decker et al., 2002). This approach is interpersonal and subjective. One of its purposes is to create a context conducive to productive future interactions between the agency and stakeholders (Decker et al., 2002); i.e., to perform maintenance functions. In this approach, participation is seen as fulfilling both specific and general community functions, with the assumption that the government management entity assumes responsibility commensurate with its authority within and as a member of the larger community of stakeholders. Furthermore, it is recognized that specific management decisions may have broader community implications, and responsibility for avoiding or mitigating negative collateral impacts of actions is explicit. Because the management agency positions itself as being part of the community, discussions between the agency and other members of the community are conceived in terms of ‘‘we.’’ This approach often is used in developing citizen task forces or advisory committees that provide guidance and develop long-term relations with the agency. Some concerns with this approach that affect governance success include doubts about effective representation of all critical interests, marginalization of national environmental groups by the increasing prevalence of local partnerships, and reinforcement of existing power hierarchies and the status quo (Leach, 2004; Pelstring, 1999; Peterson et al., 2005). In addition, citizens who are involved in long-term planning processes may eventually become highly informed and more similar to one another in their viewpoints, effectively becoming elites with respect to the issue who may no longer be representative of the stakeholder groups from which they were originally drawn and whose views they were intended to reflect. Depending on the extent to which it occurs, this phenomenon can present a limitation to representative governance. The co-managerial approach is similar to the transactional approach in terms of community structure, function, and capacity for collective action. However, in this approach, decision-making power is shared with stakeholders, as is responsibility for implementation and evaluation. Essential

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working relationships, effective local leadership, and sufficient credibility have been shown to be important to the success of citizen-state wildlife agency partnerships (Decker, Brown, Vaske, & Manfredo, 2004a). Federal natural resource management agencies are subject to a number of administrative regulations that can become costly and time consuming to facilitate (such as the Federal Advisory Committee Act of 1972, 5 U.S.C. App.) yet also have a history of success implementing this approach (Chase, Schusler, & Decker, 2000; Wondolleck & Yaffee, 2000). Like the transactional approach, the co-managerial approach treats participation as an ongoing endeavor that requires a significant commitment on the part of both the agency and participants. While agency personnel are financially compensated, stakeholders typically are not, which also may effectively bias the composition of participants towards those with greater motivation or free time. Case Three: Tension, Collaboration and Co-Management of Deer in a Multi-Jurisdictional Context Princeton Township is a community of about 16,000 people in Mercer County, New Jersey. In response to residents’ concerns about hunting safety, Princeton’s Township Committee passed a law prohibiting firearms discharge in 1972, effectively making firearms hunting illegal in the Township. Deer–vehicle collisions began to increase immediately after the new law was passed, and deer-related property damage quickly followed. Since that time, deer management policies have been guided by a network of stakeholders, elected bodies, and government agencies, including the Princeton Township Council, a locally appointed ‘‘deer committee,’’ the New Jersey Division of Fish and Wildlife, the New Jersey Fish and Game Council, and the New Jersey State Legislature. During the late 1970s and early 1980s, deer management was a tug-of-war between two levels of governance – the Princeton Township Council and the New Jersey Division of Fish and Wildlife. The State Division of Fish and Wildlife maintained that the best way to address local deer-related concerns was to modify the local firearms discharge ordinance so that firearms hunting would be legal, as it was in most rural parts of the state. The Township Council was unwilling to take this step, however, even when it was recommended by its own local deer committee, because the Council believed that local residents were strongly opposed to hunting. Consequently, bow hunting (not prohibited by local ordinance) served as the centerpiece of deer management efforts despite its limited effectiveness,

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supplemented by other methods for minimizing deer-related problems, such as posting deer crossing signs and installing roadside reflectors intended to keep deer away from roadsides. Through the early 1990s, deer-related problems continued to increase and a new problem associated with deer, Lyme disease, appeared in Princeton Township. A survey of residents demonstrated that local opinion had shifted with respect to hunting, and the Township Council modified the local ordinance so that some firearms hunting could occur. Although the take of deer through hunting increased, deer-related problems continued to rise. The feasibility of using hunting throughout Princeton was limited despite the desire because of the large number of individual landowners (who had to permit hunting on their property) and the high density of buildings in many areas. By this point, Princeton Township and the New Jersey Division of Fish and Wildlife had developed a collaborative relationship. At least part of this improvement in relations between levels of government was due to the ongoing consultation that had occurred between Princeton’s deer committee and the Division, but another factor was a much clearer recognition of their interdependence with respect to governance of deer management. Both the Township and the Division had objectives they wanted to accomplish in Princeton, but the interrelationships between state and local laws and regulations made it impossible for either to accomplish those ends acting independently. Working together, Princeton (as well as other New Jersey municipalities) and the Division of Fish and Wildlife convinced the state legislature that new deer management options were needed for urban areas. The legislature created the Community-Based Deer Management Program, which allowed for the first time a variety of methods other than hunting for controlling deer to be employed under particular circumstances – as long as management plans were approved by the New Jersey Fish and Game Council (an appointed state-level board with authority over certain aspects of wildlife management in the state). Since the creation of that program, Princeton has continued to add nontraditional management methods to its deer management program, including culling deer over bait sites, and trapping and euthanizing deer. These changes have been accompanied by periodic expansion of hunting opportunities in Princeton, which the Fish and Game Council has required in some cases before it has approved Princeton’s management plans. Princeton’s case history of deer management governance demonstrates a clear progression towards a Paradigm 3 approach to deer management. Governance realities (i.e., limitations of unilateral actions to achieve mutually

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desired results) have required the collaboration of different stakeholders at both the state and local levels, each with particular powers and responsibilities. Such an approach appears to be necessary for any management to occur in an urban area such as Princeton at all. Several governance entities, the Township Council, the Division of Fish and Game, and the Fish and Game Council, can influence what types of management actions can occur in Princeton, but none alone has enough power or breadth of authority to make the kind of decisions necessary for effective deer management in the town. In addition, the rural lands in the town where deer management can occur are divided amongst numerous small landowners, and each has the ability to limit what types of management occurs on or near their properties. The diversity of these stakeholders, along with the diversity of their values regarding deer management, has essentially required Princeton to adopt a collaborative, co-management approach to addressing deer-related problems. Case 4: Citizen ‘‘Grassroots’’ Action in Cayuga Heights, New York The Village of Cayuga Heights is a small, relatively affluent residential community (with local government authority) that borders a small city (Ithaca) and a university in central New York State. The village is built out and consists primarily of single-family residences, situated on hilly topography, with no public land of consequence, but numerous small woodlots covering side slopes as well as ravines that provide refuge for deer. Firearms discharge (and thus hunting) is prohibited by local law (ordinance). Frustration with deer-related problems led a small group of village residents to form an action committee that was sanctioned by Village Trustees as a ‘‘deer study committee’’ in 1998. This ‘‘grassroots’’ committee (Curtis, Decker, Stout, & Richmond, 1995) met 40 times between 1998 and 2001 to explore the costs, social acceptability, biological feasibility, and regulatory constraints associated with potential deer management actions. The multiyear effort developed into a collaborative endeavor supported by the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation (i.e., the state wildlife agency), social scientists at Cornell University, a public issue educator with Cornell Cooperative Extension of Tompkins County, the Village Trustees, and village residents. The state wildlife agency provided technical expertise, partial funding for stakeholder surveys, funding for a deer movement study, and permits necessary for deer research. Cornell University staff provided technical assistance with stakeholder engagement and survey research. Cornell Cooperative Extension staff helped the citizen

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deer committee by facilitating committee work and public meetings in the village that created informed public dialogue about local deer management (Curtis, Siemer, & Shanahan, 2003). Village Trustees empowered the deer committee to work on behalf of the village to improve knowledge of the issue and eventually to deliver recommendations for village action. An anonymous village resident funded research on deer reproductive control, but an experimental deer sterilization effort was found ineffective and no further deer management actions have been taken in the village. Though some progress was made, a deer management issue remains. A recent survey found that over 60 percent of village homeowners enjoyed deer, but also worried about deer-related problems (Siemer, Leong, Decker, & Brown, 2007). The Cayuga Heights case is indicative of how transactional and co-management approaches can yield several benefits that contribute to lowering jurisdictional barriers to collaborative governance on the urban– rural interface. The benefits include: (1) building community capacity to understand and participate in decision-making and actions, and (2) helping citizen action groups incorporate broad stakeholder involvement. The experience also emphasizes: (1) the importance of effective local leadership to work through jurisdictional and other challenges to address local urban deer management issues, and (2) the importance of state wildlife agency flexibility to empower local municipalities to manage wildlife-related impacts in urban or suburban areas (Siemer, Chase, & Decker, 2000). The Cayuga Heights case represents grassroots citizen action to address a community-based deer management issue (Decker, Raik, & Siemer, 2004b). Over time, transactional and co-managerial approaches have been followed to improve state agency and community understanding of multiple stakeholder perspectives and to engage in management actions (i.e., Paradigm 3). These citizen-initiated approaches to deer management involve a group of stakeholders, both private and public, who collect information, deliberate, and make decisions. State wildlife agency staff may be members of the group, but they act primarily as technical advisors. The hallmark of this approach is the formation of a catalytic grassroots citizen group supported by professionals who bring various kinds of technical expertise to the group. Such citizen groups vary with respect to decisionmaking power they may be granted by state or local government authorities. Some are regarded as an advisory committee to make recommendations to elected officials who have authority to make decisions for their community. Others function primarily as working groups motivating community action,

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but without a direct connection to local decision makers. A co-management approach is worth considering as a response to citizen initiatives, because by building off local stakeholder initiative it has the potential to produce positive outcomes for municipalities and state wildlife agencies, as well as local residents who have a stake in deer management.

MAKING PROGRESS IN CROSS-JURISDICTION GOVERNANCE OF WILDLIFE MANAGEMENT ON THE URBAN–RURAL INTERFACE As illustrated above, the governance model chosen by an agency has implications for the design of public participation processes. Although we presented approaches to public participation in a continuum that reflects their historical development, we believe that this continuum should not be viewed as a progression towards an ideal governance model. Rather, certain approaches may be chosen over others depending on specific management context, public participation goals, and target publics. As the cases demonstrate, both Paradigm 2 and Paradigm 3 approaches to public involvement can be used effectively to overcome jurisdictional barriers in trans-boundary governance of deer management issues. We next examine some situations to which one or the other governance model is better suited.

COMPLEX AND WICKED GOVERNANCE PROBLEMS REQUIRE MULTI-JURISDICTION CONVERSATIONS Wildlife managers often observe that management on the urban–rural interface is becoming increasingly complex. As illustrated in the cases above, changes in land use practices have resulted in wildlife issues that span multiple jurisdictions. Although state governments nominally control most wildlife management decisions in the United States, federal and local governmental jurisdictions (as well as powerful non-governmental stakeholders) can exert considerable influence over the management options that eventually are implemented. Large public land managers, such as local, state, or federal parks, have the ability to control the management activities that take place on the land under their jurisdiction. For game species such as deer, if state laws permit hunting, but park regulations do not, public hunting will not occur on parklands and alternatives for deer population management may be sought. Even numerous small private landowners, such

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as homeowners and commercial property owners in urban or suburban communities, can have considerable collective and individual influence over feasibility of management practices across the community and on their property, respectively. Urbanization changes not only the physical landscape, but also the sociocultural landscape, resulting in conflict over perceptions of human–wildlife interactions as well as over wildlife management interventions to mitigate negative interactions (Patterson, Montag, & Williams, 2003). In this socio-political environment, wildlife management issues often become illstructured, ‘‘wicked,’’ or ‘‘messy’’ problems that lack socially agreed upon objectives and/or prescribed solutions (Lachapelle, McCool, & Patterson, 2003; Lauber, Knuth, & Deshler, 2002; Patterson & Williams, 1998; Rittel & Webber, 1973). Rittel and Webber (1973) first used the term ‘‘wicked’’ to describe problems characterized by scientific uncertainty about cause-effect relationships and social conflicts over goals and management intervention alternatives. A key distinction exists between complex versus wicked problems (Lachapelle et al., 2003). Complex problems include interactions between many interrelated system components, but the natural laws that govern them (e.g., physical, biological, or market principles) allow managers a high degree of confidence in predicting outcomes of interventions. In addition, while the structure of the problem may be highly complex, the problems being addressed are clear-cut; both the stakeholders involved (and their roles and relationships) and the desired effect on the environment are obvious and little contention exits about them. Similarly, the outcome of any management intervention is easily classified as right or wrong, good or bad. This situation applies when management focuses on a property with a clear mandate regarding how it is to be managed, as was the case for Gettysburg Battlefield National Park, or when stakeholders generally agree on scope and definition of the problem, as in Jackson County, MO. In these instances, a Paradigm 2 approach to determine stakeholder preferences for various management options may be adequate. With wicked problems, however, the process of problem formulation and resulting outcome often is the problem (Rittel & Webber, 1973). As such, negotiation over the way the problem is defined, or framed, plays an important role in identifying potential solutions and determining the relative success of management interventions. Often, differences in framing wildlife issues occur among governing entities (such as a state wildlife agency and a federal agency or local government entity such as a county, town, or municipality). But framing differences also occur between agencies and key stakeholders, and among various stakeholders, often lined up on each side

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of the urban–rural divide. Frames act as lenses or filters through which different stakeholders interpret and process information (Lewicki, Gray, & Elliott, 2003). Frames both call attention to certain elements of a complex issue and direct attention away from other elements (Entman, 1993). While the complexity of the issue does not change, the relative importance of contributing elements is different depending on the way the overall issue is conceptualized, i.e., framed. Some researchers have found that unrecognized differences in the ways stakeholders and agencies conceptualize wildlife problems can stymie constructive conversation and impede resolution (Lauber et al., 2002). Recognizing these differences, however, can reveal underlying sources of conflict or areas for possible collaboration. A Paradigm 3 approach to public participation can be used to identify conflicting problem frames and to minimize their impact on effective governance, as was demonstrated in Princeton Township, NJ and Cayuga Heights, NY.

COMMUNITIES OF INTEREST AND COMMUNITIES OF PLACE Public land and wildlife management agencies typically serve both communities of interest (publics with specific concerns vis-a`-vis the resource who may originate from regional or national scales) and communities of place (related to the physical context of resource management issues, Patterson et al., 2003). The public input paradigm focuses on engaging existing social structures and institutions within a community in an effort to better understand the social environment. This paradigm is well suited to reach communities of interest, especially when formal stakeholder groups are easy to identify. In addition, because the agency has the ultimate responsibility for synthesizing and interpreting stakeholder input, participation (e.g., letters, e-mails, in-person, or telephone conversations) is not limited in number of participants or geographic scope. Inquisitive and intermediary processes are especially important as means for agencies to fulfill legal requirements for public input when stakeholders are wellorganized and geographically dispersed. However, these approaches have other limitations. As mentioned previously, Paradigm 2 participatory processes are not designed for mutual learning between stakeholders with diverse perspectives, and as such are best suited to clear-cut issues with little controversy over problem framing or authority of different types of

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expertise. In addition, relying on known stakeholder groups reinforces existing power structures and strengthens the status quo. The public engagement paradigm, however, focuses on developing a shared system of beliefs and maintaining interdependence among levels of government and diverse stakeholders. Rather than attempting to solve a particular problem in the environment, it attempts to develop and maintain a social foundation that is capable of responding to problems that may be poorly understood and defined, such as wicked problems. This approach may be especially important when there is a high degree of interdependence between stakeholders with varied interests and jurisdictional responsibilities in a community of place. By emphasizing two-way symmetric communication and mutual learning about how each party views the problem and its associated knowledge base, common goals, and potential solutions can be identified. As illustrated in cases 3 and 4, public engagement processes also can reveal instances where action by one entity is dependent on actions by another. Because the problem spans jurisdictional boundaries, all affected parties potentially play an integral role in developing durable and sustainable solutions. However, processes associated with the transactional and co-managerial approaches typically require greater commitments of time and energy and are more suited to smaller groups of participants (Beierle & Cayford, 2002). When legal requirements mandate participatory processes that are equally open to all individuals across a nation, as does the National Environmental Policy Act of 1969 (42 U.S.C. y 4321 et seq.), a public engagement paradigm becomes impractical. In this instance, managers might consider which issues affect communities of place differently than communities of interest and design complementary processes to engage each segment of the public.

CONCLUSION Overcoming jurisdictional boundaries for governance of wildlife management in the United States is a concern with respect to many species of wildlife. This concern has become a ‘‘wicked’’ problem as suburban and exurban development together with expansion of some species of wildlife into such urban–rural interface situations have created many governance conflicts. Government agencies, elected officials, and stakeholders at all levels have experienced this daunting challenge. State agencies typically reflect their rural roots, whereas town and municipal areas often reflect their urban orientation to framing and addressing wildlife problems. Numerous

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case studies of these urban–rural interface issues amply demonstrate how collaborative governance that includes significant stakeholder input and involvement often is necessary to achieve satisfactory outcomes. By examining relationships between philosophical approaches to public participation and traits of stakeholder communities, this chapter: (1) expands the taxonomy of approaches to public participation described by Decker and Chase (1997); (2) identifies and describes three underlying governance paradigms based on community structure, function, and capacity for collective action with increasing public power in agency decision-making; and (3) provides examples of management contexts that lend themselves to public input vs. public engagement governance paradigms. The taxonomy of approaches to public participation described by Decker and Chase (1997) provides a simple visualization of the varying degrees of influence given to managers and stakeholders under each approach. The addition of the intermediary approach expands this model to encompass a phenomenon that often is described by managers (Decker et al., 2001), but was not captured in the original classification scheme. Two fundamental paradigm shifts were identified with increasing public decision-making power, indicating not an increase in amount of public participation per se, but fundamentally different types of participation. These paradigm shifts also reflect fundamental shifts in the use of social science in wildlife management. While wildlife professionals have been concerned with interactions with the public for over half a century, systematic research to understand the human dimensions of wildlife management (i.e., beliefs, attitudes, and reasons for people’s beliefs regarding wildlife) began only in the 1970’s (Decker et al., 2001). The first paradigm shift related to participatory approaches thus reflects the advent of human dimensions of wildlife research, which focused primarily on survey research to understand social-psychological aspects of stakeholder group preferences for various forms of wildlife management. Human dimensions research has since expanded to include concern with the process of policy and management decision-making (Decker et al., 2001), corresponding with the second paradigm shift. As noted by Enck and Brown (1996, p. 16), ‘‘To get the most out of a citizen participation approach, wildlife managers need to move beyond simply making decisions with more public input to a point where they can make decisions through a more thoughtful process.’’ Like other competing paradigms in natural resource management (e.g., single species management vs. ecosystem management), one paradigm may not completely replace the other; instead, the most appropriate

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approach likely will depend on the management context and objectives. In situations where fewer jurisdictional entities are involved or problems are complex but not wicked, inquisitive and intermediary participatory processes (Paradigm 2) may be sufficient. For situations involving multiple jurisdictions and stakeholders with multiple perspectives, transactional or co-managerial processes (Paradigm 3) may be necessary. Episodes of public input (Paradigm 2) also may be added as issues become contentious and interest-specific community structures are formed. Information outreach and acceptance of public comment (Paradigm 1) may be better described as a general way of doing business rather than public participation processes. Future research is needed to clarify the relationship between success of different approaches to public participation and the various stages within the life of a wildlife issue (i.e., from issue definition to formulation of an action plan, to implementing activities), bearing in mind that stakeholders also will have individual preferences and varying comfort levels with different means for providing input. While public participation is of growing importance to wildlife managers addressing complex and wicked wildlife problems on the urban–rural interface, the challenges of overcoming the constraints of jurisdictional boundaries are apparent in many natural resource issues, from watershed management to atmospheric deposition of contaminants. Identifying differences among governance paradigms and their implications for public participation is essential for anyone designing more thoughtful participatory processes.

NOTE 1. Full description of all approaches except intermediary can be found in Decker and Chase (1997).

REFERENCES Arnstein, S. (1969). A ladder of citizen participation. Journal of the American Institute of Planners, 35(4), 216–224. Beierle, T. C., & Cayford, J. (2002). Democracy in practice: Public participation in environmental decisions. Washington, DC: Resources for the Future. Chase, L. C., Decker, D. J., & Lauber, T. B. (2004). Public participation in wildife management: What do stakeholders want? Society & Natural Resources, 17(7), 629–639. Chase, L. C., Schusler, T. M., & Decker, D. J. (2000). Innovations in stakeholder involvement: What’s the next step? Wildlife Society Bulletin, 28(1), 208–217.

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Chase, L. C., Siemer, W. F., & Decker, D. J. (2002). Designing stakeholder involvement strategies to resolve wildlife management controversies. Wildlife Society Bulletin, 30(3), 937–950. Curtis, P. D., Decker, D. J., Stout, R. J., & Richmond, M. E. (1995). Suburban deer management: A matter of perspective. Proceedings of the Eastern Wildlife Damage Control Conference, 6, 4–11. Curtis, P. D., Siemer, W. F., & Shanahan, J. (2003). The role of educational intervention in community-based deer management. Transactions of the North American Wildlife and Natural Resources Conference, 68, 197–208. Daniels, S. E., & Cheng, A. S. (2004). Collaborative resource management. In: M. J. Manfredo, J. J. Vaske, B. L. Bruyere, D. R. Field & P. J. Brown (Eds), Society and natural resources: A summary of knowledge (pp. 127–136). Jefferson, MO: Modern Litho. Decker, D. J., Brown, T. L., & Siemer, W. F. (2001). Human dimensions of wildlife management in North America. Bethesda, MD: The Wildlife Society. Decker, D. J., & Chase, L. C. (1997). Human dimensions of living with wildlife – a management challenge for the 21st century. Wildlife Society Bulletin, 25(4), 788–795. Decker, D. J., Lauber, T. B., & Siemer, W. F. (2002). Human-wildlife conflict management. Ithaca, NY: Northeast Wildlife Damage Management Research and Outreach Cooperative. Decker, D. J., Brown, T. L., Vaske, J. J., & Manfredo, M. J. (2004a). Human dimensions of wildlife management. In: M. J. Manfredo, J. J. Vaske, B. L. Bruyere, D. R. Field & P. J. Brown (Eds), Society and natural resources: A summary of knowledge (pp. 187–198). Jefferson, MO: Modern Litho. Decker, D. J., Raik, D. B., & Siemer, W. F. (2004b). Community-based deer management. Ithaca, NY: Northeast Wildlife Damage Management Research and Outreach Cooperative. DeStefano, S., & DeGraaf, R. M. (2003). Exploring the ecology of suburban wildlife. Frontiers in Ecology and the Environment, 1(2), 95–101. Enck, J. W., & Brown, T. L. (1996). Citizen participation approaches to decision-making in a beaver management context, Human Dimensions Research Unit Publication Series Number 96-2, New York State College of Agriculture and Life Sciences, Department of Natural Resources, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY. Entman, R. M. (1993). Framing: Toward clarification of a fractured paradigm. Journal of Communication, 43(4), 51–58. Graham, J., Amos, B., & Plumptree, T. (2003). Governance principles for protected areas in the 21st century. Ottawa: Institute on Governance in collaboration with Parks Canada and CIDA. Hempel, L. C. (1996). Environmental governance: The global challenge. Washington, DC: Island Press. Lachapelle, P. R., McCool, S. F., & Patterson, M. E. (2003). Barriers to effective natural resource planning in a ‘‘messy’’ world. Society & Natural Resources, 16(6), 473–490. Lauber, T. B., & Knuth, B. A. (1998). Refining our vision of citizen participation: Lessons from a moose reintroduction proposal. Society & Natural Resources, 11(4), 411–424. Lauber, T. B., Knuth, B. A., & Deshler, J. D. (2002). Educating citizens about controversial issues: The case of suburban goose management. Society & Natural Resources, 15, 581–597. Leach, W. D. (2004). Is devolution democratic? Assessing collaborative environmental management. Sacramento, CA: Center for Collaborative Policy. Lee, R. F., & US National Park Service Office of Park Historic Preservation. (1973). The origin and evolution of the National Military Park idea. U.S. Department of the Interior National Park Service Office of Park Historic Preservation, Washington, DC.

