5.2.1 Biodiversity and Health

From the perspective of nature’s contributions to people (see Chapter 2 for more details on definitions of nature), it may seem that human health is only one of many elements of the ways in which nature and biodiversity can contribute to human well-being. This is illustrated by the fact that in modern scientific literature on the conceptual and operational development of the concept of ecosystem services, health is often “only” considered to be a subsection of cultural values (Reference Bryce, Irvine and ChurchBryce et al., 2016; Reference Bullock, Joyce and CollierBullock et al., 2018), or is even absent (Reference Cheng, Van Damme, Li and UyttenhoveCheng et al., 2019). An explanation is that the concept emerged in the realm of biological sciences, with biologists trying to link the importance of “their world” to societal relevance, with as a main first step economic valuation (Reference Ring, Hansjürgens, Elmqvist, Wittmer and SukhdevRing et al., 2010). This is the same the other way around: Until recently the word “ecology” in the health sector often had limited reference to nature, but rather to the social or societal environment of a patient (Reference Hoffmann, Ristl, George, Maier and PichlhöferHoffmann et al., 2019; Reference WhiteWhite, 1997), and nature was only considered to a limited extent in, for example, primary health care (Reference Lauwers, Bastiaens, Remmen and KeuneLauwers et al., 2020), and even the concept of “green prescription” initially had few linkages with nature, but mainly referred to environmental pollution and climate change challenges, lifestyle and nonmedicinal prescriptions (Reference Anderson, Taylor, Grant, Fulton and HofmanAnderson et al., 2015; Reference Patel, Schofield and KoltPatel et al., 2011; Reference Swinburn, Walter, Arroll, Tilyard and RussellSwinburn et al., 1997). A prominent exception is the WHO Ottawa Charter on Health Promotion (WHO, 1986: 1), which has highlighted the importance of a stable ecosystem: “The fundamental conditions and resources for health are peace, shelter, education, food, income, a stable ecosystem, sustainable resources, social justice and equity. Improvement in health requires a secure foundation in these basic prerequisites.” Apart from this example, the (more tangible) negative drivers relating to environment, like pollution, have dominated. There was relatively little discussion on the positive and negative contributions of ecosystems and biodiversity.

The mechanisms linking nature and biodiversity on the one hand and human health on the other are complex and intertwined, and can result in human health benefits and risks (IPBES, 2018a; WHO-CBD, 2015). Figure 5.1 (Reference Marselle, Hartig and CoxMarselle et al., 2021) shows how biodiversity and human health and well-being are related through diverse pathways and a wide array of moderating factors.

Figure 5.1 Pathways linking biodiversity to human health

(Reference Marselle, Hartig and CoxMarselle et al., 2021)

Biodiversity supports the ecosystem services that mitigate heat, noise and air pollution, which all mediate the positive health effects of green spaces (see Chapter 14). In the topical domain of medicinal plants, significant work has been done regarding biodiversity and health, including a vast body of Indigenous traditional knowledge (Reference Rounsevell, Fischer, Torre-Marin Rando and MaderIPBES, 2018b; WHO-CBD, 2015). In more mainstream contemporary environmental health science, direct health outcomes of biodiversity have been understudied and underverified so far. There is evidence for positive associations between species and ecosystem diversity, and psychological and physical well-being and immune system regulation. There is more evidence for self-reported psychological well-being than for well-defined clinical outcomes. High biodiversity has been associated with both reduced and increased vector-borne disease risk (Reference Aerts, Honnay and Van NieuwenhuyseAerts et al., 2018).

Ecosystem change is recognized as a risk factor for disease emergence and spread, but a specific role for biodiversity is not always clear. Biodiversity may reduce disease risk by what is called the dilution effect. The dilution effect hypothesis proposes that high vertebrate species richness reduces the risk of infectious diseases among humans because pathogens are “diluted” among a high number of animal reservoir species that differ in their capacity to infect invertebrate vector species (Reference Schmidt and OstfeldSchmidt and Ostfeld, 2001). Under the dilution effect hypothesis, the transmission and burden of infectious diseases are expected to be lower in animal species-rich, natural environments through lower infection prevalence in vectors (Reference Johnson, Hitchens and Smiley EvansJohnson et al., 2015; Reference Ostfeld and KeesingOstfeld and Keesing, 2017), even when higher species richness also implies higher pathogen richness (Reference Dunn, Davies, Harris and GavinDunn et al., 2010). However, factors such as species composition, persistence of contacts between reservoirs and vectors, and the various ways in which reservoirs and nonreservoirs are affected by environmental change may all affect the dilution mechanism. The amplification effect, in which the infection prevalence in vectors increases following an environmental change affecting biodiversity, has also been observed (Reference Faust, Dobson and GottdenkerFaust et al., 2017). The conditions in which dilution or amplification will be observed are still the object of research (Reference Johnson, Hitchens and Smiley EvansJohnson et al., 2015; Reference Kilpatrick, Dobson and LeviKilpatrick et al., 2017; Reference Morand and HurstMorand, 2018). However, it has been established that the risk of disease spread appears higher in human-dominated and simplified habitats (Reference Morand and HurstMorand, 2018). Habitat fragmentation affects both pathogen diversity and pathogen prevalence. The perturbation hypothesis holds that if a habitat is fragmented, the sum of fragments will not be able to sustain the same diversity and prevalence of pathogenic species (but also reservoirs and vectors) as the original habitat (Reference Murray and DaszakMurray and Daszak, 2013). However, fragmentation also leads to a longer boundary between the habitat(s) and those of other communities. This in turn increases the chance of encounters between communities of hosts and vectors. The pathogen pool diversity hypothesis thus assumes that this intensified interaction raises the transmission of pathogens between habitats and species, and within populations. Hence, ongoing habitat fragmentation may both decrease and increase disease transmission risk. Beyond fragmentation, the ongoing “Anthropocene defaunation” leads to almost empty tropical forests (Reference Dirzo, Young and GalettiDirzo et al., 2014). The sharp decline of many animal populations has dramatic implications for zoonotic diseases, by both decreasing and increasing transmission risks. As the diversity of host populations decreases, so will the diversity of the microbes (including pathogens) they harbor. Decreasing host diversity means the loss of important interspecific regulations provided by predation or competition. The remaining pathogens hosted by more abundant but less diverse hosts or vectors released from competition or predation show enhanced transmission. This is particularly evident for pathogens able to switch host species easily and those living in synanthropic species such as rodents or some mosquito vectors. The recent study by Reference Gibb, Redding and ChinGibb et al. (2020) demonstrates how global land-use changes favor zoonotic reservoirs and increase the risks of zoonotic diseases, and more specifically in Southeast Asian environments with critical ongoing defaunation (Reference Morand and HurstMorand, 2018).

5.2.2 Integrative Concepts

Integrative approaches to health have quite a long history. The WHO Constitution in 1946 envisioned a comprehensive view of health: “health is a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity” (WHO, 2006: 1). In the WHO meeting in Alma-Ata (today Almaty, Kazakhstan) in 1978, a holistic and intersectoral conceptualization of health assumed importance: “[health] involves, in addition to the health sector, all related sectors and aspects of national and community development, in particular agriculture, animal husbandry, food, industry, education, housing, public works, communications and other sectors; and demands the coordinated efforts of all those sectors” (WHO, 1978: 2). As mentioned above, in 1986, the WHO Ottawa Charter for Health Promotion highlighted the need for a stable ecosystem as a basis for good health (WHO, 1986). In 2002, the World Summit on Sustainable Development initiated the foundation for an inclusive framework: WEHAB (Water, Energy, Health, Agriculture [food, nutrition] and Biodiversity and Ecosystems) (United Nations, 2002). In 2005, the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment identified key connections between biodiversity, ecosystems and human well-being (WHO, 2005), and in 2006 the Finnish presidency of the European Union presented the concept of “Health in All Policies” as a main health theme (Reference PuskaPuska, 2006). In the Finnish opinion, the core of “Health in All Policies” was to focus on health determinants mainly controlled by policies of sectors other than health. The wish was to address policies in the context of policy-making at all levels of governance. The idea in fact dates back even further: In 1978, at the WHO International Conference on Primary Health Care, the Alma-Ata Declaration emphasized the role of sectors other than health in the creation of public health: “the highest possible level of health is a most important world-wide social goal whose realization requires the action of many other social and economic sectors in addition to the health sector” (cited in Reference StåhlStåhl, 2018: 38). Health as overarching generic principle raises the question: Can One Health follow in these footsteps as an overarching governance integrator, while also being more inclusive by incorporating animal, plant and ecosystem health?

Several integrative governance perspectives regarding challenges with environmental (natural and built) determinants of health are gaining traction today, even if some of these concepts already have some history. This is driven by concern for emerging infectious diseases, rapid increases of noncommunicable diseases, rising morbidity due to ecosystem and climatic changes, and increased awareness of challenges of chemical use in human living environments and in livestock farming, including antibiotics, fertilizers and pesticides in agroecological systems and so on (WHO, 2012). One Health, EcoHealth, planetary health, global health, conservation medicine, biodiversity and health, agrihealth and health pluralism are examples of these broader frameworks, which aim for an integrated perspective on health and the living environment (Reference Assmuth, Chen and DegelingAssmuth et al., 2019).

EcoHealth encompasses ecosystem approaches to health, covering the biological, physical, social and economic environments and their relation to human health (Reference LebelLebel, 2003). The concept One Health originated at the interface of animal and human health (Reference Woods and BresalierWoods and Bresalier, 2014) with the aim of covering a larger diversity of expertise than health and veterinary sciences, and over time broadened its perspective to the environment (Reference Rüegg, McMahon and HäslerRüegg et al., 2017). Reference Zinsstag, Schelling, Waltner-Toews and TannerZinsstag et al. (2011) proposed One Health as an approach aimed at tackling complex patterns of global change, in which the inextricable interconnection of humans, pets, livestock and wildlife, along with their social and ecological environments, is evident and requires integrated approaches to human and animal health and their respective social and environmental contexts. The WHO and CBD State of Knowledge Review on biodiversity and health (2015) proposed One Health as an overarching framework for integrated efforts, while also recognizing and relating to other relevant approaches, such as EcoHealth. Earlier, a tripartite collaboration among the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), the World Organisation for Animal Health (OIE) and WHO (2010) proposed a similar integrated effort, also called One Health. A related concept is One Welfare, which aims to relate animal, human and environmental welfare under one umbrella (Reference BourqueBourque, 2017; also see Chapter 9). Similarly, the Lancet Commission on planetary health (Reference Whitmee, Mace and HainesWhitmee et al., 2015) highlights the integrated nature of human and planetary health.

In a different vein, there has been fresh thinking on alternative worldviews and perspectives provided by diverse knowledge systems on health and well-being for tackling sustainability challenges. The idea of holistic health traditions has existed for centuries, but recently there have been new frames of reference that allow mainstreaming of such holistic approaches. According to some health cultures, optimal health is “To be established in one’s self or own natural state” (Reference Payyappallimana, Morandi and NambiPayyappallimana, 2013: 105). To achieve this, one must have a balance of physical, mental, spiritual, social and ecological dimensions of existence. Based on this philosophy, there are distinct epistemological principles and practices for the prevention of disease and promotion of health and health care in several Indigenous and Local Knowledge cultures. Shared explanatory frameworks, healing practices including rituals, physical healing environments and so on become central in such a context. Sacredness is attributed to trees, grains, animals, hills, forests, streams, mountains and caves that are worshiped through rituals, ceremonies, festivals and fairs. Such knowledge, belief systems and worldviews find expression in agroecological traditions, art, songs and other symbolic representations and practices linked to well-being. For instance, in a study among communities of coastal Tamil Nadu, Reference SujathaSujatha (2007: 178) states, “the body is seen as being constituted by food which is the vehicle by which the external ecology is internalized.”

A shared perspective across Indigenous and local communities in the Indian subcontinent is the inherent relationship between the “outside” and “inside” worlds. In Āyurveda and other traditional knowledge systems of medicine in the subcontinent, this is known in terms of “loka” (macrocosm) and “puruṣa” (microcosm). Similar traces of this principle form an underlying basis for all Indigenous and Local Knowledge traditions. Health in Āyurveda is understood as a positive state and is based on the outcomes of adaptive feedback that each person establishes with the environment and determined by the ability of a person to adapt and self-manage (Reference Morandi, Tosto, Roberti di Sarsina and DallaMorandi et al., 2011). Similarly, in other cultures the biopsychosocial model of health (Reference EngelEngel, 1977) brings the concept of health from a purely biological realm into, as the name suggests, the psychological and social realms of health. The concept has gained popularity with health professionals, making them consider the broader factors impacting on the health and well-being of individuals and communities, indicating that health care alone does not provide health. Likewise, the concept of “salutogenesis,” coined by Aaron Reference AntonovskyAntonovsky (1979), depicts an approach that focuses on the drivers of health and well-being rather than focusing on morbidities or pathogenesis.

Though seemingly quite similar in holistic and integrative ambition, these overarching concepts do not necessarily result in identical definitions of nature and linkages with human health, nor in common framing of challenges and remedies (Reference Keune and AssmuthKeune and Assmuth, 2018). Different expert groups may identify themselves differently with the concept of One Health. On the one hand, there is a community of expertise and practice focusing mainly on nature-related health benefits, and on the other one concerned mainly with its risks (Reference Keune and AssmuthKeune and Assmuth, 2018). While the former community advocates for nature-based solutions as a path to a better future, some prominent virologists representing the latter community label nature as an extreme threat to human health. Some of the latter group even state, “nature is the biggest bioterrorist,” from which yet unknown threats should be avoided: one must “intervene in the conditions of emergence of the future, before one may be besieged by nature’s own act of emergence” (Reference MutsaersMutsaers, 2015: 128). This biosecurity framing has led to the development of vaccines, but also brought forward preventative culling of wildlife and domestic animals, resulting in a strategy with questionable ethics. Clearly, a balancing of perspectives is needed to escape such paradigmatic deadlocks. An approach coined Structural One Health (Reference Wallace, Bergmann and KockWallace et al., 2015) extended the concept of One Health to include the socioeconomic perspective more clearly. It criticized the prior iteration of One Health for failing to address the fundamental structural, political and economic causes underlying collapsing health ecologies, similar to ideas of transformative change. Figure 5.2 illustrates Structural One Health compared to other approaches, highlighting different characteristics of different health approaches and interventions.

Figure 5.2 Structural One Health

“Structural One Health investigates the broader context of a disease, including out beyond the local, more proximate mechanisms of emergence on which more episodic One Health focuses. Preventive and emergency medicine are deployed in response to threats on the health of specific populations and individuals. For all mechanisms that promote disease (under ‘crisis’), the proximity in space, time and causal origin to any given outbreak increases up the pyramid. The relative importance of each point along the scale is dependent on the collective interplay between all parts of the pyramid. An array of inputs and outcomes for highly pathogenic avian influenza H5N1 in Thailand is shown across the schematic”.

(Reference Wallace, Bergmann and KockWallace et al., 2015: 5)

5.2.3 Dilemmas in Nature-Based Approaches to Health

Reference Horwitz, Finlayson and WeinsteinHorwitz et al. (2012) and Reference Roiko, Kozak, Cleary, Murray, Tibbetts, Rothlisberg and NeilRoiko et al. (2019) summarize the complex character of nature–health linkages with reference to the paradox of the health imperative, and the opposite of the environmentalist’s paradox: Where, from an ecosystem services point of view, one would expect a clear relation between a healthy ecosystem and human health, the environmentalist’s paradox points at the fact that degradation of an ecosystem, for example by using DDT for malaria control, can in fact be beneficial in the short-term for human health. The health imperative exemplifies cases where a healthy ecosystem can, in fact, pose human health threats, for example the presence of mosquitoes in urban nature conservation areas, which may support spreading infectious diseases under specific conditions.

Reference Bauer, Kenneth and PelikanBauer et al. (2006: 156) illustrate this dilemma by comparing the focus on pathogenesis to that on salutogenesis (Figure 5.3). With pathogenesis, the focus is mainly on health risk factors for individuals in their living environment, leading to “disease, disorders, subjective sickness, malfunctioning and impairment.” With salutogenesis, the focus is mainly on human health-supporting resources, including “fitness, subjective wellbeing, optimal functioning, meaningful life and positive quality of life.” Both concepts should be considered to be complementary and interacting throughout life.

Figure 5.3 Salutogenis and pathogenis

(Reference Bauer, Kenneth and PelikanBauer et al., 2006)

Balancing these two perspectives in relation to nature is also a clear challenge in primary health care (Reference Lauwers, Bastiaens, Remmen and KeuneLauwers et al., 2020). In the fast-growing body of scientific literature on nature–human health linkages, a role for primary health care is still only marginally present. Also, specific uptake tools for practical consideration of these linkages in primary health care seem lacking. Besides, the need for a primary One Health care approach has been highlighted (Reference Lauwers, Bastiaens, Remmen and KeuneLauwers et al., 2020).

Further scientific challenges on nature–human health linkages remain. One recent review on “types and characteristics of urban and peri-urban green spaces having an impact on human mental health and wellbeing” (Reference Beute, Andreucci and LammelBeute et al., 2020) illustrates this for an important subdomain of nature-related health benefits in the urban context (see Chapter 14). Clearly, the extensive review could not find a gold standard for a particular green space type or characteristic working best for everyone, everywhere and at every time. This heterogeneity may be explained in terms of differences in exposure duration and differences in experiences, and there are different effects for different target groups. This would lead to recommendations for a variety of green space types to capture all potential users, their different needs and their activities.

