The Environmental Communication Yearbook

The Environmental
Communication Yearbook
Volume 1
THE ENVIRONMENTAL COMMUNICATION YEARBOOK
VOLUME 1
EDITOR
Susan L. Senecah
State University of New York
College of Environmental Science & Forestry
ASSOCIATE EDITORS
Communication and Cultural Studies Journalism and Mass Media
Stephen P. Depoe Mark Neuzil
University of Cincinnati University of St. Thomas (Minnesota)
Participatory Processes
Gregg B. Walker
Oregon State University
EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
Bernie Ankney, Indiana University of Pennsylvania Mark Meister, North Dakota State University
Connie A. Bullis, University of Utah Gene (Olin E., Jr.) Meyers, Huxley College, Western
James G. Cantrill, Northern Michigan University Washington University
Donal A. Carbaugh, University of Massachusetts, Amherst Rosemary O'Leary, Syracuse University
Julia B. Corbett, University of Utah Tarla Rai Peterson, University of Utah
Robert J. Cox, University of North Carolina at Jean P. Retzinger, University of California at Berkeley
Chapel Hill Donny Roush, Idaho Environmental Education
E. Franklin Dukes, University of Virginia, Charlottesville Association
Sharon Dunwoody, University of Wisconsin-Madison James Shanahan, Cornell University
Walter Leal Filho, Technical University of Hamburg Brian C. Taylor, University of Colorado at Boulder
William F. Griswold, University of Georgia Robert A. Thomas, Loyola University
Robert L. Heath, University of Houston Craig Trumbo, University of Missouri
Judith E. Hendry, University o f New Mexico Cornelius B. (Ben) Tyson, Central Connecticut State
Patrick J. Lawler, State University of New York, University
College of Environmental Science and Forestry Craig Waddell, Michigan Technical University
Mark S. Meisner, State University of New York, Bruce J. Weaver, Albion College
College of Environmental Science and Forestry William W. Wilmot, University of Montana
Michaela Zint, University of Michigan-Ann Arbor
The Environmental
Volume 1
Edited by
SUSAN L.SENECAH
State University of New York
College of Environmental Science & Forestry
LEA LAWRENCE ERLBAUM ASSOCIATES, PUBLISHERS
2004 Mahwah, New Jersey London
Copyright 2004 by Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form, by photostat, microfilm, retrieval system, or any other
means, without prior written permission of the publisher.
Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc., Publishers
10 Industrial Avenue
Mahwah, NJ 07430
Cover design by Kathryn Houghtaling Lacey
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-8058-4406-6 (alk. Paper)
Books published by Lawrence Erlbaum Associates are printed on acid-
free paper, and their bindings are chosen for strength and durability.
Printed in the United States of America
1 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Introduction vii
Susan Senecah, Stephen Depoe, Mark Neuzil, Gregg Walker
Contributing to the Environmental Communication Yearbook xiii
1 Naming Interpretation, Policy, and Poetry: 1
Communicating Cedar Breaks National Monument
Christine L. Oravec, Tracylee Clarke
2 Social Practice and Biophysical Process 15
Tarla Rai Peterson, Mar k u s ]. Peterson, William E. Grant
3 Eulogy for Tobe West: On the Agitation 33
and Control of a Salvage-Rider Timber Sale
Mark P. Moore
4 Blue Skies, Green Industry: Corporate 57
Environmental Reports as Utopian Narratives
Wende Vyborney Feller
5 The Rhetoric of Autobiography in Women's 77
Environmental Narratives: Lois Gibbs' Love Canal: My Story
and Sandra Steingraber's Living Downstream: An Ecologist
Looks at Cancer and the Environment
Diane Hope
6 At the 20th Century's Close: 99
Framing the Public Policy Issue of Environmental Risk
Donnalyn Pompper
7 Dialogue and Deliberation in Environmental Conflict: 135
Enacting Civic Science
Gregg B. Walker and Steven E. Daniels
v
vi CONTENTS
8 A Sense of Self-in-Place for Adaptive Management, Capacity 153
Building, and Public Participation
James G. Cantrill
9 And the Beat Goes On: The Third Decade of Environmental 175
Journalism
Sharon M. Friedman
10 Reasoned Action in Environmental Communication Research: 189
Demonstration of an Augmented Model
Craig W. Trumbo, Garrett J. O'Keefe
11 Framing of Newspaper News Stories During a Presidential 205
Campaign Cycle: The Case of Bush-Gore in Election 2000
Michael Nitz, Holly West
12 Nonverbal Ways of Communicating With Nature: 227
A Cross-Case Study
Michelle Scollo Sawyer
Author Index 251
Subject Index 263
Introduction
You are holding the inaugural volume of a publication enthusiastically anticipated
by scholars from diverse disciplines and professionals who practice in diverse are-
nas of environmental communication. The Environmental Communication Year-
book is a portal into environmental communication' s many fields and a productive
space in which we can build and share knowledge regarding our common quest to
better unerstand the communication dynamics that influence the human relation-
ship to the environment.
Environment and communication are broad and multifaceted and yet, they
hang together, overlap, intersect, and mutually inform and influence every area of
life today. A quick and woefully incomplete tour demonstrates this point.
It has been 265 years since William Bradford, the first governor of the Plymouth
Colony, looked out from the deck of the Mayflower at the shoreline of what we
now call Plymouth, Massachusetts on Cape Cod Bay and declared the place "a hid-
eous and desolate wilderness." Think of the tragic ramifications of this framing of
wilderness on First Nation people who called it home.
It has been 155 years since the sage of Walden Pond and the philosophical pa-
tron saint of the modern environmental movement, Henry David Thoreau, as-
serted from the lecturer's podium, "In wildness is the preservation of the world."