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Lewicki, R. J., Gray, B., & Elliott, M. (2003). Making sense of intractable environmental conflicts: Frames and cases. Washington, DC: Island Press. McComas, K. A. (2001). Theory and practice of public meetings. Communication Theory, 11(1), 36–55. Morgan, D. R., & England, R. E. (1999). Managing urban America (5th ed.). New York, NY: Chatham House Publishers. National Park Service. (2003). Director’s order #75 A: Civic engagement and public involvement. Washington, DC: National Park Service. Patterson, M. E., Montag, J. M., & Williams, D. R. (2003). The urbanization of wildlife management: Social science, conflict, and decision making. Urban Forestry & Urban Greening, 1(3), 171–183. Patterson, M. E., & Williams, D. R. (1998). Paradigms and problems: The practice of social science in natural resource management. Society & Natural Resources, 11, 279–295. Pelstring, L. M. (1999). Stakeholder outreach and citizen task forces: An examination of the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation’s public participation efforts relating to deer management. Ithaca, NY: Department of Natural Resources, Cornell University. Peterson, M. N., Peterson, M. J., & Peterson, T. R. (2005). Conservation and the myth of consensus. Conservation Biology, 19(3), 762–767. Pratt, J. R., & O’Connor, R. E. (1994). Public involvement in scoping for environmental impact assessment: A case study at Gettysburg National Military Park and Eisenhower National Historic Site. Philadelphia, PA: National Park Service. Rittel, H. W. J., & Webber, M. M. (1973). Dilemmas in a general theory of planning. Policy Sciences, 4, 155–169. Siemer, W. F., Chase, L. C., & Decker, D. J. (2000). Empowering local communities to co-manage deer. In: M. C. Brittingham, J. Kays & R. J. McPeake (Eds), Proceedings of the 9th wildlife damage management conference, October 5–8, College of Agricultural Sciences, The Pennsylvania State University, University Park, PA, pp. 142–157. Siemer, W. F., Leong, K., Decker, D. J., & Brown, T. L. (2007). Cornell lands, deer, and East Hill communities: Results from a 2006 survey of community residents. Human Dimensions Research Unit Publication Series Number 07-5, New York State College of Agriculture and Life Sciences, Department of Natural Resources, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY. Smutko, S., & Garber, S. (2001). Public issues education facilitation skills workshop. Raleigh, NC: Natural Resources Leadership Institute, North Carolina Cooperative Extension Service. Storm, G. L., & Yahner, R. H. (1989). Population status, movements, habitat use, and impact of white-tailed deer at Gettysburg National Military Park and Eisenhower National Historic Site, Pennsylvania, Technical Report NPS/MAR/NRTR-89/043, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Pennsylvania State University, University Park, PA. Walesh, S. G. (1999). Dad is out, pop is in. Journal of the American Water Resources Association, 35(3), 535–544. Warren, R. L. (1978). The American community as a social system. The Community in America, Rand McNally College, Chicago, IL, pp. 137–169. Wondolleck, J. M., & Yaffee, S. L. (2000). Making collaboration work: Lessons from innovation in natural resource management. Washington, DC: Island Press.

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CHAPTER 10 MANAGING SPATIAL CHANGE IN THE RURAL–URBAN FRINGE: THE ROLE OF ACTIVE CITIZENSHIP AND CIVIL SOCIETY IN THE REPUBLIC OF IRELAND Mark Scott, Paula Russell and Declan Redmond ABSTRACT Purpose – This chapter explores the nature of spatial change processes in the urban–rural fringe of Ireland’s capital city, Dublin. These areas have experienced rapid population growth between 1991 and 2002 in changing social structures, a rapidly changing built and natural environment, and increases in commuting. The chapter investigates how coalitions of community interests have responded to these spatial changes through opportunities for public participation in local governance processes. Methodology/approach – We adopt a qualitative approach to assess the relationship between residents’ associations and the local state through a detailed empirical examination of the activities of residents’ associations within the rural–urban fringe.

Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 249–275 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014013

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Findings – Community and residents’ groups are very active in attempting to shape land-use and spatial planning policy outcomes with a complexity of motivations for engaging with the planning process, beyond simplistic portrayals of Not In My Back Yard-style local opposition to any change. However, attempts to influence policy outcomes were undermined by powerful developer and landowning interests, resulting in a deep-seated cynicism towards the public participation process, particularly with regard to the relationship between developers and councillors, and the probity of the planning system. Implications/value of chapter – The limited ability of community interests to influence policy represents the economic and political reality of the development process, where the strategies and tactical behaviour of a few dominant interests and embedded power relations can compromise a deliberative and participatory policy process.

INTRODUCTION Fundamental transformations have taken place in Europe’s rural economy and society, and new patterns of diversity and differentiation are emerging within the contemporary countryside (Marsden, 1999). Given the depth and prolonged character of crisis in the agricultural sector, some commentators have suggested that rural areas are experiencing a shift from a ‘productivist’ to a ‘post-productivist’ era in the countryside (Halfacree, 1997; Hadjimichalis, 2003). In this post-productivist phase, rural localities are now places that people from outside come into to consume the diversity of things that now make and constitute rural space (Gray, 2000), and as Marsden (1999) notes: This is a general process of externalisation of the consumption countryside, one which exhibits a wide range of external relationships and is subject to wide-ranging demands (not least from new residents, developers, tourists, food consumers). (p. 506)

In this sense, Halfacree (1997) suggests that post-productivism may signal a search for a new way of understanding and structuring the countryside, as non-agricultural interests move central in processes shaping rural space. These change processes are perhaps most sharply experienced in rural areas in close proximity to large urban centres, which are increasingly tied into a city-region geography. In recent decades, traditional patterns of urban growth and rural decline have changed dramatically in most advanced

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capitalist societies. This transformation has been characterised by increasingly dispersed city-regions and population increases in accessible rural areas, reflecting changing demands for rural space (in an increasingly postagricultural society), consumer residential preferences towards rural areas and environmental amenities and increased mobility. This chapter has two primary themes. Firstly, the chapter examines the nature of these spatial change processes in accessible rural areas, focusing on a case study of rural communities in close proximity to the Republic of Ireland’s capital city, Dublin. These areas have experienced rapid population growth between 1991 and 2002 in changing social structures, a rapidly changing built and natural environment and increases in commuting. Secondly, the chapter will investigate how coalitions of community interests have responded to these spatial changes through opportunities for public participation in local governance processes. In the Republic of Ireland, one of the few official avenues for citizens to engage with the state and participate in local governance is through the land-use planning system, which in addition to statutory provisions for public participation within the policy formulation process, also has an open third party appeals system. At the scale of local land-use decisions, ‘public participation is about acting on the belief that everyone should know they can influence the shape of their community’ (Bedford, Clark, & Harrison, 2002, p. 312). In Irish society, as elsewhere, there is a growing interest in public participation in governance processes and in the role of civil society to create deeper and a more embedded democratic culture and citizenship. Within this context, community and residents’ associations are one of the few ways that local communities organise at a local level and interact collectively with the local state and provide a forum for community development and active citizenship. This chapter explores the nature of the relationship between residents’ associations and the local state through an examination of the activities of residents’ associations. Accordingly, the chapter is structured as follows: firstly, the chapter will locate the discussion within concepts relating to public participation and civil society. Secondly, the chapter will outline the extent of spatial changes in the rural–urban fringe surrounding the Greater Dublin Area, focusing on population and residential change. Then, the chapter reports on some of the key results of an in-depth study into the composition, organisation and activities of a sample of residents’ associations within the rural–urban fringe. Finally, conclusions are developed relevant to effectively involving local communities in managing spatial change in the rural–urban fringe.

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CIVIL SOCIETY AND PUBLIC PARTICIPATION Public policy in all spheres is moving towards a greater degree of engagement with public participation for the development and implementation of government objectives (Curry, 2001) and has become firmly established in advanced capitalist societies. Throughout the 1990s, forms of decision-making that enhance the power of a range of stakeholders to take action on policy alongside the public sector have been advanced (Bedford et al., 2002). In particular, this is demonstrated with the emergence of partnership governance throughout the European Union, exemplified by the URBAN (urban regeneration) and LEADER (rural development) initiatives, which broadly support the idea that local communities represent the basic building block of local development. In parallel to these changes in policy formulation and delivery, new relationships are being forged between local people and the places within which they live and work (Murray & Greer, 1997). In the context of globalisation processes, ‘community’ often represents a more meaningful spatial scale for individuals to influence action and to manage environmental change (in a world of trading blocs and multi-national corporations). Given the increasing retreat of the state in recent years, Low (1999) contends that ‘civil society’ is often recommended as a form of mediation to replace the politics of mass parties, corporatist organisations and interest groups which have characterised politics in Western countries for most of the 20th Century. The growth of civil society implies an active citizenship comprising community groups or associations, where participation is central to local democracy. Although terms such as ‘community’ have been used in the past by policy makers, Friedmann (1998) argues that the term was typically used in a passive, general sense. However, as a political concept civil society can act as a counterpole to the state, with communities and citizens who not only assert the right to hold the state accountable, but also the right to claim new rights for themselves. In this context, civil action can be reactive or proactive and can take the form of protest or collaboration. Therefore, from this perspective, an increasing interest in community participation can be viewed to be as much a response by government to contemporary community needs as any interest stimulated by any ideological position (Curry, 2001). In relation to local land-use decision-making, public participation has been one of the most debated concepts in planning for decades and is central

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to the goals, practice and legitimation of land-use regulation (Ellis, 2004). Planning theorists have had a longstanding interest in public participation (e.g. Arnstein, 1969; Friedmann, 1973), primarily as a reaction against the expert-driven rational-technocratic planning model dominant in the 1960s, which was based on the ‘rational’ relation of means to ends and the use of instrumental reason as a form of argument drawing on scientific analysis (Healey, 1997). In relation to land-use management, the limitations of expert-driven processes were increasingly exposed and as Scho¨n (1991) records, ‘planning ‘‘problems’’ came to be seen more like dilemmas made up of conflicts of values, interests, and ideologies unresolvable to recourse to the facts’ (p. 207). In regard to environmental and urban planning, the ‘planning expert’ has long enjoyed an overarching technical remit and planning processes have been characterised by a conventional ‘preparereveal-defend’ approach to policy development (Bedford et al., 2002). However, as argued by Murray and Greer (2000), one consequence of this approach is that those ‘for whom plans are being prepared are often relegated to mere by-standers and for whom participation amounts to nothing more than consultative tokenism’ (p. 9). The arguments for community involvement in planning policy processes have been well-rehearsed (see, e.g. Albrechts, 2002; Burby, 2003) and can be summarised as both a ‘means’ and an ‘end’ in policy-making: involving people is viewed as a means of addressing complex, multidimensional urban and rural problems, while also espoused as an end in itself by building ‘inclusive’ and ‘empowered’ communities (Jones, 2003). Therefore, as Burton, Goodlad, and Croft (2006) suggest, if local citizens are more involved in policy processes, decisions will be better in two respects: firstly, they will command greater respect from local residents and hence carry more legitimacy and secondly, they will benefit from the insights and local knowledge brought by local residents acquired through living in the area. In recent years, a range of techniques has gained currency as methods to engage communities in participatory processes, which vary from limited to inclusive approaches. As outlined by Leach and Wingfield (1999) commenting on UK-based practice, these range from traditional modes of public participation (public meetings, consultation documents, committee co-options), to those which are customer oriented (complaints/suggestion schemes, satisfaction surveys), through to innovative methods designed to consult citizens on issues (focus groups, citizens’ panels and referenda) or, alternatively encourage citizen deliberation over issues (citizen juries, community needs assessments and plans, visioning studies).

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LIMITS TO PARTICIPATION However, a range of limitations to participatory processes can also be identified from the literature, which may be grouped under two headings: (1) barriers to effective participation and (2) the legitimacy of participation in policy-making. In relation to barriers to participation, Albrechts (2002) identifies a number of potential obstacles. Firstly, is the central issue of access of citizens and groups to a planning or decision process, which can include structural barriers, cultural barriers and barriers that are effects of a governance style. Structural barriers can encompass social segregation, oppression, marginalisation and exclusion of lower by upper income elites, which is the product of existing power relations. Cultural barriers may include a lack of knowledge, confidence, the unfamiliar use of language and the lack of cultural codes to participate. Some barriers are linked to a specific governance style, which may result in mistrust of, frustration with and alienation from government structures. Secondly, Albrechts identifies capacity building as central to participatory efforts. However, people facing barriers often do not feel like entering into or participating in a discussion, not even when they are given the opportunity to do so, as public forums are often dominated by established middle class people. In relation to the legitimacy of participation, Curry (2001) asks a number of questions central to the role of community participation in the policy process. In summary these include (p. 568):  To what extent do such initiatives integrate or, on the other hand, fractionate communities? Living in a particular locality does not guarantee a common view about local issues. In other words, ‘community’ can be contested and a source of conflict;  To what extent are community-based decisions democratic? Due to the barriers that often exist in involving disadvantaged groups, participation has often led to the promotion of views of vested or powerful interest groups;  To what extent do community-based decisions complement or displace the state? In particular, community decisions can directly challenge statutory policies. Related to this, to what extent does community participation at the local level complement or undermine the work of the elected local authority?  To what extent are decisions made through community participation means accountable, and to whom?

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 To what extent are community participation initiatives representative of the whole community? There is a concern that community organisations or residents groups may not fully represent the wider community and instead be comprised of local ‘notables’. A further challenge to the legitimacy of participation is identified by Vigar and Healey (2002), who suggest that many commentators are fearful of participation because of the associations of such involvement with NIMBY-ism – or Not In My Back Yard, referring to the process by which individuals and communities resist certain development pressures arising in their neighbourhoods, which is often portrayed as selfish parochialism and thus contrary to the public interest (Ellis, 2004).

SPATIAL CHANGE IN THE RURAL–URBAN FRINGE: THE CASE OF DUBLIN This section will outline the extent of spatial change in the rural hinterland of Dublin, focusing primarily on population changes and house-building activity (this will draw extensively on Gkartzios & Scott, 2005; Scott, Gkartzios, Redmond, Williams, & Clinch, 2005; Scott, Moore, Redmond, & Gkartzios, 2006). In addition to considering trends within established administrative boundaries (local authority level, County Dublin and the Greater Dublin Area), trends in the wider city-region will be outlined, to capture trends in the increasingly extended commuter belt for Dublin, encompassing most of the province of Leinster (Fig. 1). The intention is to use the province of Leinster as a case study area in an effort to study urban– rural relationships in the wider periphery of Dublin, rather than define a specific area that relates to these relationships from the beginning. From the following analysis, a number of interrelated themes can be identified. Firstly, population growth is increasing much faster in local authority areas adjacent to the metropolitan area than in the urban core, illustrative of an outward movement of population in the city-region. Secondly, this population growth is dispersed throughout the hinterland rather than concentrated in key settlements. And thirdly, the rural hinterland of Dublin has witnessed a rapid increase in housing supply, suggesting a strong residential preference for living in accessible rural areas in close proximity to urban centres.

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Dundalk

Cavan

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Donegal Drogheda Navan

Northern Ireland

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Major Roads Rails Urban Areas Leinster

Source: UCD, Planning & Environmental Policy Reproduced from Ordnance Survey Ireland © Ordnance Survey Ireland and Government of Ireland

The Province of Leinster.

Demographic Changes Whereas counties Kildare, Kilkenny, Meath, Wicklow and Dublin increased their population between 1986 and 1991, the remainder of Leinster experienced population decline during this period. However, since 1991, this has been dramatically altered as all counties, except the somewhat remote County Longford, have experienced significant growth. In particular, counties Meath, Kildare and Wicklow, all within easy commuting distance of Dublin, grew significantly faster than both the national rate of growth (8 per cent) after 1996 and that of Co. Dublin (6.1 per cent), illustrated in Fig. 2. To obtain a comprehensive spatial analysis of the recent demographic changes in the city-region, population levels from the 2002 Census have been analysed from the Electoral Division1 scale and read into Geographical Information System (GIS) maps. The most dramatic increases of population (three times or more than the national rate of growth) have taken place in rural areas north and south of the existing built-up area, in the mid-eastern counties of Meath, Kildare, Offaly, Westmeath and Laois, and along the

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Percentage Change in Population of Each County of Leinster, 1979–2002.

eastern coastline of Counties Louth, Wicklow and Wexford. Outside these counties, most areas in the city-region grew less than the national average or even decreased their population (Fig. 3).

House-Building Activity Housing supply and house-building activity also provides a useful indicator to examine current patterns of development in the case study area. A report on housing in the Republic of Ireland by the National Economic and Social Council (2004) concluded that the housing system is operating in a dynamic but unbalanced way. By this they were referring broadly to the extraordinarily rapid increases in new housing supply over the past decade but also to spatial and social imbalances in such supply. Fig. 4 illustrates the rapid

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Fig. 3.

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Percentage Change in the Population of Electoral Divisions in Leinster, 1996–2002.

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Total House Completions in the Republic of Ireland. Source: Department of the Environment, Heritage and Local Government (2004).

growth in housing supply from the early 1990s to 2004. The period from 1994 to 2004 saw approximately a 200 per cent increase in new house-building which was driven almost wholly by the rise in private house-building. While national housing supply has increased substantially since the mid1990s, one of the more arresting aspects of this boom was the changing spatial pattern of new house-building. This is best seen in the Eastern region and Fig. 5 depicts the changing pattern of building in the Dublin Region, the Mid-East Region and the Rest of Leinster. While all areas saw very large increases in supply, what is particularly noticeable is the very rapid increases in both the Mid-East and Rest of Leinster. In proportionate terms the Dublin region saw its share of new house-building decrease from 56 per cent in 1994 to an average of 42 per cent. Indeed, in the Dublin region, only Fingal County witnessed large increases in supply on the northern fringe of the city since 1994, with supply in the core of the city being relatively static over this period. The Mid-East Region saw its share of new supply increase from 20 to 25 per cent over the same period while the Rest of Leinster saw its share grow from 24 per cent to an average of 36 per cent. These figures illustrate the push of new housing supply into areas well beyond the administrative boundaries of Dublin and into areas up to 80 km from the city centre, generating a large and very complex commuter belt. Fig. 6, which considers the density of occupied dwellings built between two different periods during 1991 and 2002, highlights an emerging pattern

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18000 16000 14000 12000 10000 8000 6000 4000 2000 0 1994

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New House-Building in the Eastern Region. Source: Department of the Environment, Heritage and Local Government (2004).

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Roads Rails County Boundaries Density (New House per Km2) 50

Density of Occupied Houses Built between 1991 and 2002.

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of expansion and sprawl in the city-region. Significant increases of new houses outside Dublin took place in counties Louth (throughout the whole county but especially around Drogheda and Dundalk), Kildare and Wexford. In Co. Meath many new houses, after 1996, were built in the south-east part of the county (Dunshaughlin, Ashbourne, Dunboyne, Ratoath) and also in the rural environs of Navan, Kells and Trim, in line with population increases in these areas during the same period. Interestingly Co. Wicklow had distinctively less new houses built after 1996, as a result of both its stricter planning policy related to its outstanding landscape quality, and physical restrictions, such as the Dublin–Wicklow mountain range which forms the NE-SW spine of the county. Analysis of population changes and housing supply since the mid-1990s suggests a process of settlement change that has resulted in a deconcentrated settlement patterns. In particular, the rural–urban fringe surrounding Dublin has witnessed dramatic transformations of population growth and house-building activity. In summary, migration flows in the Dublin cityregion generally occurred outside urban areas and towards the rural fringe. Urban–rural migration appears to follow the pattern of road and rail transport, which suggests a rural living preference but with the benefits of proximity to urban areas. In particular, the mid-eastern counties of the Greater Dublin Area have become significant residential targets with increasing private house completions (Co. Meath increased its housing completions by 163 per cent in only 5 years whereas at the same time Co. Dublin increased its housing completions by 37 per cent). These trends are consistent with notions of counterurbanisation and metropolitan dispersal. As recorded by Gkartzios and Scott (2005), the housing pressure in Dublin suggests a displaced-urbanisation (following Mitchell’s (2004) classification) whereby people migrate to the countryside simply because it is cheaper to buy or build a house there. However, preferences for rural living in Ireland suggest the existence of an Irish rural idyll. An isolated house in the open countryside with the benefits of proximity to the capital or other urban areas appears to be a strong choice for city dwellers, facilitated by a relaxed planning regime. These urban dwellers’ intentions or actions fit closely with ex-urbanisation and/or anti-urbanisation movements. Rather than conforming to spatial planning policies and a plan-led process, this geography of settlement has emerged through a largely developer-led and speculative approach. As a result, much of the new residential development is characterised by a deficit of both physical (e.g. rail networks) and community (schools and childcare facilities) infrastructure (Scott et al., 2005).

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METHODOLOGY AND CASE STUDY This chapter will focus on two case studies within the rural hinterland of the city, Donabate and Skerries, both located in Fingal County Council, north of Dublin city. A substantial portion of north Fingal has remained largely rural in character, with a vibrant agricultural and horticultural sector and a network of small urban centres and rural villages. However, since the mid1990s the area has been characterised by a period of rapid urbanisation and house-building activity. As a whole, Fingal County Council’s population increased by 17.1 per cent between 1996 and 2002, from 167,683 to 196,413, and the most recent Census in 2006 indicates that the population has increased to 239,992 (CSO, 2007). In the cases of Skerries and Donabate, the population increased by 33.5 and 42.2 per cent, respectively, between 1996 and 2002, illustrated in Table 1. The early to mid-1990s was the first period of rapid house-building with high profile re-zoning of agricultural land to residential use. This rate of change has continued and both settlements are projected to rapidly increase in size over the next decade to further accommodate new residential development. At the time of writing, detailed Census figures for 2006 were not available, however, early indications suggest that both areas have experienced further significant population increases (CSO, 2007). Within this context, the potential for conflicts to emerge over the regulation of land-use is considerable, particularly between pro-developer interests and anti-development residents. This may include conflicts related to quality of life factors (e.g. impact on sense of community due to influx of new residents; increased pressure on existing services; loss of rural character, peace and quiet; impact on local environment and landscape change) and related to property prices and land values (e.g. negative impact of new development on existing property prices, such as congestion, impact of social housing; potential for profit for landowners if agricultural land is re-zoned for housing). The case study analysis centres on the planning arena in the early-mid-2000s when significant policy decisions were made in Table 1.

Fingal County Council Skerries Donabate Source: CSO (2003).