5.3.1 The Scission between Human Health Benefits and Threats from Nature

As already mentioned above, although One Health acts as an integrating umbrella for talking about health, there appear to be two main opposing narratives around nature–human health linkages, under the same heading of “One Health” (Reference Keune, Kretsch and De BlustKeune et al., 2013). But even without explanatory causal links, a comprehensive conversation about the management of our environment requires a constructive dialogue between those two communities. To move from a struggle for prerogative of interpretation to a co-construction of understanding, it will be necessary to have more direct interaction and discourse between the different viewpoints and groups, through transdisciplinary governance.

5.3.2 Which Ethics?

As emphasized by Reference Morand and LajaunieMorand and Lajaunie (2019) and Reference Lainé and MorandLainé and Morand (2020), ethical reflection in the field of health and biodiversity would require examining the relevant scientific domains (i.e. biology, ecology, evolution, human medicine, animal medicine, political science, environmental studies, anthropology and law), their epistemology and, for some, deep roots in the colonial sciences based on a paternalistic perspective, dominated by the lens of the Western worldview on reality. Consequently, several ethical responses to public health crises have been proposed with “One Bioethics,” “One Health ethics,” “Global Health ethics” and, more recently, “Planetary Health ethics,” with no consensus among bioethicists. The need to recognize scientific pluralism appears essential for interdisciplinarity, but it requires acknowledging the values and practices of each scientific domain. It requires also a decolonized (less Western paternalistic) and a more-than-human (respecting also nonhuman health) One Health approach (Reference Lainé and MorandLainé and Morand, 2020). Further, it needs to be stressed that even though perspectives like One Health are more encompassing, they are to be implemented in a context of highly linear positivist science and a practice structure of current health systems that have limited capacities related to human resources, knowledge and so forth.

While “Global Health ethics” is essential in underlining the importance of justice and equity, a “One Health ethics” or a “Planetary Health ethics” could refer more to a metaethics regarding the ecological crisis and its implications for the study of nature or biodiversity. The question is, then: Is nature reducible to a simple mechanism such as the dilution effect, or is it a complex adaptive system of physical and sensible interactions between various life forms including humans? Considering what kind of nature is at play in a health crisis has profound consequences for the attitudes toward nature and people and for health policy responses. COVID-19, as well as previous pandemics, shows that crises are often systemic, which calls for the development of systemic actions with better nature stewardship, and resonates well with the ideas of transformative change.

5.3.3 Balancing Top-Down and Bottom-Up Health Norms and Challenges

Contemporary medical practice relies heavily on norms and reference values. A strong deviation from a mean is commonly considered as pathology, implying that regularity (i.e. the mean) is a healthy objective. Consequently, decision matrixes are often positivist, objective and deterministic, with the aim of reestablishing normalcy. Similarly, in public health, veterinary health and food safety, solutions are often prescribed top-down, implying singular linear pathways in isolated aspects of health. There are obvious advantages of this approach when it comes to health management at scale, such as decision-making for resource allocation in a national health service. However, current health management is in stark contrast to the observation that complex systems show fractal behavior, in a coherent variation and diversity (Reference WestWest, 2012). A complex adaptive systems approach in medicine would require moving away from preestablished medical problems with expected solutions, and working with people toward defining the medical goal itself. Such an approach requires, of course, an acceptance of unpredictability, uncertainty and ambiguity (Reference Strand, Rortveit and ScheiStrand et al., 2004) – something most health care systems are not set up to deal with. At the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, many aspects were unknown. Nevertheless, in order to prevent its spread, swift action was needed. It proved more successful to take some generic assumptions to contain highly infectious diseases and to implement a crude strategy in Mongolia and Taiwan, for example, than to delay action waiting for sufficient detailed knowledge. The ambiguity of the evidence and the unclear relation to the situation in the field kept fueling public debates about the way to deal with the pandemic in many other democratic states, while lives were lost to the disease.

There is no doubt that norms and reference values have an important place in daily practice, but there is a risk that such norms may obliterate other potential pathways to health. In the context of One Health, the question arises: To what degree are such norms universal and time independent, and to what degree would they require contextualization? While a strong focus on individual choice in health care has the advantage of more tailor-made health strategies, the right to individualism stands in contrast with the needs of communities or societies. Especially in developed countries, when people make unhealthy choices, the health costs either result in a loss of solidarity because the community does not want to cover the consequences of individual behavior, or in rising health expenses for the community. Another example is the individual choice of vaccination, where people who may choose to abstain from vaccination contribute to lowering community or herd immunity and thereby increase disease risks. Here again, cohesion appears to be an important concept, that is, solidarity needs to be reciprocal: While individuals consider the resilience of the community in their acts, the community can offer solidarity in return. Importantly, at various levels of socioeconomic status, health should be discussed and co-produced. This shows that One Health is more than an integrated approach to emerging infectious diseases, but a way to address many health concerns, from malnutrition to traffic accidents, in an integrative and inclusive governance process. The impacts are considerable as they affect legislation and require, and represent, transformative change. Some possible approaches have been proposed such as social prescription (Reference Jani and GrayJani and Gray, 2019; Reference Jani, Pitini, Jungmann, Adamo, Conibear and MistryJani et al., 2019), positive health dialogue (Reference Huber, van Vliet and GiezenbergHuber et al., 2016), quintuple helix innovation (Reference Carayannis, Barth and CampbellCarayannis et al., 2012), critical complexity (Reference CilliersCilliers, 2005; Reference KeuneKeune, 2012), participatory action research (Reference Kincheloe, Kapoor and JordanKincheloe, 2009) and salutogenesis (Reference Lindström and ErikssonLindström and Eriksson, 2005; Reference Lindström and Eriksson2006).

5.3.4 What Are the Values Associated with Health?

In the search for generic validity of concepts and frameworks, it goes unnoticed that we know very little about the lives of those who experience the complex entanglements between humans, animals and ecosystems on a daily basis, and whose stewardship is decisive for change to occur. Although there are studies on more general values (World Values Survey Association, n.d.) – particularly the comparative value of health for oneself – people, animals and ecosystems have not been explored. While currently, with few exceptions, justice is an anthropocentric notion, the aim of achieving interspecies health equity as an outcome of One Health suggests that there may be a need to develop a framework for biocentric social justice (see Chapters 8 and 9).

5.3.5 The Need for a Scalable Definition of Health

Such a framework would need to be grounded in a generic understanding of health. Exchange across different disciplines and sectors in charge of different scales of life, from microorganisms to national and global economies, reveals a large variety of definitions of health. At the level of ecosystems, the concept of health is controversial (Reference RapportRapport, 1998). But also at an individual level, our concepts of personal health are diverse. Health can be regarded as a dynamic, adaptive process rather than a static state. A potential framing would be health as resilience at the individual level, with well-being and welfare as emerging properties of a functional co-adaptation between an individual and their direct environment. In some Indigenous cultures, an individual is also seen as a constantly changing substratum and thus health as interaction between two dynamic (in some contexts deteriorating) systems. The concept of resilience can be evaluated at multiple levels of social-ecological systems. Metrics for resilience are different at different scales, primarily because change occurs at much slower rates at larger scales and is faster at smaller scales, thus preventing the same relative time resolution at all scales. Nonetheless, the principal idea can be transferred across all scales and can also accommodate for cultural differences. Consequently, One Health approaches would need to foster resilience at all scales, and as a minimal requirement not reduce resilience at any scale in a social-ecological system. This would allow humans and nonhumans to live together and allow adaption to various challenges in the short and long term.

5.3.6 Will Egoism Define the Boundaries?

Inclusive governance – as used in the field of sustainable development – may help to make use of One Health opportunities and to promote dialogue and solutions for intergenerational health if there is propensity among participants to engage, connect, reflect and change. It is expected that economic activities that promote human well-being, sustainability and justice will need to be coupled with a steady-state or degrowth economy respecting planetary boundaries. This is essentially the premise of ecological economics. The future will show whether people are willing to rethink today’s concept of prosperity driven by continuous increase in economic growth. Data show that the link between income and life-satisfaction is only linear up to a certain point (Reference Clark, Flèche, Layard, Powdthavee and WardClark et al., 2018). Given that the paradigm from which a system arises has a high leverage on the system outcomes, it appears intuitive that there are important drivers of well-being, health and disease rooted in our current shared values (Reference MeadowsMeadows, 2008). It may be time for health professionals to engage in a broader conversation about transformative change.

6.2.1 The Diversity of Biodiversity Finance

Biodiversity finance encompasses a diversity of instruments. A widely used definition provided by UNDP (2018: 6) describes biodiversity finance as “the practice of raising and managing capital and using financial and economic mechanisms to support sustainable biodiversity management” (see Reference Tobin-de la Puente and MitchellTobin-de la Puente and Mitchell, 2021). Alternatively, the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD, 2020: 7) refers to biodiversity finance as any “expenditure that contributes – or intends to contribute – to the conservation, sustainable use and restoration of biodiversity.” These definitions suggest a breadth of possibilities and require some sorting out. The lexicon offered by Reference PirardPirard (2012) offers some clarity. It states, firstly, that not all economic instruments are markets, pointing to regulatory price signals (e.g. eco-taxes) or voluntary price signals (e.g. certification, labels, norms) that intervene in existing markets to correct for market failures. There is also the establishment and regulation of “direct markets” for products and services directly derived from biodiverse ecosystems, such as ecotourism, forest and fisheries products, and others. Finally, we group together three remaining categories – Reference PirardPirard (2012) refers to these as “tradable permits” (e.g. carbon credits or fishing quotas), “reverse auctions” (e.g. payments for ecosystem services – PES) and “coasean-type agreements” (e.g. conservation easements or concessions) – that demand innovative ways of addressing biodiversity loss through processes of agreements, auctions or trade. Moreover, these categories encompass instruments that are highly heterogeneous with respect to the type of exchange and the involvement of public and/or private organizations (Reference Koh, Hahn and BoonstraKoh et al., 2019; Reference Pirard and LapeyrePirard and Lapayre, 2014). This chapter primarily addresses this third heterogenous conglomerate of categories, also referred to as “innovative financial mechanisms” (Reference Anyango-van ZwietenAnyango-van Zwieten, 2021), which is distinct from other instruments that are premised on the stimulation or correction of existing social relations (i.e. direct markets and regulatory and voluntary price signals). They are innovative in the way in which they materialize specifically for biodiversity conservation in new hybrid forms of governance arrangements and represent new products and services, including through modifications to traditional mechanisms.

Although quite comprehensive, Reference PirardPirard’s (2012) lexicon does not encompass all biodiversity finance, as the role of the financial sector is becoming increasingly recognized in biodiversity conservation debates. Direct involvement of this sector was still incipient in the early 2010s. Early gray literature had already begun advocating for the pivotal role that the financial sector could play in stimulating biodiversity conservation (e.g. Reference Huwyler, Käppeli, Serafimova, Swanson and TobinHuwyler et. al., 2014; IUCN, 2012), but estimates of the contribution by such instruments were still absent from key biodiversity finance publications (e.g. Reference Parker, Cranford, Oakes and LeggettParker et al., 2012). Fast-forward a decade and the financial sector becomes increasingly important for its potential to “unlock” private capital for biodiversity conservation (UNDP, 2020). According to Reference Deutz, Heal and NiuDeutz et al. (2020), for example, green financial products like green bonds, green loans, equity funds and others account for US$3.8–6.3 billion (Table 6.1; see also Reference Tobin-de la Puente and MitchellTobin-de la Puente and Mitchell, 2021). Green (or blue) bonds, of which biodiversity is a small share of the total green bonds market, offer the possibility of raising financial resources for green development projects and natural assets (e.g. marine protected areas and sustainable fisheries management in Seychelles) in exchange for a return to the investor after the contract period ends (Reference Tobin-de la Puente and MitchellTobin-de la Puente and Mitchell, 2021). We distinguish between these biodiversity-related green financial products and other approaches that redirect existing investment flows without a clear link to biodiversity, such as “divesting,” environmental, social and governance (ESG) criteria, positive and negative screening, or other norms and standards that guide investment portfolios away from unsustainable practices and sectors (e.g. the oil industry) and toward sustainable ones (Reference Deutz, Heal and NiuDeutz et al., 2020).

Despite myriad differences, most gray literature produced in recent years indicates that the overarching purpose of these innovative financial instruments is to redirect socioeconomic practices through value or price signals in a way that benefits biodiversity conservation. The UNDP (2018: 6) states that biodiversity finance “is about leveraging and effectively managing economic incentives, policies, and capital to achieve the long-term well-being of nature and our society” (see also Reference Tobin-de la Puente and MitchellTobin-de la Puente and Mitchell, 2021). Alternatively, Reference DasguptaDasgupta (2021) suggests that “finance is an enabling asset that facilitates investments in capital assets [… and …] plays a role in determining both the stock of natural capital and the extent of human demands on the biosphere” (p. 467). This means that a core function of finance is to “confer value to the three classes of capital goods [produced capital, human capital, natural capital] by facilitating their use” (p. 325). Moreover, Dasgupta argues that “the value of biodiversity is embedded in the accounting prices of natural capital” (p. 43). These conceptualizations suggest that the contribution of finance to biodiversity conservation is to value or price natural capital. This is the case even in the financial sector, where biodiversity loss may be viewed as a calculable material risk in terms of physical flows (Reference DempseyDempsey, 2016), corporate reputation or broader impacts (e.g. Reference Deutz, Heal and NiuDeutz et al., 2020; DNP and PBL, 2020; see also Section 6.3.3). We therefore argue that the view of “nature-as-natural-capital” (Reference SullivanSullivan, 2018) forms the foundation for most innovative biodiversity finance mechanisms and, therefore, the critiques presented in this chapter are directly targeted at this view.

6.2.2 Principal Challenges for “Unlocking” Biodiversity Finance

Much biodiversity finance literature often proceeds from a compelling argument that, on the one hand, biodiversity conservation is economically important as many sectors rely on it, but, on the other hand, effective implementation of biodiversity conservation is costlier than is currently provided by financial instruments. The implementation of the CBD Strategic Plan for Biodiversity (2011–2020), for example, would incur annual costs of US$150–440 billion (UNDP, 2018). More recently, Reference Deutz, Heal and NiuDeutz et al. (2020) have reported an annual funding need of US$722–967 billion by 2030 for the sustainable management of protected areas, landscapes and seascapes, and urban environments (see also Reference Tobin-de la Puente and MitchellTobin-de la Puente and Mitchell, 2021). Such estimates have been used as the basis for estimating what is called the “funding gap.”

Many studies that estimate the funding gap compare the funding needs discussed above with the financial resources spent on biodiversity conservation (see Table 6.1). Although an accurate comparison of these results needs to account for differences in definitions, methodologies, assumptions and epistemologies, they illustrate the general trends over time in emphasizing the funding gap. At the global level, for example, Reference Parker, Cranford, Oakes and LeggettParker et al. (2012) have estimated biodiversity finance resources to be US$50.8–52.7 billion in 2010, while Reference Deutz, Heal and NiuDeutz et al. (2020) estimated this to be US$123.6–142.9 billion in 2019. More important than the apparent growth of available biodiversity finance over time, both studies report a funding gap of US$99.2–387.3 billion and US$598.4–824.1 billion, respectively. This funding gap problem plays out at lower levels of governance as well, particularly with respect to protected areas. The European Union Natura 2000 network of protected areas, for example, requires a total investment of €5.8 billion per year for its maintenance and ecological improvement (Reference Kettunen, Torkler and RaymentKettunen et al., 2014), but the EU’s advance budgetary allocation between 2007 and 2013 was only €0.6–1.2 billion per year (Reference Kettunen, Baldock and GantiolerKettunen et al., 2011). Likewise, lion conservation in protected areas in Africa receives US$0.4 billion annually despite indicating a need for US$1.2–2.4 billion (Reference Lindsey, Miller and PetraccaLindsey et al., 2018), while the Brazilian protected areas had a funding deficit of nearly US$360 million for their management costs in 2016 (Reference Silva, Dias, Cunha and CunhaSilva et al., 2021). Notwithstanding the estimate variation or the scale of governance, the central argument remains the same: finance needs upscaling to address the funding gap.

In addition to the identification of a funding gap, the studies reported here identify another feature of biodiversity finance, which is that the bulk of this finance still comes from public sources. The comparisons in Table 6.1 demonstrate this clearly for global biodiversity finance, where contributions from public sources currently vary between 73.8 percent and 92.5 percent (percentages were based on the estimates reported by Reference Deutz, Heal and NiuDeutz et al., 2020). Moreover, public finance for biodiversity conservation competes with other important goals. For instance, international funding through conservation NGOs is less than 1 percent of official development assistance (ODA) to Africa (Reference Brockington and ScholfieldBrockington and Scholfield, 2010). While public finance alone is unlikely to be sufficient for closing the funding gap (Reference Huwyler, Käppeli, Serafimova, Swanson and TobinHuwyler et. al., 2014), private finance has been slow in directing financial resources to biodiversity conservation. Between 2004 and 2015, most private investments were made in (more) sustainable food and fiber production (US$6.5 billion), so outside the innovative financial instruments that we are focusing on here. Investments in habitat conservation (US$1.3 billion) and water quality and quantity (US$0.4 billion) were much lower, although the latter was still backed by substantial public investments (US$21.5 billion between 2009 and 2015) (Reference HamrickHamrick, 2016).

