Declarations of a ‘climate crisis’ and ‘climate emergency’ have been followed by claims of a ‘biodiversity crisis’ which have yet to be fully explored within New Zealand. Drawing from ten interviews, we explore how crisis epistemology is constructed, and its motivations and consequences. Interviewees claim ‘crisis framing’ highlights the realities of biodiversity loss and invokes public action, yet has unintended consequences like eco-anxiety amongst youth and desensitisation to issues. Furthermore, many emphasise that crisis framing favours colonial power structures, overriding the rights of Indigenous peoples. Thus, we unpack the delicate balance to be struck and explore alternative possibilities forward.
Exploring ‘Crisis’ Epistemology in New Zealand’s Biodiversity Conservation Efforts
Artificial Intelligence and Fairness | Grace Zhao & Ethan McCormick
Over the past decade, the discourse surrounding ‘climate crisis’ and ‘climate emergency’ has become increasingly prominent. Stemming from grassroots activism, the use of crisis framing can be seen in radical activist groups like Extinction Rebellion, and the declaration of a climate emergency by New Zealand’s Parliament in 2020 [1-2]. However, despite the pressure to use ‘crisis framing’, studies find that many people harbour doubts over its usage due to the possibility of unintentionally harmful consequences - statements can lack substance or induce anxiety [1]. More broadly, key researchers highlight how crisis framing could be used to reproduce ‘status quo’ politics and rationalise the overriding of processes and rights, especially those of indigenous communities [1, 3]. Moreover, as the ‘climate crisis’ becomes a household term, declarations of a ‘biodiversity crisis’ or ‘nature crisis’ have cropped up. However, the implications of these have yet to be fully explored. As such, over the summer, we took the first steps to understand crisis framing in New Zealand conservation.
We spoke to ten interviewees from a range of backgrounds, including conservationists, educators, activists, and researchers. Participants were initially identified in our research team’s network of contacts and were thereafter expanded using snowball sampling. Interviews were conducted both online and in-person, ranging from thirty minutes to an hour following a semi-structured approach which allowed participants to steer the discussion towards their areas of interest and expertise [4]. The resulting qualitative data then underwent inductive thematic analysis to draw out themes regarding the construction of crisis framing, its motivations, and the subsequent perceived consequences [5]. The following paragraphs explain the initial key themes that we identified throughout this process.
Constructing ‘crisis’ framing
The purpose of ‘crisis’ framing as cited by interviewees is to express the realities of biodiversity loss, invoke public action, and gain government funding. Interviewees spoke to the biodiversity crisis primarily in the context of invasive species, habitat loss, and the high proportion of threatened species in New Zealand. Crisis language is then seen as a responsive measure. As explained by one conservationist:
“Some of our species are in real trouble, and you know we’re talking about extinction within the next 40-50 years [...] so we’ve got to use that strong emotive language to try and get people to say that this is coming or this is happening.”
Consequently, crisis language is seen as a necessary tool in the context of government and activist circles:
“Activism and politics/decision-making are places where strong language needs to be used for challenges to be taken seriously. So often facts and science get misunderstood or diluted by politics/big business if the challenges don’t fit the agenda of the standing government party/parties.”
This particular finding in constructing the ‘biodiversity crisis’ mimics that found within the ‘climate crisis’, whereby biodiversity or climate is described as undergoing catastrophe and destruction unless urgent action is taken, leveraging a sense of disaster. The constructed ‘crisis’ frame can then take on a discursive authority, aligned with the use of scientific language [6-7].
Furthermore, interviewees positioned the biodiversity crisis against other notable crises such as the ‘cost of living crisis’, ‘housing crisis’, and ‘climate crisis’. To some, the use of crisis framing in the biodiversity context is an attempt to secure government funding and public interest amidst widespread ‘crisisification’. This highlights the concept of competing crises. One conservationist expressed that it was easier to justify biodiversity funding under the guise of climate change due to the dominance of the climate crisis label:
“We’ve had to change our framing in recent years to try and fit with this climate crisis because that seems to be getting more attention and funding.”