It has been nearly that long since George Perkins Marsh asserted in Man and Na-
ture that the land could not continue to endure what he saw as a wholesale assault.
There was a threshold, a carrying capacity, at which we would feel negative impacts.
It has been about 102 years since the work of Ellen Swallow, the Massachusetts
Institute of Technology food additive chemist who was denied her doctorate be-
cause of her gender, led to the United States' first food protection laws. She first
used the term ecology in a public speech, framing its meaning in a metaphor fitting
for a true woman of the day, a metaphor that the male-dominated policy and pro-
fessional worlds could hear from her. She spoke about the earth as our home and
extended the metaphor to depict the balance and attention needed by all the parts
in order to preserve the harmony and health of the whole home.
It has been nearly 62 years since the wildlife manager Aldo Leopold experienced
an epiphany as he watched the "fierce green fire" of life go out of the eyes of a wolf
that he and his colleagues had shot in New Mexico, believing that no wolves meant
a deer hunter's paradise. He came to realize that the mountain did not agree with
this paradigm, and his emerging philosophy contained in his essay "Thinking like
a Mountain" led not only to the establishment of the first U.S. wilderness area, but
also to his concept of what he called the land ethic, generally acknowledged as the
vii
viii INTRODUCTION
ethical grounding of the modern environmental movement. At its heart, the land
ethic asserts that contrary to Cartesian scientific method, the natural world is not
comprised of independent machine parts that humans can move around at will
without consequences. We are not separate from this interdependent system, we
are part of it. Because of this, and our power and abilities, humans have an ethical
obligation to act on behalf of the good of the whole system. His land ethic, which
has become the basis for ecosystem management as we know it today, is pro-
foundly simple. Action that tends to support the integrity of the whole is good, that
which does not is not.
It has been 40 years since Rachel Carson, a biologist acting on the reports of a
friend who was distraught at the death of birds after aerial spraying of DDT, pro-
duced Silent Spring, the scientific-based indictment of DDT and other pesticides
that led to the United States' first pesticide regulations. Many assert that it trig-
gered the modern environmental movement.
It has been nearly that long since the Cuyahoga River in Ohio caught fire, Lake
Erie was declared dead, and Lady Bird Johnson, spouse of President Lyndon Baines
Johnson, launched her mass media "Beautify America" campaign and taught us to
change our behavior and not be litterbugs.
It has been 37 years since astronauts stunned the world with their emotional
words and exquisite photographs of the earth from space that depicted the beauty
and fragility of our shared planet and launched the metaphor spaceship earth.
It has been 34 years since the first Earth Day on April 22, 1970. The National En-
vironmental Policy Act had been signed into law in January of that year, and over
the next decade, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency was created, and the
Clean Water Act, the Clean Air Act, the Endangered Species Act, and most of the
most salient federal and state environmental legislation was passed into law. This
put federal and state governments into the regulatory role of a hammer over the
for-profit industry sector: Powerful metaphors, the hammer and the hammered.
It has been 26 years since a housewife went door to door asking her neighbors
about their health in a community called Love Canal, New York leading to the cre-
ation of the commonly called Superfund program for cleaning up hazardous waste
sites and triggering the grassroots environmental movement characterized by ad
hoc citizen groups formed to influence local issues based on distrust of the ham-
mer, the hammered, and the whole process of how the destiny of their community
is determined.
As long as it has existed, the mass media and popular culture have framed envi-
ronmental issues. Consider just a few examples:
In 1988, when fires burned Yellowstone National Park's old forests and swept
over Old Faithful, the media attention was enormous, and the story was
framed as a severe, national loss. Americans grieved the loss and damage to
what had become to many an intimate, symbolic part of who we are. Dan
Rather's eyes misted as he reported the fires on the evening news. Many were
INTRODUCTION ix
also angry when it was learned that arson was to blame for some of the fires
because a close, intimate, iconic friend Smokey Bear had long warned against
the irresponsible setting of forest fires. In 2003, Smokey's message was recast
as fire suppression in general and the bear was blamed for the tinder box con-
ditions that fueled massive forest fires in the western United States.
Powerful images documented the sensational Exxon Valdez oil spill in
Prince William Sound of Alaska.
Irreverent cartoon characters Beavis and Butthead debated recycling.
Comic and cartoon characters Captain Planet and the Ninja Turtles de-
fended the earth against evil polluters.
Pop singer Billy Joel sang about medical waste and needles washing on the
shores.
Night after night, the national news featured the garbage barge wandering
up and down the eastern U.S. coastline unsuccessfully looking for a willing
taker of its load of incinerator ash.
Homer Simpson continually fell asleep at the control board at the nuclear
power plant.
It has been 18 years since the citizens of Warren County, South Carolina stood up
against a proposed hazardous waste facility proposed for their community. Al-
though unsuccessful in their local campaign, their boldness sparked a broad based
U.S. and international environmental justice movement to protect the most politi-
cally impotent communities, often communities of color or poverty, from bearing a
disproportionate share of the negative impacts of environmental policy or industry.
It has been 13 years since the largest number of heads of state in history gath-
ered in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, for the Earth Summit, the United National Confer-
ence on Environment and Development. This also triggered the international
explosion and networking of nongovernment organizations (NGOs) and ele-
vated their status in determining environmental policy. It has been but 2 years
since the United Nations Johannesburg Summit 2002 benchmarked the decade
since the Earth Summit. In between have been other numerous international
gatherings and treaties concerned with global warming, forest depletion, water
quality, and poverty.
Based on the outcomes of the Earth Summit, it has been 9 years since interna-
tional businesses and public interest groups cooperatively and voluntarily estab-
lished the ISO 14,000 standards to guide certification of voluntary members in
environmental best practices to surpass environmental compliance objectives and
promote social and business sustainability.