To address this gap, most studies argue for “unlocking” private finance (e.g. UNDP, 2020). In this respect, many innovative financial mechanisms are targeted at enhancing private sector funding, increasing involvement of private capital and implementing market-based instruments (Reference Anyango-van ZwietenAnyango-van-Zwieten, 2021; Reference Clark, Reed and SunderlandClark et al., 2018; EC, 2011; Reference Gutman and DavidsonGutman and Davidson, 2007; Reference MilesMiles, 2005; Reference PirardPirard, 2012; Reference Thiele and GerberThiele and Gerber, 2017; UNDP, 2020). Similarly, stakeholders have started to build the “business case” for biodiversity conservation to attract private sector involvement by pointing out cost reduction, return-on-investment and risk mitigation motives, among others (IUCN, 2012; OECD, 2019). The UNDP and the European Commission, for example, launched the Biodiversity Finance Initiative (BIOFIN) in 2012 to seek new methodologies for “optimal” and “evidence-based” biodiversity finance plans and solutions (UNDP, 2018; 2020). The European Commission also launched its own EU Business @ Biodiversity Platform (B@B) in 2007. Arguably, the most promoted instruments for leveraging financial resources are deemed to be market-based, meaning that “biodiversity conservation [is] financed through and undertaken with the aim of generating profitable returns for their investors” (Reference Dempsey and SuarezDempsey and Suarez, 2016: 654). At the same time, such for-profit instruments still face challenges, including lack of scale (often the projects are too small), lack of financial track record, lack of so-called angel investors at the risky early-stage phase and poor project design without “investable, simple and understandable conservation asset classes” (Reference Anyango-van ZwietenAnyango-van Zwieten, 2020; Reference Huwyler, Käppeli, Serafimova, Swanson and TobinHuwyler et al., 2014: 27). The task ahead, these publications assert, is to address these challenges and scale up private finance to close the funding gap.

6.2.3 Toward a Critical Assessment of Biodiversity Finance

Unlocking private finance has a broader and more important role in mainstreaming biodiversity in all socioeconomic sectors by closing a “different gap” between the current state-of-affairs and a transformative change thereof. In practice, this requires catalyzing more structural transformations of economic and financial systems because “all economic sectors need to contribute to conserving biodiversity and ecosystems and their sustainable management” (CBD, 2020b; Reference Díaz, Settele and BrondízioDíaz et. al., 2019; UNDP, 2020: 12). In this context, the CBD’s Post-2020 Global Biodiversity Framework was, at the time of writing this chapter, expected to incite new and additional financial resources, stimulate corporate sector accountability and establish more rigorous safeguards for private sector engagement (Reference Ching, Lin and BeirutChing and Lin, 2019). Greening finance, then, involves a broader transition of biodiversity governance into a “whole-of-society approach” (Reference Van Oorschot, Kok and Van TulderVan Oorschot et al., 2020) where existing biodiversity finance instruments catalyze this transition rather than merely addressing the “funding gap” for biodiversity conservation. The establishment of the Network for Greening the Financial System (NGFS) in 2017, for example, aims to “mobilize mainstream finance to support the transition toward a sustainable economy” (NGFS, 2020), promote the adoption of sustainable and responsible investment principles and address the environmental and societal impacts of the policy portfolios of central banks across the world (NGFS, 2019; see Section 6.3.3. for an example from Brazil). At the same time, this approach still faces substantial challenges, such as reshaping entrenched investment norms, risk definitions and investment practices in the financial sector (Reference Crona, Eriksson and LerpoldCrona et al., 2021).

Recognizing that the whole-of-society approach advocated by the Post-2020 Framework was still in the initial stages of development, the critical assessment of biodiversity finance presented in the remainder of this chapter focuses on the innovative financial instruments that aim to catalyze this approach. For purposes of clarity, we understand such instruments to encompass not only “tradable permits,” “reverse auctions” and “coasean-type agreements,” in Reference PirardPirard´s (2012) lexicon, but also new financial products like nature derivatives and weather insurances that mitigate the material risks of biodiversity loss (Reference Anyango-van ZwietenAnyango-van Zwieten, 2021). Our analysis thereby excludes price signals (e.g. US$274–542 of harmful subsidies, see Reference Deutz, Heal and NiuDeutz et al., 2020), although we acknowledge their importance within the broader context of biodiversity finance. Furthermore, we acknowledge the intense controversies around the extent to which instruments like biodiversity offsetting, PES or nature derivatives are market-based, economic or financial, but at the same time argue that this variety of instruments share common ontological and epistemological foundations. Focusing on innovative financial instruments is therefore our attempt to capture this common ground.

6.3.1 How Comprehensive Is “Financeable” Biodiversity?

All innovative finance instruments have a material basis for making transactions possible. Many instruments tie financial resources to objects like credits, rights, quotas, offsets and permits that in many ways give access to natural capital (e.g. Reference Koh, Hahn and BoonstraKoh et al., 2019; Reference May, Bernasconi, Wunder and LubowskiMay et al., 2015; Reference Van der Hoff and Rajãovan der Hoff and Rajão, 2020). This access to natural capital should be understood as its utilization either as a source of natural resources (e.g. permits to extract fish from Antarctic waters) or as a sink for the wasteful byproducts of economic activity (e.g. credits for greenhouse gas emissions or Tradable Development Rights). Nonmarket instruments like results-based payments require a clear definition of the “results” or “performance” (e.g. emissions reductions) in relation to conservation objectives (Reference Van der Hoff, Rajão and LeroyVan der Hoff et al., 2019). In the financial sector, we encounter bonds, derivatives, securities, swaps, futures and insurances, among others, that facilitate investments in conservation (e.g. green bonds) or hedge against the risk of biodiversity loss (e.g. weather derivatives) (Reference BrackingBracking, 2012; Reference Little, Parslow and FayLittle et al., 2014; Reference Ouma, Johnson and BiggerOuma et al., 2018; Reference SullivanSullivan, 2018). For purposes of argumentation, we will refer to this material basis as “financeable objects.”

Following Reference Callon and MuniesaCallon and Muniesa (2005: 1233–1234), these financeable objects are the outcome of processes of “objectification” and “singularization” of (parts of) biodiversity and by which financial transactions become possible. Objectification emphasizes the materiality of this object, which means that they have tangible and objective properties that characterize them as a “good” (e.g. rubber), “service” (e.g. pollination) or more abstract (financial) products like derivatives. These objects become financeable through “singularization,” which “consists in a gradual definition of the properties of the product [or object], shaped in such a way that it can enter into the consumer’s world and become attached to it.” This means that the object can be assigned a value (see below) and appropriated by others. Take biodiversity offsets as an example (Reference Koh, Hahn and BoonstraKoh et al., 2019): In most schemes, the biodiversity in areas with natural vegetation is assessed based on indicators of habitat type, species, threat level, richness, rarity, diversity and connectivity, among others. These indicators are then used to classify these areas and establish biodiversity offset credits. The number of credit types range from only one (e.g. the Rio Tinto QIT Madagascar Minerals [RTQMM] offsets) or two (e.g. species and ecosystem credits in the New South Wales Biodiversity Conservation Trust), to up to eight (wetland mitigation banking in the United States). These credits are the financeable objects of biodiversity offsetting that can be acquired by developers to compensate for their impact on nature. Even in cases where such exchange does not take place (say, results-based payments for REDD+), one may argue that financing parties may obtain other gains from the “investment,” like satisfying domestic political constituencies (e.g. Reference AngelsenAngelsen [2017] calls this “political offsets”).

The translation of biodiversity into “financeable objects” poses several challenges to transformative biodiversity governance because it denotes a very managerial approach to nature conservation. Reference SullivanSullivan (2017, Reference Sullivan2018) calls this approach a “nature-as-natural-capital” view that is enacted through processes of commensuration (i.e. enhancing the comparability of nature), aggregation (i.e. a preference of total quantities over qualitative specificity) and capitalization (i.e. producing natural assets or, in this chapter, financeable nature). It embodies an ontological understanding of nature as mechanically composed of “gears and bolts” (Reference WorsterWorster, 1994) or “rivets” (Reference DempseyDempsey, 2016) that, epistemologically, can be fully known and, more importantly, used and managed to meet human needs and preferences, thereby representing instrumental values (see Chapter 2). Although this ontological and epistemological view is enormously powerful (think about the ecosystem services concept), the downside is that it excludes a vast array of alternative ways of knowing and interacting with nature, which precludes possibilities for transdisciplinary governance. Although ecologists and economists have been working closely together on nature conservation issues since the 1980s, Reference DempseyDempsey (2016) argues that this collaboration leans more toward economic than ecological pragmatics. Many studies have lamented the ecologically reductionist conceptualizations of nature hidden in the “nature commodification” of PES schemes (e.g. Reference Kosoy and CorberaKosoy and Corbera, 2010; Reference WilsonWilson, 2013), the metrics of biodiversity offsetting (Reference Marshall, Wintle, Southwell and KujalaMarshall et al., 2020) and the methodology of biodiversity valuation (Reference Farnsworth, Adenuga and de GrootFarnsworth et al., 2015). Finally, such objects exclude alternative sources of intrinsic, spiritual and other forms of meaning (Reference LabandLaband, 2013) in order to only reflect the measurable and delineable properties of the financeable object.

Another problem with financeable objects is that they need to be rigid in order to become operational, which allows little space for adaptation. The market for Tradable Development Rights (TDRs) in Brazil, also called Environmental Reserve Quota (or Cota de Reserva Ambiental – CRA), is a case in point. Rural landowners in Brazil are obliged by law to conserve native vegetation on their properties (up to 80 percent in the Amazon), demanding restoration in case of a deficit and allowing deforestation in case of surplus. The CRA market offers an alternative option: Landowners with a surplus may issue and sell CRAs rather than deforest, while those with a deficit may acquire CRAs instead of restoring native vegetation (Reference May, Bernasconi, Wunder and LubowskiMay et al., 2015). For over two decades of political development, this market has been subject to substantial expansions, one of which involves the geographical boundaries of trade (i.e. from trade within watershed to trade within biome and across states) (Reference Van der Hoff and Rajãovan der Hoff and Rajão, 2020). These expanded trade boundaries, the outcome of political pressure from the rural caucus, were challenged by a supreme court ruling that demanded a proof of similar “ecological identity” of properties engaged in a CRA exchange. Although this ruling is considered positive from a biodiversity conservation standpoint, it also poses significant challenges to ecologists to establish a workable indicator and thus slows down the operationalization of the market (Reference Rajão, Del Giudice, van der Hoff and de CarvalhoRajão et al., 2021).

Our critical assessment of the nature of financeable objects denotes an argument against the role of finance in transformative biodiversity governance. Such objects necessarily build on an economic conceptualization of nature that emphasizes its measurability, its manageability, its anthropocentrism and its instrumentalism. More importantly, this economism can potentially drown out other approaches to nature conservation, such as arguments for conserving pristine nature (Reference DempseyDempsey, 2016) or a harmonious relationship with nature that embeds local livelihoods (e.g. buen vivir, see Chapters 2, 8 and 9), which attests to poor inclusive governance. The difficulty (if not impossibility) of other ontologies and epistemologies to shape this financeable object also preclude the manifestation of a truly transdisciplinary governance. Moreover, this constrained transdisciplinarity limits possibilities for adaptive governance, as the CRA trade in Brazil exemplifies.

6.3.2 Whose Values Does “Financeable” Biodiversity Represent (and Whose Are Excluded)?

The process of singularization does not stop at defining the financeable object. According to Reference Callon and MuniesaCallon and Muniesa (2005: 1233), “the thing that ‘holds together’ [the financeable object] is a good if and only if its properties represent a value for the buyer.” Applied to biodiversity finance, it suggests that financing biodiversity conservation occurs only if the destination (i.e. the financeable object) of these resources is considered to be valuable. Biodiversity indicators by themselves do not immediately prompt a mobilization of financial resources, but once they are packaged in, say, development rights or biodiversity offsets, they become valuable to potential financers. This value perception is fundamental. Results-based payments to the Brazilian Amazon Fund, for example, were based on demonstrated deforestation reductions in the Amazon region,Footnote ¹ but its financers (mainly the Norwegian government) had slightly different criteria for “valuable” results than Brazil. Brazil held the belief that it deserved to be rewarded for past achievements (deforestation fell from nearly 30,000 km² in 2004 to less than 5,000 km² in 2012) and therefore maintained that annual results accumulate over time. By contrast, financers retained the preference for financing only the most recent results (e.g. Norway’s payments in 2017 referred to results obtained in 2016). As deforestation rates went up in the 2010s, annual “results” significantly declined and financers were compelled to stop payments due to lack of “valuable results” (Reference Van der Hoff, Rajão and Leroyvan der Hoff et al., 2018). In other words, the financeable object – be it an offset, a bond or a permit – needs to be perceived as valuable by the financer, otherwise financing is unlikely to take place.

Innovative financial instruments communicate the value to financiers in monetary terms. Section 6.2 already noted Reference DasguptaDasgupta’s (2021) conceptualization of biodiversity finance as a conveyor of biodiversity value through natural capital accounting prices. Economists claim that the previous inexistence of such prices was (and still is) the underlying problem of biodiversity loss. Reference Pearce, Markandya and BarbierPearce, Markandya and Barbier (1989: 5), for example, argued that when “something is provided at a zero price, more of it will be demanded than if there was a positive price.” For landowners in the Brazilian Amazon, for example, standing forests have little value and legislation obliging them to conserve forests is perceived as an obstruction to land development (e.g. agriculture) and thus incurs high opportunity costs (Reference Metzger, Bustamante and FerreiraMetzger et al., 2019; Reference Stickler, Nepstad, Azevedo and McGrathStickler et al., 2013). Putting a price on these forests could change these perceptions. One of the main ideas behind the CRA market in Brazil, for example, was to allow landowners with vegetation beyond legal requirements to sell quota to those with deficits (in the final regularization, this was expanded to include PES as well) instead of legally clearing the land for, say, agricultural development (Reference Van der Hoff and Rajãovan der Hoff and Rajão, 2020; see also Section 6.2.1). Other finance instruments raise the costs of development projects (Reference Koh, Hahn and BoonstraKoh et al., 2019) or risks related to biodiversity loss (Reference Little, Parslow and FayLittle et al., 2014). The value of biodiversity reflected in these prices transposes the idea that using (or destroying) nature is no longer for free, but involves foregone opportunities or additional costs.

Prices, however, muddle the value of biodiversity in two ways. Firstly, the anthropocentrism implied in the type of biodiversity knowledge that forms the foundation of financeable objects (see Section 6.3.1), to which economists assign a “use value” and, subsequently, an exchange value. The ecosystem services concept is a notable reflection of these use values of biodiversity and there is currently a wealth of different tools to inform decision-makers (Reference Grêt-Regamey, Sirén, Brunner and WeibelGrêt-Regamey et al., 2017; Reference Martinez-Harms, Bryan and BalvaneraMartinez-Harms et al., 2015). According to critical scholars, however, this use value of biodiversity overemphasizes those aspects of nature that instrumentally benefit humankind, but downplays, excludes or even fails to perceive others that may be otherwise valuable. Economists have come a long way in identifying future use or non-use values (e.g. option, bequest and existence values; [see Reference Tietenberg and lewisTietenberg and Lewis, 2018]), but other uses of ecosystems that reflect cultural, aesthetic, spiritual and intrinsic values are extremely hard to express numerically (Reference Small, Munday and DuranceSmall et al., 2017; see also Chapters 2, 8 and 9). Recognition of such value pluralism is not new, but has been advocated in predominantly noneconomist disciplines like anthropology (e.g. Reference GraeberGraeber, 2001) and environmental ethics (e.g. Reference HourdequinHourdequin, 2015) and has become an important theme in the critical discipline of ecological economics (Reference SpashSpash, 2017). Even Reference Costanza, de Groot and BraatCostanza et al. (2017), who famously and controversially valued the world’s ecosystem services at US$16–54 trillion per year, acknowledge that the economic definition of value is too narrow as individuals are unable to appreciate or even perceive how some ecosystem services are valuable to them. The prevalence of use values in biodiversity finance (see Reference DempseyDempsey, 2016) is a far cry from this value pluralism, which attests to its constrained ability to promote transdisciplinary governance.

The second layer of problems with the prices of financeable objects refers to the repercussions of translating nature into use values and exchange values. Firstly, prices exacerbate the commensurability of inherently distinct dimensions of nature that are reflected in nonmonetary numeric assessments of biodiversity (Reference SullivanSullivan, 2017). Monetary valuation reduces “the problem of scarcity [of nature] into a problem of scarcity of capital, considered as an abstract category expressible in homogeneous monetary units” (Reference NaredoNaredo, 2003: 250). Commensurate nature can thus be considered on a par with economically or technologically alternative actions. For instance, Brazilian landowners can choose their preferred course of action depending on their situation. Those with conservation deficits can choose between restoring degraded land or acquiring CRA, while those with vegetation beyond legal requirements can choose to legally clear it or sell CRA credits (Reference May, Bernasconi, Wunder and LubowskiMay et al., 2015). Secondly, an emphasis on prices widens the gap between what innovative financial instruments define as valuable and the local perceptions and values of peoples on the ground. For example, the Brazilian Amazon Fund disburses financial resources to a myriad of projects that contribute to regional sustainability despite unclear contributions to emissions reductions (Reference Correa, van der Hoff and RajãoCorrea et al., 2019), which become prejudiced as Brazil’s basis for receiving donations is eroded (see above; Reference Van der Hoff, Rajão and LeroyVan der Hoff et al., 2018). Conversely, the introduction of monetary values for biodiversity through, say, PES initiatives may risk “crowding out” the intrinsic motivations of local people to conserve nature (Reference Akers and YasuéAkers and Yasué, 2019). Nonmonetary values thus become sidelined, while “valuable” development and conservation projects prevail (see also Reference Laschefski, Zhouri, Puzone and MiguelLaschefski and Zhouri, 2019; Reference Villén-Pérez, Mendes, Nóbrega, Gomes Córtes and De MarcoVillén-Pérez et al., 2018). These problems pose significant challenges for integrative and inclusive governance.