However, interviewees also stressed that the two crises are inherently interlinked. In this context, crisis language was seen to have some justification. Forest & Bird’s utilisation of the term ‘dual climate and biodiversity crises’, was seen as:
“appropriate given the work of the organisation in activism, lobbying and advocacy.”
Our interviewees provide insight into the extension of the crisis framing audience beyond the general public. We note that crisis framing is often directed towards positions of power in an attempt to break their complacency, which highlights emergency framing as a form of responsibility assignment [1].
Disadvantages
However, many also highlight the affective impacts of crisis framing. Examples of this include eco-anxiety among youth, desensitisation, and the counterintuitive effect of diminishing action. On a societal scale, many also pointed to how the ‘crisis narrative’ can inevitably favour colonial structures of power.
Educators spoke to the realities of eco-anxiety in youth and were conscious about being selective with their choice of language. Speaking to the state of eco-anxiety, an educator recounted:
“It is confronting when, as an environmental educator you hear students as young as eight years expressing their deep concern and hopelessness regarding the state of the environment.”
As such, educators expressed concern that crisis framing placed pressure on teachers and prevented student engagement:
“A lot of young students are being exposed to these global challenges in a way which disempowers them as individuals, doesn’t connect them with hopeful action and success stories and leaves them with lots of raw emotions and follow-on questions which may not be answered in a hopeful manner.”
This excessive usage of crisis language can also desensitise audiences to its emotive impact. As stated in one interview:
“We get used to whatever language is prevalent. So what, are we supposed to keep changing it every 5 years? I just think the focus needs to be on not disempowering and not disengaging people.”
Furthermore, expanding upon the concept of competing crises, perhaps a distinctive feature of ‘biodiversity crisis framing’ is the idea of competing crises within biodiversity itself. The threat classification system that was used to categorise the extinction risk of various species was one of the examples provided in the New Zealand context. Critically threatened species are ranked as the highest priority; however, a high number of species fall into this category and concern was expressed for the overuse of such terminology:
“I don’t how you could escalate ‘critical’ [...], but it’s hard to use that language when there’s so many other crises going on”.
Consequently, many interviewees felt that crisis framing could work counterintuitive:
“You can’t just continually say ‘this is a disaster, this is coming, this is bad’ because people will go ‘oh, there’s nothing I can do’.”
Conservationists recounted conversations where sobering language served to alienate some audiences:
“Some people are like, maybe I want to talk about it, but most people who are not in this biodiversity or conservation world shut down, they’re like [...] you’re virtue signalling, you’ve got an agenda and you’re displaying that on your t-shirt, I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Furthermore, it was noted that conservation had historically been used as a vehicle to override the rights of indigenous peoples - to which crisis language had contributed. Some interviewees were concerned that a crisis framing could continue to produce these dynamics today. Two examples were frequently cited. First, globally and in New Zealand, the creation of national parks and conservation estates has served to confine indigenous peoples and support the confiscation of land [8]. Second, in the New Zealand context, the Wildlife Act legally wrested indigenous ownership of species in favour of crown ownership. As expressed by one interviewee, the dubious historical foundations of conservation are poorly understood today:
“If I went to the Department of Conservation and said to the people ‘look the reason why we aren’t engaging with you is because you’re a symbol of colonisation in place,’ they would be like ‘No, no we just want to protect nature, like we just want to make sure everything’s pristine and that we bring the birds back’. And so there is this disconnect between the history of conservation and the practice of it now.”
Crisis framing contributes towards continuing these colonial structures of power through its role in ‘securitisation’. To ‘securitise’ a vulnerability presents it as an existentialn threat which generates broader endorsement of emergency measures, often by powerful political actors in society. These measures often do not undergo the same rules, consideration, and democratic procedures that would have occurred otherwise [9]. Thus, policies such as the Wildlife Act (implemented by the Crown) are justified under the guise of animal biodiversity conservation, while everything from its inaccurate definition of a ‘taonga species’ to the barring of indigenous cultural practices regarding eating kererū and kiwi reproduce systems of colonialism that continue today.