It has been 6 years since the U.S. Congress created a new federal agency called
the Institute for Environmental Conflict Resolution to serve as an advocate and
convener of consensus-based processes to avoid, minimize, or resolve environ-
mental disputes involving federal agencies. The agency maintains a roster of over
x INTRODUCTION
150 dispute resolution professionals who have met experience and training stan-
dards. This profession did not exist more than 25 years ago.
It has been 21 years since Dr. Christine Oravec of the University of Utah pub-
lished a paper out of her dissertation. The paper, published in the Quarterly Jour-
nal of Speech, was titled "Conservationism vs. Preservationism in the Controversey
over the Hetch Hetchy Dam" and examined John Muir and the nascent Sierra
Club's rhetorical battle to prevent the damming of Hetch Hetchy Valley in Yosem-
ite National Park to provide a public water source to San Francisco early in the
1900s. The nation' s first chief forester Gifford Pinchot prevailed in directing the
management of natural resources for the greatest good for the greatest number for
the longest time and O' Shaughnessy still stands today. Oravec analyzed the fram-
ing and power of the arguments around what constituted the greatest good and her
published article marked the definitive emergence of environmental communica-
tion within the discipline. That debate about what is the greatest good continues.
It has been 17 years since the first panel with an environmental theme was pre-
sented at the Speech Communication Association' s (now the National Communi-
cation Association) annual convention.
There is no doubt numerous additions to this scant list because environment and
communication permeate every aspect of human life. Next to the Civil Rights Move-
ment, the Environmental Movement has proven to be the most influential move-
ment of U.S. society and perhaps the world, regardless of what perspective you hold.
Environmental Communication has also evolved to achieve local to interna-
tional levels of influence in just about every business, health, and natural resource
public policy decision made today. It often demands unique communication are-
nas and structures that are simultaneously political, community-based, corporate,
advocacy, and technical-scientific. In the process, a vocabulary and distinctive tra-
dition, or a canon, it could be argued, has come to characterize it. Having built
upon itself over at least the past 200-300 years, its canon is reflected in intercon-
nected knowledge sets of people, events, campaigns, documents, mass media, leg-
islation, and technical-scientific information and vocabularies.
The struggles over and the dynamics that define the social construction of the
parameters of human relationships with the environment have far reaching conse-
quences. Thus, The Environmental Communication Yearbook strives to provide a
forum where academics from various disciplines, professionals from different are-
nas of practice, and "pracademics" who straddle both can enhance and enrich each
other' s knowledge and understanding of those dynamics.
So many people endeavored to bring The Environmental Communication Year-
book to reality over the past 7 years that we would surely miss several in any attempt
to list them all here. Certainly the members and leadership of the Environmental
Communication Commission of the National Communication Association
hatched the idea and led the effort. In this effort, special appreciation is due James
Cantrill of Northern Michigan University who crafted the initial proposal for The
Environmental Communications Yearbook and the many who reviewed it and of-
INTRODUCTION xi
fered assistance in refining it. Thanks also goes to those who unanimously ac-
cepted our invitation to serve on the Editorial Board reviewers and those who
graciously contributed their talents as adjunct reviewers when we needed them.
Guest reviewers for this volume are:
Terence Check, St. John's University
Francois Cooren, SUNY-Albany
John Delicath, University of Cincinnati
Jennifer Hamilton, University of Cincinnati
Steve Hoffman, University of St. Thomas
Dennis Jaehne, San Jose State University
Diane Hope, Rochester Institute of Technology
Stacey Kanihan, University of St. Thomas
Bill Kovarik, Radford University
Marie Mater, Houston Baptist University
Kandice Salomone, University of Rhode Island
Brant Short, Northern Arizona University
Caitlin Wills Toker, Gainesville College
Heather Zoller, University of Cincinnati
Carol Zuegner, Creighton University
We also thank the many authors from many disciplines who, by submitting
manuscripts, endorsed the timeliness and status of this publication.
Ultimately, tremendous gratitude is due to the publisher of The Environmental
Communication Yearbook, Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc. and its editor Linda
Bathgate, for their confidence in and enthusiasm for this venture.
Finally, thanks to you. Welcome to The Environmental Communication Yearbook.
Susan Senecah, Editor
Stephen Depoe, Associate Editor
Mar k Neuzil, Associate Editor
Gregg Walker, Associate Editor
This page intentionally left blank
Contributing to the Environmental
The Environmental Communication Yearbook is a multi-disciplinary forum
through which a broad audience of academics, professionals, and practitioners
can share and build theoretical, critical, and applied scholarship addressing envi-
ronmental communication in a variety of contexts. This peer-reviewed annual
publication invites submissions that showcase and/or advance our understanding
of the production, reception, contexts, or processes of human communication re-
garding environmental issues. Theoretical expositions, literature reviews, case
studies, cultural and mass media studies, best practices, and essays on emerging is-
sues are welcome, as are both qualitative and quantitative methodologies. Areas of
topical coverage will include:
Participatory processes: public participation, collaborative decision
making, dispute resolution, consensus building processes, regulatory ne-
gotiations, community dialogue, building civic capacity.
Journalism and mass communication: newspaper, magazine, book and
other forms of printed mass media; advertising and public relations; me-
dia studies; and radio, television and Internet broadcasting.
Communication studies: rhetorical/historical case studies, organiza-
tional analyses, public relations/issues management; interpersonal/rela-
tional dimensions, risk communication, and psychological/cognitive
research, all of which examine the origins, content, structure, and out-
comes of discourse about environmental issues.
Submissions are accepted on an ongoing basis for inclusion in subsequent vol-
umes of the Yearbook.