6.3.3 How Does Biodiversity Finance Deal with Uncertainty?

There are many similarities between the “nature-as-natural-capital” view and what Reference DempseyDempsey (2016) calls the “biodiversity loss as material risk” perspective. The central tenet is that biodiversity loss is a financial and economic risk that has (or will have) an impact on the bottom line. This is a fast-developing awareness: in 2010 biodiversity loss featured inconspicuously as “less prominent” in the World Economic Forum’s (WEF) Global Risks Landscape report but dominated its global risks reports in 2021 (WEF, 2010; 2021). Two key responses to this growing awareness are that biodiversity loss needs to be managed as a business risk as well as treated as an opportunity for profit-making. The management and commodification of biodiversity risks have translated into new financial products including green bonds, rainforest bonds and climate bonds, biodiversity and nature derivatives, weather derivatives, catastrophe bonds and commodity index funds (Reference Ouma, Johnson and BiggerOuma et al., 2018; Reference SullivanSullivan, 2018). This calculative management of biodiversity risks is different from a precautionary approach that acknowledges the difficulty or impossibility of such calculations, preferring not to seek out the threshold of the “critical rivet” (Paul and Anne Ehrlich, cited in Reference DempseyDempsey, 2016). The agricultural sector, for example, may insure itself against unpredictable climate patterns like low precipitation, severe drought and destructive storms (e.g. Reference Souza and AssunçãoSouza and Assunção, 2020), but cannot account for the full complexity of impending ecosystem “tipping points” to irreversibly transition to unfavorable landscapes (e.g. Reference Lovejoy and NobreLovejoy and Nobre, 2019). The calculative, managerial approach to uncertainty adopted by the financial sector, therefore, does not correspond with the precautionary definition of anticipatory governance.

In terms of inclusive and transdisciplinary governance, risk management instruments such as biodiversity derivatives, bonds and futures are designed to give preeminence to financial actors, their expertise and knowledge (Reference BrackingBracking, 2012). Though “spark[ing] the interest and imagination of investors” (Reference Brockington, Büscher, Dressler and FletcherBrockington, 2014: 123), these instruments are severed from actual conservation (Reference BüscherBüscher, 2013). Take regional precipitation patterns as an example. Reference Strand, Soares-Filho and CostaStrand et al. (2018) estimate that a decreased capacity of Amazonian forests to provide this climate regulation service reduces rents and productivity for the soybean, beef and hydroelectricity sectors, incurring an average cost of US$1.81, US$5.43 and US$0.32 per hectare per year, respectively. Although understanding how these sectors negatively impact their own business through land clearing has the potential to raise awareness about the “real costs” of biodiversity loss, the challenge is to make these costs felt at the individual company level (see Reference DempseyDempsey, 2016). Reference Rode, Pinzon and StabileRode et al. (2019: 7) found that the identification and valuation of ecosystem services does not readily attract investments, but “require[s] specific stakeholder processes and verification procedures” for this information to become part of these stakeholders’ worlds (see also Reference Callon and MuniesaCallon and Muniesa, 2005). Using the concepts of Reference SullivanSullivan (2018), investable nature requires not only its understanding as capital (qualification) in numeric or monetary terms (quantification), but also its subsequent “fabrication” into a “leverageable” asset class (materialization). Some risks become financeable objects (e.g. bonds, futures and other derivatives), while others become quantitative indicators that inform decision-making.

Not all uncertainties can readily become “calculated” risks and require substantial initial investment to catalyze private sector interest. In this respect, according to Reference ChristiansenChristiansen (2021: 96), blended finance emphasizes the role of public finance “to pursue so-called ‘crowding-in’ of investments by either lowering [real or perceived] risks or increasing [anticipated] returns for private investments,” especially during the initial “seed-stages” of conservation projects. Blended finance is the use of public and philanthropic funds to leverage private finance. Evaluating the Unlocking Forest Finance (UFF) project in Brazil and Peru, Reference Rode, Pinzon and StabileRode et al. (2019: 7) emphasize that investor expectations and requirements do not “reflect the realities of the current scale, return and risk structures of sustainable landscape investments on the ground.” These challenges, they argue, could be mitigated through the mobilization of blended finance that includes philanthropy to ensure direct conservation benefits or impact monitoring, NGOs to offer technical support for implementation, and governments to reduce risk of investment. Blended finance, then, may offer a “proof of concept” to build investor confidence in making sustainable investments (Reference ChristiansenChristiansen, 2021). It is in these initial stages that learning – or adaptive governance – is most likely to take place (Reference Rode, Pinzon and StabileRode et al., 2019). At the same time, the investor requirements related to financial returns and risk exposure tend to drown out other criteria for assembling the investment portfolio, at least in the case of sustainable agriculture. In catering to these requirements, blended finance adheres to the predominant investor milieu and thereby risks relinquishing aspects of inclusive (not all projects are financed) and transdisciplinary (not all criteria are weighed equally) governance.

In practice, businesses, farmers, investors and corporations perceive biodiversity losses as reputational or regulatory risks (Reference DempseyDempsey, 2016). With respect to the latter, for example, introducing sustainability performance as a condition for granting rural credit has great potential to prompt the immediate behavioral change of rural producers (e.g. Reference Rode, Pinzon and StabileRode et al., 2019). In Brazil, the introduction of such sustainability criteria in 2008 by the Central Bank has had significant repercussions for its agricultural sector and contributed to the declining deforestation rates in the Brazilian Amazon at the time (Reference Assunção, Gandour, Rocha and RochaAssunção et al., 2019). In this case, biodiversity loss comes at a price: restricted access to finance. This example underscores that consideration of biodiversity loss as a material risk by private sector organizations still requires strong encouragement through blended finance initiatives and strong governmental institutions. Moreover, it signals that economic efficiency continues to prevail even in the “triple bottom-line” over environmental protection and social equality (Reference ChristiansenChristiansen, 2021). Despite its contribution to internalizing externalities, the “biodiversity loss as material risk” perspective still denotes a limited contribution to transformative governance.

6.3.4 How Profound Are the Transformative Changes Fostered by Biodiversity Finance?

Innovative financing instruments for biodiversity conservation commonly involve multiactor networks. Firstly, they establish connections between the “users” and “providers” of biodiversity. Examples abound: the CRA market links landowners with vegetation beyond legal requirements to landowners with legal deficits (Reference May, Bernasconi, Wunder and LubowskiMay et al., 2015; Reference Van der Hoff and Rajãovan der Hoff and Rajão, 2020); biodiversity offsetting ties potentially harmful development projects to conservation efforts (Reference Koh, Hahn and BoonstraKoh et al., 2019); responsible investors can buy green bonds from organizations or governments that develop sustainable economic activities or strengthen conservation (for examples, see Reference Deutz, Heal and NiuDeutz et al., 2020); and polluting countries make results-based payments to forested countries (Reference AngelsenAngelsen, 2017; Reference Van der Hoff, Rajão and Leroyvan der Hoff et al., 2018). Secondly, the actor networks of innovative finance instruments often extend beyond “users” and “providers.” Reference Koh, Hahn and BoonstraKoh et al. (2019) make this abundantly clear with respect to biodiversity offsetting. In Germany, for example, municipal governments are responsible for matching the supply side (i.e. buying or leasing land for conservation) and the demand side (i.e. reviewing assessments of biodiversity losses at impact sites) of development impact compensation. Alternatively, wetland mitigation banking in the United States is a mandatory market arrangement under the Clean Water Act (1980) that potentially harmful development projects must adhere to. Reference Koh, Hahn and BoonstraKoh et al. (2019) also argue that many biodiversity offsetting schemes include conservation NGOs (e.g. England, South Africa, Madagascar), consultancies (nearly all schemes evaluated), trust funds (e.g. Australia), and brokers (England, Australia, United States). Reference Barton, Benavides and Chacon-CascanteBarton et al. (2017) have taken this argument a step further by describing Costa Rica’s PES program as a policy mix that combines different actor types in different roles following specific rules (“rules-in-use”) in order to attain conservation objectives (see also Reference Ring, Barton, Martínez-Alier and MuradianRing and Barton, 2015). These examples suggest a potential of some biodiversity finance instruments to foster coordination among different actors toward biodiversity conservation objectives.

Some finance instruments also link conservation actions across governance levels. In the case of the Amazon Fund, the financial resources are passed on by the recipient (i.e. Amazon Fund) to projects that correspond with core categories of Brazilian environmental policies, most notably (1) monitoring and control, (2) land tenure and regularization and (3) sustainable economic activities. More importantly, the Amazon Fund, mediated by the Brazilian Development Bank, acts more like a mediator than a recipient. The transaction of financial resources from investors (e.g. the Norwegian government) to the Amazon Fund is not the final objective, since these resources are passed on to a plethora of other stakeholders across Brazil that comply with specific access requirements (e.g. project documentation). For example, this allowed the Amazon Fund to strengthen and empower protected areas with an investment of over US$66 million (Reference Correa, van der Hoff and RajãoCorrea et al., 2019; Reference Van der Hoff, Rajão and LeroyVan der Hoff et al., 2018). Such an arrangement of transactions enacts what some REDD+ scholars have called a “nested approach,” where individual projects are embedded in broader national and international governance networks (Reference Angelsen, Streck, Peskett, Brown and LuttrellAngelsen et al., 2008). More recent efforts at integration aim to build an architecture for REDD+ transactions (ART) that demand upscaling efforts to national levels and subsuming lower-level performance (e.g. biome or states) within national accounting (see ART, 2021).

Despite the potential of innovative financial instruments to contribute to integrative governance through coordination (e.g. a “nested approach” to REDD+) and combination (e.g. PES policy mix) (see Chapter 1), some nuancing is appropriate here. Firstly, the very rules-in-use that enable such integration to take place also constrain the finance instruments that apply them. For instance, the Brazilian Amazon Fund distributes financial resources based on criteria that include organizational capacity to comply with its strict reporting demands, making it harder for finance to flow to smaller (but no less important) projects (Reference Correa, van der Hoff and RajãoCorrea et al., 2019; Reference Van der Hoff, Rajão and Leroyvan der Hoff et al., 2018). It must further be noted that these rules are politically negotiated. In Brazil’s CRA market, smallholders may supply credits that represent all vegetation on their properties (even when they have a legal deficit), while uncompensated properties located inside protected areas (already protected by law) may supply credits representative of their legal surpluses (Reference Van der Hoff and Rajãovan der Hoff and Rajão, 2020).Footnote ² The degree to which biodiversity finance instruments are inclusive depends to a large extent on how these rules-in-use are defined.

Another limitation, closely related to the former, is that there are limits to the degree of integration that innovative finance instruments can foster. Outcomes of PES programs, for example, challenge the characterization as a policy mix (see above) evidenced by contextual factors that are unaccounted for and that (positively or negatively) affect their performance. The Costa Rican government actively portrays its PES program as a market instrument, whereas in practice the program has been accepted by recipient farmers as a recognition of their stewardship, more than the prospect of being rewarded, which enhances the likelihood of positive outcomes (Reference Chapman, Satterfield, Wittman and ChanChapman et al., 2020), and the PES program in Chiapas, Mexico, has faced substantial social conflict that threatens its continuity (Reference Corbera, Costedoat, Ezzine-de-Blas and Van HeckenCorbera et al., 2020). Mixed outcomes were also found for biodiversity offsets (Reference Bidaud, Schreckenberg and RabeharisonBidaud et al., 2017). Alternatively, deforestation rates in the Brazilian Amazon have been rising since 2012 despite increased disbursements from the Amazon Fund, which denotes that such instruments rarely operate in isolation and that conservation outcomes are just as much the result of the synergetic effects of factors like a hostile political climate (e.g. the Amazon Fund was extinguished in 2019) and broader commodity market developments. These examples illustrate that the outcomes of innovative financial instruments are affected by contextual factors that cannot be fully accounted for, which suggests that they themselves need to be integrated into a broader policy or governance mix.

Finally, and most importantly, biodiversity finance does not challenge the foundations of the capitalist system that is often argued to reinforce many of the known drivers of biodiversity loss (Reference Díaz, Settele and BrondízioDíaz et al., 2019), because it reproduces the existing (skewed) power relations that this system builds on. The adoption of the CRA market in Brazil, for example, does not challenge the notion that, by federal constitution, private land needs to be used “productively” and could not prevent the “flexibilization” of nature conservation requirements via a new Forest Code in 2012 that mostly benefits dominant agribusiness interests (Reference Rajão, Del Giudice, van der Hoff and de CarvalhoRajão et al., 2021; Reference Van der Hoff and RajãoVan der Hoff and Rajão, 2020). In addition, blended finance exacerbates global economic imbalances by giving preferential treatment to donors’ own private sector firms and focusing on middle income countries (Reference PereiraPereira, 2017). These instruments typically aim to influence decision-making processes at the individual level (for example institutional investors) but do not challenge systemic or structural drivers of biodiversity loss. These perennial issues jeopardize the inclusive dimension of transformative governance. By insufficiently challenging the indirect drivers of biodiversity loss, moreover, they cannot be considered transformative as they do not correspond with the definition of transformative governance in Chapter 1, which states that addressing these indirect drivers is fundamental.

8.2.1 Theories of Justice, Equity and Biodiversity: A Brief Overview

The meanings of justice and equity are necessarily plural and contested (see Reference RawlsRawls, 1999; Reference SenSen, 2009; Reference Shelton, Bodansky, Brunnée and HeyShelton, 2007). In the literature reviewed in this chapter, justice, equity and fairness are frequently considered to be synonymous or interchangeable, and our analysis does not rely on drawing a clear-cut distinctions between these terms. However, theorists often see justice as a more stringent set of moral (and sometimes legal) responsibilities that social institutions owe to humans (and sometimes also to nonhumans) as a matter of right, whereas equity may refer to a wider notion of fair, proportionate or nonarbitrary treatment (see e.g. Reference ArmstrongArmstrong, 2019). As outlined in later sections, applied definitions frequently depart from the theoretical foundations of these terms, and the term “equity” tends to be invoked in policy contexts and at project level more than “justice.”

A range of theories and conceptions of justice have emerged that relate to biodiversity. These include environmental and ecological justice (Reference KopninaKopnina, 2016; Reference SchlosbergSchlosberg, 2007), social-ecological justice (Reference Gunnarsson-Östling, Svenfelt, Holifield, Chakraborty and WalkerGunnarsson-Östling and Svenfelt, 2018), multispecies justice (Reference Celermajer, Schlosberg and RickardsCelermajer et al., 2021), just conservation (Reference Gavin, McCarter and MeadGavin et al., 2015; Reference MartinMartin, 2017), just sustainabilities (Reference Agyeman, Bullard and EvansAgyeman et al., 2003), equitable sustainability (Reference Leach, Reyers and BaiLeach et al., 2018) and planetary justice (Reference Dryzek and PickeringDryzek and Pickering, 2019; Reference Kashwan, Biermann, Gupta and OkerekeKashwan et al., 2020). One could also refer to the idea of “biodiversity justice” (Reference Godden, O’Connell, Martin, Bigdeli, Daya-Winterbottom, du Plessis and KennedyGodden and O’Connell, 2015) or “just biodiversity governance” (Reference AdamAdam, 2014). Each of these conceptualizations of justice varies in several respects.

First, theories vary depending on who or what are the subjects of justice or rights-holders (Reference Martin, Coolsaet and CorberaMartin et al., 2016). These are commonly disaggregated to include gender, socioeconomic, racial, ethnic or cultural differences, while taking account of intersectionality across these characteristics (Reference Schlosberg and CarruthersSchlosberg and Carruthers, 2010). Conventional accounts of environmental justice tend to be anthropocentric, while ecological and social-ecological accounts recognize nonhumans (e.g. animals, plants or ecosystems) as subjects of justice (Reference SchlosbergSchlosberg, 2007; Chapter 9). Second, the theories operate over different spatial, temporal and sectoral scales. Some see the state as the primary site of justice, while others foreground a global perspective or underscore the agency of local communities and institutions (Reference Sikor and NewellSikor and Newell, 2014). Some theories focus on duties toward those living now, while others emphasize intergenerational justice (Reference Dryzek and PickeringDryzek and Pickering, 2019). A range of theories – particularly those that call for the explicit adoption of critical, decolonial, feminist and other lenses – situate questions of justice and biodiversity within broader processes that continue to perpetuate injustice, such as colonial exploitation and gender inequality (Reference Alvarez and CoolsaetAlvarez and Coolsaet, 2020; Reference ElmhirstElmhirst, 2011; Reference PellowPellow, 2017).