Population Change in Case Study Areas. Population in 1996

Population in 2002

Percentage Change

167,683 5,704 4,320

196,413 7,612 6,141

þ17.1 þ33.6 þ42.2

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accommodating housing development. The remainder of this chapter will focus on how coalitions of community interests have responded to these changes and potential conflicts through opportunities for public participation in local planning processes. This analysis will be discussed under four interrelated headings: 1. Participatory communities: e.g. composition, organisation and activities of residents’ groups; 2. Perceptions of new development: e.g. positive or negative attitudes to new development, including the type and style of new development; 3. Strategies and tactics adopted by community interests: e.g. reactive or proactive approaches, engagement with the wider community and local government, involvement in policy processes, collaboration or opposition; 4. Policy outcomes: e.g. impact of community participation on policy outcomes. Participatory Communities Participatory communities refer to the composition, organisation and activities of residents’ and community organisations active in local policy processes. In both case study areas, civil society groups were organised in an informal two-tier structure with residents’ associations operating at a neighbourhood level (e.g. a housing estate of between 30 and 100 houses) and community associations operating at an overarching level, covering the whole town. All local residents in a particular neighbourhood were considered to be members of the relevant residents’ group, although typically each group would be comprised of an active committee of approximately 8–12 people. Residents’ groups were usually affiliated and represented on the wider community association. Most groups were involved in broadly similar activities within their local communities, including:  Environmental improvements: e.g. improving coastal walks, sand dune and coastal protection, open space enhancement;  Tackling anti-social behaviour: e.g. liaising with police, cleaning graffiti, collecting litter, neighbourhood watch, exploring the possibility of installing CCTV cameras in the town centre;  Lobbying for enhanced local services: e.g. campaigning for a local secondary school, improvements to local infrastructure and additional police presence;  Local land-use regulation.

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Given the rapid nature of residential growth and development in both case study areas, it is perhaps unsurprising that involvement with local land-use planning formed a key activity for local community organisations. Within traditional local government structures, citizen participation in Ireland has been limited, and has been primarily through the planning process with statutory provisions for public involvement. In a European context, local government is fairly limited in the Republic of Ireland, however, planning is a significant function of the local authority. Under current legislation and structures, a draft Development Plan is prepared by the Council Executive and is put before elected members. The draft plan is adopted and put on public display for 12 weeks, prior to its final ratification by the council. Therefore, opportunities for public participation are largely limited to reactions to the draft plan, rather than an earlier public involvement in the plan formulation process. The Planning and Development (2000) Act has enhanced this scope through obliging local authorities to advertise its intention to prepare a draft plan and to invite comments and submissions. Individuals, community groups or organisations also have the right to make submissions on planning applications or to make a Third Party Appeal against the granting of planning permission. A key issue identified in the literature review relates to the representativeness of community organisations. In other words, do community groups express a common view concerning local issues and to what extent do community groups reflect and represent the wider community or simply selfinterest? In this context, a number of key themes emerged from the interviews with representatives from residents’ and community associations. Firstly, the majority of groups were characterised by low member turnover with a core group involved over a lengthy time period (10–15 years). Although this may be interpreted as evidence of community groups being dominated by a few individuals, most interviewees suggested that the primary reason was related to difficulties in encouraging people to volunteer and play an active role in community groups. Secondly (and related), it is the perceived difficulty in encouraging new residents in the local area to get actively involved in community affairs. There was a general view that new residents are ‘disconnected’ from the local area, particularly with people who moved out from Dublin. Due to difficulties in encouraging new residents to become actively involved, community organisations may only represent the views of long-established residents who may have significantly different views with regard to new development. Thirdly, although some residents’ groups were successful in encouraging some younger residents to

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become active, in general, the community groups were dominated by middle-aged and senior residents. To further explore the issue of representativeness, interviewees were asked the reasons behind their involvement with community groups. Common motivations cited included:      

Keen to see positive change in the community; Part of wider religious/moral outlook; Sense of powerlessness acting individually; Disillusionment with conventional local politics; To be informed about local issues; Social aspect.

Interestingly, interviewees were also asked to identify the motivations of other community members. In addition to the above reasons, a number of interviewees also cited ‘self-interest’ as an important motivating factor, for example: If people have a problem with new development or something, they’ll join the group and then focus on that one issue and then drift away. You get these single-issue people. (Interview with member of residents’ group)

This tension between collective versus self-interest is a common theme in the literature relating to participatory processes. As Innes and Booher (2004) argue: ‘should citizens look after their self-interest or after the collective interest? In theory they represent the community, but de facto they speak for themselves’ (p. 421). However, as Ellis (2004) suggests, acting broadly on self-interest grounds may also be articulating genuine and rational concerns over quality of life issues.

Perceptions of New Development Both case study areas have experienced widespread and rapid change resulting from a period of intense house-building activity. Indeed, many of the interviewees highlighted the perceived negative impacts of such development, including loss of rural character, increased pressure on existing infrastructure and services, increased traffic congestion, and erosion of community identity. In addition, a minority of interviewees explicitly made a connection between rapid growth, the influx of new residents and a perceived rise in anti-social behaviour among young people (in particular vandalism, alcohol consumption and availability of illegal drugs). Given the

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tendency for residents who are long established in the community to be more active within community organisations, it may be reasonably expected that community groups would be resistant to new development and that NIMBY-type attitudes would be prevalent. However, a simplistic portrayal of local NIMBY opposition would be misleading. For example, in the case of Donabate, local groups recognised the need to accommodate new development locally given its close proximity to Dublin and its location on the rail network. This suggests that local groups are aware of the wider strategic and regional dimension to spatial development issues rather than simply displaying a parochial reaction. An earlier development plan covering the area (Fingal County Development Plan 1993–2004) involved a major local debate regarding plans to re-zone a considerable area of agricultural land for housing. In general, the majority of participants in the public consultation process did not directly oppose this policy shift, but instead focused on the style of development: We didn’t have such a problem with the planned numbers of new housing, but we had a problem that it was to be developed too quickly and the infrastructure just wasn’t good enough. We’re not anti-development, we just want controlled development. The developers wanted to build, build, build, with no local sensitivity. (Interview with former chair of community association) The development process is about profit, not the community. If planning was done properly, the services and infrastructure would be put in place first before new houses are built. But instead, houses get built and then we have to campaign for schools and services. (Interview with member of residents’ group)

In this case, both interviewees recognised possible benefits of new housing development, but objected to the speculative-model of development which ignores the wider community costs of accommodating growth. These arguments have been repeated as more land was re-zoned for housing as a result of a politically endorsed Variation of the Development Plan (in 2004). The majority of community groups interviewed in the Donabate area appear to accept that further development will occur and therefore the focus is now on two issues. Firstly, some developers have left new housing estates unfinished or failed to comply fully with planning conditions. Therefore, community groups often see their role as lobbying to put pressure on developers and landowners to complete development to an appropriate standard. Secondly, the issue of apartment developments has proved controversial, as residents groups seek to limit the location of new apartment dwellings to the town centre and also to limit building heights, to preserve the rural character of the area.

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The case of Donabate suggests a complexity of motivations for engaging with the local land-use planning process. Rather than simply antidevelopment motivations, local community group members often displayed pro-development characteristics within a framework of managed growth. The acceptance of new development has led to a focus on the style of new housing development and ensuring that property developers have complied with planning regulations and conditions. In this sense, local community groups act as local ‘guardians’ of change on the local area.

Strategies and Tactics Adopted by Community Interests In attempting to achieve their goals and to have their concerns listened to, community groups in the case study areas have adopted a variety of ‘strategies’ for engaging with the policy makers and processes shaping the built environment. These may be considered under two headings: (1) formal avenues for public participation and (2) through informal networks. In the case of the Ireland, formal avenues for participation are generally statutorily defined opportunities for public participation (i.e. defined by law) in the local planning process and involve two primary methods. Firstly, there are opportunities for open third party appeals against the granting of planning permission, when essentially anyone can challenge any development control decision made by the local planning authority by making an appeal to a central planning board (An Bord Pleana´la). As recorded by Ellis (2004), this right is now used in Ireland by many as a primary mechanism for engaging with the planning system. Community groups in the two case study areas, however, used this mechanism to varying degrees. For example, one residents’ group used third party appeals widely and as a result developers often negotiate directly with the residents’ group before submitting a planning application. The motivation for submitting third party appeals is explained by the interview extract below: I think a lot of people think we object to every planning application. But the town was going to be developed anyway, we were just trying to maintain order in the town. We usually had good reason to object. (Interview with member of residents’ group)

The objective behind third party appeals in this example was not to halt development, but rather to influence the outcome of the development process, usually by negotiating alterations in the final design of any new development scheme. In contrast, other residents’ groups rarely used the third party appeals mechanism, often due to a previous lack of success.

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Secondly, there are statutory opportunities for public participation in the development plan process. In Irish planning law, local authorities are required to undertake a series of public consultation activities, including publicly advertising the intention to prepare a new development plan, undertaking public meetings before and after the preparation of a draft development plan, publicly displaying a draft plan, and inviting and reporting on written submissions from the public relating to the draft plan content and policies. Again, this method of engagement is used widely by residents’ and community groups. Examples of methods for engaging with the development plan process include:       

Publicise key issues in a local community newsletter; Organise community meetings prior to meetings with the local authority; Attend public consultation meetings organised by the local authority; Make written submissions; Submit a local petition signed by local residents; Contact local media to highlight concerns; Lobby councillors on key issues.

However, in general, community interests were sceptical concerning their ability to influence the outcome of the development plan process. This is further discussed below. In addition to these formal avenues for participation, community organisations also engaged with the policy process through more informal networks, beyond the formal, statutory planning arena. For example, in general most community groups continued to lobby local politicians throughout the year in relation to individual development proposals. This was particularly the case when community group members included individuals who were also members of political parties or local political activitists, who had easier access to local politicians. However, most local groups were wary and suspicious of involving local politicians, many of who were viewed as pro-developer and unresponsive to local community needs. Indeed, many local community group members preferred to deal directly with local authority officials who were viewed as more ‘straightforward’: Trust is a big issue with councillors. We try to identify the ones we can trust, but usually we go straight to the [local authority] officers. They’re more efficient and friendly. (Interview with member of residents’ group) If local democracy worked and planning worked, then we [community groups] wouldn’t be needed. (Interview with member of residents’ group)

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A further strategy employed by some community groups was to deal directly with developers. This usually took the form of the developer undertaking some small-scale environmental improvements in return for a community group’s support for an application for planning permission.

Policy Outcomes While there is evidence to illustrate that local residents’ and community groups have clearly attempted to engage with the local policy process through a range of strategies and tactics, this section will examine the extent that local land-use decisions have been influenced by community participation – in other words, what is the ability of community groups to influence local development and were community interests listened to? From the analysis of the case studies, two primary themes emerge. Firstly, community groups were relatively successful in influencing small-scale changes though third party appeals against the granting of planning permission, lobbying councillors, interacting with local authority officials and negotiating directly with developers. These may be described as ‘small wins’ for community interests and include:  Preventing new apartment developments from overlooking existing residential areas;  Reducing building heights of new apartment developments;  Ensuring new housing development was completed in compliance with planning conditions and to an acceptable standard (e.g. entrances to housing estates, footpaths, etc.);  Negotiating for small-scale environmental improvements, for example, improving coastal protection, enhancing coastal walks, open space improvements. The ability of community groups to deliver these small wins usually was dependant on two factors: (1) the capacity and skills available within the community group (e.g. several groups included the active involvement of a professional architect or town planner, who were technically proficient at submitting third party appeals; and (2) the ability to access councillors and other elected representatives, which varied considerably depending on the involvement of local political activists within community groups. Although all the community and residents’ groups interviewed provided examples of these ‘small wins’, the second themes to emerge was that community organisations were much less successful in influencing the

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planning policy framework and development plan for the local area. A clear example is provided by development plan policies related to re-zoning agricultural land for residential uses in Donabate. Two distinct phases can be identified. Firstly, was the re-zoning undertaken with the adoption of the Development Plan in 1993, with a second phase of re-zoning with the adoption of a Variation of the Development Plan in 2004. Both phases proved highly divisive as a majority of councillors and developers favoured significant re-zoning, whereas community interests argued for phased development in parallel to investment in infrastructure and local services. During the first phase, pro-develop interests formed a local Chamber of Commerce as an alternative ‘local voice’ to community organisations and were actively involved in public meetings. The more recent phase was also controversial as it involved councillors adopting a Variation to local planning policy in the final year of the statutory development plan as a new development plan was under preparation. The outcome of both processes favoured developer interests with few concessions to the arguments or proposals supported by community organisations, and instead councillors appeared to be more responsive to developers’ lobbying rather than everyday public concerns – a distinctly clientelist approach. This can be termed as a ‘clientelist’ relationship with local governance processes, whereby local elected representatives (councillors) act on behalf of specific interests (in this case developers) rather than acting on behalf of the wider public interest. This has been a longstanding feature of Irish local government, particularly in rural areas (see, e.g. Gallent, Shucksmith, & Tewdwr-Jones, 2003). In the case of Donabate, the experience of participating in the development plan formulation has led to a sense of negativity regarding the plan process. Firstly, there was widespread disillusionment with the participatory process, in particular questioning the extent that the local authority listened and acted on the community’s views. This led to some members of community groups to question future involvement with planning processes: At the time [of the 1993 Development Plan] we thought we had influence, but looking back this was naı¨ ve of us. Developers and politicians really controlled the process . . . The planning officials would listen to you, but whether they acted on this? Well that’s a different matter. (Former chair of community association) I don’t think our meetings with the local authority had any impact. The bigger things [like the development plan] are very political. (Interview with member of residents’ group)

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Both respondents suggested that community interests were very much sidelined within the development plan process with developer interests more effective in influencing both officials and councillors. This was particularly the case with the re-zoning of land in the Variation of the Development Plan: Councillors were working with developers to use the Variation process, to get something done before the community could get involved . . . It would have been proper to wait until the new Development Plan, which would have given us a better chance to voice our concerns. (Interview with member of residents’ group)

Therefore, community interests perceived that they lacked access to policy processes, and opportunities for public consultation were tokenistic gestures aimed to placate the community. This led to a significant trust deficit between the community and local councillors and, indeed, a majority of interviewees displayed a deep mistrust in the probity of the local planning system, suggesting councillors had acted improperly in the interests of the developer. Therefore, as Bedford et al. (2002) contend, ‘in these circumstances, notions of transparency and fairness, unless supported by clear explanations of how public consultation had impacted on . . . decisions, are insufficient to convince local people of the legitimacy or the effectiveness [of the process]’ (p. 325).

CONCLUSION The 1990s and 2000s witnessed considerable spatial changes in the rural–urban fringe surrounding the Dublin metropolitan area, with accessible rural areas and smaller settlements within an 80 km commute from the city experiencing significant population growth and increases in housing supply. In the case of the Dublin city region, consumers appear to be making a simple choice: to live further from the city in accessible rural areas in less dense surroundings (and often with a larger dwelling size). This population shift is consistent with notions of counterurbanisation (Gkartzios & Scott, 2005); however, the actual individual motivations behind such population and residential trends are less clear, although these are likely to include both push (e.g. cost of housing in Dublin city) and pull factors (e.g. the lure of the rural and the perceived enhanced quality of life in rural areas). These spatial trends suggest an increasingly complex urban–rural relationship in terms of housing and labour markets and daily activities such as commuting and recreation, particularly in accessible rural areas. This

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underlines the importance of the territorial and regional dimension to public policy delivery. This chapter aimed to investigate how coalitions of community interests have responded to these spatial changes through opportunities for public participation in local governance processes, in particular local land-use decision-making. Both local case study areas examined in this chapter experienced rapid and widespread change resulting from a period of intense house-building activity. Within this context, it may be expected that NIMBY-style opposition to new development would be commonplace. Indeed, a recent European-wide study categorises such negative perceptions of new development in the urban–rural fringe as NIMRUR – Not In My Rural Area (Overbeek & Terluin, 2006), a perception most common held by newcomers to the locality. However, rather than outright opposition to new development, local community interests realistically recognised the need to accommodate new development locally, and instead favoured phased and planned residential development and expansion with parallel investment in local infrastructure and services. This suggests a complexity of motivations for engaging with the planning process as opposed to simplistic portrayals of NIMBY-style local opposition to any change. Instead, the rationale for residents to become involved within the urban development process has often emerged as a result of the market-driven planning regime operating within Ireland, which in recent years has tended to place propertydevelopment interests ahead of community concerns. This also contrasts with notions of a ‘preserved countryside’ identified in the United Kingdom by Murdoch, Lowe, Ward, and Marsden (2003), where high numbers of middle class activists use the planning system to press for strong control of development in ways which reflect their preservationist aspirations. This chapter outlines that community and residents’ groups are very active in attempting to shape planning policy processes, but with limited success. Community groups actively engaged in the development plan preparation process, however, their efforts were undermined by powerful developer and landowning interests, who unsurprisingly favoured speculative residential development on greenfield sites to maximise profits. Locally elected representatives tended to support the pro-development lobby rather than everyday public concerns, suggesting a distinctly clientelist approach. The limited ability of community interests to influence policy outcomes has resulted in a deep-seated cynicism towards the public participation process, particularly with regard to the relationship between developers and councillors, and the probity of the planning system. Instead,

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community interests were more successful in fostering ‘small wins’ in the development process through third party appeals, negotiating directly with developers, lobbying councillors and networking with local authority officials. This generally resulted in small-scale environmental improvements and aesthetic input into new residential developments. However, these ‘victories’ must be placed in the wider context of the community’s limited impact in policy agenda setting, and may therefore be interpreted as an exercise in placating community interests.

NOTE 1. The term Electoral Division was changed on 24 June 1996 (Section 23 of the Local Government Act, 1994) from District Electoral Division. There are 3,440 Electoral Divisions in the State.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The authors would wish to thank the generous financial support of the Royal Irish Academy’s Third Sector Research Programme for funding this research project. Thanks also to Menelaos Gkartzios for the preparation of all maps included in this chapter.

REFERENCES Albrechts, L. (2002). The planning community reflects on enhancing public involvement. Views from academics and reflective practitioners. Planning Theory and Practice, 3, 331–347. Arnstein, S. (1969). A ladder of citizen participation in the USA. Journal of the American Planning Association, 35, 216–224. Bedford, T., Clark, J., & Harrison, C. (2002). Limits to new public participations in local land use planning. Town Planning Review, 73, 311–331. Burby, R. (2003). Making plans that matter: Citizen involvement and government action. Journal of the American Planning Association, 69, 33–39. Burton, P., Goodlad, R., & Croft, J. (2006). How would we know what works? Context and complexity in the evaluation of community involvement. Evaluation, 12, 294–312. Central Statistics Office. (2003). Population by area (Census) (Vol. 1). Dublin: CSO. Central Statistics Office. (2007). Population classified by area (Census) (Vol. 1). Dublin: CSO.

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Curry, N. (2001). Community participation and rural policy: Representativeness in the development of millennium greens. Journal of Environmental Planning and Management, 44, 561–576. DEHLG (Department of the Environment, Heritage and Local Government). (2004). Housing statistics bulletin. Dublin: Stationery Office. Ellis, G. (2004). Discourses of objection: Towards an understanding of third-party rights in planning. Environment and Planning A, 36, 1549–1570. Friedmann, J. (1973). Re-tracking America, A theory of transactive planning. New York: Anchor Press. Friedmann, J. (1998). Planning theory revisited. European Planning Studies, 6, 245–253. Gallent, N., Shucksmith, M., & Tewdwr-Jones, M. (2003). Housing in the European countryside, rural pressure and policy in western Europe. London: Routledge. Gkartzios, M., & Scott, M. (2005). Urban-generated rural housing and evidence of counterurbanisation in the Dublin city-region. In: N. Moore & M. Scott (Eds), Renewing urban communities: Environment, citizenship and sustainability in Ireland. Aldershot: Ashgate. Gray, J. (2000). The common agricultural policy and the re-invention of the rural in the European community. Sociologia Ruralis, 40, 30–52. Hadjimichalis, C. (2003). Imagining rurality in the New Europe and dilemmas for spatial policy. European Planning Studies, 11, 103–113. Halfacree, K. (1997). Contrasting roles for the post-productivist countryside, a postmodern perspective on counterurbanisation. In: P. Cloke & J. Little (Eds), Contested countryside cultures, otherness, marginalization and rurality. London: Routledge. Healey, P. (1997). Collaborative planning, shaping places in fragmented societies. London: Macmillan Press. Innes, J., & Booher, D. (2004). Reframing public participation strategies for the 21st Century. Planning Theory and Practice, 5, 419–436. Jones, P. (2003). Urban regeneration’s poisoned chalice: is there an impasse in (community) participation-based policy? Urban Studies, 40, 581–601. Leach, S., & Wingfield, M. (1999). Public participation and the democratic renewal agenda: Prioritisation or marginalisation? Local Government Studies, 24, 46–59. Low, M. (1999). Their masters’ voice: Communitarianism, civic order, and political representation. Environment and Planning A, 31, 87–111. Marsden, T. (1999). Rural futures: The consumption countryside and its regulation. Sociologia Ruralis, 39, 501–520. Mitchell, C. (2004). Making sense of counterurbanisation. Journal of Rural Studies, 20, 15–34. Murdoch, J., Lowe, P., Ward, N., & Marsden, T. (2003). The differentiated countryside. London: Routledge. Murray, M., & Greer, J. (1997). Planning and community-led rural development in Northern Ireland. Planning Practice and Research, 12, 393–400. Murray, M., & Greer, J. (2000). The Northern Ireland regional strategic framework and its public examination process – towards a new model of participatory planning? Belfast: RIRP. Overbeek, G., & Terluin, I. (Eds). (2006). Rural areas under pressure: Case studies of rural–urban relationships across Europe. The Hague: LEI Wageningen. Scho¨n, D. (1991). The reflective practitioner, how professionals think in action (2nd ed.). Aldershot: Arena.

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Scott, M., Gkartzios, M., Redmond, D., Williams, B., & Clinch, P. (2005). Emerging settlement trends and implementing the National Spatial Strategy. Unpublished report for the Department of Environment, Heritage and Local Government, Dublin. Scott, M., Moore, N., Redmond, D., & Gkartzios, M. (2006). Housing growth, land delivery and sustainable urban management. In: J. Yarwood (Ed.), The dublin-belfast corridor: Ireland’s mega-city region. Ashgate: Aldershot. Vigar, G., & Healey, P. (2002). Developing environmentally respectful policy programmes: Five key principles. Journal of Environmental Planning and Management, 45, 517–532.

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CHAPTER 11 CHALLENGES OF GOVERNANCE AND LAND MANAGEMENT ON THE EXURBAN/WILDERNESS FRONTIER IN THE USA Heidi E. Kretser, Jodi A. Hilty, Michale J. Glennon, Jeffery F. Burrell, Zoe¨ P. Smith and Barbara A. Knuth ABSTRACT Purpose – The purpose is to show that the influx of new seasonal and year-round residents to the small towns located in and around protected areas has numerous implications for governance associated with land management and regional planning including reconciling the competing values of wilderness (amenity vs. livelihood, motorized vs. non-motorized recreation, active vs. passive land management). Methodology/approach – We use case studies from the Adirondack Park in Northern New York State and the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem in the western United States to demonstrate the land management and governance challenges facing local communities in and around internationally renowned, protected areas. Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 277–304 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014014

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Findings – We highlight how these transforming communities meet diverse needs and competing interests and how partnering with a nongovernmental organization benefits local governance issues. Originality/value of chapter – The paper presents research from the United States, which theoretically and empirically contributes to the scientific discourse on exurbanization, protected areas, and governance.