The Environmental Communication Yearbook is intended for use by research-
ers, scholars, students, and practitioners in environmental communication, jour-
nalism, rhetoric, public relations, mass communication, risk analysis, political
science, environmental education, environmental studies, public administration;
and policy makers. Others interested in environmental issues and the communica-
tion channels used for discourse and information dissemination on the topic will
also find it valuable.
xiii
xiv CONTRIBUTORS
Information for Contributors: Manuscripts should conform to current guide-
lines established by the American Psychological Association. Send five copies of
each submission to Dr. Susan Senecah, Associate Professor, Environmental
Studies Department, SUNY College of Environmental Science & Forestry, One
Forestry Drive, Syracuse, NY 13210. Full guidelines for submitting work to the En-
vironmental Communication Yearbook can be found at www.erlbaum.com.
CHAPTER ONE
Naming, Interpretation,
Policy, and Poetry
Communicating Cedar Breaks National Monument
Christine L. Oravec
University of Utah
Tracylee Clarke
University of Utah
There is a National Monument in southwestern Utah named Cedar Breaks. Far
smaller than Bryce Canyon, its larger cousin to the east, Cedar Breaks imitates
Bryce's iron-filled pastel limestone spires without reproducing them. Far less con-
troversial than Grand Staircase-Escalante, its recently monumentalized neighbor
to the southeast, it barely calls attention to itself. Perched on the edge of a semicir-
cular bowl of hoodoos and spires eroded by prehistoric oceans, the visitor's center
puts up an unassuming front, a cabin made of logs with picture windows out to-
ward the view and a collection of the usual bird-and-flower identification books
inside. Quiet and often overlooked, the monument and its parking lot hold more
visitors and their vehicles from other parts of the country than from its native state
of Utah. German, Japanese, and Spanish are heard as often as English on the trails
and the campgrounds. Cedar Breaks is both usual and unusual; an international
clientele flocks to a location most locals pass quickly on their way to Bryce, Zion,
and Grand Canyon national parks. In a sense, Cedar Breaks thrives on the fact that
it is found in only one certain irreducible location on the face of the earth, a place
where all who want to know it must come and see for themselves.
This essay is a catalogue of one week of events in Cedar Breaks and its sur-
rounding attractions. It may also serve as an extended example of the way com-
munication functions inextricably to shape, and be shaped, by the phenomenon
it attempts to explain. The emphasis here is upon the concrete; for the study of
the environment from a discursive viewpoint is inevitably abstract, and must be
balanced by the texture of something palpably experienced. What follows the
four descriptive sections of the catalogue (naming, interpreting, policy, and po-
1
2 ORAVEC AND CLARKE
etry) is an explanation of how communication studies addresses each of these
various functions with respect to the environment. Yet the importance of the de-
scription of Cedar Breaks for this discussion is signified by its priority within
each section. None of the more abstract discourses would have been obtained
were it not for the sheer local particularity of this golden jewel, isolated yet re-
splendent in its own specific place and time.
NAMING: THE WAY WE KNOW AND CONTROL
In Cedar Breaks, names are important. Cedar, for example, is the local euphe-
mism for juniper in parts of the West, although there are no junipers in this area
(too high, too cold). Instead, Ponderosa and bristlecone pines (the oldest among
them some 1,400 years) dominate the higher reaches of the cliffs. Breaks refers to
openings in a wall of mean territory, taken from the explorers' treks through
South Dakota badlands and imputed, oddly, to this collection of broken towers
and arches with no true passage to the upland mesas that surround them. Yet say
the words slowly. Cedar Breaks. Like a pleasing proper name, it has the right
number of syllables, an easy-enough rhythm for a place of middle consequence.
Compared to Bryce Canyon, (whose namesake was widely quoted describing the
area as a hell of a place to lose a cow), Cedar Breaks harbors the seeds of poetry in
its trochaic cadence.
Cedar Breaks contains avian inhabitants that can cause casual weekend natural-
ists to scurry to their identification books. A black-and-white form on the ground
displays a yellow cap and barred wings, unfortunately dead to this world, but more
easily identified as a northern three-toed woodpecker in its present state than if
flicking from tree to tree. (Audubon killed hundreds, if not thousands of speci-
mens to produce his book of lifelike colored prints. Sibley, the current guide of
choice, uses formulaic line drawings-not as collectable or dramatic, but easier on
the population.) An article published in a city newspaper 2 weeks after the discov-
ery of this bird will underscore the importance of the species' increase in popula-
tion as it pursues its head-rattling search for pine bark beetles in older, diseased-
ravaged woods like Yellowstone and Cedar Breaks.
A large brown hen stands in the fork of a bristlecone just around the bend. Two
unwary hikers stir her up, and she elevates her tall, aristocratic neck and extends
her head as if to be guillotined. A sudden "chuck, chuck, CHUCK," and she bursts
away in a small storm of feathers. One member of the hiking party (the first author
of this essay) insists that the bird is a wild turkey; only a demurral from the park
ranger, a gentle suggestion that blue grouse are more populous here, and a check of
two respected guidebooks convinces the amateur ornithologist that the bird is in-
deed a grouse after all ("Stupid birds," comments the ranger. "You can almost walk
up to them and hit them with a stick.") Too bad. The sighting of a wild turkey has
already become oral legend among other hikers in the immediate vicinity. To spot
a wild turkey is much more difficult than to walk up to a blue grouse daydreaming
1. NAMING, INTERPRETATION, AND POETRY 3
in the shade. The novice naturalist wonders with embarrassment how long and
how far the misidentification will travel.