Alternative framings and other steps
These critiques are not to say that ‘crisis’ framing is an inaccurate representation of the situation or that people weaponise the terms purposefully. Rather, what may produce harmful consequences are some of the assumptions that come with the language, and a lack of consideration of wider political implications. To this end, many of our interviewees brought up alternatives to the current ‘crisis’ framing. Two key examples in particular are mitigating the affective impacts of ‘crisis framing’ by striking a balance with positive language and action, and engaging with te ao Māori, which expresses an epistemology of urgency differently and advocates for a more personal connection with the environment.
Interviewees stressed the necessity of achieving balance and provided a range of means for doing so. Educators suggested an array of methods, such as sharing success stories and first-hand experiences, and engaging community with hands-on action:
“By showing students the benefits of collective action and giving them the chance to experience action in their own way, we are more likely to have more connected students who value the environment no matter the career path they choose later down the track. Connecting students early on, when they are figuring out their place in the world and in society and how the world could look is important in bringing us closer to our environment as part of a whole system.”
Conservationists spoke about working through communities by equipping motivated stakeholders with the tools to inspire others:
“We want to try and use influencers in our communities who have the ear of the politicians. So we talk to these movers and shakers of people and we give them pest control products and we give them restoration advice and they then talk to their local community which includes the politicians.”
One of our interviewees highlighted an engaging example of how cultural paradigms and societal values differ in te ao Māori:
“For Māori, [regarding genealogy] it’s grandmother, grandfather, and the environment they were in - produced, us... so the rata tree... is an ancestor just as much as my grandmother, my grandfather, my parents. So that’s important in terms of whakapapa. And so, when people say, Ko ahau te awa, ko te awa ko ahau, I am the river and the river is me... if it’s a part of you drink it... If it’s sick, you’re sick. The second part is, ... [if] our tupuna put a rahui on a place, and someone breached that rahui, that person was killed. You know, human life was insignificant in this bigger scheme of environmental protection... I don’t think you need too much emergency language to say, if people go in and hurt our kereru in here... someone’s gonna die; you wouldn’t need too much more convincing to follow the rules.”
So in this sense:
“If you want to protect the environment, the least you can do is go eat some kererū. Teach your kids how to eat kererū, and kererū is usually a food for women or pregnant women; feed that to your wives and your daughters. Then, I guarantee that once you realise that they’re being lost at an alarming rate, you’ll want to do something about it.”
In engaging with this te ao Māori perspective, the call to responsibility becomes less concentrated on the political agents in power, but rather it comes from the environment itself. Encouraging personal engagement with biodiversity can be an exercise in self-determination for Māori; and for tangata tiriti, it can foster a change in value systems beyond the current individualistic capitalist culture towards one centred in community and environment.
Conclusion
Although ‘biodiversity crisis’ framing shares many similarities with the ‘climate crisis’, it can be distinguished in several nuanced ways. While acknowledging its good intentions, participants were concerned that claims of a biodiversity ‘crisis’ inadvertently cause issues of eco-anxiety, desensitisation, and disillusionment. The crisis label also risks becoming entangled with historically unjust structures of power. This is not to say that crisis framing is useless in communicating the urgency of biodiversity loss; rather, it must be taken with alternatives. Positive language, practical steps, and an engagement with te ao Māori are some ways to reach a discursive parity.
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Grace has completed her Bachelor of Arts degree, majoring in Psychology and Sociology. This year she has enrolled into a Bachelor of Honors degree in Sociology to further explore how our current society is structured to perpetuate systems of power and privilege.
Grace Zhao - BA (Hons), Sociology
Ethan McCormick - BA/BSc, Politics & International Relations, Environmental Science, Biological Science
Ethan is in his final year of a BA/BSc conjoint majoring in Politics & International Relations, Environmental Science, and Biological Science. He is passionate about New Zealand biodiversity and works to support community conservation in the East Auckland area.