INTRODUCTION Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity; and that mountains . . . are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life. (John Muir, 1898)

Within the global culture of mobility, rural communities have become more dynamic and diverse in their economic institutions, political networks, social characteristics, and natural environment (Murdoch et al., 2003; Hannam, Sheller, & Urry, 2006). Exurbanization of the American countryside is one outcome of increasing mobility in modern society. Governing the complex impacts associated with exurban development poses challenges for rural communities, especially for those located near important natural resources, such as protected areas. Exurban development, or low-density residential development of 2–17 ha per house, is one of the primary causes of land transformation and loss of wildlife habitat globally (Burnley & Murphy, 1995; Nkambwe & Arnberg, 1996; Struyk & Angelici, 1996; Dubost, 1998; Hansen et al., 2005). Exurban development causes 10 times the amount of land-use change compared to urban and suburban development in the United States (USDA NRI, 2003). Between 1960 and 1990, low-density development, primarily in the form of rural housing, increased from 63 million ha to 135 million ha in the United States and that still trend continues (Theobald, 2001; Brown et al., 2005). Nearly 80 percent of the land used for US home construction between 1994 and 1997 was in non-metropolitan areas with the majority of homes being built on lots that were at least 4 ha in size (Heimlich & Anderson, 2001). Lands near protected areas are particularly targeted for low-density development given the attraction of the natural resources found there and technological advances enabling people to move and work from wherever they want (Howe, McMahon, & Propst, 1997).

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In the United States, state or national governments usually have the authority to manage protected areas and the resources found therein. As private and public sector interests overlap within recently developed landscapes adjacent to or inside the protected areas, new forms of regional governance are required to address the changes caused by exurban development. However, regional governance in the United States during the past 40 years has been at its weakest point (Duerkson & Snyder, 2005). Regional governance enables the blurring of boundaries and responsibilities between the public and private sector to address environmental, social, and economic issues (Goodwin, 1998). This blurring is particularly relevant to rural communities located near protected areas where public and private interests intersect and forge collaborations at many levels to manage community affairs (O’Toole & Burdess, 2004). Our objective is to consider the challenges created by exurban development in communities adjacent to protected natural areas, and suggest how collaborative approaches to governance may be used to minimize adverse effects of these changes. In the first part of the chapter, we summarize the changes brought by exurban development to communities and natural resources near protected areas. In the second part of the chapter, we present the contributions of a non-governmental conservation organization (NGO) to the governance of conservation and land management challenges within the context of two globally significant protected landscapes under different management contexts in the United States: the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem in Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming and the Adirondack Park in New York State.

EXURBAN DEVELOPMENT AND THE WILDERNESS FRONTIER Low-density exurban development is associated with many social and ecological changes on the wilderness frontier. In this section, we discuss the current drivers of exurbanization and the possible impacts associated with it, giving particular emphasis on the impacts to natural resources of national and international importance within or near protected areas. Throughout, we consider how such changes require traditional government institutions to expand their collaborations to bring effective governance to these regions to address the challenges presented by exurban development.

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CAUSES OF EXURBAN DEVELOPMENT Managing the changes brought by exurban development to communities and natural resources in protected landscapes requires understanding the underlying drivers of exurbanization. Although the causes of exurban development are not well studied, the political, economic, and sociological factors contributing to sprawl in general drive exurbanization. In many areas, facing rapid land consumption, human population has decreased over time (Pendall, 2003; Schmidt, 2004). However, for lands in high-amenity areas, sprawl is often associated with increases in population as newcomers relocate (Howe et al., 1997). Federal, State, and local laws and policies on housing, transportation, taxes, and local zoning contribute to increasing patterns of sprawl in the United States (Weiss, 1991; Meredith, 2003; Lawrence, 2005). Globalization has also increased individual wealth from investments and overall mobility (i.e., ease of moving to a new location, fewer family connections in any particular place) enabling people to move to rural areas rich in natural resources (Barcus, 2004). Private lands in close proximity to protected areas with ample scenery, outdoor recreational opportunities, and wildlife, have become especially attractive lands for second-home development and amenity migration (Beale & Johnson, 1998; Moss, 2006).

CHANGES IN NATURAL RESOURCES, COMMUNITIES, AND GOVERNANCE Exurban development changes the economic, social, and ecological dynamics of an area. Local and regional governance must adapt accordingly depending on the local capacity of communities to address such changes (Reed, 2007a). In rural communities near protected regions, state and national interests must be reconciled with diverse private landowner interests using non-traditional management regimes. Many of the characteristics that define rural communities, such as shared meanings, values, culture, practices, norms, and physical space (Liepins, 2000) may be influenced by these trends toward exurban development. We draw from the literature on sprawl and our collective experiences of working in exurban settings near protected lands to describe changes such as competing values, community restructuring, complicated economics, and ecological impacts that occur in communities situated at the exurban/wilderness frontier.

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Competing Values Regarding Resource Uses Given that exurban development occurs on private land, yet use of public resources is in question, managing competing values in areas experiencing exurban development requires governance that incorporates diverse public and private sector constituents. Production versus amenity-based economies, incompatible recreational pursuits, and cohesive management of smaller parcels provide three examples of competing values at the exurban frontier. Those who live in an area due to existing familial connections or depend on the land for their income often have different values toward that resource compared to those who move to an area for its beauty or have alternative income sources (e.g., dividends from investments, a computer-based job, or income from a non-consumptive land-use like recreation) (Halseth, 1998; Walker & Fortmann, 2003). Traditional resource-dependent sectors such as farming, ranching, forestry, and mining have been described as having a secondary role in communities that increasingly place value on environmental amenities and wish to minimize the environmental change (sometimes perceived as degradation) associated with those traditional economies (Beyers & Nelson, 2000). However, these resource-dependent sectors play a critical role in economic prosperity and growth as some in-migrants are attracted to the cultural aspect of traditional resource use as much as the environmental qualities (Beyers & Nelson, 2000). The expansion of residential development, especially near protected areas, limits places for outdoor recreation. Access to private lands often becomes more stringent under changing ownership, yet with exurbanization, access to public lands is also more restricted (Hunt, 2002; Havlick, 2002). Controversies can arise when motorized and non-motorized users, mountain bikers and hikers, and people with and without dogs must share the same spaces. In addition, overuse of areas by all types of users threatens wildlife and other natural features (Liddle, 1997; Reed, 2007b). The shift from a production landscape to an esthetic or consumption landscape of residential homes generally increases the diversity of local management practices and creates multiple disturbances across the landscape that can affect local flora and fauna (Rickenbach, Zeuli, & SturgessClerk, 2005; Johnson & Klemens, 2005). When one or a few entities own large private landscapes, management decisions affecting large areas can be coordinated with adequate governance. With multiple landowners, achieving a common vision for ecosystem-based management goals may be difficult, and agreeing on actions for every individual landowner to achieve such goals is challenging (Sinclair & Knuth, 2000).

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Building cohesive landscape management relies on a more communal or regional approach that incorporates public and private sector interests. Managing diverse desires for public and private land near protected areas requires management regimes within which expertize, public participation, and regional approaches involve a mix of regulatory or voluntary incentives to ensure resource use is equitably distributed yet adequately protected. In these situations, governance that includes place-based (or regional) organizations and/or outside facilitators (or experts) who are able to work with state institutions and local citizens is essential.

Community Restructuring The in-migration of exurban dwellers brings associated changes to many facets of a community: politics, economics, housing, infrastructure, civic involvement, and local planning among others. Land and housing prices in and around protected areas are increasing. The per-acre price of residential properties in areas that have protected lands is nearly 19 percent higher than in towns containing no wilderness (Phillips, 2004). The second-home market accounted for over one third of all residential housing sales in the United States in the early 2000s (NAR, 2005). Although positive for landowners wishing to sell, the increased costs can force local residents to relocate to find adequate and affordable housing, placing a strain on local labor demands and pushing for rural residential development into more marginal areas (Murphy, 2001; Miller, 2002). Changes in home ownership and expansion of residential areas can have cascading effects on the demands for infrastructure and services. Seasonal residents or converters (those who were once seasonal) place demands on the community for services such as fire and police protection, roads, sewer, and water (Halseth, 1998). Expansion of collective services to provide for new residents is often borne by local governments (Pendall, 1999). Subsequent increases in property tax often outweigh the benefits from an expanded tax base (Meredith, 2003). Exurban development around protected areas can have positive or negative impacts on civic involvement. Exurban communities can attract more diverse constituents to civic opportunities (e.g., retirees, second-home owners who convert to full-time owners, newcomers who wish to curtail more development or monitor property taxes) (Walker & Fortmann, 2003; Johnson & Rasker, 1995). Such increases in civic involvement bring new ideas and energy into a community, spawning economic growth as well as

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critical social networks that can often benefit rural communities (Rasker & Glick, 1994; Brown, 2002; Serow, 2003). Conversely, exurban communities can lose civic participation if new residents are seasonal and infrequently visit the area, or if investment buyers convert formerly residential homes into vacation rentals (Halseth, 1998). These potential changes in local participation imply changes in governance. With declines in civic involvement, a community may be challenged to address local issues. With increases, the community may need to mediate among diverse opinions.

Complicated Economics of Low-Density Sprawl Economy, cultural history, and land-use are interconnected in high-amenity rural communities undergoing rapid development changes (Nelson, 2001). Conventional economic measures make development appear economically efficient. However, if subsidies, costs of externalities, and benefits of public goods were incorporated, maintaining open space would more often generate long-term economic benefits compared to low-density development (Farber, 2005). Communities lured by the idea of increased tax revenue from exurban development may find greater financial demands on local government to provide infrastructure, leading to rising property taxes or higher levels of debt, ultimately shifting costs to existing landowners (Pendall, 1999; Schmidt, 2004; Duerkson & Snyder, 2005). Difficult-tomeasure indirect costs such as increased traffic, cost of commuting, accidents, and health costs related to obesity and other ailments are often overlooked in rural low-density developments (Kahn, 2000; Schmidt, 2004). If developers were required to bear the full costs of low-density development, development patterns would be vastly different (Gevock, 2007). The public goods provided by limiting low-density development are an important factor in the economics of rural sprawl. Public goods are benefits enjoyed by the general public but not easily marketable, such as clean air, scenic views, or even the more intangible benefits of retaining carbon storage capacity of intact forests. Where public goods are maintained or protected, housing markets and landowners’ incomes benefit (Rasker, 2006; Philips, 2004). Numerous entrepreneurs are willing to forego wages in lieu of environmental quality (Beyers & Nelson, 2000) to the extent that protected areas and/or wilderness designations serve as an asset for attracting small business (Rasker & Glick, 1994; Howe et al., 1997). This suggests that people are willing to pay for public goods and robust mechanisms are needed to document the complete set of cost and services associated with exurban

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development. Governance including expert information on costs and benefits of potential outcomes will allow local communities to make better economic choices for themselves when faced with development pressures.

Ecological Impacts of Exurban Development We focus on native wildlife to demonstrate the variety of ecological impacts possible from exurban development. Naturally occurring habitats remain on the landscape as exurban development expands, but large-scale fragmentation resulting from exurbanization can alter the ecological functions of the original habitat, decrease biotic integrity, contribute to species’ loss or reduction, and alter species behavior and composition (Friesen, Eagles, & Mackay, 1995; Maestas, Knight, & Gilgert, 2001; Odell & Knight, 2001; Glennon & Porter, 2005; Beckmann & Berger, 2003). Apart from the direct impacts to wildlife caused by loss and fragmentation of habitat, exurban development patterns may also be more likely to result in human–wildlife conflict as synanthropic (e.g., adapted to living in close association with humans) species proliferate and some people begin to view wildlife as pests (Baron, 2004; DeStefano & Johnson, 2005; Kretser, Sullivan, & Knuth, 2008). Negative interactions with wildlife may ultimately lead to declines in support for or negative attitudes toward protected areas in general (Woodroffe, Thirgood, & Rabinowitz, 2005). As a result, where species survival depends on resources from public and private lands, exurbanization of private lands directly threatens wildlife viewed as a public resource on the public lands. For protected areas of global significance, failure to effectively govern public and private interests that locally influence natural resources can arouse negative response from national and international constituents, for example, wolves in the United States (Sharpe, Norton, & Donnelly, 2001), and mountain gorillas in Rwanda (Weber & Vedder, 2001). Although the effects of human development on wildlife are varied, development tends to result in an increase in the representation of generalist, commensal species, and a decrease in representation of specialized and human-sensitive species (Vogel, 1989; Dijak & Thompson, 2000; Odell & Knight, 2001; Maestas, Knight, & Gilgert, 2003; Ray, 2005). Long-term effects of this apparent ecosystem simplification are unknown. The most critical effects of exurban development on human communities and wildlife may be their cumulative impacts. Researchers and land-use planners alike have paid little attention to cumulative impacts. While each single land-use change may result in a negligible impact, the accumulation of these individual

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changes over time within a landscape and across communities can result in major impacts, but the ‘‘tyranny of many small decisions made singly’’ (Kahn, 1966) is recognized. Exurban developments and the associated loss, degradation, and fragmentation of wildlife habitat represent an example of the cumulative effects problem (Theobald, Miller, & Hobbs, 1997). Minimizing the impacts to wildlife posed by exurban development requires a combination of public sector regulatory strengthening (e.g., clustering) and voluntary private landowner behavior modifications (Glennon & Kretser, 2005). Most local governments lack the capacity to assess impacts beyond their immediate political boundaries. Regional approaches and governance structures with specific attention to expert advice on cumulative ecological impacts would be required to incorporate these impacts into community decision making.

GOVERNANCE IMPACTS ON INFORMATION ACCESS AND COMMUNITY RISK Accurate information is critical for making decisions, especially when addressing issues of rapid growth. However, local people, particularly from rural communities and the traditional institutions governing those communities, may not know where to find, do not have access to, or do not know how to integrate data relevant to their circumstances. Often the scales of data prohibit their use in rural, relatively low population areas (e.g., American Community Survey Data (USCB, 2006; Hilty, Lidicker, & Merelender, 2006). Communities may be unaware of tools available to address changes in land-use management. The resulting governance challenge combines the paucity of data with lack of knowledge about what options exist, and includes uncertainty regarding what governmental entities have authority and capacity to take action. This situation presents a set of risks to rural communities that could augment general rural downturn (Herbert-Chershire & Higgins, 2004). In areas near protected lands, communities may make decisions that negatively impact public resources such as wildlife, scenic vistas, water quality, and wilderness experiences, yet have little or no in-house expertise on these issues. By calling upon experts, communities can learn about the potential outcomes and implications of their choices; in essence they can develop an ability to manage their risk (Herbert-Chershire & Higgins, 2004). Communities benefit by welcoming outside expertise that extends beyond

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local residents to state, national, or international groups wishing to protect the resources within that community’s purview. Collaboration with external planners, universities, non-profit groups, state agencies, and others gives communities access not otherwise available to information and knowledge about what tools may be appropriate for their situation. In areas rich in natural resources of state, national, and international importance, conservation organizations may play a pivotal role in governance.

GOVERNANCE OPPORTUNITIES AT THE WILDERNESS FRONTIER The challenges to land management at the exurban/wilderness frontier can be best illustrated through case studies in which communities have had to face some of the changes identified in the first part of the chapter and have responded through modified and expanded governance arrangements. Here we provide two case studies centered on protected lands in the United States and involving public and non-profit organizations in governance processes: the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem and the Adirondack Park. The landscapes of each case study area offer a complex mixture of public and private lands that attract residents to the regions and influence human– wildlife coexistence. The valuable natural amenities that these regions possess, including an abundance of scenery, close proximity to wilderness areas, outdoor recreation opportunities, and wildlife, are factors that attract newcomers to the area (Johnson & Rasker, 1995; Jenkins & Keal, 2004). As a result, the regions are susceptible to intrusions of new residential development on formerly undeveloped private lands (Hansen et al., 2002) and subject to criticisms from a broader constituency given their proximity to resources of global importance. In both cases, The Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS), an international conservation organization, has been a partner in developing new governance approaches related to the natural resource base and local communities. Since 1994, WCS has worked in the Greater Yellowstone and the Adirondack Park on critical wildlife research and community-based conservation projects. The Wildlife Conservation Society has ongoing collaborations with governmental and non-governmental entities in these areas. The approximately 145,000 km2 Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem includes 20 counties in the states of Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho and encompasses the Yellowstone National Park, established in 1872, as well as

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national forests and other protected lands. Approximately 370,000 people live in the Greater Yellowstone including permanent and seasonal residents whose percentages vary from county to county. Over 75 percent of the Greater Yellowstone falls under public ownership while the remaining lands are privately owned. The Adirondack Park is located in Northern New York State and was first created as a state ‘‘Forest Preserve’’ in 1885. The Adirondack Park covers an estimated 24,000 km2, of which approximately 50 percent of lands are privately owned and 50 percent owned by the State. On the private lands reside more than 130,000 full-time residents and more than 200,000 seasonal residents. In these case studies, we document the collaborations WCS has forged with local and regional partners to build capacity for local governance of important natural and community resources. In particular, we focus on the emerging challenges related to dynamic rural communities experiencing exurban development within and adjacent to core protected areas, how a landscape species conservation assessment has guided conservation priorities within local communities at each site, and illustrate the value of NGO participation in the active governance structures in these communities and in minimizing the risk faced by communities as they make decisions about their futures. The Greater Yellowstone case study demonstrates how having access to information critical to land-use challenges presented by exurban development provides an entry point into expanded governance collaborations. The Adirondack case study illustrates how long-term collaboration with a local community enhances access to policy makers and the use of information for decision-making about exurban development. We present the cases based mostly on our experiences, informal conversations with stakeholders, and observations of WCS staff working in these regions, as well as data derived from local agency staff, local media reports, and other communications with local and regional stakeholders from 1998 to the present.

GREATER YELLOWSTONE ECOSYSTEM The Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem falls under multiple jurisdictions of the National Park Service (NPS), the United States Forest Service (USFS), the Bureau of Land Management (BLM), Native American tribal governments, the United States Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS), three state (Idaho, Montana, Wyoming) and county governments, and private lands comprising working ranches, business, and residential areas (Rasker, 1991). Diverse

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stakeholders seek to protect the environmental resources of Greater Yellowstone while allowing for reasonable growth to support the local residents and communities. WCS’s community-based work focused on one valley, the Madison, within this large landscape. Residents were concerned that without action their valley would become dominated by a different culture, economy, and lifestyle because of the rapid human population influx that was occurring throughout in most of the Greater Yellowstone. They recognized that their community had few safeguards to protect the valley from being transformed from a traditional ranching community to an amenity-based ranchette community serviced by the nearby burgeoning town of Bozeman (Gude, Hansen, & Jones, 2007). In this case study, we characterize the challenges surrounding general exurban development pressures in the Madison Valley, examine the existing governance conditions, and analyze how access to information from the local staff of a global NGO enhanced the governance capacity for designing a local landuse plan.

Exurban Development and Challenges in Madison Valley The 364,000-ha Madison Valley is located in the northwestern portion of Greater Yellowstone and lies wholly within Madison County, Montana. While geographically on the periphery of Greater Yellowstone, the Madison Valley is central to ecological connectivity between Greater Yellowstone and the other northern Rocky Mountain ecosystems (Brock et al., 2006). As is typical of many valleys within Greater Yellowstone, the valley floor and foothills are mostly privately owned while the surrounding mountains are publicly owned. These public lands include multiple use areas and federally designated wilderness areas. Historically, the private lands of the Valley have been used as range lands to support sheep and cattle ranching. The population of the Valley is approximately 5,000, including the largest town, Ennis, with a population of less than 1,000. Today, roughly 25 percent of the residents are seasonal homeowners. The Valley is often described as experiencing a rapid population growth (about 1 percent per year), which is the addition of only approximately 50 new residents per year. However, the population growth rate within Greater Yellowstone is not the prime ecological concern; rather, it is the almost six times greater rate of land consumption supporting exurban development that creates the greatest challenges (Gude et al., 2006). In Greater Yellowstone, rural land development increased by 350 percent from 1970 to 1999, whereas the

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overall population in the region increased by only 58 percent (Gude et al., 2006). Most growth is rural sprawl rather than concentrated in and around existing cities and towns. Predictive growth models indicate that most of this projected population growth and development will continue to impact farmlands, especially riparian zones and protected area boundaries (Gude et al., 2006). These are the limited, yet highly desirable and expensive, amenity properties (Rasker, 2006). While Madison Valley has experienced some population growth and loss of ranchlands to exurban development, the ecological impacts on the Valley to date have been minor. Madison Valley is still ranked as one of the most ecologically intact valleys within Greater Yellowstone outside of the national parks (Brock et al., 2006). Development trends in this region may impact the Madison ranchers’ way of life because of the new values of incoming residents and changes in landuse practice. An increase in amenity ranchers, that is, ranch-owners who are not dependent on their ranch for their livelihood, is one source of impacts to social and economic systems (Gosnell & Travis, 2005). Amenity ranchers may offer the opportunity for primary income ranchers to lease more grazing rights in the valley, but they may also contribute to lowering the cost of beef by participating in production but ultimately being able to sustain ranching at a financial loss (not including tax benefits). The increased demand for amenity ranches is raising land prices, which ultimately can have tax implications for all lands in the region. In addition to new amenity ranchers coming into the Valley, large ranches are being sold and divided into exurban developments, contributing to increased land values. With the influx of amenity ranchers and exurbanites, the economy has shifted from a largely resource-extractive economy to a more diverse economy. In 1970, resource extraction (mining, timber, agriculture, ranching, oil, gas) collectively accounted for 19 percent of total personal income in the region, but only 6 percent by 1995 (Hansen et al., 2002). In contrast, 51 percent of the growth in personal income came from non-labor income such as retirement and trust funds, and 26 percent from business, services, and other sources (Hansen et al., 2002). Such changes drive an increasing demand in services, changing the character of towns in the Madison Valley. These social changes also contribute to controversies in the community concerning natural resource issues. Some amenity ranchers buy land not for ranching values but for scenic, wildlife, and public land access (Montana Fish Wildlife and Parks, 2007). Community conflict arises when new owners deny access to hunters and anglers that previous landowners allowed, and when access to public lands via these private lands is closed by new owners (Montana Fish Wildlife and Parks, 2007). Conflicts have also arisen over

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what the community believes should be the priority for adjacent public lands concerning resource extraction and types of recreation (motorized versus non-motorized) (McMillion, 2007). Ecologically, the public lands and private lands are inseparable. Because of the interlinked ecology, private land management decisions have a direct and immediate impact on adjacent public lands. One increasing impact is the development of exurban homes along the wildlands border. Already, the US Forest Service must use more taxpayer dollars to fight fires in areas with more houses, and the total cost of fighting fires in the region is likely to increase as exurbanization expands (Headwaters Economics, 2007). Most private lands are in the more fertile and productive lower-elevation river valleys that are also important for wildlife. Despite public lands comprising over 70 percent of all lands in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, a number of species are unlikely to survive in the long term if relegated only to public lands (Wilcove, Bean, Bonnie, & McMillan, 1996). Some species need access to lower-elevation private lands for particular resources or during parts of the year, and other species need to be able to pass through private lands to access core habitat areas beyond Greater Yellowstone (Hilty et al., 2006). These private land riparian valleys are hotspots for birds, and offer important wintering habitat for elk, pronghorn antelope, and other ungulates (Hansen et al., 2005). Increasing housing density alters habitat, changes species composition, and increases nonnative species (Atkinson, pers. comm.). Added fences and structures from exurbanization discourage wildlife movement; 75 percent of migration routes for ungulates in Greater Yellowstone have already been eliminated (Berger, Cain, & Berger, 2006). These socioeconomic and biological trends suggest that Madison residents’ concerns about changes are very real.