These are the spectacular sightings. Not much for a national preservation-
ground, but important in their place, their time, their significance and their lack of
significance. The requisite numbers of juncos (black, red patch on the back) and
western tanagers (red head, yellow belly, and black and white wings) fill in the de-
tails. And of course the plants; pale blue, almost white columbines, with heads as
big as elephant garlic; miniature strawberry linked to all its neighbors within a web
of reddish synapses; something called elk weed, a tall stander, looks like a mullein
only some of the leaves are chewed back by what must have been tough, yellow elk
teeth; the brash early-sun brightness of arrowleaf balsamroot; and blooms of every
shade of blue, penstemmon, lupine, long drooping fronds of western bluebell.
Finding all the showy flowers in the guidebook might give an amateur the feeling
she has a handle on the Breaks.
Environmental communication views the discourse of naming as more than a
means of persuasion. It is the study of the way we come to socially construct and
know our natural world. A central tenet of this study is that language is epi-
stemicit is how we come to know, and thus becomes central to the creation of
our reality. Within this system of study, symbols and language are conceived of as
perceptual lenses. They indicate an orientation toward the environment and thus
act to guide our behavior within the environment. That is, how we talk about the
land or nature creates and influences our interaction with it. For example, if we
speak of the environment as a last frontier, something wild or to be feared, our pol-
icies, or actions will most likely be those that are defensive or exploitative. Like-
wise, naming a particular kind of bird a grouse automatically depletes or elevates
its position on the birdwatcher's hierarchy. Viewing the environment as some-
thing to be either aided or conquered justifies actions that can hurt or harm it. In
the name of preservation or in the name of vindication, we affirm our mastery and
control over the land.
One of the intricacies of environmental studies is that there is no one definition
of key words like environment, ecology or nature. There are certainly some bene-
fits to such a lack of specificity, because it can break down ideologies of mastery
and leave open alternative possibilities. Understanding how words are used differ-
ently, or how they play out in the environment, is a key step in creating better col-
lective understanding and common ideology. Certainly, through their multiple
uses, words create situations of miscommunication and opportunities for hege-
monic euphemism. Indeed, one hopes that not too many others cross the path of a
blue grouse and call the animal a turkey. The very act could result in the decima-
tion of one particular high desert turkey population, not to mention a similar pop-
ulation of blue grouse. Yet shared ideology can be created also through
communication in participatory contexts. Collaborating on an identification us-
ing authoritative and textual resources can increase everyone's knowledge of a
place like Cedar Breaks. Understanding the power of key words used to describe
4 ORAVEC AND CLARKE
our environment can help us better understand how to build on common ground
as we work together to approach environmental problems.
INTERPRETATION: THE WAY WE TRANSLATE
WHAT WE KNOW
George Guest is the chief ranger at Cedar Breaks National Monument. In his previ-
ous life he ran a few companies, flew a few airplanes, traveled much of the world,
and saw most of the United States. He spent the last 12 years as the ultimate repre-
sentative of the U.S. Government upon the ancient chalky soil of this 60-million-
year-old preserve. By educated guess, he is in his late 60s or early 70s, his uniform
fits, his creases are exact, and his Smokey Bear hat seems permanently glued to his
silver-fringed head. So is his smile. He welcomes the world to his little domain as if
beckoning long-lost relatives back home.
George is a professional. Hard hit by budget cutbacks, the monument can af-
ford only him, another career ranger who is a woman of about 30-35, and a rotat-
ing set of seasonals culled mostly from college students in Cedar City, the largest
nearby local town some 3,000 feet below the monument. (Distances here are often
marked by elevation, not mileage.) Being a professional means that if the week-
end-guided trail hike is half an hour late, George will fill in by doing the hourly
interp talk along the railings of the overlook behind the visitor's center a chore no
longer in his job description but a necessity just the same.
He does not mind. George was made for this job, and he knows it. He was
schooled in the old-time style of Freeman Tilden, whose book on interpretation in
the national parks was a standard of yesterday, a collector's item of today, and with
the passing of one more generation, a forgotten art tomorrow. So to listen to
George whale on for 45 minutes during what should have been a 20-minute expo-
sition is a kind of natural phenomenon in itself.
If George had done even half the interpretive talks made from these railings (3
times a day, 6 days a week, 4 months a year for 12 years), he would have told the same
story some 3,500 times. However you would never know. There is a rhythm to it. First
the classic "getting to know you" gambit, corny but useful, as when I discover a couple
from Prescott, Arizona in the crowd and later ask them questions on behalf of a stu-
dent of mine. (They are pleased to share the answers). During my turn, I announce
that I am from Salt Lake City. George hangs his head, facetiously moaning "I'm really
sorry for you." Then the geology, full of adjectives and analogies. The Flagstaff sea. The
thrusting upward of the Rocky Mountain and Great Basin region. The Cretaceous
mid-continent ocean. The laying down of limestone skeletons of tiny ocean dwellers.
The filtering down of briny sea water into the hardened mudflats, creating limestone
of varying consistency. The long slow etching away of less compacted rock to uncover
towers, craters, bridges and balanced boulders in various colors from pink to green to
orange. Then us. The end. George bows, and doffs his hat with a flourish. I wait until
the crowd disperses, then I approach for some conversation.
I cannot help share with George my experience of what I (still) consider the best
job in the worldmy one summer of interpretive speech coaching in the park sys-
tem. He pleads mockingly for a grade on his elocution and enunciation, and I give
him an A+. We commiserate over the sorry state of interpretation in the parks
since the 1980sanyone around back then would understand what we mean
and he makes knowing but silent gestures as I bring up the touchy subjects; how do
you handle creation science, what happens if the wildfires approach the monu-
ment, tell me your opinion about the process of nationalizing the Stair-
case-Escalante. I realize I will not get answers to these questions. For a moment, I
am within the charmed circle again; be a professional, interpret the scenery, but
point to the landscape when you are confronted by differing political views. The
land will always help you escape. The land will always be there. The land will always
make you free.