Three core dimensions have gained prominence in environmental justice scholarship over the last two decades: distribution, procedure and recognition (Reference SchlosbergSchlosberg, 2007, building on Reference FraserFraser, 1995). Distributive justice is the most widely researched and commonly recognized dimension. It encompasses who receives the benefits and opportunities versus who bears the costs and risks of social cooperation (Reference WalkerWalker, 2012). Theories vary considerably as to what kinds of principles should determine a just distribution, such as equality, need or aggregate social utility/wellbeing (Reference Kaswan and CoolsaetKaswan, 2020). Procedural justice engages with the processes by which decisions are made (Reference Davoudi and BrooksDavoudi and Brooks, 2014; Reference Dawson, Coolsaet, Martin, Schreckenberg, Mace and PoudyalDawson et al., 2018a). Recognition pertains to the status afforded to multiple social groups, worldviews and cultural values and identities, and to issues of self-respect and self-esteem (Reference Martin, Coolsaet and CorberaMartin et al., 2016; Reference WhyteWhyte, 2011; Reference Whyte, Holifield, Chakraborty and Walker2018) Examples of how each dimension of justice applies to biodiversity governance are outlined in Table 8.1 . A final aspect of justice that is not always explicit in this tripartite categorization is corrective or remedial justice, which involves measures to correct or remedy unjust actions or omissions, such as sanctions for “ecocide” or violence against environmental defenders (Reference Gonzalez and TecheraGonzalez, 2012; Reference WhyteWhyte, 2011). Space constraints preclude a detailed discussion of this aspect, but related issues are discussed under distributive and procedural justice.

This chapter does not advocate any one of the conceptions of justice outlined above, but instead takes elements from each to adopt a pluralist approach spanning both social and ecological aspects, and all three dimensions of justice across multiple temporal, spatial and sectoral scales.

8.2.2 Norms of Justice and Equity in Global Biodiversity Governance

Debates about justice and equity – particularly between the Global South and North – have pervaded the politics of global biodiversity governance since its emergence (Reference Broggiato, Dedeurwaerdere, Batur, Coolsaet, Coolsaet, Batur, Broggiato, Pitseyes and DedeurwaerdereBroggiato et al., 2015; Reference SwansonSwanson, 1999). Discussions on global environmental governance since the 1970s prompted the Global South to develop a set of common demands on environmental issues (Reference WilliamsWilliams, 1993), including on what Christopher Reference Stone and RensStone (1996) called the “most difficult moral question” regarding the Convention: the distribution of costs associated with conserving biodiversity. Most of the world’s biodiversity is located in nonindustrialized countries, which generally have more limited capacity to pay for conservation than industrialized countries (see also Section 8.5). As a result, conservation has increasingly shifted toward more “people-friendly” and decentralized interventions such as “integrated conservation and development projects,” driven by the belief that poverty was the main cause of environmental degradation (Reference RoeRoe, 2008).

Against this political backdrop, norms of equity, rights and justice have gained traction in key documents and practices of global biodiversity governance.Footnote ¹ The CBD and the UNFCCC – both of which were adopted at the 1992 Earth Summit – were among the first multilateral environmental agreements to explicitly integrate equity. The CBD’s third objective is “the fair and equitable sharing of the benefits arising out of the utilization of genetic resources” (UN, 1992, Article 1; emphasis added). While intergenerational equity (i.e. equity between generations) was foundational to the narrative of sustainable development in the 1987 Brundtland Report, the CBD and the UNFCCC raised the profile of intragenerational equity (i.e. equity among groups within a single generation) on the international environmental agenda (Reference OkerekeOkereke, 2006). A comparison of official documents associated with each treaty body shows how references to equity in the CBD are far more common than references to equity in the UNFCCC or to justice in either treaty (see Figure 8.1).

This evidence reflects a broader observed tendency that equity is more commonly invoked than justice in international agreements (see also Reference OkerekeOkereke, 2008). In policy contexts, equity is often applied to specific policies or with a focus on a single dimension (most frequently distribution), allowing more politically sensitive issues such as historic land rights to be sidelined (Reference Coolsaet, Dawson, Rabitz and LoveraCoolsaet et al., 2020).

Today, international policy norms on conservation cover most of the dimensions of justice introduced above (Reference Dawson, Coolsaet, Martin, Schreckenberg, Mace and PoudyalDawson et al., 2018a; FAO, 2001, Article 1.1; Reference Marion SuiseeyaMarion Suiseeya, 2017). In 2010, the CBD extended equity-related wording, which for a long time had been limited to access and benefit-sharing (ABS), to conservation efforts: Aichi Target 11 called for the conservation of biodiversity to take place through “effectively and equitably managed” protected areas (Reference Zafra-Calvo, Pascual and BrockingtonZafra-Calvo et al., 2017).

Global norms entrenched in other international frameworks – especially ideas of rights – have played an increasingly important role in shaping debates about justice and equity in biodiversity governance (Reference Coolsaet, Dawson, Rabitz and LoveraCoolsaet et al., 2020). Indigenous Peoples, for example, steward 85 percent of the world’s remaining biodiversity, yet their ability to do so is threatened by weak and/or infringed political, economic and social rights (Reference Brondízio, Settele, Díaz and NgoIPBES, 2019; Reference Tauli-CorpuzTauli-Corpuz, 2016). In recent years, the global Indigenous movement has worked to secure references to the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) in texts negotiated at the CBD and the UNFCCC as ways to recognize their rights to self-determination, but also to protect their ability to steward lands and forests critical for biodiversity conservation (Reference Marion Suiseeya and ZanottiMarion Suiseeya and Zanotti, 2019). Linking biodiversity to the human rights to life and health, adequate standards of living and nondiscrimination in the enjoyment of rights, the UN Special Rapporteur on Human Rights and the Environment recognized that “the full enjoyment of human rights … depends on biodiversity, and the degradation and loss of biodiversity undermine … human rights” (Human Rights Council, 2017: 3). These developments have been complemented by the institutionalization of procedural environmental rights – particularly in regional agreements such as the Aarhus Convention and the Escazú Agreement – such as the right to participate in environmental decision-making and the recognition of rights to a healthy environment in many national constitutions (Reference GellersGellers, 2017).

Despite these advances, biodiversity continues to decline at unprecedented rates, giving rise to calls to transform existing governance systems (see e.g. Reference Brondízio, Settele, Díaz and NgoIPBES, 2019). The section that follows highlights justice and equity considerations that need to be taken into account specifically when moving toward transformative governance of biodiversity.

8.4.1 Who Should Be Included in Decision-Making Processes?

At a minimum, procedural justice requires the inclusion and representation of affected parties in decision-making processes (Reference SchlosbergSchlosberg, 2007). The authority to decide who should be included typically rests with powerful actors (e.g. governments or intergovernmental organizations) who may misuse this authority to entrench existing inequalities of power. However, that authority can be subjected to scrutiny and challenge by social movements or other actors. The task of assessing who counts as affected – and determining what sorts of processes justice requires – becomes even more complex in the context of transformative biodiversity governance, which may both extend and amplify the effects of ecological and policy change across different social groups.

Scholars and practitioners broadly agree that affected parties include those groups who are vulnerable to biodiversity loss and/or who might be adversely impacted by conservation policies (Reference Martin, McGuire and SullivanMartin et al., 2013). These groups include IPLC and other marginalized groups with land-, water- or sea-based identities and lifeways. Attending to how demographic features, such as gender, age, race, class and ethnicity, shape different groups’ experiences with biodiversity governance is critical for understanding who affected parties are and how they are differentially affected (Reference Brondízio, Settele, Díaz and NgoIPBES, 2019; Reference Malin and RyderMalin and Ryder, 2018; Reference Marion Suiseeya and ZanottiMarion Suiseeya and Zanotti, 2019). Efforts to address distributive injustice or lack of recognition may be undermined when those most affected are not part of decision-making processes (Reference Marion SuiseeyaMarion Suiseeya, 2016). More contentious is how other actors affected by conservation policy – such as corporations whose practices contribute to biodiversity loss – should be included in decision-making processes in ways that do not reinforce or exacerbate asymmetries of power (Reference DempseyDempsey, 2016).

8.4.2 On What Terms Should Decision-Making Processes Take Place?

Procedural justice requires attention to at least four characteristics of affected actors’ roles in decision-making processes: (1) physical presence of affected actors or their representatives in decision-making settings; (2) access, meaning the authority to be an active participant in decision-making processes rather than only an observer; (3) capacity to leverage access to exercise agency (e.g. the ability to initiate a proposal or make a statement without being first invited to do so) and (4) capacity to influence decision-making processes (Reference Marion Suiseeya and ZanottiMarion Suiseeya and Zanotti, 2019; Reference Witter, Marion Suiseeya and GrubyWitter et al., 2015). Numerous studies have shown that presence and access alone are insufficient for procedural justice (Reference Cooke and KothariCooke and Kothari, 2001; Reference HollandHolland, 2017).

The CBD has been a leader among multilateral treaty bodies in the inclusion of IPLC in its decision-making processes (Reference Jones-Walters and ÇilJones-Walters and Çil, 2011). Unlike the UNFCCC, which severely limits how nonstate actors can directly engage in their proceedings, the CBD moves beyond presence as a measure of inclusion. For example, representatives from the IPLC constituency colead negotiations on issues that have direct implications for the wellbeing and lifeways of Indigenous peoples, such as the Convention’s Working Group on Article 8(j) (which deals with traditional knowledge, innovations and practices) and related provisions. Indigenous peoples have similarly forged new ground in intergovernmental scientific bodies such as IPBES by securing formal mechanisms for integrating diverse knowledge and value systems into its processes (Reference Tengö, Hill and MalmerTengö et al., 2017).

Procedural justice also requires attending to power inequalities and political representation. Uneven power relations – such as states’ control over multilateral governance processes or the privileged access of some stakeholders to the ear of government – affect the ability of actors to contribute to decision-making processes (Reference SchroederSchroeder, 2010). Tools such as Free, Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC) show how institutions can help to address power imbalances and dismantle barriers to direct engagement. If fully implemented, FPIC creates a formalized channel for marginalized groups to leverage their power by requiring that affected parties give consent to receiving biodiversity governance initiatives in their communities (Reference Colchester and FerrariColchester and Ferrari, 2007).

In practice it is not feasible for everyone affected to directly engage in decision-making processes; all the more so in deliberation at a global level that affects billions of people. Not all actors may have the financial, linguistic, physical or social capabilities to participate directly (Reference ReimersonReimerson, 2013). Where feasible, actors who cannot participate directly should be able to select their own representatives. In the case of nonhuman subjects (e.g. animals, plants and ecosystems), which cannot select humans to represent them, options include legally appointed custodians, or nongovernmental organizations or experts working on conservation or animal welfare and rights. Similarly, custodians may be formally appointed to represent future generations (Reference Dryzek and PickeringDryzek and Pickering, 2019; Reference SchlosbergSchlosberg, 2007).

8.4.3 When Do Requirements of Recognition and Procedural Justice Begin?

Although most studies of procedural justice focus on collective decision-making processes, those processes only begin following the identification of a problem or issue. Public policy and political ecology scholars have demonstrated the extraordinary power held by those who are able to define problems and set agendas (Reference Bardach and PatashnikBardach and Patashnik, 2019; Reference Corson, Gruby and WitterCorson et al., 2014) and the extended effects of agendas that often carry forward beyond the initial decision-making process (Reference Hughes and VadrotHughes and Vadrot, 2019; Reference MacDonald and CorsonMacDonald and Corson, 2012). The resulting problem definitions, agendas and venues influence which actors and issues engage and are privileged in the process. Attending to the ways in which different power hierarchies and inequalities inform the phase before decision-making on a given problem begins (the “decision-impetus phase”) is critical for advancing procedural justice (Reference Marion Suiseeya and CoolsaetMarion Suiseeya, 2020).

One example of the importance of the decision-impetus phase is the problem of biodiversity itself. The framing of the biodiversity problem was initially driven largely by conservation biologists (Reference Haila, Meadowcroft and FiorinoHaila, 2017; Reference TakacsTakacs, 1996). The idea of biodiversity subsequently gained wider acceptance but still carries certain connotations that affect power relations and may not resonate with certain groups, e.g. seeing biodiversity loss as the depletion of a resource rather than as the disruption of a harmonious relationship between humans and nonhumans (see Chapter 9; Reference Martin, McGuire and SullivanMartin et al., 2013). This example highlights that while inclusion of affected actors in established decision-making processes is a critical element of transformative governance, just transformation requires earlier and broader attention to procedural justice and recognition.

8.5.1 Effort-Sharing

Recognizing the differentiated capabilities of its parties, the CBD notes “the importance of burden-sharing” among contributing parties in providing finance for developing countries (Article 20.2). This leaves open the question of which actors (whether states, international organizations, civil society or private actors) should contribute the most toward a scaled-up international financing effort: is it those who have contributed the most to biodiversity loss, those with the greatest capacity to mobilize resources or those who stand to gain the most (economically or otherwise) from conservation? These three principles – sometimes referred to as the contributor/polluter pays principle, the capacity to pay principle and the beneficiary pays principle – have been widely debated in the literature on climate justice (see e.g. Reference Dellink, Den Elzen and AikingDellink et al., 2009; Reference PagePage, 2011) but have so far received only modest attention in the literature on biodiversity finance (for notable contributions, see Reference ArmstrongArmstrong, 2019; Reference Balmford and WhittenBalmford and Whitten, 2003).

While some argue that the extent to which actors will benefit from conservation should be the primary factor in distributing costs (Reference Balmford and WhittenBalmford and Whitten, 2003), others argue that a pluralist approach combining all three principles is necessary, not least because those who stand to benefit most – e.g. forest communities – may have little capacity to pay for additional conservation efforts, even though they are often the most active participants in existing conservation practices (Reference ArmstrongArmstrong, 2019). Moreover, it would be unfair to expect potential beneficiaries to pay the most when others (e.g. consumers in other countries) may be driving biodiversity loss in those areas despite the availability of less destructive alternatives (Reference DowieDowie, 2011).

To date, parties to the CBD have not been able to agree on how to translate principles of equity into transparent, quantified effort-sharing measures. Sharing the overall conservation financing effort typically operates more informally.Footnote ³ However, improved transparency about how much parties are providing could help to clarify which parties are fulfilling their obligations, and inclusive deliberation could help to build shared understandings about broad parameters for effort-sharing (Reference Pickering, Jotzo and WoodPickering et al., 2015).

8.5.2 Allocation

Evidence indicates that conservation spending is more effective in lower-income countries than higher-income ones (Reference Waldron, Miller and ReddingWaldron et al., 2017), suggesting potential synergies between just allocation and effective ecological outcomes. However, when it comes to the question of allocating finance among lower-income countries, justice and effectiveness could pull in different directions.

Allocation according to need is a prominent justice-based principle for determining distribution, but in practice it competes with other principles of allocation. Existing patterns of allocation for environmental aid reflect a mix of donors’ interests (e.g. supporting neighboring countries or trade partners) and equity considerations such as recipients’ needs (e.g. national income and extent of the environmental problem) (Reference Hicks, Parks, Timmons Roberts and TierneyHicks et al., 2008). Reference Miller, Agrawal and RobertsMiller et al. (2013) find that a country’s biodiversity need (measured using indicators such as the number of threatened species or species richness) and quality of governance are strong predictors of the level of biodiversity aid it receives; income is negatively but weakly correlated with levels of biodiversity aid.

Trade-offs may arise in allocation decisions because the countries with the greatest levels of need may not be the ones with the greatest capacity to manage funds effectively, for example where low-income status coincides with limited institutional capacity. Managing these trade-offs is further complicated by different interpretations of need (e.g. degree of risk of biodiversity loss or capacity for domestic resource mobilization: Reference Miller, Agrawal and RobertsMiller et al., 2013).

A massive scale-up of biodiversity finance would place considerable stress on existing institutional capacity to manage resources, particularly in countries with more constrained capacity (Reference PresbiteroPresbitero, 2016). While this needs to be taken into account in efforts to maximize effective use of biodiversity finance, there is a risk that low-income countries could be further marginalized if the lion’s share of funding goes to middle-income countries with stronger institutional capacity (Reference Arndt and TarpArndt and Tarp, 2017). Demand-driven mechanisms for allocating biodiversity finance may help to manage (if not fully resolve) these trade-offs, as recipient countries’ level of demand for finance may reflect a mix of need and institutional capacity. Enhancing recipient countries’ control over subnational allocation of biodiversity finance could enhance the effectiveness of implementation as well as furthering principles of procedural justice (Reference Duus-OtterströmDuus-Otterström, 2015).

8.6.1 Equitably Scaling Up Area-Based Conservation Initiatives

There is considerable debate regarding the expansion of area-based conservation and visions to achieve this, including whether expansion should comprise protected areas or “other effective area-based conservation measures” (OECMs) (Reference Büscher, Fletcher and BrockingtonBüscher et al., 2017; Reference Dudley, Jonas and NelsonDudley et al., 2018; Chapters 11 and 12). Here we focus on two key questions of justice that arise in scaling up conserved areas: (1) redistributive effects and (2) questions of procedural justice and recognition in decision-making.