NGO Role in Local Governance County governments in Montana have until very recently played a limited role in planning growth (Greater Yellowstone Coalition, 2001). This is in part the result of legislative limitations and in part the result of limited prior growth, and so, a lack of need for a more active role. The traditional role for county commissioners is to oversee public safety (police and fire protection) outside incorporated towns and cities, and county road maintenance. Societal and economic pressures have spurred exurban growth at a pace beyond which county governments have been able to politically adjust. The resulting gap between the need for growth planning and lack of a formal

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political framework to undertake such planning is being filled by nongovernment organizations assuming greater roles in county governance (Hilty & Groves, 2008). In Madison Valley, the leading such organization is the Madison Valley Ranchlands Group (hereafter referred to as the Ranchlands Group). In 1996, a group of ranchers formed Ranchlands Group with the goal of protecting their ranching way of life and the ecologically healthy open spaces on which ranching depends. The Ranchlands Group has expanded its vision and mission to that of a leading county governance organization to control exurban growth. This transition was prompted by their realization that if exurban growth is not controlled, then their other efforts to protect open spaces would fail. At its core, the Ranchlands Group is populated by traditional (as distinguished from amenity) ranchers with long family histories and connections in the Valley. This provides the Ranchlands Group with strong grassroots support within the Valley to investigate options to control growth. However, new residents also are aiding in these efforts to manage growth. Many newer Valley residents are from other regions of the United States where there has been a longer history of active county or town planning. As a result, these newer residents are more knowledgeable about and more amenable to county planning to control growth. The Ranchlands Group needed expertise, tools, and information. Thus, they assembled a mix of partners from local residents, environmental nonprofits (including WCS), county planners, the state wildlife agency, and federal natural resource agencies, particularly the US Forest Service and Bureau of Land Management. This collaboration reflects an approach to natural resource management that can help the Ranchlands Group take actions that require coordinating across geopolitical lines and engaging local stakeholders in planning (Hilty & Groves, 2008).

Collaborative Governance to Address Exurban Challenges By county regulation, the Madison County planning department could consider impacts on wildlife in their evaluation of proposed subdivisions (Madison County, 2000). Lack of thorough, objective information on these impacts severely hindered the county planner and planning board in undertaking these evaluations. The Ranchlands Group and the state wildlife management agency asked WCS to provide such information. In 2003, the WCS became a partner with a mutual goal of designing and implementing a

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wildlife conservation assessment for the Valley (Brock et al., 2006). WCS conducted a scientifically rigorous conservation assessment to provide this information. As part of their Living Landscapes Program, WCS conservation planners, landscape ecologists, and GIS analysts used a focal species approach to provide spatially explicit potential and current wildlife habitat and wildlife habitat connectivity models to highlight wildlife conservation priorities, threats to wildlife conservation within the Valley, and recommendations to mitigate these threats (Sanderson et al., 2002; Coppolillo, Gomez, Maisels, & Wallace, 2005). These models were reviewed and validated by representatives of the United States Forest Service, Bureau of Land Management, the Montana Department of Fish, Wildlife and Parks, and other academic and non-academic scientists. The WCS Madison Valley Conservation Assessment outlined the steps taken to conduct the assessment, the results of the assessment, and included recommendations to improve wildlife conservation within the Valley (Brock et al., 2006). The Conservation Assessment has been accepted by a wide range of stakeholders and is being incorporated into decision-making processes to balance wildlife priorities and human development. The county planning board employs the Conservation Assessment to appraise the impact to wildlife by proposed subdivisions and in helping guide development to less ecologically sensitive areas in the Valley. To date, several subdivision proposals have been reviewed using the Conservation Assessment, leading to changes in the submissions. Land trusts are also using the Conservation Assessment to prioritize their efforts to obtain conservation easements (Groves, C., pers. comm.). The wildlife connectivity analyses identified a previously overlooked part of the Valley as important for wildlife movement, helping refocus some land acquisition priorities (Brock et al., 2006). The Conservation Assessment will play a central role in creating a valley-wide growth plan. The Ranchlands Group also initiated a ‘‘Growth Solutions Forum’’; a combination of surveys to produce a set of shared values, and outreach to educate Valley residents on how uncontrolled growth may threaten shared values and on options for citizen-initiated growth controls. These efforts led to the preparation of the ‘‘Growth Management Action Plan,’’ which calls for the adoption of policies to preserve open space by focusing growth towards selected areas within the Valley through Valley-wide zoning (county or citizen initiated). The Ranchlands Group is leading the effort to build grassroots support to have this plan formally adopted by the county commissioners. In doing so, the Ranchlands Group and its allies, including WCS, are expanding governance and accomplishing what the traditional county government would

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have been politically unable to achieve. The US Forest Service is taking the Conservation Assessment seriously in considering their fire planning (Orme, M., pers. comm.). Although these accomplishments suggest the power of science and NGO involvement in local community-decision making and an approach for integrating across decision-making bodies, additional science, refined local policies and incentives, and continued community cohesion will be necessary for Madison Valley to sustain its values in the 21st Century.

ADIRONDACK PARK The Adirondack Park in Northern New York State is often regarded as a model for conservation planning because it embodies a mosaic of state-level constitutionally protected public and private lands with strict zoning regulations within its boundaries (Terrie, 1997; McMartin, 1999). In 1973, the state created the Adirondack Park Agency (APA) to oversee the use and development of 12,000 km2 of private land in the Park. Its mandates include protecting wetlands and regulating development on private lands through a density-based zoning plan that aims to preserve the open space character and maintain working forests/landscapes (Adirondack Park Agency Act, 1973). Current trends of relatively low population growth but large land consumption and the addition of 800–1,000 houses per year, mirror patterns of exurban growth seen elsewhere (Bauer, 2001). With the forest industry undergoing global restructuring, many Adirondack forestry operations have declined, creating unsettled futures for private lands under the most stringent zoning (Jenkins & Keal, 2004). Of greatest concern is the possibility that several large backcountry development proposals on former forestry lands will establish a precedent for future development (Mann, 2007). These projects could result in significant changes to the communities and natural resources in the Adirondacks. In this case study, we characterize ongoing governance evolution, the challenges surrounding an exurban development plan, and analyze how long-term collaborations with a community impacted the use of information from the local staff of a global NGO in enhancing the governance capacity for addressing exurban development challenges.

Conservation NGO Role in Local Governance From 1998 to 2003, WCS became actively involved in local governance of Tupper Lake, a small community of 6,000 located in the northern

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Adirondacks, to help facilitate and implement a community vision that described the type of development the community wanted at that time and the subsequent impacts. When WCS began working in the Adirondacks, staff took deliberate steps to position themselves as partners with local government and other community members to provide information and expertise on a variety of topics, particularly those related to conservation. The process of becoming an integral part of Tupper Lake’s governance and building the community’s capacity to govern was partially strategic and partially serendipitous. Local communities have felt stifled by APA regulations and blame the existence of the Agency and the proliferation of advocacy-focused environmental organizations for the lack of economic opportunities inside the Park (Terrie, 1997). This defeatist attitude, focusing responsibility and authority on other external forces, has the potential to decrease governance capacity within the community (Herbert-Chershire & Higgins, 2004). Towns have often appealed to the State and Federal government to boost local economies by developing new jobs; currently State employment constitutes 40 percent of jobs in the Adirondack Park (Jenkins & Keal, 2004). These government-funded positions include those in schools, local government, regional management agencies, and State and Federal correctional facilities. Since 1975, 21 new correctional facilities have been constructed in Northern New York, 4 inside the Adirondack Park, and another 10 within easy driving distance for park residents (Fitchen, 1991; Jenkins & Keal, 2004). During the 1990s, officials in Tupper Lake worked towards securing a correctional facility to provide much-needed job opportunities. Residents and organizations in the Adirondacks and Tupper Lake were divided over the issue; some felt the jobs would provide tremendous benefit to the local economy while others argued that prisons were inappropriate in the Adirondack Park (Kretser, pers. comm.). Ultimately, the correctional facility was built just outside the Adirondack Park boundary due to concerns over impacts to groundwater at the proposed Tupper Lake site. In the aftermath of losing the prison, Tupper Lake officials pleaded with environmental groups to answer the question, ‘‘What kind of development is appropriate for Tupper Lake?’’ In response to this question, WCS conducted a survey of 209 households in Tupper Lake. Results indicated that many residents were actually opposed to the prison but afraid to speak up due to potential backlash from neighbors. In addition, residents submitted new ideas for future economic development (Kretser, 2001). Several local leaders used the survey results as

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justification for organizing a town-wide revitalization process, launching efforts toward an expanded system of governance. Given the success of the survey, WCS was invited to help host the meetings along with an outside facilitator. Over the next 7 years, local and regional leaders included WCS in numerous community development initiatives focusing on Tupper Lake. Participation and leadership in these projects enabled WCS to become a respected and trusted partner for local community governance and capacity building. Through these continued community interactions, WCS was able to bring research and ideas generated by WCS directly to residents and other formal governance structures, which contributed to formulating public responses to various issues facing the community.

Exurban Development and Challenges in Tupper Lake Many towns and villages in the Adirondack Park seek to diversify their tax base – this is particularly true in the case of Tupper Lake. After the proposed correctional facility project failed, the community began to focus on promoting year-round tourism (Kretser, 2001). However, with the closure of the local ski area in 1999, winter tourism plummeted. In 2000, a proposal for a new Natural History Museum brought energy for improving the local economy. In 2003, a Pennsylvania-based development group purchased 2,428 ha, including the closed ski mountain and a 2,100 ha parcel actively managed for timber by one company for nearly 100 years, in the Town of Tupper Lake. The development group proposed to reopen the ski center by constructing 24 large lot ‘‘great camps’’ to provide up-front funds to finance an additional 238 single family homes and approximately 127 townhouses (Adirondack Park Agency Staff, pers. comm.). The project, known as the Adirondack Club and Resort (ACR), gained much attention as residents viewed the proposal as a next step for building upon the positive energies surrounding the Museum, which opened in 2006, as a way to revive year-round tourism, and as a boost for local tax revenue (Tupper Lake Chamber of Commerce staff, pers. comm.). The ACR proposal is controversial (Mann, 2007) because of the social and ecological changes it could bring to the community. The project would double the developed footprint of the Tupper Lake community, and require a major upgrade in the Town’s sewer, water, and electric facilities. The developer proposes to cover infrastructure expenses using a bond from the county industrial development agency and by receiving a payment in lieu of taxes benefit, where the developer pays a fixed lower rate on property taxes

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while making the bond payment for a period of 20 years (Adirondack Park Agency staff, pers. comm.). Twelve miles of new road would need to be transferred to the Town, and the Town would be required to maintain the roads (Adirondack Park Agency staff, pers. comm.). In addition, the development would need fire, police, and rescue service which some suggest will be covered by the increase in tax revenues. The land proposed for subdivision is adjacent to the largest wilderness area in the park and information on the impacts to wildlife or site ecology is scarce. Although the Adirondack Park has some of the most stringent zoning policies in the country, the guidelines by which building proposals are accepted or rejected are applied very specifically in some areas yet broadly interpreted in other areas. The APA requires proposals to address any adverse impacts to wildlife or local ecology, but the guidelines do not provide specific indicators or data with which to assess adverse impacts (Adirondack Park Agency Act, 1973). The proposed development’s proximity to wilderness-designated protected lands raises the question of cumulative impacts. Proponents contend that the development is relatively small compared to the 12,000 km2 of public lands in the Adirondack Park. However this particular development could be a precedent-setting project, and therefore the long-term cumulative impacts may have significant impacts on the Park’s faunal communities. The Town of Tupper Lake and the Adirondack region are divided over this proposal – mainly because the economic and environmental implications of the development are unknown. The specific legal mechanisms being proposed to finance the development and the additional infrastructure are unfamiliar to the community and the community’s own land-use regulations do not address the issues presented by this scale of development. While some residents recognize the burden of funding the improvements may fall on existing landowners, others contend that the added tax revenue from new landowners would pay for the upgrades in the long-run. Some people contend that while the appearance of open space will be maintained by constructing the large-lot subdivisions in primarily forested areas, the ecological impacts of this type of subdivision could easily go overlooked. Others claim the property has been logged and used for hunting so much that the development will have minimal impact on existing wildlife. Finally, even though existing empirical data suggest a decline in biotic integrity is expected under the current zoning conditions (Glennon & Porter, 2005), the current land-use regulations do not require the APA to assess cumulative impacts of low-density development and subsequently apply the results in a systematic way to the development approval and permitting process.

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The conventional decision-making process limits the ability of policy makers to consider all of the possible long-term impacts.

Collaborative Governance to Address Exurban Challenges Adequate governance under the circumstances faced by Tupper Lake is limited based on risks the community faces, uncertainties in the outcomes, and current rules and regulations that have not addressed a proposal of this size. For a park of national and international significance, the possibilities of negative impacts from this development on the park resources has brought much attention to the inadequacies of the current system to effectively manage a proposal of this scope. Successful decision making under these circumstances requires the Town and the APA to broaden their collaborative arrangements to effect adequate governance of the proposed development. WCS became involved in this project from their position as a partner organization on numerous Tupper Lake projects and through their working relationship with the Park Agency. When the project was first proposed, WCS recognized some of the challenges facing the Tupper Lake decision makers, particularly with regard to lack of information and the potential divisions within the community based on past experiences with the prison proposal. WCS used the results of a Conservation Assessment to frame the discussion of potential wildlife impacts, summarized the effects of exurban development on wildlife into a locally available technical paper (Glennon & Kretser, 2005), and consulted their existing networks to assess opinions and attitudes about the project and to disseminate research findings and other information to the appropriate people. The Conservation Assessment conducted by WCS as part of the Living Landscapes Program in the Adirondack Park has influenced the direction of the discussion on the proposed Adirondack Club and Resort development. Though this process, WCS mapped areas of important biological resources in the Adirondacks for a suite of focal species and overlaid those maps with sources of anthropogenic threats (Sanderson et al., 2002, Coppolillo et al., 2005). The intersection of high quality habitats and threats established conservation priorities in the region and illustrated some key points about the lands under consideration in the ACR development. For example, the proposed project area contains significant habitat for boreal birds and is located in a region which may be important for connectivity of high quality black bear habitat. The technical paper has served as a resource to the Town, the Park Agency, and the developer for addressing questions facing the

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proposal. The paper has been circulated widely among residents and regional organizations. WCS’ affiliation in the community has been instrumental in working with local leaders to craft responses to misconceptions regarding the project’s potential impacts to wildlife. WCS staff conducted interviews with local Adirondack leaders including those from Tupper Lake about their general perceptions of development in the Adirondack Park and their perceptions of development in relation to wildlife in the Park (Kretser, pers. comm.). The interviews covered topics including the scarcity of affordable homes in areas where exurban development has occurred in the Park, the changes in local government budgets, and the general market trends for low-density rural residential housing. Given the positive local response from the community to accepting information and expertise from outside sources such as the WCS technical paper, the results of the Conservation Assessment, and objective sciencebased concerns WCS staff have raised in public comment letters, the capacity to adequately assess the impacts from the proposed development has increased at the local level and within the Park Agency. The Park Agency staff asked WCS to incorporate on-going research findings into the review process. WCS staff will assist the Park Agency with updating an internal document on guidelines for future park development to reflect the most current science. WCS staff has been asked by community leaders to provide expertise and prepare documents and maps designed for local planners in the Park to consider the various tools and options that would help communities manage impacts from exurban development. The role of WCS as an information provider has improved local governance capacity in the Adirondacks and increased the likelihood that decisions will be grounded in science rather than only perceptions or opinions.

CONCLUSIONS When first defining exurbia in 1955, Spectorsky (1955) forewarned of the challenges discussed in this chapter relating to changes in social dynamics, economics, and land-uses. We have made much progress toward understanding the causes of this type of development and many of the general social and ecological implications. However, the specific governance implications relating to particular social and ecological issues pertinent around communities near protected areas are only recently being understood. The case studies presented here demonstrate that communities are broadening participation in the public process by engaging not only

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residents (permanent and part-timers) but also the public and private sector in governing responsibilities. The Adirondack case study indicates long-term involvement with a local community as a key for developing successful collaborations, whereas the Greater Yellowstone case suggests that building a grassroots constituency who desire information for planning purposes brings success. In each case, the ability to provide critical data and information demonstrates the importance of science (ecological and human dimensions) in governance of the exurban frontier. Conservation organizations have an opportunity to work with local governments and community organizations on building their capacity to address some of the complex issues associated with exurban development, especially around protected areas of national and global significance. There are opportunities to enhance existing governance structures and bring in new innovations through partnerships, for example, on management and planning initiatives as well as providing expert information to the decisionmaking process. These partnerships can bring biological and social science findings to the forefront of planning and decision making. Such arrangements minimize a community’s risk from unplanned or poorly planned exurban development, and provide credibility for the community when faced with scrutiny regarding the management of globally significant resources.

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CHAPTER 12 KNOWLEDGE INTEGRATION AND POWER RELATIONS: PATHWAYS TO SUSTAINABILITY IN MADRID Veronica Hernandez-Jimenez and Nick Winder ABSTRACT Purpose – The aim of this chapter is to find pathways for a better stakeholder involvement in land planning issues at regional level. The case study is the Madrid region (Spain). Methodology/approach – The work presented in this chapter follows a methodological strategy called integrative research, as a combination of qualitative and quantitative methods. Research implications – This kind of research seems to be the most appropriate to deal with the conflicts we have in large urban regions with ‘‘rural landscapes’’, and conflicts between antagonized stakeholders. Findings – The region of Madrid has gone through irreversible, territorial changes during the last decade. Urban growth, tourist development and abandonment of agricultural land are some of the principal causes of these land-use changes. 80 per cent of the population live in the urban area of the region. In contrast, only 5 per cent of the population live in rural areas, i.e., municipalities that have less than 1.000 inhabitants. Nevertheless, rural areas in Madrid are of great importance due to their tourism value. Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 305–322 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014015

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Practical implications – A participatory policy tool is developed on the basis of several analyses (spatial–temporal analysis and political–institutional analysis) to formulate policy recommendations and scenarios for sustainability. Originality – Integrative research, combining discursive and analytical phases of work, seems a good way to improve the sustainable configuration of the region of Madrid.

CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK: METHODOLOGY The TiGrESS project (EVG1-2002-00081) was initiated in 2002 under a call for research into socio-economic aspects of environmental change in the perspective of sustainable development. Its remit was to study the relationship between Ha¨gerstrand’s Time Geography (Ha¨gerstrand, 1985, 1991) and systems method in integrative research contexts. Integrative research involves hard (analytical) scientists, soft (discursive) scientists and other stakeholder communities, including, in some cases, non-human species. Here, researchers, politicians and policy makers are often relatively privileged stakeholders and there is often an excluded or unacknowledged stakeholder group whose interests are marginalised by conventional patterns of discourse and administrative structures (Rittel & Webber, 1973; Churchman, 1979; Rosenhead & Mingers, 2001; Winder, 2004). TiGrESS involved eight European partners in three broad types of action. There was a series of theoretical studies that developed new conceptual models for time geography and innovation research; there were methodological studies in geostatistics, software and model development (some of which will be described in outline here) and a set of practical case studies. It explored the study we will discuss here: sustainable land use planning in the Madrid Autonomous Community (hereafter called CAM). CAM is a roughly triangular area centred on the city of Madrid and covering 802.5 hectares. Five of the six million inhabitants in the region are located in seven urban municipalities of the 179 that comprise the region. The region includes high-density urban development from the urban centre to peri-urban areas but there are also sparsely populated mountain regions in the north and large areas of extensive, traditional agriculture. There are clearly complex integrative problems to be tackled in this region and the sorts of spatio-temporal patterning that engage time-geographers and complex systems researchers are here in abundance. It is also a natural focus

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for research into ‘socio-economic aspects of environmental change in the perspective of sustainable development’. Like the other case studies we undertook, the Madrid study was carefully chosen to fit both the demands of the research call and the stated aims of the TiGrESS project itself.

INTEGRATIVE RESEARCH MANAGEMENT AS AN INTEGRATIVE RESEARCH METHOD Integrative socio-natural science is particularly challenging for the research manager because it blurs the boundaries between research method and research management. The socio-natural system we studied consists of a landscape through which physical objects (many of them living things) are distributed. Humans turn these empty spaces into places (Pockets of Local Order or POLOs) by moving resources around and by entering into cooperative action with other humans. The POLO that is Madrid seems to have formed around a Moorish stronghold near the river. Its development has been shaped by many accidents of history and geography, and there are still patterns in the contemporary city that carry traces of those events and actions. POLOs get re-cycled long after their original function has been forgotten. It would be fatuous to suggest that the location of a Moorish castle ‘caused’ Madrid Barajas airport, for example, but there clearly is an ex post narrative that connects both, and that narrative has left traces in the landscape that continue to influence the lives of the madrilen˜os1 today. At the same time, Madrid faces the ex ante challenges of all capital cities. It must manage its resources, resolve political and economic conflicts of interest, respond to national and supra-national law and maintain some sort of peaceful political consensus. Collaborative planning (Healey, 1997) is an important tool in these contexts. It is in reconciling the demands of cultural and natural life-support systems that such regions encounter problems of subsidiarity that cannot be resolved by a top-down government or, indeed, by bottom-up governance alone. Draconian legislation would aggravate social exclusion and disrupt the structures of civil society. This erodes compliance and hardens social exclusion. Clearly, policies at this level, like the research team helping to develop them, must be designed to integrate, not alienate. Sadly, the solution is not simply to shift from government to governance. Discursive noise levels rise and much-needed executive action is frustrated. Although the municipal authority, the pressure group and Comarca may be significant players at the very local level, one cannot solve complex

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optimisation problems discursively or manage trans-commons like the climate or migratory birds without regulating development. There will be protest (indeed, there must be), but ultimately there must be some sort of consensus and that consensus must be sustained long enough to facilitate executive action.