Suddenly there is no more to be said. Like hungry suitors, George and I look at
the Breaks with lover's eyes.
Interpretation is a tricky task, balancing on the edge between the Scylla of hard
cold facts and the Charybdis of swirling language that threatens to drown pre-
sumed knowledge in its vortex. Perhaps for this reason, environmental communi-
cation is caught up in marking off sharp dualisms; human versus nature, anthro-
pocentric utilitarianism versus biocentric moralism, deep ecology versus
ecofeminism. Even though these dualistic binaries are, once again, a construction
of language, they have made translation from one side to the other nearly impossi-
ble. A case in point; George's interp talks are gibberish to the university-trained ge-
ologist; dangerous in fact, since they perpetuate a Fantasia conception of earthly
change. Yet though some visitors to the parks and most of the interpretive rangers
read the more technical literature, they soon forget it unless it is accompanied by
vivid images of cataclysmic geologic activity. The gap between specialized and
popular interpreters becomes wider with time. Except for the rare instance of such
a figure as Stephen Jay Gould, respected in both domains, interpretation remains a
barrier not a bridge to further public understanding.
Yet there are those who argue that we need to get beyond these divides and be-
gin speaking to each other on a different dialectical level if we are to better under-
stand and approach environmental issues. Due to the fact that rhetoric is viewed as
epistemology, it necessarily suggests that there is no one truth. In fact truth or the
one right way is not central in the focus, nor is it viewed as desirable. If there is no
one way of thinking, then bodies of thoughts (deep ecology, ecofeminism, and
biocentrism) can all be validated as epistemological approaches to the environ-
ment and understood as vantage points, not as having captured reality.
The interpretive complexity in our current approach to the environment is that
it is based upon the dualism of modernity versus post modernity. This duality, in
turn, is based upon the dualism of mind versus body. The two spheres are pitted
against each other. Either the environment is real and symbolism is discounted, or
it is all a social construction. By studying the link between the symbolic and the
6 ORAVEC AND CLARKE
material, communication illustrates the importance of real experience as well as
the symbolic interpretation of that experience. This approach (termed ecological
postmodernity), values both the power of the mind's capacity for symbolism and
the experience of the real. Yet to rectify the imbalance toward the abstract, we need
to get beyond the argument and back to our sense of the body, nature and place. By
studying the symbolic construction of a specific, concrete material reality, envi-
ronmental communication addresses the most fundamental linguistic relation-
ship of them allthe coupling o f verba and res, or words and things.
POLICY: THE WAY WE TAME THE UNMANAGEABLE
During a week in Cedar Breaks, nothing much can happen and then everything can
happen. The first week of July 2002 was unprecedented in its heat, lack of moisture,
and propensity for wildfires. Hundreds of thousands of acres were burnt in Colo-
rado, Arizona, Oregon, Nevada, and Utah. A fire crawling up a watershed that
feeds Zion National Park south of Cedar Breaks had been burning for more than a
week, and it was possible to drive to an overlook near the monument and watch the
smoke rise from the black patches of charcoal that spotted the green carpeting of
the forest. Fortunately, the fire was contained to those patches, and barring further
incitements, the watershed, made up primarily of National Forest land, was safe
for another year.
The scene at the overlook was rich with the residue of preventative firefighting.
One of the pockets of fire had actually made it up the slope to the blacktopped
road, which served as a firebreak rimming the curve up to the next wooded ridge.
Just beyond that ridge was land nominally belonging to Cedar Breaks Monument.
Yet fire is no respecter of human boundaries; should the leading edge have jumped
the road, continued up the other side and gone over the ridge, it would have black-
ened Department of Interior land above as easily as it had blacked Department of
Agriculture land below.
The evidence was eloquent. On the lower slope, a large white-dead tree trunk
had taken on a wildly reddish color on one side, as if lit by a private setting sun. This
trunk was only several feet from the curbside. On the upper slope, where Civilian
Conservation Corps workers in the 1930s had sliced the road cut cleanly to allow
for the passage of cars around the ridge, the pink limestone supporting the forest
took on a painted crimson glow, much the same as the tree opposite. In fact, the en-
tire pullout, the slopes on both sides, and particularly anything close to being
lighter in color had been splashed with fire retardant just the day before. The over-
look was the target of the retardant, and all of us, tourists, locals, park employees,
and firefighters found ourselves standing in the grimly sanguine foreshadow of a
potential firestorm.
The firefighter and his truck stood at the overlook and watched. While answer-
ing questions and bantering with travelers, he never looked away from the pan-
orama of patchwork black and green just below his feet. That was his job for the
day, to inform, yes, but more importantly to enforce the violent suppression of a
wild fire that had been finally stopped and tamed. Quietly, he exuded a kind of sub-
dued admiration for the pattern of dark and light sketched by the fire below. "If
only we could do controlled burns that way," he commented, ruefully acknowl-
edging the inability of human organization on a massive scale to accomplish ex-
actly what the wildfire had already done. Yet the fire had been controlled, since the
road and the retardant prevented the flames from skipping up the hill and into
even less protected landscape. The arbitrariness of boundary lines kept human in-
tervention from mimicking exactly those beneficial processes let loose by the fire.
On another slope up the mountain to Cedar Breaks, another kind of human in-
tervention occurred that week. Ranchers were moving their herds of sheep from
lower, warmer winter range (at approximately 5,000 feet) to the higher, cooler pla-
teaus (from 8 to 10,000 feet). When cowboys move stock, whether cattle or sheep,
they own the road, and they know it. They can be nice about it or ornery, but "Par-
don my dust" is the gist of their undertaking. Over the course of 4 days, by taking
the same paved road from the small town of Parowan to the sky-high ski lifts of
Brian Head and on to the park boundary, one could have passed the same herd of
sheep, the same single rider, the same three herding dogs (two border collies and a
befuddled-looking yellow lab) and the same car pulling a small aluminum trailer,
all going in the same direction, higher and higher each day.