Efforts to expand protected areas commonly curtail existing patterns of resource use in those areas. Recent pledges by many world leaders involve expanding protected areas to cover 30 percent of the Earth’s land and ocean surface by 2030. Proposals to expand this to 50 percent – e.g. the Half Earth Project (inspired by Reference WilsonWilson, 2016) and Nature Needs Half (Reference Kopnina, Washington, Gray and TaylorKopnina et al., 2018) – could impact as many as one billion people (Reference Schleicher, Zaehringer and FastréSchleicher et al., 2019). Such efforts could meet considerable political resistance from rural populations, particularly if they ignore the legacy of colonial land reallocations, displacement of IPLC and “green grabs” (Reference Büscher, Fletcher and BrockingtonBüscher et al., 2017). Equally, resistance may emerge from powerful groups (e.g. resource extraction or infrastructure industries) that are exploiting areas slated for protection. Although the redistributive effects of protected area expansion are often understood in human terms, an ecological justice perspective – which extends compassion, caring and rights to the entire living community – draws attention to the ways in which protected area expansion redistributes the Earth’s resources between humans and nonhumans (Reference Kopnina, Washington, Gray and TaylorKopnina et al., 2018). A perspective on justice that encompasses both human and nonhuman concerns could highlight possible areas of convergence between ecocentric conservationists and social justice activists. In the Amazon, for example, coalitions have formed between conservation biologists and social scientists, or between grassroots popular movements and environmental organizations, that have resulted in the creation of protected areas that combine zones for sustainable use (encompassing subsistence or commercial exploitation) and conservation (Reference Inoue, Franchini, Tickner and SmithInoue and Franchini, 2020). The more ambitious the protected area target, the more challenging it is likely to be to achieve such convergence.

Protected area expansion raises complex governance issues relating to rights, access and control, such that the question of how protected areas are managed is as important as what is to be protected (Reference Büscher, Fletcher and BrockingtonBüscher et al., 2017; Reference Coolsaet, Dawson, Rabitz and LoveraCoolsaet et al., 2020). In implementing international commitments on protected areas (such as Aichi Target 11), governments have tended to focus on the “headline” numbers of how much area is protected, with less emphasis on qualitative factors such as Aichi Target 11’s call for protected areas and OECMs to be “equitably managed” (CBD, 2010). This is partly due to practical and conceptual difficulties of measuring equity. Some impact assessment and evaluation tools (see e.g. Reference Schreckenberg, Franks, Martin and LangSchreckenberg et al., 2016; Reference Zafra-Calvo, Pascual and BrockingtonZafra-Calvo et al., 2017) and conceptual frameworks (Reference Pascual, Balvanera and DíazPascual et al., 2017) incorporating the three dimensions of justice have been developed and adopted by the CBD as voluntary guidance (CBD, 2018). However, barriers remain both to the adoption of these tools and to the achievement of equitable management, particularly where national legal frameworks do not recognize customary land rights.

International recognition of the global network of Indigenous and community conserved areas (ICCAs), along with evidence of their mutual benefits for human wellbeing and nature, offers an example of an emergent transformative change in biodiversity governance (Reference Armitage, Mbatha, Muhl, Rice and SowmanArmitage et al., 2020; Reference Brondízio, Settele, Díaz and NgoIPBES, 2019: chapter 6: 61; Reference Tran, Ban and BhattacharyyaTran et al., 2020). Establishment of an ICCA or “territory of life” requires the autonomy of local people to govern and manage their territories. In many instances, this necessitates an overhaul of land and other laws or policies to transfer power to local institutions, in addition to redressing discriminatory social and political norms. Thus, while a transformative scale-up of area-based conservation will pose significant challenges to existing power relations, it also offers an opportunity to redress a range of injustices (Reference Tauli-Corpuz, Alcorn, Molnar, Healy and BarrowTauli-Corpuz et al., 2020).

8.6.2 Justice and Equity in Mainstreaming Transformative Governance

Transformative governance beyond protected areas remains essential, as the main direct and indirect drivers of biodiversity loss emanate from outside these areas (Chapter 1; Reference Büscher, Fletcher and BrockingtonBüscher et al., 2017). Here we address risks of injustice when conservation interventions adversely affect marginalized groups. In implementing biodiversity governance, just transformation requires at a minimum (a) careful assessment to identify implementation options that avoid or minimize adverse effects on marginalized groups; and (b) where adverse effects cannot reasonably be avoided, incorporating additional measures to ensure that the wellbeing of these groups is protected.Footnote ⁴ As outlined in the Introduction, injustice may arise not only from practices that adversely impact biodiversity but also from measures to address biodiversity loss.

Taking the example of subsidies harmful to biodiversity (which are addressed in Aichi Target 3), some subsidies (e.g. for fossil fuel extraction) may benefit wealthy interests at the expense of disadvantaged groups, so dismantling them could yield a double dividend for biodiversity and social justice. However, other subsidies (e.g. for fuel or fertilizer) may be designed to benefit disadvantaged groups, so dismantling those subsidies may adversely affect those groups. More broadly, policies that seek to shift people’s livelihoods away from practices that degrade biodiversity can exacerbate inequalities of gender, education, ethnicity or socioeconomic status (Reference Bidaud, Schreckenberg and RabeharisonBidaud et al., 2017; Reference Blythe, Silver and EvansBlythe et al., 2018). While in some cases unequal impacts can be avoided by choosing an alternative option, in other cases there may be no reasonable alternatives, in which case supporting measures are required to mitigate those impacts.

We highlight four types of additional measures: monetary compensation, localized in-kind support for livelihoods, broader social protection mechanisms and a wider-ranging reconfiguration of social and political relations.

First, economic theories of reform often emphasize monetary transfers to alleviate or compensate for adverse impacts (or conversely monetary incentives to adopt sustainable practices). International biodiversity finance, as outlined in Section 8.5, may help to reduce the risk that conservation efforts will impede the ability of developing countries to address other pressing development priorities. Similarly, payment for ecosystem services (PES) initiatives may enable communities to participate in conservation without endangering their livelihoods (Reference Brondízio, Settele, Díaz and NgoIPBES, 2019). However, there remains the risk that a compensatory perspective will fail to recognize the incommensurability of different values attached to nature, the agency of affected groups and other options for enhancing their wellbeing (Reference Lliso, Pascual, Engel and MarielLliso et al., 2020).

A second option is localized support for livelihoods, such as through integrated conservation and development projects (ICDPs). Most case studies report that local integrated approaches to conservation have yielded very little benefit to people, even in cases that led to more effective conservation (Reference Lund and Saito-JensenLund and Saito-Jensen, 2013; Reference Twinamatsiko, Baker and HarrisonTwinamatsiko et al., 2014). The emerging understanding from this experience is that conservation effectiveness should be conceived as linked to social justice, rather than to a narrow economic understanding of development. In other words, for biodiversity governance to be transformative it is necessary to shift from an “integrated conservation and development” model to one of “integrated conservation and justice” (Reference MartinMartin, 2017; Reference Vucetich, Burnham and MacdonaldVucetich et al., 2018). This would include, for example, stronger recognition of local visions of nature in decision-making processes and support for local environmental stewardship instead of separating local livelihoods from ecosystems or resources of conservation value.

The need to scale up and mainstream biodiversity objectives beyond individual projects points to the importance of exploring a third kind of measure: broad-based social protection mechanisms. These could take the form of unemployment insurance, welfare payments or cash transfers for low-income families (e.g. the Bolsa Floresta program in Brazil), universal basic income or other instruments (Reference de Haande Haan, 2014). Unlike project-specific support, these measures would help to safeguard communities against a wider range of risks to their wellbeing. However, broader redistributive measures may be difficult to implement effectively – particularly in low-income countries – and may need to be supplemented by international support.

Finally, a fourth strategy is to combine conservation measures with broader systemic reform that advances all dimensions of justice, particularly for marginalized groups and environment and human rights defenders (Reference Bille Larsen, Le Billon and MentonBille Larsen et al., 2021; Reference Scheidel, Del Bene and LiuScheidel et al., 2020). This could occur through formal recognition of the rights of IPLC (e.g. through constitutional recognition, parliamentary representation or treaty processes), strengthening social safeguards in conservation policy (to address concerns of displacement and impacts on livelihoods), reform of land tenure legislation, or other measures (Reference Tran, Ban and BhattacharyyaTran et al., 2020). This fourth strategy underscores the importance of thinking well beyond the conventional policy toolkit of financial transfers if just transformation is to be achieved.

9.2.1 The Academic Debate

The idea that animals are rights-holders has origins in political theory, philosophy and law. Until today, the discourse and practice on animal rights, including the animal rights movement, has been inspired by normative thinking on interspecies justice, in other words justice for and between human and nonhuman animals (Reference Donaldson and KymlickaDonaldson and Kymlicka, 2011; Reference NussbaumNussbaum, 2006; Reference ReganRegan, 1983; Reference SingerSinger, 1975). Cavalieri, for example, proposes deleting the word “human” from human rights (Reference CavalieriCavalieri, 2001), thus expanding our understanding of rights to other species.

Two influential monographs on animal ethics were published in the 1970s and early 1980s: Animal Liberation by Peter Reference SingerSinger (1975); and The Case for Animal Rights by Tom Reference ReganRegan (1983). Singer proposes a more sophisticated account of equality, extending it to all beings irrespective of gender, ethnicity or, indeed, species. He builds on the concept of speciesism (Reference Ryder, Godlovitch, Godlovitch and HarrisRyder, 1971), which, analogous with racism, discriminates against species other than one’s own. Following the eighteenth/nineteenth century philosopher Jeremy Bentham, who suggests that we should not ask whether animals can reason or talk but whether animals can suffer, Singer proposes we consider their sentience. He argues that the capacity to suffer gives one the right to equal consideration with others. To avoid vast suffering of nonhuman animals, humans need to make radical changes not only to their diet, farming methods, scientific experiments, practices of hunting, trapping and wearing fur, but also to entertainment, including circuses, zoos and rodeos (Reference SingerSinger, 1975). Singer is not against using animals but argues that their interests should be considered on an equal basis to those of humans.

Reference ReganRegan (1983) agrees with Singer that speciesism is unjust and wrong. However, what he conceives as wrong is to view animals as human resources, that is, to eat them, to exploit them for entertainment, sport, or any commercial activity, or to surgically manipulate them for medical research. Regan denies that animal husbandry methods should become “more humane”; he supports the complete abolition of commercial animal agriculture (Reference ReganRegan, 1983: 337). He also criticizes the utilitarian perspective of Singer: the value of animals cannot be reduced to their usefulness for the greater good of others (Reference ReganRegan, 1983: 343). It is our duty to recognize their rights and, as such, Regan views the animal rights movement as part of the human rights movement. Thus, in animal ethics one can differentiate between interest theories of rights for eliminating animal suffering, such as Singer’s, and anti-use theories supported by Regan (Reference ReganRegan, 1983; see also Reference Ahlhaus and NiesenAhlhaus and Niesen, 2015: 16).

More recently, in Zoopolis: A Political Theory of Animal Rights (2011), Sue Donaldson and Will Kymlicka argue for a more comprehensive approach to animal rights that varies according to the relational nature of specific groups of animals to humans. Such an approach integrates universal negative rights, such as the absence of suffering, with differentiated positive rights, such as healthcare for domesticated animals, depending on the character of the human–animal relationship (Reference Donaldson and KymlickaDonaldson and Kymlicka, 2011: 11; see also Reference Ahlhaus and NiesenAhlhaus and Niesen, 2015: 18). Donaldson and Kymlicka argue that liberalism today combines universal human rights with more relational, bounded and group-differentiated rights. Upon this base, they claim, citizenship theory can be fruitfully used to “combine traditional animal rights theory with a positive and relational account of obligations” (Reference Donaldson and KymlickaDonaldson and Kymlicka, 2011: 14).

When referring to human–animal relationships, Donaldson and Kymlicka differentiate between: (a) animals living in the wild forming sovereign communities in their own territories, (b) animals that, similar to migrants or denizens, move into areas of human habitation and (c) domesticated animals that have been bred over generations to coexist with human beings. Domesticated animals, Donaldson and Kymlicka argue, should enjoy citizenship rights (Reference Donaldson and KymlickaDonaldson and Kymlicka, 2011: 14). Acknowledging domestic animals as citizens with rights is a moral obligation that arises from their integration into human societies, which removes their independence and ability to survive in the wild. Wild animals, in contrast, should be conceived as citizens of their own sovereign communities whose autonomy and territory should be respected. Non-domesticated “liminal” animals living among humans are compared to denizens. They need to be respected as coresidents of urban spaces but are not included in the citizenship scheme of humans and domesticated animals (Reference Donaldson and KymlickaDonaldson and Kymlicka, 2011: 15).

By employing political concepts, such as citizenship, denizenship, sovereignty, territory, migration and membership, and exploring their use or adaptation in the context of animals, Donaldson and Kymlicka make a clear attempt to promote animal rights beyond mere justifications for rights and justice for animals. While this has been criticized by some scholars because it challenges the distinctive meanings of concepts like citizenship or denizenship (Reference LadwigLadwig, 2015; Reference SeubertSeubert, 2015; Reference SteinStein, 2015), it has also given fresh impetus to the debate on animal rights. If animals are citizens, they are perceived as actors that can directly participate in political communities and be represented through institutions (Reference Donaldson and KymlickaDonaldson and Kymlicka, 2011). Especially in democratic political systems, Peter Reference Niesen, Diehl and TuiderNiesen (2019) argues, there is consensus that those affected by laws should be able to influence the process of making these laws. If institutions neglect certain perspectives and interests, they are undemocratic. We therefore need to rethink our relationship with (and domination over) animals (Reference Niesen, Diehl and TuiderNiesen, 2019: 381). This is reiterated from a post-humanist perspective, which deconstructs species supremacy and anthropocentrism to acknowledge animals’ own agency (Reference BraidottiBraidotti, 2013). This perspective leads us to question whether humans have the “right” to grant animals rights at all.

9.2.2 Political Practice

The modern animal rights movement has been heavily influenced by the work of the philosophers Singer and Regan (Reference WiseWise, 2016). Additionally, lawyers, scientists, academics, veterinarians, theologians and psychologists have influenced the movement. Consequently, since the beginning of the twenty-first century, a number of lawsuits have been brought forward to protect the interests and rights of animals. Legal scholars have attempted to advance basic animal rights in political practice, often accompanied by scientific evidence that provides a better understanding of the capacities and behavior of animals (Reference WiseWise, 2016).

An increasing number of animal rights groups have raised awareness of the abusive conditions in which animals are kept, including on factory farms and in medical research laboratories. Rights groups are active at various levels, from local animal shelters to international groups such as PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals).

At the national level, the animal rights movement has succeeded in achieving stronger legal protection of animals by lobbying for the inclusion of animal rights in national constitutions. Two prominent examples are Switzerland and Germany. Animal protection has long been an issue of debate in the Swiss parliament. The “dignity of creatures” (“die Würde der Kreatur”) was first mentioned in the constitution of the canton Aargau in 1980. It initiated a wider debate about the need to include animal welfare and dignity in the federal constitution (Reference GoetschelGoetschel, 2000: 12). The discourse on animal protection in Switzerland has been strongly linked to debates about the legal boundaries of genetic engineering. On the basis of a successful animal rights campaign, a constitutional amendment was passed in 1992 that stated that researchers need to respect the “dignity of creatures” (Reference JaberJaber, 2000). In the course of creating a new constitution in 1998, animal activists tried to strengthen this amendment but were unsuccessful. However, in 2000, the wording of the 1992 amendment was included in the revised constitution (Reference EvansEvans, 2010: 239).

In Germany, a decade-long battle between campaigners and conservative politicians ended with paragraph 20a of the German constitution stating that animals have to be respected and protected by the state (Reference ConnollyConnolly, 2002). The campaign was started because the basic law protected freedom of research and freedom of profession. As a consequence, courts usually ruled in favor of researchers, even if they conducted experiments that caused animal suffering (Reference EvansEvans, 2010: 235). A political opportunity arose when a Social Democrat/Green government coalition was in power from 1998 until 2002, after animal activists’ efforts to include animal rights in the constitution were blocked by the Christian-Democrat majority in parliament during the 1990s. In 2002, activists increased public awareness after the Supreme Court granted permission to practice a traditional religious slaughter ritual that – according to many campaigners – involved unnecessary cruelty (Reference JuddJudd, 2003: 122). Public opinion against this decision and the support of the Green Party led to a successful constitutional amendment that year. Article 20a of German Basic Law now reads:

Here, we can see the strong link between animal rights, rights of nature and intergenerational justice. Even though the German Animal Protection League was hoping that this constitutional amendment would lead to a number of relevant changes protecting animals in Germany (Reference ConnollyConnolly, 2002), there are still many problems, mostly relating to animals kept in factory farms and live animal transport. However, legislative changes at the federal and state level following the constitutional amendment of 2002 have almost completely eliminated inhumane research practices involving animals, and keeping animals for fur farming.

9.3.1 The Academic Debate

Over the last three decades, animal welfare has accelerated as a field of scientific study. There is no universally accepted definition of animal welfare and the various conceptions in use lead to different ways of assessing the welfare of animals (Reference Weary and RobbinsWeary and Robbins, 2019). Most definitions, however, differentiate between physical elements contributing to, or impeding, the welfare of animals, including malnutrition, exposure, disease and injury, on the one hand, and affective elements like thirst, hunger, discomfort, pain, fear and distress, on the other hand (Reference MellorMellor, 2016: 8). Challenges to animal welfare can originate in natural and unnatural environments, and to assess the welfare of an individual animal or collective species one needs to consider not only fitness and health, biological needs and wants, but also animals’ sensory or emotional experiences, feelings or affective states (Reference MellorMellor, 2016: 14).