PARALYSIS BY ANALYSIS? In the worst case, one sometimes suspects cynicism or gross incompetence. Key actors pay lip service to governance and facilitate noisy political discourse, but do so in such an undisciplined way that no coherent message rises up the administrative hierarchy. Institutions and stakeholders whom the status quo has made powerful, and those forced into a position of dependency cannot afford to innovate (Winder, 2007). Badly managed integration can be a very neat way of frustrating innovation. The politician or multinational can point to this discursive incoherence as evidence that the system is too complex. No consensus is possible. Established policies, though unsatisfactory, alas, serve the greater good of the greatest number. CAM is one of the regions where stakeholders are beginning to suspect that socio-natural complexity is being overstated to maintain a planning system that, though manifestly unsatisfactory, has proven very profitable for political insiders. A series of urban highways have been constructed to form the main rays of a spider’s web of infrastructure. It is well understood that the location of these roads is determined by the interests of developers. Land adjacent to the roads rockets in value and is simply re-classified for urban development without opposition or impact assessment. Although there are agricultural areas in the CAM, agricultural value has not been a factor in regional planning legislation. Nature conservation is managed in a confrontational way, with reserves protected from development, but no thought given to complementarity or system resilience. There are many opportunities for political discourse, but so ill-structured that there is no substantial evidence of innovation. Moreover, CAM has complied successfully with the economic and legal convergence criteria of the European Union (European Commission, 2004). Spain’s performance has been good in general terms. However, there has been no substantial convergence regarding environmental issues or sustainable development (European Commission, 2004) since the Treaty of Adhesion in 1985, established by the core of the former European Community. Although Madrid is a leading region in the country and is

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decentralised and small, there has been little coordination between the administrative structures of the territory. CAM has been systematically blocking innovation, particularly in the domain of sustainable development. This problem bears on the management of an integrative research team in two ways. Firstly, it requires us to engage analytical and discursive scientists. The analytical scientists are particularly useful in circumstances where human behaviour may be significant, but human beliefs and values are not. Since the indicators of system health are, for the most part, objective and quantifiable we can model human behaviour simply in terms of policy scenarios. This does not deny the complexity or existence of cultural ecodynamics, rather it accepts that, for present purposes, we can set beliefs and values aside and focus on behaviour. Of course, negotiating the consensus of (for instance) a river catchment, is a problem that requires an effort of stakeholder engagement. For a small farmer, the price of building land, the quality of housing stock and family demographics may be far more significant. We therefore use discursive methods to negotiate local consensus and frame problem-definitions. Some of these problems may suggest empirical or process modelling, but many do not. The discursive scientist works with subjective concerns, with culture rather than behaviour; with social rather than technical processes. In practice, technical and discursive scientists work on different spatiotemporal scales and naturally connect to actors at different levels in the administrative hierarchy. The tensions we see in regional politics become translated into the research domain as arguments about problem ontology. Analytical scientists need problem ontologies to be stable long enough to take executive action. It is very frustrating to be told you are solving the wrong problem, and even more to solve the problem you have been asked to solve, only to be told that stakeholders are no longer interested in the solution. The research team and the socio-natural system it serves are similar types of structure, often with very similar epistemological structures. The methods research managers use to resolve tensions and maintain consensus in the team can potentially be used to resolve tensions and maintain consensus in the wider system being studied. Sometimes, we can even use the research team as a testbed for noise management methods that could not be tested in the real world without violating ethical norms. The methods we deployed in this case study were based on ideas developed over a decade of integrative research and policy-relevant science (Winder, 1999; Seaton, 2001; Tress, Tress, Fry, & Opdam, 2006). They were eventually formalised into a sequential approach described elsewhere as the method of boundary conditions. The idea was that we would alternate

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Fig. 1.

Principle of Integrative Research.

discursive periods of problem-framing with analytical efforts of problem solution, but that the problem specification would come with explicit indicators of compliance and system health. While the analytical phase was underway, discursive scientists would maintain an ethical and empirical ‘watching brief’ but would not interrupt hard-science initiatives unless these ‘boundary conditions’ were violated (Winder, 2005). These methods work very well in a research context. They can be used in pure (for instance, geography) or policy-relevant research contexts. However they call for a level of professional discipline that cannot reasonably be demanded of a wider stakeholder community, particularly when we have to deal with the socially excluded and voiceless. In the research project we will now summarise, the formal method of boundary conditions was set aside in favour of a general, ethical overview. We naturally obtained informed consent before engaging with non-academic stakeholders, but there was no question of constraining their actions in the way we would constrain those of a noisy research team. However, the principle of alternating discursive problem-framing and analytical problemsolving was retained for the purposes of this study (Fig. 1).

DESCRIPTION OF THE WORK CAM seems unable to innovate by developing a new consensus and formulating realistic policies for sustainable land use. It is not a priori clear whether the reason for this is that stakeholder engagement exercises have been badly (or cynically) managed, or whether the political situation in CAM is so complex that it is impossible to build and sustain a consensus. The simplest way to test this is by trying to negotiate a consensus. If we are able to negotiate and sustain consensus through several research cycles, then the hypothesis that CAM is too complex to permit innovation will be disproved. It is a lack of political will that frustrates consensus, not the inherent complexity of the situation on the ground.

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Our initial research consisted of empirical reconnaissance. Spatiotemporal data was collected at municipal level, from the 1950s, and at regional level, from the 1980s, until 2002. The dataset was derived using information ranging from aerial photographs, digitised land-use maps and satellite images describing Madrid in 1982, 1998 and 2002. This information was supplemented with ecological surveys of the region. Then different landscape dynamics were identified in homogeneous units by overlaying databases of information. This process was originally to have occupied a few months, but at each stage the research team felt we had insufficient data to actually move on to stakeholder engagement. Deliverables did not materialise on time. This is actually a common problem in projects of this sort and one authors gloss over. Many projects die of data poisoning because empirical scientists have been taught that uncertainty can best be resolved by gathering more data. Our research team had been taught that the data would enable them to solve research problems directly and needed to work this way in order to keep faith with their own peers. The idea seems to be that, if you get enough data, the research problem will solve itself spontaneously. In practice, this means that researchers waste all their time gathering data in the forlorn hope that it will and end up writing plausible, but useless reports about the inadequacy of the data. However, TiGrESS was managed on auditable measures of compliance and system health. When deliverables did not materialise, the team was instructed to stop gathering data and move onto the next phase of research, conceptual modelling.

CONCEPTUAL MODELLING The first step in the modelling process was probably the most difficult for all concerned. Where all efforts had hitherto been directed towards enhancing the detail and resolution of the data, now we were obliged to discard data selectively. Most members of the team were uncomfortable with this, but agreed to try when it was realised that no data would actually be discarded. Instead, we would prepare low-resolution summaries of those data. We began by considering what the data were going to be used for. They were to be used for land use planning that would integrate the principles of environmental management, paying particular attention to biodiversity and agriculture. With this in mind, we used remote-sensing data and geological maps to split the territory into a patchwork of polygons, each of which represented a unique combination of lithology, administrative competence

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and rainfall. This combination of lithology, rainfall and municipal boundaries defined 1,370 polygons, each of which was then subdivided into eight land use categories as follows: irrigated crops, crops, mosaic of vineyards and olive trees, pastures, shrub land, forest, urban and unproductive land use. Initially, the map was divided into 1,370 polygons, but after several corrections,2 the map was reduced to 1,113 polygons. Each polygon has a data record with information about the area in square kilometres (km2), agro-ecosystem classes, municipality, associations (where relevant), area and percentage covered by the eight land use categories and degree of fragmentation. All the steps taken were reversible. This allowed the process, which generated the spatio-temporal dataset to be repeated three times, and replicated using slightly different procedures to ensure the certainty of the observed patterns. Finally, another two information layers (natural areas and infrastructures) were included in the dataset at regional level, enabling appropriate analysis of the land use changes. The natural protected spaces play a significant role in the conservation and protection of natural resources in the region of Madrid. The protected space in Madrid occupies 40 per cent of the region. The agricultural intensification and land-owner structure changes have been the main causes of rural landscape degradation in Madrid (Encinas, Hernandez-Jimenez, Hernandez, Martinez, & Winder, 2004). That allowed a new approach to be introduced into the analysis: the awareness that the static patterns in the dataset could be interpreted dynamically. The need to simplify and understand the enormous and interesting dataset to provide an efficient planning tool for the regional planners who do not legislate in hectares or polygons of few squares kilometers, provided the main impetus for this search for the principal patterns in the landscape of Madrid. Although some generalisation was unavoidable, broad patterns could be identified thus allowing isolated polygons and groups of polygons to be distinguished. Both cases are very important to find out the rural and urban dynamics of the territory. Principal Component Analysis (PCA) was used to illustrate the pattern that had been discovered previously in territorial surveys and analysis of land potentiality data (Encinas et al., 2004). The PCA used variance–covariance measurements on the percentage of area covered by each category of land use. From this analysis a four-component solution that explains about 80 per cent of total variation in land use was obtained. The solution was interpreted as: Component 1, Intensity of human exploitation; Component 2, Urban use in opposition to Crops; Component 3, Forest in opposition to Crops; and Component 4, Dry crops in opposition to Irrigation. The human use of land is a constraint for the rest

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Table 1.

Dynamics in the Region of Madrid.

Dynamics (7)

Description

Urban – Natural fringe areas Agrarian – Urban fringe areas

Urban expansion into natural areas Urban expansion into traditionally agrarian areas Agrarian areas Forest areas in good stage of conservation

Agrarian areas Natural areas in different stages of conservation 1 Natural areas in different stages of conservation 2 Dry hot spot Wet hot spot Unspecified

Forest areas in stage of degradation. Areas with crops and remnant natural patches in cliffs Areas with irrigated crops and riverbanks potentiality Not identified or classified

of land uses, except the protected natural land use, where other uses could probably be limited. Using the components of the PCA, a set of maps for each component was represented. Then a composite map was generated to detect the main patterns among the units of the dataset (Table 1). The interpretation of these landscape dynamics of the Madrid region, which are based on the empirical analysis of static data, such as agroecosystems, is debateable. It is likely that landscape potentiality is not the only reason behind land use changes because these are usually connected with strong conflicts of interests that incite them. For this reason, this research deals with the role of society in land use changes in the next section. What is really striking is that among the seven different Dynamics identified in the region (Table 1) three main Dynamics can be seen to share similar characteristics on Agro-ecosystems, Land uses and Fragmentation of habitats (Garrido et al., 2005). The first zone, Dynamic 1, is represented by flat or undulating areas, which have been widely transformed by the intensification of agriculture (mainly cereals) and urban development. Very few unexploited areas remain. This zone is located in the East, Southeast and Centre of Madrid. The second, Dynamic 2, contains forestry, shrubland and pastures areas, with a significant proportion of natural habitat located in hilly areas to the North and Northwest of Madrid. Dynamic 3 contains crop mosaic (cereals, vineyards, olive trees and shrubland) with scattered natural areas. It is located in the South, Southwest and Southeast of Madrid. These three Dynamics define three landscape patterns in the territory of Madrid. The three have been incorporated in the dataset, which means the following classification for the polygons: Dynamic 1, Dynamic 2

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Map 1.

Landscape Dynamics in the Region of Madrid.

or Dynamic 3 (Map 1). This research demonstrated an uncontrolled growth of urbanisation from the centre of Madrid to the 30 surrounding kilometres, a remarkable activity of tourism especially in the northern region and the unfortunate abandonment of traditional farming and livestock practices.

STAKEHOLDER ENGAGEMENT TO ORIENTATE PATHWAYS TO SUSTAINABILITY Following European scientists in ‘stakeholders involvement in environmental planning and management’ (Winder, 2005), ‘decision-making’ (Oxley, McIntosh, & Winder, 2004) and ‘policy-relevant’ (Seaton, 2001; Mata, 2001) the first step in understanding the land planning processes is to respond to the following questions: Who are the stakeholders?, What are their systems of interests? Do the stakeholders’ preferences create conflicts of interest? Spanish experts in this issue (Gomez Orea, 2001; Pereira, Fernandez, Marquez, & Ocon, 2004) also noted the need to investigate how the stakeholders’ roles adapt to processes of change.

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Fig. 2.

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Rich Picture of Stakeholders: Current Situation as Perceived by the Researcher.

We began to identify the stakeholders and institutions involved by mapping stakeholders, a process that was informed by semi-structured interviews and literature review. The fieldwork focused on establishing contact with stakeholders directly or indirectly related to the chosen municipalities of the case study: Cercedilla, San Sebastian de los Reyes and Belmonte de Tajo. Through this fieldwork the stakeholders’ involvement in planning and their knowledge about the land use changes in planning and participation was analysed. The influence that the farmers’ trade unions, associations and professionals (such as technical advisers and consultancies) have over farmers’ decisions cannot be forgotten (Pereira et al., 2004). The stakeholder engagement process augments and refines the insights obtained before. It is carried out using a combination of inductive and deductive strategies, questionnaires, semi-structures interviews, rich pictures (Fig. 2) and the logical framework approach, to move from ‘messy’ data to the operationalisation of the actions. Following this way we could discuss how it would be possible to intervene in searching for common interests among the community of stakeholders. An attempt at consensus provided

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Table 2.

The Stakeholders and Their Roles in Madrid.

The Stakeholders Local level Town Council – Local governments

Intermediary level Farmers trade unions Organic farming associations Consumers and farmers associations Ecologists groups, NGO Tourism associations Regional level Technicians and planners in the Agriculture and Rural Development Department in the Economy and Innovation Directorate

National level Workgroups in Organic Farming and Rural Development Policies in Ministry of Agriculture European level The European Commission

Roles and Responsibilities

Managing the territory through the implementation of land planning guidelines Responsible for encouraging tourism Establishing inter-regional and intermunicipal links to promote the total management of territory Promoting and encouraging agroenvironmental awareness, good farming practices and new recreational activities, such as agro-ecology Managing subsidies CAP, EC Initiatives such as LEADER and rural development programme Rural planning Coordination of land planning and management activities with other responsible directorates Promoting organic products Planning a national strategy in organic farming Promoting multifunctionality of farming Capacity to support general strategies, (no direct involvement)

Source: Results of fieldwork in 2004 and 2005.

some policy initiatives to be proposed. We also realised from this that the flows of communication observed among stakeholders did not correspond to that which we would expect from a well-defined network. Table 2 shows a partial view of the list of stakeholders identified (and their current responsibilities) during the different stages of the fieldwork. Of course, each of the stakeholders has different landscape preferences and interests (Sanchez Garcia, 2004). Thus different stakeholders play different roles in the territory. Thus, the link between territory and stakeholders should be emphasised, as the Dynamics (see the earlier section) defined in the territory are linked to the activities developed by specific stakeholders. For instance, both tourism associations and protected natural area managers are

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working on natural areas management in the northern area of the region of Madrid. Certainly, they will have different ways of doing it. What would happen if construction companies decided to invest in this area? and what if the Environment Department wanted to control the land use? Would the livestock farmer prefer the regional government’s idea? The knowledge of these stakeholders provides information to define the executive stakeholders (the decision-makers) and predicts their possible conflicts of interests. Moreover, the peculiar system of decentralised government in Spain, in which the regional and local authorities are responsible for fundamental issues such as urbanisation, managing natural spaces and distribution of European agriculture funds, results in poor coordination between the different sectors involved in the territory. This leads to a lack of strategic direction in these fundamental issues, giving regional governments a free hand in land planning. Without clearly defined central government policy objectives focused on fulfilling national and international agreements at the regional level this situation is unlikely to change. The methodology employed for the stakeholder participation in the process of building a policy tool was very similar to the one used in the Logical Framework (LF) approach. The methodology is essentially a problem identification tool to assist definition and implementation of future policies and so on. The problem analysis and their hierarchy of problems are developed through teamwork (brainstorming) and are based on information obtained through the interviews held with all stakeholders involved. A classification based on topics of interest was established, each one appearing as a main problem, and, to follow, identifying related problems by creating hierarchies. The classification of topics of interest was Institutions, Commissions, Stakeholders, Scientific information and Tools. Therefore, after aiming to involve key stakeholders and analysing main conflicts in land planning, specific guidelines for an alternative and participatory planning tool will be shown. A set of policy interventions has been proposed. The principal result of this process was a booklet of recommendations, which provided the basis for further discussion to deal with the emergent conflicts among stakeholders. The suggested policy interventions are as follows: 1. 2. 3. 4.

Protection of traditional farming areas. Promotion of local markets. Restoration of riverbanks. Improving the availability and access to agro-environmental information in land planning.

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5. Coordination of Environment, Agriculture and Urban fields. 6. Promotion of participation processes. This set of proposed policy interventions is addressed to all the identified stakeholders’ groups. This discussion process is an exceptional opportunity to become involved in the planning processes over future land-planning guidelines. A simulation model was developed in the framework of TiGrESS to address the exploration of the likely impact of these various policy scenarios. The outcomes of these ‘simulation experiments’ (HernandezJimenez & Winder, 2006) would provide the users (stakeholders who could be either a planner or a manager) dynamic maps and graphics, which were intuitive and easily understandable (high-resolution outcomes). Fig. 3 belongs to a set of scenarios generated by ‘simulation experiments’. This is supplemented by the ability to produce useful statistical and data summaries that can be used to obtain quantitative outputs. It seems we have moved towards a new ‘problem specification’ that the analytical scientists can work with. In the very last phase of our work, a revised guideline of policy actions was used as a research tool in the shift of emphasis from conflict to cooperation (Hernandez-Jimenez, 2007). The stakeholders had reflective opportunities at this stage. The simulation model also serves as a planning or policy tool to explore future scenarios. At this point it was necessary to decide whether the reiterative process of combining discursive and analytical research had worked well (achieving the aim of a common framework for discussion between different communities of stakeholders) or not, and whether it should be continued. Future discursive phases could share these results with the stakeholder community for critical evaluation and revision. This process would be helped by the fact that stakeholders would be more strongly motivated to harmonise regional planning and make agreements for efficient participatory networks because they were involved in developing the tools.

CONCLUSIONS Although we have not actually been able to change the planning laws in CAM, this research conclusively demonstrates that it is possible to negotiate a partial consensus about the problems of sustainable development in CAM. We have even been able to sustain the consensus long enough to facilitate model-based and analytical action that has identified key policy instruments for the region.

Fig. 3.

Two Scenarios from the Madrid Model, Representing the Effects of Two Different Policy Interventions (Centre and Right Panel) and Comparison of the Two Maps (Left Panel). Redrawn from Original METRONAMICAs Output.

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Fig. 4.

Stages of the Research.

The process of this research follows the alternating pattern suggested by earlier work on the management of integrative research teams, alternating analytical and discursive actions (Fig. 4). Perhaps, most importantly, we have shown that many of the actions required to move to a more resilient configuration have only marginal impacts on legitimate development. The restitution of river banks, for example, provides wildlife corridors through and around urban regions at relatively little cost. Others actually move the system away from the current confrontational configuration into a win–win situation in which the amenity value of housing-stock is enhanced by creating natural parks, buffered by multifunctional agriculture which, in turn, will benefit from new markets to produce tourist amenities. The principal losers here would be those developers and politicians who have been riding the ‘gravy train’ of untrammelled development for decades. Thus, it seems very unlikely that innovation will be effected without pressure from national and supranational agencies. The enforcement of current legislation on environmental impact assessment and sustainable development, backed by punitive sanctions for non-compliance would be a natural starting point. In this chapter, we have presented substantial evidence that CAM is capable of moving into a more sustainable configuration. A second case study in Barcelona, currently underway suggests that other Spanish municipalities are well ahead on Madrid in this respect (see http:// www.tigress.ac/isbp/). There are already partial success stories we could build on, if the political will can be found to effect lasting institutional

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change. At the time of the writing, the economy is slowing and the government appears more receptive to new models than it once was. However, neither of us believes this new openness will survive an economic upturn or a change of government without top-down constraints to impose institutional reform.

NOTES 1. Madrilen˜os is the name used to refer to people from Madrid. 2. This level of reduction – a little more than 200 polygons were joined to their neighbour polygons –was based on their small size and their similar patterns.

REFERENCES Churchman, C. W. (1979). The systems approach (second, revised edition). New York, USA: Delacorte Press. Encinas, A., Hernandez-Jimenez, V., Hernandez, C., Martinez, L., & Winder, N. (2004). A Conceptual Model of Land use Change in the Madrid Autonomous Region. TiGrESS Final Report, Workpackage 5, Madrid. Available at http://www.tigress.ac. Retrieved 2006. European Commission. (2004). Regional Policy, Directorate General for Regional Policy. Available at http://europa.eu.int/comm/regional_policy/index_en.htm. Retrieved 2004. Garrido, M., Winder, N., Encinas, A., Hernandez, C., Hernandez-Jimenez, V., & Martinez, L. (2005). Second Year Report TIGRESS: Pathways and land planning in the region of Madrid, Spain. Universidad Europea de Madrid (Spain) and University of Newcastle, UK. Gomez Orea, D. (2001). Land management. Madrid, Espan˜a: Mundi Prensa. Ha¨gerstrand, T. (1985). Time geography: Focus on the corporeality of man, society and environment. The science and praxis of complexity. The United Nations University, pp. 193–216. Ha¨gerstrand, T. (1991). Om Tidens Vidd Och Tingens Ordning. In: G. Carlestam & B. Sollbe (Eds), Statens ra˚d fo¨r byggnadsforskning. Stockholm, Sweden: Byggforskningsra˚det. Healey, P. (1997). Collaborative planning: Shaping places in fragmented societies, planning, environment and cities. London, UK: Palgrave MacMillan. Hernandez-Jimenez, V., & Winder, N. (2006). Running experiences in the Madrid Simulation model. TiGrESS Final Report, Workpackage 5, Madrid. Available at http://www. tigress.ac. Retrieved June. Hernandez-Jimenez, V. (2007). Participatory planning in the region of Madrid (Spain): An integrative perspective. Doctoral Thesis, Newcastle University, UK. Mata, M. (2001). Policy-relevant indicators for ecological agriculture. Doctoral Thesis, Sheffield University, UK. Oxley, T., McIntosh, B., & Winder, N. (2004). Integrated model and decision support tools: A Mediterranean example. Environmental Modelling and Software Journal, 19(11), 999–2010.

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Pereira, D., Fernandez, F., Marquez, O., & Ocon, B. (2004). Las Zonas Rurales en Espan˜a. Madrid, Spain: Caritas Espan˜ola. Rittel, H. W. J., & Webber, M. M. (1973). Dilemmas in a general theory of planning. Policy Studies, 4, 155–169. Rosenhead, J., & Mingers, J. (2001). Rational analysis for a problematic world revisited: Problem structuring methods for complexity, uncertainty and conflict. New York, USA: Wiley. Sanchez Garcia, J. (2004). Decision-making and land policy. Canary Islands, Spain: Fundacio´n Cesar Manrique. Seaton, R. (2001). Interdisciplinarity, knowledge dynamics, and policy relevant research. Final report on Environmental Communication (contract EV5V-CT97-0684). Directorate General XII of the Commission of the European Union, Brussels, Belgium. Tress, B., Tress, G., Fry, G., & Opdam, P. (2006). From landscape research to landscape planning: Aspects of integration, education and application. Amsterdam, The Netherlands: Wageningen UR Frontis Series Springer. Winder, N. (1999). The historian’s dilemma, or Jonah and the Flatworm. Human Ecology Review, 6(2), 23–31. Winder, N. (2004). Towards a theory of knowledge systems for integrative socio-natural science. Human Ecology Review, 11(2), 118–132. Winder, N. (2005). Integrative research as appreciative system. Systems Research and Behavioral Science, 22, 299–309. Winder, N. (2007). Innovation and metastability: a systems mode. Ecology and Society, 12(2), 28.

CHAPTER 13 FINNISH AND HUNGARIAN JOINT INITIATIVE IN AND FOR THE INFORMATION SOCIETY: ON THE PLEASURE AND PAIN OF MEDIATING IN CYBERSPACE$ Sarolta Ne´meth ABSTRACT Purpose – The purpose is to analyse the initial stages of co-operation between a Finnish community intranet-developing project and a ‘telecottage’ enterprise in a South-eastern Hungarian village community. Findings – Both the Hungarian telecottage and the Finnish North Karelian intranet initiatives have achieved much publicity in and outside their countries; their success stories and experiences have also spread with the agency of researchers, by their academic publications and the lines of their personal and professional, often international networks. The case in

$

This study is a short and modified version of various sections of Chapter 5 in the author’s doctoral dissertation presented in April 2008 at the Faculty of Social Sciences and Regional Studies, University of Joensuu, available online (Ne´meth, 2008).