One day I turned a corner on the way down to Cedar City and saw a lamb or two
in the opposite lane, coming towards me. Then 10. Then 50. Then what must have
been 500 sheep and their lambs, newly sheared and painted with identifying letters
on their hatched, wooly sides. They charged toward me from a distance, like a bay
full of whitecaps. I stopped as one would stop at the edge of a seashore, just to feel
the impact of wind and dust and motion and bodies surrounding the car in a re-
lentless cavalcade, accompanied by the sound of sad, aimless bleating and sharp
whistles meant for dogs' ears. After chasing down a pocket of wayward ewes that
had detoured into a copse of mesquite, the cowboy circled back to bring up the
rear, and he called out, "What a blazing circus, huh?" There was a look in his eyes
that showed that he was happy, maybe happier than he had been all year.
On my return journey that night, I passed his trailer tucked up on an overlook,
obviously cozy and appropriately dark, his bay horse tethered to the side and the
dogs ranging around looking for night prey. The sheep were scattered, but safe,
and the drive would continue the next morning, right through the ski resort and
over to the very boundary of the national monument. There the sheep would eat
anything chewable right up to the borderline. This, in as dry a season as ever seen,
when mule deers' ribs showed right through their dirt-brown coats.
Shortly after the release of Rachel Carson's Silent Spring, President John F. Ken-
nedy created a panel to study the accuracy of Carson's claims and this led to the
banning of DDT as a pesticide. Similarly, Upton Sinclair's The Jungle led to the im-
plementation of better health laws and higher regulations of food-meat handling
in Chicago meat-packing plants, although this was not exactly the intent of the au-
8 ORAVEC AND CLARKE
thor. (He was more concerned with the working conditions of those in the indus-
try). These two examples, however, illustrate the power of the word not only to
shape consciousness but also effect policy formation. One might even say that the
rhetoric of environmental advocacy groups or lobbyists has more to do with influ-
encing policy than does scientific data or technical reasoning. It is how arguments
are framed that determines what gets done with policy.
This function of shaping practical action with respect to the land places the
study of communication central to environmental policy formation. For example,
the great fires associated with Yellowstone in 1988 sent policymakers back to their
legal pads to sketch new guidelines for handling wildfires on fuel-filled public
lands that were read, interpreted, and implemented in various ways, in different
local conditions, across the United States. Similarly, Forest Service, Bureau of
Land Management, National Monument and National Park lands follow slightly
different policies where it comes to grazing rights for cattle and sheep, policies that
are affected as much by local politics and personalities as by the centralized bu-
reaus themselves.
The impact of communication on policy is multifaceted, but much of it exists
within three domains:
1. Environmental communication helps us understand the process of generating
public opinion and what influences it. Understanding how the public per-
ceives the environment is crucial to understanding how they will interact
with it as they proceed to frame environmental scenarios. For instance, the
power of communication to shape public opinion and action is evident in
the vast field of green consumerism and environmental advertising. With-
out a rhetorical understanding of the importance of audience analysis, ex-
aminations of future symbolism intended to influence would be limited to
source, channel, and content. The opinion of a lone firefighter or a shep-
herding cowboy would not be a factor in considering the policy's results.
Further, the presence of a larger public who has a stake in environmental
issues would be considerably depleted.
2. Environmental communication helps us disempower hierarchies of oppres-
sion. The business of critical rhetoric is to understand, unpack, and break
down hierarchies of oppression. So-called natural hierarchies, as well as
social hierarchies, are formed through communication. Yet rhetoric also
acts to warrant positions of power and hierarchies of domination. Thus
knowing how the link between power and language is made creates possi-
bilities of change. One minor instance, but an important one, illustrates
this fact. When the nearby Staircase-Escalante National Monument was
proclaimed, it became the first monument in the history of the United
States to be placed under the control of the Bureau of Land Management,
which implements policy that succeeded the Homestead Act, rather than
the Department of Interior, where the National Parks reside. Local inter-
ests now will expect more intervention from the Bureau of Land Manage-
ment, a far more varied bureaucracy than the Department of Interior,
which might be seen as a revolutionary victory on one hand, or a confisca-
tion of traditional rights of usage on the other.
3. Environmental Communication helps us understand environmental con-
flict. The very language used to frame an environmental issue can ignite a
group to action, pacify a potentially volatile public, or create a space for
possible discussion between opposing factions concerned with a specific
aspect of our natural world. The study of environmental communication
can help us understand how environmental controversies are conceptual-
ized by those involved in their construction, maintenance or manage-
ment. Not only does language shed light on the motives of those involved;
it gives theoretical justification for the public's participatory facilitation of
environmental conflicts. Should there be conflict among stakeholders
over environmental policy, whether it be managing wildfires, initiating
controlled burns, issuing grazing permits, or setting bag limits for the
year's deer hunt, communication constitutes the substance out of which
mediation of these conflicts is achieved. Language then becomes the em-
powering process that can either enhance the constructive management
of environmental disputes, or further create cleavage between groups en-
gaged in a decision-making process.
With the complexity of natural resource issues, heightened scientific
uncertainty and an increasing need for social legitimacy of political ac-
tions affecting our environment, environmental policy formation will in-
creasingly become a participant-based public activity. Understanding
how language functions in the creation of public opinion, the assembling
or dismantling of hierarchies of power, and the maintenance or manage-
ment of environmental conflict becomes a crucial activity for researchers
and practitioners.