Important ideas on animal welfare originate in the 1965 Report of the Technical Committee to Enquire into the Welfare of Animals Kept under Intensive Livestock Husbandry Systems, also known as the Brambell report, published in the UK. The report highlighted that farm animals should be guaranteed five freedoms: to “stand up, lie down, turn around, groom themselves and stretch their limbs” (FAWC, 2009). In reaction to the Brambell report, the UK Farm Animal Welfare Advisory Committee (FAWAC) was established, and subsequently the Farm Animal Welfare Council (FAWC). John Webster, a former Professor of Animal Husbandry at the University of Bristol, helped develop the five freedoms. In his book Animal Welfare: A Cool Eye Towards Eden, he explains the usefulness of this framework in order to assess animal welfare:

Minimum standards based on the five freedoms have been modified by the FAWC, which in 2019 was renamed the Animal Welfare Committee (AWC), and were supplemented by five provisions detailing how to implement them. The AWC today classifies animals’ quality of life as a good life, a life worth living and a life not worth living (FAWC, 2009: iii). Furthermore, in 2018, the UK Government acknowledged animal sentience, which it defines as “the capability to experience pain, distress and harm” (FAWC, 2018), reiterating its commitment to Article 13 of the Lisbon Treaty of the European Union (EU), which recognizes animal sentience. Such recognition paves the way for the acknowledgment of the individual animal in biodiversity governance.

Considerations on animal welfare, including relevant welfare and assessment schemes in the UK and beyond, are still guided by the five freedoms and respective provisions (Reference MellorMellor, 2016: 2). The 2009 FAWC report includes:

Even though the language of “freedom” is akin to the human rights language employed in international agreements (e.g. in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights), there is a clear distinction between animal rights and animal welfare approaches. Whereas animal rights proponents emphasize that it is morally wrong for humans to use or exploit animals, animal welfarists are concerned with reducing suffering. Welfarists’ acceptance of the instrumental use of animals by humans is in accordance with anthropocentric thinking, and in line with arguments brought forward by Singer. This utilitarian perspective is contrary to the philosophical ideas of Regan and animal rights proponents, who argue against using animals as a resource to be exploited by humans at all. Still, the five freedoms and pertinent animal welfare schemes are criticized by others for being normative and too idealistic to serve as a code of recommendation for welfare assessment (Reference McCullochMcCulloch, 2013).

Furthermore, the five freedoms have been criticized for being tailored to contexts of animal exploitation (Reference HaynesHaynes, 2011), and focused on “negative freedoms” in which “freedom from” (e.g. hunger, disease and fear) is emphasized. The exception is “freedom to express normal behavior” (FACW, 2009). Scholars have suggested that this focus on negative experiences may not be sufficient because animal welfare should also comprise positive elements, such as being housed in species-relevant environments and encouraging animal-to-animal interaction (Reference MellorMellor, 2016: 2). A more subjective measure of welfare, qualitative behavior assessment (QBA), goes some way to countering the criticisms on the five freedoms. QBA proposes an integrative measurement to assess the behavior of an animal and its interaction with its environment (Reference Wemelsfelder and LawrenceWemelsfelder and Lawrence, 2001).

9.3.2 Political Practice

Conceptualizations of animal welfare, and in particular the five freedoms, have had considerable impact on policy development from the global to the national level.

The World Organisation for Animal Health (OIE), established in 1924, is an intergovernmental organization with 182 member states. It focuses mainly on the health of domesticated animals kept for food. It has developed animal welfare standards, included in the regularly updated Terrestrial Animal Health Code, and an animal welfare strategy in 2017 that covers standards related to transport, slaughter and the use of animals in research (OIE, 2020a). The organization supports member countries in the implementation of the standards (OIE, 2020b; Reference Visseren-HamakersVisseren-Hamakers, 2018a). Pertinent to this chapter, the OIE’s revised mandate to improve animal health and welfare worldwide extends its scope to wild animals (OIE, 2002). Nevertheless, the focus of its dedicated wildlife working group, created in 1994, is almost exclusively on wildlife diseases, rather than welfare (OIE, 2020c). In sum, the OIE remains predominately anthropocentric in its aims.

Additionally, the creation of a United Nations Convention on Animal Health and Protection (UNCAHP) is currently under consideration. The draft convention is an initiative of the Global Animal Law Project (2018). The 2018 draft affirms that animals are sentient beings and acknowledges the five freedoms in its preamble. It proposes general measures in relation to non-cruelty and good treatment, and recommends the creation of a United Nations (UN) institution on animal health, welfare and protection. Another development at the global level concerning animal welfare advocacy was the launch in 2021 of the World Federation for Animals (WFA), a collaboration of animal protection organizations (WFA, 2021).

At the regional level, in Europe, the five freedoms are reflected in the welfare assessment criteria of the European Welfare Quality® scheme. The criteria established are used as assessment standards to determine levels of animal welfare and inform EU citizens on meat products (Reference McCullochMcCulloch, 2013). The EU Strategy for Protection and Welfare of Animals (2012–2015) was evaluated between 2019 and 2020 to assess whether its objectives were delivered. The final report states that the uneven level of protection for different animal species is at odds with the recognition by the EU of animal sentience and that EU citizens’ concerns for animal welfare have increased since 2012 (EU, 2020). The African Union established its Animal Welfare Strategy in Africa (AWSA) in 2017, which refers to One Health and One Welfare approaches and includes all animals, including kept animals and animals in the wild (AU-IBAR, 2017). Meanwhile, the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) has established Good Animal Husbandry Practices (GAHP), currently focused on livestock important to the region, namely chickens and pigs (ASEAN, 2020).

An overview of animal welfare policies of different countries, as developed by the animal welfare NGO World Animal Protection (2020), shows a tremendous difference in the manner in which animal welfare is recognized and operationalized around the world. In its ratings of welfare policies, not one country receives an A, the highest possible score, with a handful of European countries (Austria, Denmark, the Netherlands, Sweden, Switzerland and the UK) receiving a B. In the UK, for example, the 2006 UK Animal Welfare Act includes duties of animal owners that are based on the five freedoms, including protection from pain, suffering, injury and disease, as well as the duty to provide a suitable environment, an appropriate diet and adequate housing, and to enable normal behavior patterns (UK Animal Welfare Act, 2006). The five freedoms are also an integral part of a number of welfare codes and schemes in the UK. Examples are various Department of Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (Defra) codes of recommendations for the welfare of livestock, for instance for meat chickens and breeding chickens (2002), pigs (2003) and cattle (2003).

9.4.1 The Academic Debate

The idea of “rights of nature” has gained tentative acceptance in the United States through Christopher Stone’s landmark paper “Should trees have standing?” (Reference StoneStone, 1972). Stone extended the concept of standing (locus standi) to insist that it is unfair for trees to be denied legal protection because they cannot speak and concludes that guardians who wish to defend the rights of trees should be permitted to bring legal action against those whose actions would harm them (Reference StoneStone, 1972). Stone’s paper led to a dissenting opinion in the US Supreme Court. In Sierra Club v. Morton, the Sierra Club opposed a development in the Sequoia National Forest on ecological grounds. The court ruled that the Sierra Club had no standing in the case as neither the club nor its members would be harmed by the development (Reference BaudeBaude, 1973). However, Justice William Douglas dissented, citing Stone’s paper to argue that natural objects should have legal standing, thereby giving guardians the ability to sue for their preservation (Reference HoganHogan, 2007).

Roderick Reference NashNash (1989) saw the extension of rights to other species and natural objects as a broadening of liberal political theory. He argued that freedom of human action should be limited to prevent people from interfering with the rights of other species. Thomas Berry argued that healthy communities cannot be defined solely in terms of the health of people; the health of the natural environment within which a community of people lives also needs to be considered. To Berry, any part of the Earth community has “the right to be, the right to habitat, and the right to fulfil its role in the ever-renewing processes of the Earth community” (Reference Berry and BurdonBerry, 2011, 229). So a river has the right to flow, a tree has the right to grow, a wild animal has the right to roam free in nature and ecosystems have the right to evolve and adapt.

Proponents of Earth jurisprudence argue that nature should be treated as a subject that requires transformative change to secure legally guaranteed rights, rather than an object owned through property rights to satisfy the instrumental needs of humans. There are diverse conceptions of “environmental personhood” (Reference GordonGordon, 2019). Legal scholar Cormac Cullinan builds on the work of Berry to argue that modifying contemporary legal systems will not protect nature. Instead, a thorough transformation of the law, in which humans are recognized as just one species in the Earth community, is needed (Reference CullinanCullinan, 2011). Humans should limit their actions in order to uphold nature’s rights both for moral reasons (it is right to do so) and for instrumental reasons (human rights ultimately depend on the conservation of nature). Under Earth jurisprudence, therefore, obligations are owed not only to humans but to other species and natural features (Reference BurdonBurdon, 2015).

An important academic debate on the relevance of Earth jurisprudence for biodiversity conservation concerns property rights. The liberal notion of private property is essentially individualistic, often emphasizes rights rather than duties and privileges the legal property owner while excluding other stakeholders. Proponents of Earth jurisprudence argue that contemporary property rights are inconsistent with biodiversity conservation. Peter Burdon distinguishes between two approaches to private property. In one view, private property is “inconsistent with ecocentric ethics and ought to be discarded as a social institution” (Reference BurdonBurdon, 2015: 101). In this view, private property establishes a hierarchy, with humans having ownership and dominion over nature. The second, reformist, approach sees private property as an “evolving social institution” that needs to be reconceptualized to take into account the impacts of property use on other people and nature (Reference BurdonBurdon, 2015). In the case of biodiversity governance, nature’s limits should be respected in order to avoid the devastation that humans can cause when property rights are unconditional and unrestricted.

Much contemporary biodiversity policy is based on private property rights and recognizes, implicitly or explicitly, that property owners are entitled to use nature without restrictions, including degrading it. The policy of payments for ecosystems services (PES), for example, rests on the notion that if landowners voluntarily give up a measure of free use in order to provide ecosystem services for the community then payment should be made by that community. PES makes sense in a neoliberal policy context, where owners are free to “sell” on markets the ecosystem services they “provide” to those who benefit from them (see also Chapters 4 and 6).

Earth jurisprudence disputes this logic, arguing that private property is an evolving social construct that needs redefining to take into account our responsibilities to other people and to the community of life. While this runs counter to the liberal notion of property, it is central to the intimate relationship with the land of many indigenous communities, who recognize custodianship as well as ownership. Earth jurisprudence, therefore, articulates a very different notion of property, one in which ethical responsibility to other species is integral and that regulates not just relations between people, but between people and the Earth community.

9.4.2 Political Practice

In 1982 the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) adopted the World Charter for Nature (Reference WoodWood, 1984). The charter contains twenty-four principles, some of which are now invoked in Earth jurisprudence, including the statements that “Nature shall be respected and its essential processes shall not be impaired” (United Nations, 1982: article 1) and “The genetic viability on the earth shall not be compromised; the population levels of all life forms, wild and domesticated, must be at least sufficient for their survival, and to this end necessary habitats shall be safeguarded” (United Nations, 1982: principle 2). The charter contains the first political recognition by the UN of “harmony with nature,” a phrase that has been repeated in subsequent international environmental declarations, including the 1992 Rio Declaration on Environment and Development (United Nations, 1992).

In 2008, Ecuador became the first country to include rights of nature in its constitution, article 71 of which declares:

The Ecuadorian constitution allows any individual or group to take legal action to uphold nature’s rights, a provision that is consistent with Stone’s idea of guardians. Indigenous peoples were represented in the drafting process by the Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities of Ecuador (CONAIE), which paved the way for the inclusion of rights of nature in the constitution. In 2011, the first court case to uphold the rights of nature was brought, namely Wheeler v. Director de la Procuraduria General Del Estado de Loja. The court ruled that the dumping of road debris into the Vilcabamba River violated nature’s rights and ordered the removal of the debris in order to restore the right of the river to flow (CELDF, 2015; Reference DalyDaly, 2012).

In 2009, Bolivia adopted a new constitution stipulating that Bolivians have a duty to “protect and defend an adequate environment for the development of living beings” (Constitution of the Plurinational State of Bolivia, 2009: Article 108.16). The following year, the Bolivian legislature passed the Law of the Rights of Mother Earth, which recognizes seven rights of nature:

• the right to life and to exist;

• not to be genetically altered or structurally modified in an artificial way;

• to pure water;

• to clear air;

• to balance;

• to restoration; and

• not to be polluted.

While the federal government in the United States does not recognize rights of nature, there has been some recognition at the subfederal level. In Tamaqua Borough, Pennsylvania, in 2006 an ordinance was issued that recognized natural ecosystems within the borough as “legal persons” for the purpose of preventing sewage sludge dumping on wild land (Tamaqua Borough Sewage Sludge Ordinance, 2006). The ordinance, which represents the first instance a public body in the United States granted personhood to nature, stipulated that corporations causing environmental degradation will lose the rights of personhood. Also, in November 2010, the city of Pittsburgh issued an ordinance banning natural gas drilling and fracking, elevating community rights and the rights of nature over and above those of corporate personhood (Pittsburgh Pennsylvania Code of Ordinances, 2013).

The examples of Ecuador and Bolivia (at the national level) and the United States (at the subnational level) have inspired rights of nature movements in other countries, with rivers being granted legal rights in three other countries, namely Colombia, India (including the Ganges and Yamuna) and New Zealand (the Whanganui River) (Reference PecharromanPecharroman, 2018).

In 2010, the World People’s Conference on Climate Change and the Rights of Mother Earth met in Cochabamba, Bolivia and agreed a Universal Declaration of the Rights of Mother Earth. The declaration is the most important set of Earth jurisprudence principles produced by civil society groups, although as yet it has no legal status. It aspires to a fundamentally different form of human society in which the rights of nature prevail over other rights: “The rights of each being are limited by the rights of other beings and any conflicts between their rights must be resolved in a way that maintains the integrity, balance and health of Mother Earth” (UDRME, 2010: article 1). Article 1 also states that “Mother Earth is a living being” and “The inherent rights of Mother Earth are inalienable in that they arise from the same source as existence“ (UDRME, 2010: article 1). This has similarities to Gaia theory, which conceives of the Earth as a self-regulating and holistic system of living organisms (Reference LovelockLovelock, 1990). A further civil society initiative is the International Rights of Nature Tribunal, established in 2014. This tribunal hears cases brought by aggrieved parties and those who seek to defend nature’s rights in line with the principles of Earth jurisprudence. Prosecutors and judges are appointed by the Global Alliance for the Rights of Nature (Reference BoydBoyd, 2017).

In 2011, the UN established an annual interactive dialogue on “harmony with nature” (UN, 2020), and in 2012 the expression “rights of nature” appeared for the first time in a UNGA resolution. Resolution 66/288, endorsing the “The future we want,” the main outcome from the United Nations Conference on Sustainable Development (Rio +20), notes:

Also in 2012, the eleventh Conference of the Parties (COP 11) to the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) passed a decision noting that “biodiversity and development processes can be achieved taking into account non-market-based approaches and respect for ‘Mother Earth’ and the concept of the rights of nature, and that the valuation of biodiversity and ecosystem services is one, among other, tools available” (CBD, 2012). This decision represents a broadening of the range of approaches that the CBD is prepared to endorse and a recognition that market valuation and PES policy approaches are not always the most effective. Additionally, the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) Congress adopted a resolution recognizing the rights of nature “as a fundamental and absolute key element for planning, action and assessment at all levels and in all areas of intervention” (IUCN, 2012). The Summary for Policymakers of the Global Assessment of the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services (IPBES) also mentions rights-based approaches and animal welfare (Reference Razzaque, Visseren-Hamakers, Prasad Gautam, Sonnewend, Brondízio, Settele, Díaz and NgoRazzaque et al., 2019).

Relatedly, the crime of ecocide for violating rights of nature is gaining traction. Ecocide is defined as “extensive damage to, destruction or loss of ecosystem(s) of a given territory, whether by human agency or by other causes to such an extent that peaceful enjoyment by the inhabitants of that territory has been or will be severely diminished” (Reference Higgins, Short and SouthHiggins et al., 2013: 257). Reference Legge and BroomanLegge and Brooman (2020) propose that international animal law should recognize “animal ecocide” through an amendment to the Rome Statute, which they argue would significantly advance wild animal welfare. They see animal ecocide as the “unnecessary killing or slaughter of a wild or wild-caught animal, by any human agency, or allowing such killing or slaughter to be so caused by any governmental organisation, to such an extent that an animal, or group of animals, lose their sentient capacity to live a natural life according to their species” (Reference Legge and BroomanLegge and Brooman, 2020: 212). Speciesism is seen as the root cause of ecocide. Recognizing the value and rights of other species would help to prevent such destruction (Reference JerJer, 2019; Reference SollundSollund, 2020).