Beyond the Rural–Urban Divide: Cross-Continental Perspectives on the Differentiated Countryside and Its Regulation Research in Rural Sociology and Development, Volume 14, 323–350 Copyright r 2009 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1057-1922/doi:10.1108/S1057-1922(2009)0000014016

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focus is also evidence for more such informal ideas/innovation–transfer processes, supported by information and communication technologies (ICTs). Methodology – The author, a Hungarian researcher working in Finland, has been an increasingly involved participant and observer of the evolving joint project, hence is the more subjective voice, and the action researchapproach is employed. Originality/value of chapter – This chapter presents an example of action research in the fast-developing ICT arena which clearly complements other research approaches in the field.

INTRODUCTION The present study is an attempt at describing some regional development aspects of the information society – of people, technology and their communication. My focus is the disadvantaged, peripheral communities and the potential uses of the information and communication technologies (ICTs) for the development of their livelihood. More specifically, I aim at analysing the birth and evolution of co-operation between local actors in different rural-peripheral areas (in Finland and Hungary) to create an innovative ICT-based application for rural community development. The utilisation of these modern technologies occurs here on two levels: these two sets of local actors themselves chose to collaborate over significant geographical distance supported by the ICTs; and the purpose of their joint work is to introduce these very tools to their wider communities in order to enhance their socio-economic development. Therefore, the first part of this chapter reviews some initial postulations related to the position of rural peripheral regions and the problem of shaping ICTs for the benefit of rural communities. It caused me initially some headache on how to approach the object of my research. With a background in geography, I started by providing a more thorough and comparative regional analysis of the socio-economic and cultural backgrounds of the partners involved, and of the ICT solutions they implemented in their respective contexts. Yet after some painstaking and systematic work, I started missing the real thing; I had lost my original intent with the chapter along the way. So I took a critical look at what I had written.

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North Karelia is a rural periphery in Finland, and certainly, the rural settlements in the south-eastern region of Hungary show similar and more of the other symptoms, of rurality, underdevelopment and deprivation. Geographical contexts do matter. Displaying the spatial–economic settings of the cases in focus is relevant and necessary: as the socio-economic settings to the Finnish community network and the Hungarian telecottages developments; and as the origins of the different experiences and expectations of the partners coming together to co-operate. However, as I often do when striving to be a ‘scientific’ geographer, I realised that I was missing the people and their stories. So, I put aside the data tables and maps for a time, and drew a blank sheet (or rather, opened a new doc file, to be more authentic here). I decided that I should give testimony to stories about networks and the way they have been at work; information and communication webs of, first of all, people, and then, technology. The reason for this is that I feel that human and social capital; formal and trustbased informal relationships can influence the processes that lie at the roots of the problems of rurality and peripherality. This case study also imparts some empirical evidence of the potentials of ICTs in enhancing these forms of capital. I am able to write this account on the evolution of such networks after having acknowledged that I am a part of them – both in a technological and a human-social way. As soon as I leave my desk – or to be more accurate, at the instant I open a chat session or send e-mails out, I have an impact what is researched. Providing I am conscious of and responsible for this effect (which I hope and believe, I am), I have an active role, function and position in the networks I study. Hence this study is also an experiment with a new approach, methods and ways of presenting ideas; which is briefly explained in the second part of the chapter. The research I have carried out related to the rural–local development of the information society can be roughly divided into two phases. One was characterised with a still-detached stance from the cases, learning about the specific development projects in the two countries separately; the results of which I sum up below in the third part of the chapter. However, I found myself soon ‘interviewed’ by my two sets of researched subjects about what I knew about the others’ profiles and achievements; from which point a second phase, that is, my active involvement, commenced. I became their interpreter and mediator in the course of their planning of a ‘hybrid’ solution to be realised in the Hungarian region. This is what the fourth part of the chapter reports on. Finally, I summarise the findings and provide a ‘last story’ that lies behind the analysed case.

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RURAL-PERIPHERAL AREAS AND ACCESS IN THE INFORMATION SOCIETY During the recent few decades, significant social–economic transformation has been under way, which is most frequently referred to as the rise of an information(al) or network society (I.S.). The phenomenon is fairly multifaceted and controversial; its origins as well as its present and foreseeable consequences are widely and passionately discussed around the world in political, academic (e.g. Castells, 1996–2000; Castells & Himanen, 2002; Kasvio, 2001; Webster, 2002) and popular forums alike. Among the many relevant issues and processes, spatial relationships and patterns of development are expected to be transformed to a similar extent as it had happened during previous techno–socio-economic ‘revolutions’. Tracking these spatial trends is a rather ambitious and complex task considering the fact that advancement in I.S. comes from the establishment of several and very different types of access and use. Technological enablement (supply of infrastructure), financial–economic access (affordability of network infrastructure and services relative to the users’ income, and the variety of or level of competition in e-services) are not the only important factors that may and do differ across regions, for instance, between the rural and the urban. Education- and culture-dependent accessibility (the skills and openness of the users, their levels of ‘e-literacy’), and content-related access (the perceived and actual use, safety and relevance of content, that is also a motivation for users) are equally vital variables to consider. Benchmarking indicators are being created and data collection has been under way in some countries. Yet, due to the speed of technological change and innovation, the commercial sensitivity of the issue (i.e. the unwillingness of the competing ICT firms to provide information of their regional presences), as well as the fluidity and subjectivity of the mental and cultural factors make it difficult to construct a complete and detailed map of the sub-national spatial patterns of the I.S. in individual countries (let alone, e.g. the enlarged EU space1). Nevertheless, territorial disparities are evident and observable. In general, the rural and traditionally peripheral regions receive less investment into telecommunications infrastructure; therefore their market is featured by monopoly or by just a few competing companies providing ICT-services. They are also the areas whose populations are lower-than-average educated, qualified, active and open, where higher-level services are under-represented in the economic structure, where local governments, organisations, companies and households are the least affluent and equipped to take

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advantage of new technologies. These disadvantages usually are interrelated: they build upon each other creating a vicious circle of a new type of deprivation. Therefore it may be assumed that the problem of such peripheries requires a blend of treatment (treating all levels of access), which has to match the specific local–regional contexts and characteristics. Besides (and consequently), intervention exclusively via top-down measures and central policies applied by the state are not sufficient in most of the cases, but without their encouragement and support, bottom-up initiatives remain very local, if realised at all. For the same reasons, best practices and innovative solutions can be transferred horizontally between local actors who face similar challenges (e.g. of peripherality, rurality and restructuring), yet implementation and the process of transfer itself may be hindered by the dissimilarities between the specific geographical (and cultural, political, technological, etc.) contexts. The examples in Sections 3 and 4 provide some empirical evidence to back up these more theoretical assumptions.

PARTICIPANT OBSERVATION AND ACTION RESEARCH Initially, the closest definition of my activities while ‘connecting people’ and ideas, was participant observation of processes using mainly ethnographic methods, which represent a humanistic, interpretative manner instead of a positivist stance. Rather than testing hypotheses, participant observation examines a few examples or just one case and places emphasis on exploring the characters of individual social phenomena. It typically uses unstructured data, and explicitly interprets them in terms of the meanings and functions of human actions, presenting results primarily by means of verbal description and justification (Denzin & Lincoln, 1994, pp. 248–249). The latter phase of my involvement with the Finnish and Hungarian local ICT-developers’ work resembles an embryonic form of participatory action research (PAR), as it matches the following main aspects. It is aware of its intervention in the context that it is working within. It ‘sets out to explicitly study something in order to change and improve it’, yet it may (as in my case) also be motivated by the experience of some successful solution, provoking a desire to reproduce or extend that practice. PAR has a double aim: (1) ‘to produce knowledge and action directly useful to a group of people’ and (2) ‘to empower people at a second and deeper level

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through the process of constructing and using their own knowledge’ (e.g. conscientiousness-raising; Denzin & Lincoln, 1994, pp. 327–328). Finally, PAR ‘is active co-research, by and for those to be helped’, ‘action which is researched, changed and re-researched, within the research process by participants’ – and not just research that we hope will be pursued by action (Wadsworth, 1998). This last instance is particularly true with regard to the case in the focus of this chapter because even in the course of its first planning phase, strategies and priorities of the joint project were several times re-considered by the partners while their knowledge was expanding and the (technological and social) circumstances were changing.

RURAL DEVELOPMENT PRACTICES IN FINLAND AND HUNGARY EMPLOYING ICTS In the following descriptive section, two cases are presented separately and as briefly as possible. Both are ICT-based solutions and initiated locally and/or by civil actors for the enhancement of rural economies and community life. I give accounts of both based on the ‘stories’ I have been told, introducing the actors and their contexts, and relating their aims and achievements with their projects. First, I present the Finnish North Karelian community intranet; then I describe the birth and evolution of the telecottage movement in Hungary, one representative of which, the telecottage of Ma´rte´ly, is given some special attention.

The North Karelian Community Intranet (kansalaisverkko) Project A major element of the development plan of the province of North Karelia has been for almost a decade the development of a regional I.S., an ambitious objective for a peripheral area at Finland’s border with Russia, with a traditionally forestry-based economy. The implementation of the NOKIS Programme (North Karelia towards I.S., 1997–1998) as part of the EU-financed RISI (Regional I.S. Initiative) programme was supported by the Structural Funds. Besides, NOKIS was a perfectly timed regional response to the national political developments related to I.S.2; in fact, it had been launched by the time the revised national I.S. Strategy by the Finnish National Fund for Research and Development

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(SITRA, 1997) was out. Rather close to the national conception, the Regional Council envisaged and defined the I.S. in the following ways: The information society is an entity of interactive communities built by North Karelians, in which information technology must not lead to displacement, but basic services and rights have to be guaranteed everyone.3 (W)e are talking about a society for human beings, which is meeting new challenges and a new kind of action environment caused by technological development. (Technical infrastructure) is a tool for people . . . The citizen’s information society, however, is not yet here. (The Regional Council of N. Karelia, 1999, pp. 5, 34)

Both Finland and North Karelia have had ambitions to become models and laboratories for I.S. development in their own respective scales. Both were also looking for successful local pilot projects in the late nineties, which could be the realisation of their common and declared ‘people first’ values. Although there had been several projects in the region that fruitfully combined technology and rural development objectives before the late 1990s,4 the Learning Upper Karelia community intranet project (OYK: Oppiva Yla¨-Karjala) initiated in 1998, and extended virtually to the whole province by 2004, was the initiative that has achieved the greatest success and recognition both by the national and regional governments, and has become known outside Finland.5 The development project (currently called Learning North Karelia; OPK: Oppiva Pohjois-Karjala) is based on three major pillars, which embody different levels or components of access (as described in Part 1)6: (1) Educating locals in ICT skills. Local unemployed people were trained to be engaged later, by the project itself in network maintenance and administration and as trainers and helpers of other inhabitants (e.g. the future users of the intranet) in the region. The envisaged (and attained) impacts were an enhanced mental access (skills and openness) towards the new technologies and an improvement in the self-esteem of the local population, and through these, a contribution to local and regional development. The so-called ‘peertraining’ practice proved that people accept new technologies and ideas if they are assisted and instructed by someone who is familiar to them, that is, a neighbour, a kin or a friend from the same village or town – rather than an ICT professional sent from a university or a company. (2) Providing free internet access points (over a 100 so-called ‘nettikioskit’, or net-kiosks scattered in the region).

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This measure was also essential for achieving inclusiveness (i.e. financial– economic and technological access) despite the fact that from the late 1990s the number of households having personal computers connected to the net was increasing relatively fast in Finland, as also in North Karelia. (3) Maintaining an easy-to-use community intranet (kansalaisverkko). This community intranet includes locally and regionally relevant information, interactive services and other useful and interesting substances for the citizens (i.e. elements of content-related access and utility). The choice of the client programme fits in well with the local context, too – it provides a very user-friendly interface (a personalised desktop for each user), a logical, multi-layered and flexibly extendable structure of content, to which all public, private and civil actors were invited to contribute. The number of active users of the community intranet was rising fast, and it grew especially dramatically in the first two years, by the end of which 25 per cent of the population of the project area at the time were registered as active users (Oksa & Turunen, 2000). It is important to note that in its first phase the project more-or-less covered the territory of the so-called PielinenKarelia (made up of Nurmes, Lieksa and Valtimo), which is known to have most severely faced the problems of unemployment, decreasing incomes from forestry and agriculture, the migration outwards of the young, and difficulties in sustaining public services and infrastructure (Oksa, 2001). Although the basic telecommunications infrastructure had been a given asset, till very recently, the technology the average user (connected at home) relied on has been narrowband.7 In this local context, the OYK project was highly relevant; what is more, it targeted exactly those challenges mentioned in the regional I.S. strategy document and among the priorities of the national policy, too (Box 1).

The Telecottages in Hungary The idea of the ‘multipurpose telecentre’ was not altogether new; it was initiated first in Sweden (Vemdalen, Jamtland) in the mid-1980s, well before the Internet era we experience today. The essence of telecentres has not changed since: they ‘can be used for any purpose by anyone, . . . according to demand’ (Ne´meth, 1997). So it is no wonder that they have spread since in many developed and developing countries. What is more, they have done so in the course of constant adaptation to different ICT-cycles, and taking up various national shapes, too. However, they have in most of the cases a common special relevance in rural, marginal areas.

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Box 1. The Story of the North Karelian Community Intranet and its Expansion.

The lucky timing and ‘coincidences’; the great variety and number of actors involved in the success of the OYK and its follow-ups are remarkable. First, the thought of the project occurred in a local working group, whose task was to find new uses for the building of a school in Nurmes that had been closed: As the Regional Council had I.S. development among its priorities, it supported the proposal of the local I.S. project. The main funds for the project came from the Finnish National Fund for Research and Development (SITRA), yet the local municipalities, the district labour office, and the Regional Council also supported it. EU funds, too, helped. It is important to note that SITRA showed remarkable interest in this local/regional I.S. experiment as it also co-financed the first evaluation study on it, and later commissioned further reports on its developments (Oksa, 2004). It was suggested that the originator of the project (Mr. Ilpo Koskikallio) set up a private enterprise (Glocal Ltd.) which would act in the future as advisor and exporter of his special expertise, in order to help further regions in Finland and abroad achieve similar results. His, and his colleagues’ special ‘community network know-how’ was soon utilised in the national programme called Learning Regions (OSKU: Oppiyat Seutukunnat, 2000–04) financed and co-ordinated by SITRA, where eight further pilot regions in the country were selected for testing the community network idea keeping, more or less, its original elements. Consequently, the North Karelian project has become known nationwide, and its success has attracted international interest, too (e.g. EU organisations promoting I.S. have got interested, and the world-famous I.S. theorist, Manuel Castells paid a visit to see the North Karelian practice in 1999).

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The Hungarian telecottage movement is one of the adopted–adapted variants of this Nordic innovation. According to legend, Hungarian librarians compiled a small booklet of the international examples – including the Swedish and Finnish ones – and circulated it among themselves in 1992 (Kova´cs, 1992) – well before the birth of the World Wide Web. Yet, their first attempt (Nagyma´gocs, Southern Great Plain; population 3,500) to create a functioning ‘tele-corner’, in fact, failed in 1994. According to some accounts, there was a problem with the staff, and another reason could be that it had only one purpose, the modernisation and extension of village library services (Ne´meth, 1997; ITU 2001; and interview with Mr. Ga´spa´r, 2003). However, another telecottage was established soon, in Csa´kbere´ny, a small mountain community in mid-western Hungary (Central Transdanubia, population 1,300). It was born around the time when the village got its first fixed telephone line, and initially, Internet was (obviously) not among its attractions. Anyhow, the range of facilities, functions and services developed fast, more or less keeping pace with technological developments. This telecottage proved to be much more permanent than the ‘telecorner’ in Nagyma´gocs as it has been functioning for over 13 years now (Box 2). The founders of this telecentre had an even more ambitious plan in mind: to share their experiences and expertise in telecottage-production with other social actors and spread the idea of this new tool for community development in the whole country and in the Central-Eastern European region. This could not have taken place without the entrance of new participants; also, after the first telecottage proved functional and sustainable, a series of very important and related events and processes were set in motion (Box 3). This has ultimately led to the highest number of telecentres per inhabitant in the world (Ga´spa´r; interview 2003). There are over 500 telecottages functioning in Hungary (533 in late 2004; see the map in Box 3). Not all of them have been equally successful and popular in their respective communities; and their assortments of services and accommodations are as diverse as their communities. Some of them are housed in separate, purpose-built or renovated ‘village cottages’, while many of them occupy a room in the local administration building or library (Ga´spa´r, 2003). Relatively few of them are truly multipurpose community spaces, and/or equipped with the latest technology. Many of them are more specialised in simpler office services and have just narrowband connections, a few PCs, and rather limited opening hours. Still, their existence indicates that there have been people who recognise their potential and usefulness.

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Box 2. The Story of Csa´kbere´nyi Teleha´z – The ‘‘Reference Telecottage’’.

On 14 July 1994, Mr. Ma´tya´s Ga´spa´r (at present professor at the College of Economics, Budapest teaching public and community management community informatics) founded the Csa´kbere´nyi Teleha´z soon after he had come across the librarians’ pamphlet. ‘‘The idea was nursed for two years in the minds of some local residents, the public administration manager, the mayor, and some other inhabitants, who were considering launching a local communitydevelopment programme’’ (Ga´spa´r, interview, 2003). Mr. Ga´spa´r has been managing the Teleha´z with his wife since then. He also initiated the establishment of the civil organisation called Hungarian Telecottage Association (HTA), over which he presided for a decade. For the purpose of drafting a local development programme, they needed an office, a ‘house’ which had everything in one place: a computer, photocopying and fax machines, other office equipment for different tasks, and some public space, a common room (Ga´spa´r, 2003; Ne´meth, 1997). The building converted to fit the purpose was a small traditional Hungarian village house, located in the village centre close to the primary school, the post-office, and the church. The government of Csa´kbere´ny recruited locals who had the skills to use the equipment and could explain their usage to others, and to those who understood the problems and interests of the villagers. The initial purpose of the Teleha´z merely as an office was very soon replaced by the role of a catalyst for community development.

Considering the diversity of the ‘community space function’ (the examples range from editing local newspapers and broadcasting local radio programmes, creating a local website and content on the net, to housing social events, meetings of civil organisations, and providing space for

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Box 3. The Growth of the Telecottage Network into a Nationwide Movement.

Though Csa´kbere´nyi Teleha´z was not the result of a top-down intervention, it gained a little support from the Ministry of Welfare, which indicated some awareness on the part of the Hungarian Government. In 1995, the Hungarian Telecottage Association (HTA) was established as a civil organisation with the aim of disseminating knowledge on telecottages in the country. The HTA has been keeping an eye on the evolution of the telecottage movement; their responsibilities have included training telecottage managers, ensuring wide publicity inside and outside Hungary, monitoring, research and evaluation of the quantitative and qualitative development of the network setting the standards and rules of entrance, managing the different financial resources, developing grant competitions, and maintaining the telecottages’ home page. In 1996, a major step was taken when with funds from USAID (via United Way Internat), 30 new telecentres were set up in Hungary between 1997 and 1998. Some activists could draw support from EU pre-accession funds, too. The Hungarian State finally made its move in December 1997: at the first Hungarian Telecottage Symposium titled ‘Network for Democracy’ the National Telecottage Programme (NTP) was announced. Along with the organiser HTA, representatives of several ministries and public and private organisations participated in the meeting, which gained good publicity in the press. The government offered ECU 445,000 from the state budget which complemented with additional available resources, was calculated to be adequate for developing about 150 new telecottages. Sources: Interviews with Mr. Ga´spa´r; Bihari (1999); www.telehaz.hu; Murray (2001).

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different activities for children and the elderly, etc.), some of the telecentres have a significant associational power. As to the second major function, the importance of telecentres in providing physical–financial access is indicated by the fact that although in 2003 Internet access was barely diffused (approx. 8 per cent of the total population had Internet at home), about 15–17 per cent of the Hungarians used the Internet (HI´F Yearbook, 2000) – dominantly at the workplace, in schools, and in public Internet access points, such as the telecottages. There is, now, substantial demand: rural entrepreneurs face several problems including lack of information, their perceived and actual isolation, and poor infrastructure being the most crucial ones, hence inexpensive office space and equipment, Internet services, consulting, forums and training, new ways of marketing and networking in the region with other SMEs mean a huge advantage to them (Beaton, 2002). An increasing number of telecottages has recognised the significance of this, especially in connection with village tourism, organic farming, agro-market-information and telework. To sum up, 62 per cent of telecottage visitors claimed in 2000 that the lives of their communities have changed positively since their telecentres were set up (Molna´r, 2000). There is yet another role telecottages have fulfilled. Institutionalised in the framework of the National Telecottage Programme (NTP), some took up the role of local EU-related information-centres (the Csa´kbere´nyi Referencia Teleha´z was among the first to do so, opening a European Information Point in 2003). An indirect impact may be even more crucial: on the subnational levels, the whole idea of communities, regions being actively responsible for their own future and sustainability still needs to be implanted into the ways social actors think about their individual and community lives. The principle of additionality in funding, applying for aimed grants, drawing up local and regional development strategies, co-operating across sectors and geographical boundaries, coming up to fixed standards and participating in monitoring activities, etc. are all present in the NTP. Making people learn these through practice on the local level in order to realise local interests is the most efficient way of preparing the society for the EU regime. This is indeed, valid in the case of regions going through economic restructuring, where (1) the ability of capturing special development funds are especially vital and (2) the population has had the least sufficient experience of such practices so far. So now the stories continue, as they were told to me, and as I have been ‘influencing’ them.

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THE STORY OF COOPERATION Ma´rte´ly ‘meeting’ Nurmes, and Nurmes seeing Ma´rte´ly The interviews with the intranet developers and the telecottage activists in April 2003 in Finland were all rather unstructured, and the selection of the targets was basically done by a snow-ball method, while following the lines of the narratives I heard. In Finland, I started by consulting researchers who knew a lot about the kansalaisverkko development and its general background, and who could direct me to people at the Regional Council and in the Oppiva Pohjois Karjala projects. Therefore, very soon I could meet some key personalities of both national–regional and local significance. They shared with me their, at many points interconnected, stories and more general ideas concerning people and technology in the Finnish countryside. Besides, occasionally they asked me whether I knew of any comparable initiatives from my native country. In response, I told them what I then knew about the Hungarian-style telecentres. I had had truly a positive experience in Finland, hence I was encouraged to follow the same technique and find the main figures of the teleha´z movement in Hungary. I had known about the existence of the telecottages for years, and had visited one of them about seven years earlier. Emboldened after some consultation with sociologists working in the I.S. field in Budapest, I began my search by sending an e-mail straight to the founder of the first teleha´z and leader of the Association, Ma´tya´s Ga´spa´r. I explained to him my interest, and asked him for an interview. I was very pleased by his prompt reply, and also because the meeting turned out to be an exciting discussion rather than a one-sided interrogation. Soon I received the privilege of participating in official meetings of the telecottage organisation and to be present even when important decisions were negotiated. Besides, Mr. Ga´spa´r invited me to another, less official meeting, where I could have a lot of informal and more relaxed conversations with telecottage activists and supportive mayors from all over Hungary. This occasion was in fact, a ‘post-new-years’ party’ held in January 2004, but convened also to talk about the future of the movement. It was hosted by the tiny south-western village of Also´mocsola´d (358 inhabitants, 2004) the mayor of which is a prominent supporter of the movement. He and the local teleha´z-manager seemed to know and even be friends with several other activists from the whole country. Two telecottagers, A´rpa´d Csernai + from Ma´rte´ly in the Southern Great Plain Region, were and Anita Hegedus also among those who heartily accepted the invitation, despite the long drive

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amidst snowdrifts. They showed much interest in my work and life in Finland, this ‘little-known country in the distant north’. Soon, after the more serious part of the meeting had been concluded, and at just about the time when the atmosphere started to get quite casual, they appeared with a camera and a dictaphone. I realised that I had been picked as a fresh ‘topic’ by two professional journalists. The interview was soon after published in one of the electronic forums they edit and manage, Teleha´z Magazin (see the link in the References), with the title referring to Finland as ‘The land of virtual telecottages.’ After the party I needed to return to the capital city, which was quite a challenge after midnight from this tiny back-of-beyond place. The drive home with Anita and A´rpa´d was long enough on the icy roads for some more friendly chat. Hence, I could find out more about the special orientation of their teleha´z in Ma´rte´ly, namely that it is also the official media centre of the Hungarian Telecottage Association, and that A´rpa´d had been for years one of the seven regional representatives of the HTA board (naturally, of the SGP). What is more, I was offered the unique opportunity of joining their film-making team in their tour around telecottages later that month, when I could conduct some interviews myself as well as get access to their recorded material. The documentary tour included several telecentres in the SGP region, and also reached across the southern border to some teledomovi in Voivodina, Serbia (where A´rpa´d was originally from). During those days I was also telling the Ma´rte´ly telecottagers about my work, and the North Karelian community intranet and its Nurmes-based inventor. Already, I sensed their interest and openness from the questions they put to me. Soon after I returned to Finland, and at their request, I connected them to Mr. Koskikallio via e-mails and chat sessions. Ma´rte´lyi Teleha´z saw the possibility of extending the life-span and modernizing the activities of their telecottage, preparing it for the times when people even in rural Hungary can have fast Internet connections in their homes. Furthermore, they recognised the strengths of the intranet as a tool to modernise and integrate their already working platforms, for instance, the local and regional portals, the on-line magazine they edit, the local radio they operate and the documentary movies they make and publish. They also considered a possible documentary tour to North Karelia as a way of obtaining new filming material, for which, Ma´rte´ly telecottage being a private enterprise, was an important motivating factor, too. Similarly, the Finnish partner saw a business opportunity and an interesting challenge in cooperating with Ma´rte´ly, and was also convinced of the appropriateness of the timing for introducing the community intranet concept

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in Hungary. Certainly, the shared problems coming from their peripheral isolation and rural restructuring and the basic common approach in solving them (i.e. the ICT-orientation; dealing with all levels of access simultaneously, and tailoring the solutions to local community needs, etc.) provided a solid ground for co-operation.

The Initial Joint Plans During the different phases of planning the hybrid application (see below), communication has been dominated by e-mails and chat sessions, sometimes having both, or rather all three, cooperating partners on-line simultaneously (since I increasingly considered myself a partner). This is not surprising considering that I was living in Joensuu, the urban centre of North Karelia, the intranet innovator was working in the distant municipality of Nurmes, and Ma´rte´ly is situated some 2,000 km away from both these places. It is, therefore, no wonder that the personal technical skills and the easy physical access to ICTs have been a crucial facilitating condition to all parties involved. Several interesting issues have come up; some were related more to ICTs (Box 4); while some – even more intricate ones – were concerning national and local policy and political issues and mismatches of a different nature: financial asymmetries, unfamiliarity with each other’s ways of thinking, the different cultural settings, bureaucracies and mentalities. Yet probably the greatest problem for me, and I assume, for the whole cooperation, was a more straightforward one: the lack of a common language (in its literal meaning), and hence an over-dependence on my person as a mediator. The peak of the cooperation was in the summer of 2004 when the Finnish partner travelled to Hungary for a conference in Budapest, organised by the European project ‘Innovative Actions Network for the Information Society’ (coordinated by Eris@, the European Regional Information Society Association). After the event, and a short meeting with the head of HTA, Mr. Koskikallio visited Ma´rte´ly and its neighbourhood for a couple of days, where he could meet the local partners face-to-face and experience some of the good and the not-so-good sides of the ‘rural Hungarian realities.’ These later aspects however, were not discouraging in the least, rather they had the opposite effect: there were problems to solve – an interesting challenge. A concrete project plan was drafted within a few weeks including a visit and training seminar in Finland. The types and combination of the network infrastructure deemed the most suitable for the region’s settlement pattern

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Box 4. Planning the Community Intranet in Ma´rte´ly: Questions Related (not only) to Network Infrastructure. The initial idea of the hybrid solution was a simple one: 1. Using the already existing ICT- and knowledge-assets of Ma´rte´ly Teleha´z, similar training seminars can be organised first with the involvement of Finnish expertise and later through local teachers. 2. Additional free intranet-points could be set up using older PCs in and around the village. 3. The software licence used by the NK kansalaisverkko (after translating it into Hungarian), the network-maintenance and management services by Glocal Ltd. and the server machine located in Nurmes can be hired by the local community for a rather low yearly charge per user. 4. The content of the community intranet should be then shaped locally with the involvement of all sectors, in which the experiences of the Finnish partner too, can be used. Having established these, the issue of locally used network technology rose: what is the best choice in the case of this community for the provision of data flow at a sufficient speed/quality, at a reasonable cost? Are there local Internet-providers with whom a partnership could be made? Should there be a single network solution, or rather a combination of the most suitable ones? Should Ma´rtely wait for national intervention, that is, ADSL to reach every single locality in the country within 1–2 (?) years, or rather take measures on its own in advance to gain some competitive advantage in time when compared with other localities in the region? What is sufficient speed of Internet access in the case of a community which is just learning to use ICTs and an intranet to access regional services and information and realise their individual and common goals? Should a fixed telephone line and modem-based solution be enough, or would it become a drawback very soon as it would found the grounds of a new digital gap, that is the ‘broadband gap’ between Ma´rte´ly and other settlements? Maybe xDSL-based or other forms of broadband is a necessity only in ‘hot spots’ of the village, like the Teleha´z, the free Internet kiosks, the school, the local authorities, and the Civil Ha´z (a centre for the local civil society), while household

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terminals could connect to the local server(s) through their telephone lines. Cable TV, on the other hand seems to be a perfect solution in the case of Ma´rte´ly, and it does indeed allow for faster data flow: the Teleha´z managers understand that local people are much more willing to support the installation of cable TV, and in the more compactly settled (old and new) parts of Ma´rte´ly it is a feasible technology. The village is expected to have its sewage system constructed in the very near future; why not use the ditches at the same time to lay these cables? Would that be a technologically sound solution, though? (Or should there be separate ditches dug for the cables?) Still, in the latter case it would save some costs (reducing engineering costs) if the two constructions happen simultaneously. How about the households/ farms situated in a scattered way in the outlying areas? For them, microwave technology could be the network technology that makes sense.

and social composition were considered; the means of setting up the intranet kiosks in Ma´rte´ly and its sparsely populated outlying areas were discussed, and the initial terms of the contract between Glocal Ltd. and Ma´rte´ly 7Hata´r Teleha´z and Studio´ Ltd. were established. To get the project actually started, the telecottagers began hunting for funds with the jointly-prepared documents in their locality (yet with little hope for more than moral support from their community), as well as by responding to national tenders that matched any components of the project – developing the technological infrastructure, training, or introducing ‘e-governance’. They kept on trying during the next 10 months or so. The lack of capital in Ma´rte´ly to cover the ‘own share’ of the total budget was a crucial problem, but it was possible to overcome this by different combinations of resources from local enterprises, including 7Hata´r Studio´ itself, and some support from the local government. However, their applications failed one after the other, and the partners had some lengthy pauses in their interaction, due to their being busy with other projects and also, because they were losing hope. The last attempt at obtaining funding was made in early 2006, this time, from the European Union. In fact, it was I who had come across the tender browsing on-line via a computer in Ma´rte´ly telecottage, a few days before my return to Finland. The partner in Nurmes was informed in an e-mail

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right away, and communication gained some impetus again. In Finland, we drafted and improved the project proposal with Mr. Koskikallio, communicating via the Internet with Ma´rte´ly as well as a third, French partner (see excerpts from the project proposal in Box 5). This time, the community intranet project plan was adjusted to fit the European Union’s town-twinning initiative. The participation of Nurmes in Finland, Ma´rte´ly and its neighbourhood in Hungary, and Privas, a small town in the Rhoˆne-Alps region of France meant that municipalities from three EU member states of different ages (and therefore, different experiences of the European regime and identity) were drawn together. Ma´rte´ly had much fewer residents (1,300) than the other two municipalities (towns of ca. 9,000 and 10,000 people), but it was seen as a potential node that would bring into the project some other villages with telecentres, near it. It is obvious, that the technologies to be used and the emphases of the initial project idea had to be slightly updated and adjusted to the requirements of the funding organisation (the Directorate General of Education and Culture of the European Commission). First of all, this time more significant financial commitment was required on the part of the three municipal governments. Second, the production of content was more emphasised than the actual technological solutions. The ultimate aim was to generate discussions and learning between these actors in the three municipalities about local identity, ‘Europeanness’ and networking; in this, the intranet was the innovative tool besides other, traditional practices in town-twinning. Beyond their local tasks that each partner had to fulfil, a very fitting division of labour among the partners was defined. In short, Nurmes was responsible for the ICT infrastructure supporting the intranet, further adjusting the system to the needs of the virtual agora, and was put in charge of the related technological training and maintenance (i.e. especially the technological and mental access components). Ma´rte´ly was to document and disseminate the achievements of the project as a good practice (via EUTA, and by 7Hata´r Stu´dio´, for instance) and ensure innovative convergence of different media via the Internet. Finally, the French partner, having been an EU-member the longest, was given the task of developing content around the theme of local and European identities. Unfortunately, in early 2006, this application sent in the first round was turned down. What is more, the publication of the decision on the EU website, was late (a fault which was admitted to by the responsible authorities), so much that it was several days after the final deadline set

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Box 5. Excerpts from the Project Proposal ‘Virtual Agora’, 2005. Call for Proposal DG EAC No. 24/05 ‘Promotion of active European citizenship’ – Support to town twinning actions: Conferences, training seminars and information campaigns To involve citizens closely in reflection and discussion on the construction of the European Union; To intensify links and exchanges between citizens from the countries participating in the programme; To promote and disseminate the values and objectives of the European Union

The general aim of the project is to strengthen and consolidate the cooperation between three municipalities/regions in three different member states of the European Union. This we wish to achieve with the help of new information and communication technologies that suit the purposes of the town-twinning movement in Europe. This relatively microscale experiment, if successful, could serve as a best-practice model for other municipalities in Europe. In spite of the many differences between our regions, we do face very similar kinds of challenges in the near future. We all are rather remote/ peripheral regions with many common problems and we all share the strong common beliefs for the future. We are also convinced that with our common efforts for a better future, we will be able to make our modest contribution in meeting the new challenges the whole EU is facing at present. In the present situation, it is very important to create new costeffective means, media and channels for inclusive cross-cultural dialogue between geographically distant communities. This can bring the (local, national and transnational) decision processes nearer to the ‘‘grass-roots level citizens’’. The main aim of the project is to create a new tool for cooperation between regions, and European citizens, which complement the traditional ways of communication. During the project we aim to create a common Intranet-system for the three participating municipalities, and with the help of common meetings and seminars we will teach and train their people in ways to utilize this new media for deepening communication and cooperation between them and their citizens. The aim is to create a ‘‘virtual agora’’ open to every citizen in these municipalities. With the active participation of these citizens the shape, looks, content of this virtual agora will be shaped according to the users’ tastes and needs.

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With the Virtual Agora project  we want to create a functioning model for the new kind of international cooperation between regions. We can create a ground for cooperation between different sectors and actors (schools, cultural organisations, local administration, different social, age and interest groups, etc.) During the project we will recruit and educate officials and members of different civic organisations to utilize the possibilities of the Intranet-system, so that the maximum benefit can be achieved.  we want to prove that the diversity of localities across Europe is a strength rather than the cause for inefficiencies and conflicts: if the right means and channels of communication are implemented, the people are able to find a common voice and work fruitfully together.  we wish to spread our knowledge and experience to other regions with similar kinds of problems and challenges. We also hope that working together we could further develop our model and make it even more effective. Our aim is to document both the pros and cons of our experiment. We really hope that this documentation can create a good ‘‘best practice’’ to adopt and be adapted by other municipalities/regions. We are also prepared to give a detailed and interesting account of the main phases of the project in the form of a documentary movie (the Hungarian partner is responsible for that part of the dissemination work). We are also prepared to invite representatives from our neighbouring municipalities to the project conferences and training sessions. That is an important part of the dissemination process of our experiences. Source: Documents from Glocal Ltd. (2006).

for the second round of applications. Having missed the last opportunity that year, all partners gave up, and stopped planning altogether. Ma´rte´ly was little willing to start negotiations about related financial issues with their local government (the new local elections were during the autumn of 2006). Glocal Ltd. started focussing more on the developing countries in marketing their intranet idea, sensing that 2006 was probably the last year when it could still hold some relevance in Eastern-Central Europe.

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CONCLUSIONS – WITH A LAST STORY The ‘three pillars’ of the Finnish community intranet project and the mission and diverse profile of the Hungarian telecottages show much in common in the way they handled the task of improving access to ICTs and efficiently harnessing their benefits for local–regional development in rural peripheries:  They use both modern technologies and the real (teleha´z) or virtual (kansalaisverkko) community spaces, as one another’s ‘hook’, or motivation. On the one hand, they attract people with technologies to participate in the community and connect to resources outside it. On the other hand, they manage to draw people closer to these technologies by satisfying them in their needs for self-expression, socialisation and exchange of ideas, learning, leisure and entertainment.  Therefore, in their respective cultural settings and technological circumstances, both ‘projects’ have a great potential in raising trust in their communities in ICTs, in services, and last but not least, their institutions. Trust – and social capital – is both an important condition for and product of, their networking.  Also as a consequence of the first point, the tool and the purposes invisibly merge; and usage is increasing both quantitatively and qualitatively. The latter is visible in the achievements of both the intranet and the telecottages, in the creation of locally and regionally relevant content as well as in intensified networking.  Networking is innate to both innovations. This is not merely the direct outcome of employing ICTs, though they help as a (relatively inexpensive and to their geographical conditions, well-suited) tool. The fact that both projects had to recruit and keep up the interest of different local (i.e. public, private and civil) parties, regional actors and national stakeholders is one of the reasons for their tendency to connect actors horizontally and vertically. Also, their ‘learning by doing’ practices make them open to external information and actors. Their eagerness to share their success – out of pride and/or for profit (for the survival and upgrading of their innovation) – encourages them to join already existing networks (the Karelian project becoming a member of Eris@), or to create and extend their own (HTA, SGP Telecottage Region and EUTA in the Hungarian example).  The example of Nurmes and Ma´rte´ly trying to work together shows this latter instance clearly; and the fact that they could not achieve their goal

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does not mean that other similar efforts could not be successful. However, some of the asymmetries which caused a problem in their cooperation could be attributed to the fact that these two partners had not shared a single network of local I.S. innovations. More concretely, for instance, Ma´rte´ly Teleha´z had not been aware of the existence of the European IANIS/Eris@ or RISI initiatives, and the opportunities these could have offered, while the Finnish project leader could not entirely understand the actual scope of the telecottage movement. Also in conclusion, I may consider myself a participatory action researcher because the idea of co-operation undoubtedly (yet not directly) was offered by my having what the partners needed in order to start communication, and after that, I somehow got ‘stuck in the role.’ I had knowledge about both the Hungarian and the Finish contexts and the individual projects, too – and recognised the potential in them. I could adopt relatively well to the Nordic mentality yet was still able to empathize with, and relate to the Central European attitudes and social/economic realities. I had motivation and interest – yet merely scientific (and a little patriotic), as I became easily enthusiastic about the prospect of seeing the two solutions merge into something new, and having a part in it as well. I recognised the co-operation itself and the community intranet system to be implemented, as a means of raising conscientiousness and self-empowerment in rural Hungary. Also, most of all my knowledge of English proved to be the vital asset to start off from, which awarded me with the unique and practical – but not always entirely comfortable – position of a mediator of all communication going on between the partners. The problems coming from this reliance on an intermediary third party cannot be overestimated, as it has probably been one of the major obstacles in the case presented above. In sum, one cannot overemphasize the import of interactivity, communication skills, connectedness and openness in the Information Age we are assumedly entering/have entered into – values which exist also independently from ICTs. Generally speaking, this has an implication to the linkages both between different levels in the decision-making vertical (see, for instance, the supportive system in the case of the North Karelian success story), and between groups of actors and individuals horizontally (positive and negative examples may be found in both countries which could not be discussed in this chapter in full detail). The functioning complementariness of top-down and bottom-up initiatives is dependent on the former; while the success of cross-regional joint projects is primarily qualified by the latter. Both of these

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are strongly connected to the funding problem of the co-operation project in Hungary as mentioned above. It is justified by the narratives, that ICTs have the intrinsic ability to multiply and upgrade the means of bridging over spatial, institutional, development- and power-related gaps and barriers. They can amplify our voice and extend our reach, help in drawing in new ideas and resources, so they may help enrich social capital. Yet at the end of the day, technologies are worth little when societies and individuals lack some aspects of access and are short of some of the basic elements of confidence, communication and learning skills. It is more than intriguing that such deficiencies may possibly be faced by development projects that themselves, in fact, aim at the development of a local I.S. Still, this study just cannot end on a pessimistic note. I suddenly remembered another dimension of the plot, the threads of which I have little by little woven together. I recall my meeting as a member of the civil organization, ‘Young Regional Developers’ in Hungary with Finnish LEADER Local Action Group activists from North Karelia, before I arrived in Finland as a PhD student. Some of them I met again during my quest for the Finnish and North Karelian I.S. – and I discovered, that one of them, Mr. Lehikoinen, had worked in the first telecentre established in Finland in the 1980s. I also recollect getting advice in Joensuu about who to interview concerning the regional I.S. strategy from Ms. Varis, who used to work at our Geography Department, and had done research in the south-eastern rural periphery of Hungary, (and learnt some of my native language then). At the time she was working for the Regional Council, and could promptly refer me to her colleague there (Ms. Ahonen), who in turn, had been earlier working with Ms. Cronberg on the Karelian regional I.S. development. I realised that the latter must have been a prominent figure also because her name had come up during my consultations with researchers at the Karelian Institute (Mr. Jukka Oksa and Mr. Jarno Turunen). I managed to catch her for an interview remarkably soon – within two days. My expectations were overfulfilled by the three-hour-long fascinating discussion: she is not unduly referred to as ‘the Mother of I.S.’, at least in Eastern Finland. Though she had left the Regional Council for international and national politics – she seemed to know everything and everyone who have been involved in older and recent practices and innovations in this field, somehow also connecting the spatial–administrative levels. She was also the one who helped the import of the telecentre idea from Denmark and Sweden (as an offshoot of her I.S.-related research activities and trips), and who set up the first teletupa in Finland, in the mid-1980s.

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Next, I recall my first interview and many later personal and ‘virtual’ discussions with Mr. Koskikallio, the ‘Father’ of the North Karelian kansalaisverkko. I was delighted, to hear from both Ms. Cronberg and him (on different occasions) the same anecdote about their first acquaintance, and to listen to their corresponding views on the problems and opportunities in matching rural communities and ICTs. I discovered that the little booklet compiled about the early European telecentre practices by librarians in Hungary contains the identical map of Finland with its telecentres in the 1980s to the ones I had earlier found in some works by Mr. Lehikoinen and Ms. Cronberg. I heard about the booklet first from Mr. Ga´spa´r during my first interview with him; and it was not very long after this that he introduced me to the telecottagers in Ma´rte´ly. And so the story continues? I (still) may try and be relatively rational and say ‘not very probably’, at least concerning the Ma´rte´ly-Nurmes cooperation and to date (May 2008). However, as an action researcher, and in the light of the last few paragraphs, I will be so bold and say ‘yes’. Of one thing anyway, I am convinced: the many networks I have given an account of are both formal and informal in nature, and though they are seemingly coincidental, they surely follow some general rules and patterns. With or without ICTs, they are inclusive yet exclusive and selective. They are networks that sometimes do not work, but sometimes create miracles. They are networks, which are imperfect but amazing and delicate, because they are human.

NOTES 1. Experiences during research work (setting variables, looking for available statistical data, gathering information through surveys and interviews, etc.) in the ESPON 1.2.2 project (Karelian Institute, Joensuu – European Commission, 2002–2004), in which the author of present paper also participated, justified most of these problems. 2. Interview with Ms. Satu Ahonen, Regional Council (October 2003). 3. This interpretation echoes the following definition given in the Finland’s Way to the I.S. national program: ‘‘The information society is a network of interaction connecting people and information systems for people and on people’s own terms’’ (Regional Council of NK, 1999, p. 5). 4. For example, telecottages in the 1980s and some early forms of local networks (Oksa, 2001, p. 2; Kupiainen–Lehikoinen, 1990). See the Conclusions . . . for more details. 5. Rural sociologists Jukka Oksa and Jarno Turunen (Karelian Reserach Institute, Joensuu, Finland) have carried out extensive and detailed research on

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the history, factors of success, and follow-up developments of the Learning Upper Karelia project, and published several articles about their findings in both Finnish and English (see the References). 6. Information below is based mainly on the interview with Mr. Koskikallio, Glocal Oy. and his colleagues T. Tervo (project leader), V.-M. Hurskainen (Nurmes NetCenter) and S. Laaninen (principal of Nurmes Vocational School), in Nurmes, 8 October 2003; as well as on many consultations at the Karelian Research Institute, Joensuu. 7. It is also notable that IT professionals in Joensuu have not yet seen the possibilities in co-operating with the Learning Karelia project; their idea of ICTs and solutions is different: ‘‘ . . . it is quite interesting that if you think about these citizens’ network things – they are very suspicious, these Science Park people about that . . . They don’t understand that that could be . . . There are two reasons I think; one reason is that it’s not invented there . . . well, that’s why they don’t believe that’s real business . . . ’’ (quoted from project manager, Mr. Ilpo Koskikallio, during the interview on 8 October 2003).

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I was able to give an insight of I.S. at work because I have had the opportunity of meeting and getting inspired by a range of interesting and committed people in peripheral regions and rural communities in both Finland and Hungary. I have mentioned most of them in the above pages and especially in the concluding section, particularly in acknowledgment of and encouragement to their work, and in appreciation of the assistance they have given me.

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Regional Council of N. Karelia. (1999). NOKIS programme (N.K. towards Information Society). By Joint Work Party to the Information Society – Information Society Strategy and Action of North Karelia 1999–2006. Joensuu. SITRA. (1997). Revising of the national information society strategy in Finland will focus on people and everyday life. Available at http://194.100.30.11/tietoyhteiskunta/english/st5/ eng001.htm. Accessed on 10 October 2001. Wadsworth, Y. (1998). What is participatory action research. Resource paper no. 2, Action Research International (an on-line international refereed journal with an open and nonadversarial refereeing system). Available at http://www.scu.edu.au/schools/gcm/ar/ari/ p-ywadsworth98.html. Accessed on 20 June 2005. Webster, F. (2002). Theories of the information society (2nd ed). London: Routledge.