9.5.1 One Health and One Welfare

Whereas ideas on animal welfare and animal rights focus on the relationship between human beings and nonhuman animals, while rights of nature focuses on the relationship between humans and nature, conceptions of One Health (discussed in detail in Chapter 5) emphasize how all three, namely human, animal and environmental health, are interlinked (Reference Galaz, Leach, Scoones and SteinGalaz et al., 2015; Reference Zinsstag, Schelling, Wyss and MahamatZinsstag et al., 2006; Reference Zinsstag, Schelling, Waltner-Toews and Tanner2011). While the idea has been discussed for decades (Reference Cook, Karesh and OsofskyCook et al., 2004), the outbreak of avian influenza in the early 2000s considerably strengthened discussions relating to the One Health concept. The required cooperation between different international organizations, including the World Health Organization (WHO), the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) and the World Organisation for Animal Health (OIE), with oversight from the UN System Influenza Coordination Office, emphasized the need for an integrated, intersectoral, interinstitutional and interdisciplinary response (Reference Galaz, Leach, Scoones and SteinGalaz et al., 2015: 3). In 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic, almost certainly caused by a novel coronavirus that was transmitted to humans from animals, led to renewed calls to recognize the interrelationship between environmental, animal and human health.

However, the idea of equally integrating human, animal and environmental health has proven difficult to implement in practice. In addition to hierarchies between professional disciplines, institutional preferences for single-sector approaches, the paucity of funding, capacity-building, education and training that hamper One Health implementation, there is also the critique that the One Health agenda is geographically Northern-dominated, is top-down and lacks consideration of local experiences and knowledge (Reference Galaz, Leach, Scoones and SteinGalaz et al., 2015). Thus, the concept is still weak in its practical application, lacking institutional capacities and interdisciplinary collaboration between the natural and social sciences as well as a fruitful exchange between research and policymakers (Reference ValeixValeix, 2014).

The nascent concept of One Welfare, which is not currently applied at the international level, extends the approach of One Health and highlights the interconnections between animal welfare, human well-being and the environment (Reference Garcia Pinillos, Appleby and MantecaGarcia Pinillos et al. 2016; One Welfare, 2020).

9.5.2 Compassionate Conservation

Proponents of another approach connecting animal and biodiversity concerns, namely compassionate conservation, argue that conservation objectives need to go beyond protecting species and ecological processes to include animal ethics and a concern for animal welfare (Reference Wallach, Bekoff, Batavia, Nelson and RampWallach et al., 2018). This implies not only considering species as a collective but also the interests of individual animals as sentient beings. Hence, compassionate conservationists suggest combining compassion for individuals with conservation of collectives. This can be relevant, for instance, in wildlife management programs or in other areas of conservation practice that opt for killing individual animals from one species to preserve individuals from another species, killing predators to save endangered prey animals, killing introduced or “invasive” species to save native megafauna, killing individual animals for conservation research, or breeding animals in zoos for conservation and education (Reference Wallach, Bekoff, Batavia, Nelson and RampWallach et al., 2018: 1261). According to compassionate conservation, these practices will have to be fundamentally reviewed and reformed in order not to compromise individual animals’ well-being for the sake of their own, or another, species (Reference BekoffBekoff, 2013).

Compassionate conservationists propose transforming human–animal interaction in an ethically appropriate and sustainable way based on four principles: do no harm, individuals matter, inclusivity and peaceful coexistence (Reference Wallach, Bekoff, Batavia, Nelson and RampWallach et al., 2018). Acknowledging the intrinsic value of individual animals requires moving away from instrumentalist thinking, in which animals have material value for human beings, toward valuing them in their own right, irrespective of benefits to humans. This means decentering humans, giving equal consideration to animals and biodiversity as integral parts of an ecosystem and overcoming the human–nature dichotomy. Empirical evidence suggests that nonanthropocentric perspectives, and a stronger focus on the well-being of animals, are increasingly supported within society. Thus, there has been a profound shift toward acknowledging the intrinsic, as opposed to instrumental, value of animals (Reference Bruskotter, Vucetich and NelsonBruskotter et al., 2017).

10.3.1 Marine Bioprospecting

There is increasing economic interest in genetic material from marine bacteria, sponges, krill, corals and seaweeds. Marine biotechnology research includes aquaculture, novel products such as Omega 3, fatty acids from fish oil, carotenoids, pigments, flavorings and nutritional supplements (Reference Blunt, Copp, Munro, Northcote and PrinsepBlunt et al., 2011). The total value is difficult to assess and may be overrated (Reference 217LearyLeary, 2018), but Reference Blasiak, Jouffray, Wabnitz, Sundström and ÖsterblomBlasiak et al. (2018) estimate the value of global marine bioprospecting in 2025 at $6.4 billion. However, although the number of patent applications based on marine genetic resources is increasing, only 1–2 percent of preclinical candidates become commercial products (Reference 217LearyLeary, 2018). Patent applications merely indicate a demand for patent rights, not actual control, and there is yet little information regarding patents granted.

Bioprospecting the high seas is a cost-intensive, high-risk activity. Apart from possible legal constraints on bioprospecting, collectors also face economic and biological challenges. Economic: Only a few research vessels are equipped to access and collect samples in the polar regions. Some of the collected material is already known and has been analyzed, isolated and characterized, as most species studied have a large geographical distribution (Reference SvensonSvenson, 2013). Biological: The high-cost, high-risk nature of collecting makes resampling difficult; hence the motivation to stock up as much as the vessel’s freezing capacity allows, which gives rise to issues of sustainability in harvesting (Reference SvensonSvenson, 2013).

Reflecting the high costs, marine bioprospecting and patent applications come predominantly from a few developed nations and their industries (Reference Arnaud-Haond, Arrieta and DuarteArnaud-Haond et al., 2011; Reference Müller and SchøyenMüller and Schøyen, 2021; Reference Oldham and KindnessOldham and Kindness, 2020). Beside Australia, Germany, Norway, Russia, the USA and UK, China is currently preparing to join this exclusive club,Footnote ² having established a large marine science center in Qindao, Shandong province, aiming to study the extreme marine environments of the Polar regions, and building ocean-going vessels specifically rigged for collecting marine samples.Footnote ³

Bioprospecting takes place by directly collecting organic material from nature, and through genetic sequencing of such material that has already entered biobanks. At the time of harvesting (collecting from the wild), the material typically includes all kinds of living specimens or samples from organisms. On return to shore, the marine material is usually stored in biobanks in various forms, from living organisms through dried material to prepared laboratory samples. From these, new expressions can be made, including taxonomic information, ready-made assays, biochemical compositions, DNA sequencing, DSI, screened genomes and synthesized enzymes (biological molecules) copying those found (Reference Tvedt and BanetTvedt, 2020). Enzymes are a central part of polar marine bioprospecting for their function in catalyzing chemical reactions in living organisms (respiration, digestion, etc.).Footnote ⁴ Bacteria for antibiotics and anticancer agents form another major group (Reference Oldham and KindnessOldham and Kindness, 2020). As shown in Box 10.1, synthetic biology and the use of DSI are increasingly affecting the ABS debate, and also invoking and intensifying the derivative debate in UNCLOS (Reference Lai, Canavan and CameronLai et al., 2019; Reference WolmanWolman, 2016).

10.3.2 Governing Bioprospecting

Three levels of law are relevant for polar bioprospecting. At the regional level, Antarctica is governed by the Antarctic Treaty System (ATS). The legal overlap between ATS and UNCLOS regarding Antarctica is subject to some controversy; however, neither of these regimes has regulations relating directly to marine bioprospecting. The international level includes the rules in UNCLOS, treaties on patent law harmonization and the general rules concerning ABS in the CBD. A general ruling in UNCLOS, Article 118, states that the parties shall cooperate in the conservation and management of living resources in the areas of the high seas. The ABS regime of the CBD is more specific about ABS conduct in bioprospecting, and might take precedence over UNCLOS through “lex specialis” (as more specific legal acts tend to take precedence over less specific ones). The ABS regime is also more inclusive, with 196 ratifying member states, as against 168 UNCLOS ratifications. The USA has not ratified either. The CBDs ABS regime demands prior informed consent (PIC) and mutually agreed terms (MAT) about where genetic material is found and under what conditions the material has been appropriated. Unlike UNCLOS, the ABS regime is not directly applicable outside of national jurisdiction, however.

In the ongoing UNCLOS negotiations (based on UN General Assembly decision 72/249, 2017), developing countries have advocated an ABS regime, whereas the developed countries’ main concern has been with open access to the high seas (Reference Blasiak, Pittman, Yagi and SuginoBlasiak et al., 2016). Developing countries favor an ABS regime along the lines of the CBD, which may involve mandatory, monetary benefit-sharing upon commercialization, the inclusion of derivatives, linking monitoring of ABS to patent systems (with mandatory disclosure of origin of genetic material in patent applications) and that the time scope for collected material is reckoned from the entry into force of the CBD (1993). Most of the developed countries, and increasingly China, are opposed to a fully fledged ABS regime along the lines of the CBD.Footnote ⁵ Unlike the case in the CBD, FAO, WIPO and WTO, corporations and industry associations are hardly represented in the UNCLOS preparatory committee meetings where ABS and marine bioprospecting are discussed. They are, however, active in lobbying state actors on UNCLOS agenda issues.Footnote ⁶ The ICC coordinates industry views on use of genetic resources within national borders, but this strategy does not address ABNJ directly (ICC, 2018). The biotechnology industry is concerned with reducing legal uncertainty, which, many argue, is hampering innovation and the development of products from marine habitats (ICC, 2018).Footnote ⁷

The UNCLOS negotiating parties are split between the principle of the freedom of the high seas versus principles on ABS from use of marine genetic resources. This is predominantly a North–South conflict, exacerbated by the diverging norms embedded in internationally harmonized patent regimes (IPRFootnote ⁸), and the ABS regime of the CBD with its Nagoya Protocol, respectively (Reference Oberthür and RosendalOberthür and Rosendal, 2014). In the polar regions the IPR–ABS discussion assumes new aspects as it relates to regulations of resources beyond national jurisdiction. The debate here can be seen as about striving to fill a legislative gap in the governance of genetic resources, as genetic resources in ABNJ are not directly covered by the CBD ABS regime. This concerns the access to and equitable sharing of benefits arising from the use of what may be regarded as a global commons resource, traditionally conceived of as a Common Heritage of Mankind (the CHM principle) (Reference De LuciaDe Lucia, 2019). The central argument linked to the global commons nature of these resources concerns the need to maintain affordable access to the resources also for those without the financial means to conduct bioprospecting on the high seas. Such access might, for instance, be achieved through common pool collections of marine genetic samples (Reference Jørem and TvedtJørem and Tvedt, 2014; Reference Tvedt and BanetTvedt, 2020). The transparency necessary to realize benefit-sharing could also be achieved by notification through a clearinghouse mechanism: Reference PripPrip (2021) argues that such a notification system should cover not only marine genetic resources (MGRs) collected in the sea, but also those held ex situ, as in gene banks, as well as DSI on MGRs. Another advantage of a common pool collection and a clearinghouse mechanism concerns sustainability in harvesting: Duplicates would be accessible to all, instead of each collector needing to collect their own sample, which might reduce the pressure on potentially rare marine specimens.

The third legal level refers to private rights subject to domestic legislation, contracts and patents. Updated information on national ABS legislation can be found at the CBD Clearing House site.Footnote ⁹ The majority of developing countries have enacted, or are in the process of enacting, ABS legislation, whereas this is less widespread in developed, typical “user” countries. In 2014, the EU issued ABS legislation that is in support of mandatory monetary benefit-sharing and includes acceptance of derivatives and disclosure. The EU legislation timeframe is limited to 2014 (with the entry into force of the Nagoya Protocol) and does not cover utilization of genetic resources back to the establishment of the ABS regime in 1993. Iceland regulates bioprospecting in relation to microbes isolated from their geothermal areas (Reference LearyLeary, 2008), and Queensland, Australia has ABS for commercial bioprospecting at home (Reference Prip, Rosendal, Andresen and TvedtPrip et al., 2014). Sweden and Denmark have determined that for the time being they do not intend to regulate ABS of genetic resources within their own national borders; similarly, Russia has no ABS regulation. The USA, which is not party to the CBD, has ABS-like regulations for bioprospecting within its national parks. Norway and Denmark have advanced ABS regimes for regulating Norwegian and Danish bioprospecting abroad. Both countries have modified their patent acts, requiring disclosure of where genetic material is found and under what conditions the material has been appropriated (PIC and MAT obligations). Norway and Finland are in the process of developing ABS regimes for regulating bioprospecting also at home. In Norway, an administrative order on how to regulate ABS and foreign bioprospectors at home has been subjected to two separate hearings (2012 and 2017). In our case study of Norway, we pay specific attention to this decision-making process, which was still pending at the time of writing (spring 2021).

10.5.1 Novozymes

Novozymes (part of NovoNordic until 2000) is actively engaged in the ABS issue, with the explicit policy of adhering to the ABS principles of the CBD. Going further than the EU’s ABS legislation, Novozymes holds that ABS starts with the entry into force of the CBD in 1993. Further, the corporation is set on avoiding accusations of biopiracy. According to its explicit policy:

The strong ABS policy is often linked to Novozymes’ and NovoNordic’s first CEO, Steen Riisgaard – due partly to his background from the NGO sector, which included Friends of the Earth and WWF, Denmark, and due partly to his many official statements on how enzymes technology can contribute to a more environmentally friendly world.Footnote ¹⁹

Still, the ABS regime seems to have had more of a hampering effect on Novozymes’ bioprospecting than boosting it. As a direct result of the CBD principles on ABS, most of its bioprospecting collaboration with university partners in developing countries stopped in the mid 1990s. According to our interviewees at Novozymes, this is because ABS legislation is sometimes inappropriately designed, leaving too much legal uncertainty regarding documentation of PIC and MAT about where genetic material is found and under what conditions the material has been appropriated.Footnote ²⁰ And indeed, when Brazil changed its ABS legislation (2015–2017) to a simpler system, Novozymes reengaged in cooperation.Footnote ²¹ The Brazilian example indicates that it is possible to design “appropriate” ABS legislation that provides bioprospectors with enough legal certainty to trust in collaboration.

At present, Novozymes may be largely self-sufficient in genetic resources through its own collections, but the company acknowledges that marine genetic resources from the deep sea may be interesting and necessary in the future. Novozymes already has roughly 50,000 bacteria and fungi in its collection, which dates back over sixty years; however, as put by Peter Falholt, head of R&D at Novozymes, “I’m a little bit skeptical of synthetic biology [as being able to provide sufficient genetic material for bioprospecting], because you cannot beat four billion years of evolution” (quoted in Reference PeplowPeplow, 2015). Their patent filings on polar, marine material date back to 1986 and 1992 for candida Antarctica (an enzyme, lipase), with applications ranging from food and fuels to detergents and medicine (Reference Oldham and KindnessOldham and Kindness, 2020). Novozymes ranks as number one by a considerable margin for first patent filings involving Antarctic organisms (Reference Oldham and KindnessOldham and Kindness, 2020): Novozymes tops the list with 300 filings, with BASF coming second with 113 filings. However, Oldham points out that in patent filing registrations, Novozymes is more likely to appear prominently because it is far more likely (than any of its competitors) to state the origin of the material in its patent applications: This is in line with the corporation’s formal policy and guidelines to abide by the CBD’s ABS regime. Further, BASF may appear less prominently because it is less explicit in stating the origin of its material, so the sources will not be registered in the patent filings.Footnote ²² This shows how ABS compliance could also expose a corporation to criticism, as Novozymes “appears” to have more patent filings involving marine organisms.

Novozymes does not participate directly in UNCLOS but coordinates its positions with the ICC. Although Novozymes might seem to fit into our third model given its strong language on ABS, there is agreement within the ICC group to lobby against applying ABS to genetic digital sequence information (ICC, 2017; 2019). The ICC is explicit in strongly opposing any expansion of the scope of the ABS regime to apply to digital sequence information and genetic resources in ABNJ (ICC, 2017: 1). That places Novozymes closer to our second model on appropriate design, as they argue against closing the legal gap, hence against increasing the scope of ABS.

10.5.2 ArcticZymes / Biotec Pharmacon

ArcticZymes describe itself as follows: “we use access to the marine Arctic to identify novel cold-adapted enzymes for use in molecular research, in vitro diagnostics, and manufacturing.”Footnote ²³ It has a history of collaboration with Norwegian universities through the MabCent project, as part of holding company Biotec Pharmacon. The academic collaboration has allowed free and open access to Marbank’s collections and to Marbio’s ready-made assays. Access to Marbank is now a thing of the past, due to legal uncertainty linked to the fate of the Marbank material in the draft Norwegian ABS order. However, losing access to Marbank is not seen as a problem for ArcticZymes as it can find what it needs in international biobank collections and databases, where digital genetic sequences may be purchased online.Footnote ²⁴

Biotec Pharmacon ranks as the largest holder of patent filings on Arctic marine materialsFootnote ²⁵ and, according to MedNous (2019), “Biotec Pharmacon’s inventive step was to scour the marine environment for solutions that were not already on the market and patent them.” Several patented products based on cold-water enzymes are presented on ArcticZymes’ online website.Footnote ²⁶ These include proteinase, which is an unspecific endopeptidase (an enzyme) originating from an Arctic marine microbial source,Footnote ²⁷ and glycosylase, which belongs to a family of enzymes involved in DNA repair and stemming from Atlantic cod.Footnote ²⁸ Compared to Novozymes, ArcticZymes is a small firm that attracts scant public attention and might hence be less worried about possible accusations of biopiracy. When enzymes were excluded from the Norwegian ABS draft legislation, the company came out in favor of the ABS proposal. If enzymes were to be redefined as subject to the ABS legislation, ArcticZymes could be expected to oppose it. Hence, it is hard to judge whether it fits into our first or second model (Table 10.1).