POETRY: THE WAY WE EXPRESS THE INEXPRESSIBLE
Cedar City, Utah hosts a Shakespeare festival every summer, with plays going on all
week and every week from J une to October. The juxtaposition of high culture and a
natural setting is part of the festival's appeal, and it is possible to take in a comedy,
tragedy or a history play one afternoon, and count the stars from the top of nearby
Brian Head mountain that night. The performances are goodthe festival has
been named one of the best of five from around the nation, winning a Tony Award
for regional theaterand as authentic as south central Utah can afford to be. A
playhouse based upon the dimensions of the Globe Theater has been built, with the
lower seating open to the sky. As might be expected, nature has its way with the
playgoers. Both groundlings and performers have been drenched by unexpected
monsoon downpours that charge through this part of the desert late in the season.
10 ORAVEC AND CLARKE
The play for the week is "As You Like It." It is set in the forest of Arden. All manner
of humanity inhabit this forest, the aristocrats staying on the farm fields edging the
woods, the shepherds finding pasture in the high meadows, and the hunters camping
deep in the forest. All classes use Arden for their own needs, and for the most part they
are unconscious of the impact of their presence there. All except for Jaquesthe mel-
ancholic, skeptical social critic who serves as the intelligence of the play. Part philoso-
pher, part religious figure, the direct inverse of the laughing Fool, Jaques speaks his
mind and finds folly in all unconscious actions. Here is his portrait, drawn by a hunter
companion before setting out to catch the day's complement of game:
First Lord
Indeed, my lord,
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
Did steal behind him as he lay along
Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag,
That from the hunter' s aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.
DUKE SENIOR
But what said Jaques?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?
First Lord
O, yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping into the needless stream;
'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much:' then, being there alone,
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends,
'Tis right:' quoth he; ' thus misery doth part
The flux of company:' anon a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him
And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques,
'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;'
'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?'
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse,
To fright the animals and to kill them up
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.
DUKE SENIOR
And did you leave him in this contemplation?
Second Lord
We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
Upon the sobbing deer. (Shakespeare, 1993, Act 2 Scene 1)
It may come as somewhat of a shock to a contemporary student of Shakespeare
that, in addition to all of the playwright's other accomplishments, he managed to
smuggle an environmentalist into one of his best-known comedies, and an ani-
mal-rightist, at that. By reading the position into which Shakespeare places his
characters, we can get a sense of the significance of their pronouncements. Jaques
is not a hero, as is Henry V; nor is he a tragic figure like Hamlet. He is much too ri-
diculously cynical for those roles. Yet dark and overwrought as he is, he illuminates
the comedy by articulating the almost unrecognized commonalities between us
and the creatures that inhabit the living world. He chastises us for our foolish pre-
tense to moral superiority above the hart and the hound; he spells out the conse-
quences of Darwinism before we are aware of them; and he pricks our conscience
with a larger, longer-lasting view, beyond the filling of our stomachs at the evening
meal. His more famous speech later in the play, "All the world' s a stage," might
seem frivolous in its conceit had not Jaques first displayed the ability to transcend
the stage and, through mere secondhand report, make us weep for a dying deer.
Yet, all is not lost among the more prosaic members of the human species. Duke
Senior, against which Jaques' diatribe is directed, does have the grace to comment
that the woods are good for something more than a backdrop for a noble adven-
ture. Rather, the forest speaks, if we are in a condition of listening to it:
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life exempt from public haunt
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones and good in every thing. (Shakespeare, 1993, Act 2 Scene 1)
Yet most of us reside no higher than Duke Senior's level when it comes to appre-
ciating the environment for itself. The pragmatic Duke bluntly states a utilitarian
position. As long as the adversity is not too venomous, we are willing to embrace
nature for a little while in order to revel in the good things that come to us as a re-
sult. Many of us would consider his poetry moderate, if a touch romantic. Yet
compatible as Duke Senior appears to be, his logic is unhinged by the biting dia-
tribe and physical activism of a Jaques. By the end of the play, Jaques abandons the
customary wedding party celebrating in the woods and strides offstage, seeking an
isolated cleric who, it is rumored, is capable of effecting instantaneous conver-
sions. The road will be rutted, the weather variable, and the pilgrim dispirited by
the time he reaches the cleric's hut. No one said that environmental criticism
would lead to the most pleasant of destinations.
Yet the fact that a conversion is possible for and even sought after by the apoc-
alyptic and radical Jaques gives the modern student of environmental communi-
cation some hope. As conscious and hyperrational as he is, Jaques is searching for
a natural Utopia as urgently as anyone else wandering through Arden woods.
The difference is that Jaques knows that true conversions happen in the darkness
of the confessional inside one's heart, not among the revelers and merrymakers
at a sylvan wedding party. In addition he knows that conversions do not count
unless a radical change of behavior results, whether it be intervening in the hunt
or directly chastising the hunter. If environmentalists, particularly environmen-
tal critics, are to be effective in the practical world, they need to place their con-
sciousness within the perspective of nature itself rather than human use of
nature, as Jaques does with the dying deer. This is a kind of conversion that can
only be described as spiritual. In the character of Jaques, Shakespeare recognizes
the power of a transcendent language that enables those devoted to their natural
surroundings to praise or blame, affirm or change, describe the present scene or
imagine the impossible.
CONCLUSION
The story of one's vacation trip to Cedar Breaks, of course, does not account for the
many dimensions that environmental communication studies have displayed in
the last decade. Urban planning, environmental justice, ecofeminism, nuclear
studies, and many other particular subjects add to and even overshadow conven-
tional expositions of place and space. Yet this experiment in written expression il-
lustrates one way of approaching a challenge constantly faced by most scholars in
the field of communication. The challenge is representing the relationship be-
tween the material world and the language we use for identifying, making sense,
administering, and imagining it.
The innovation of this essay is not so much its content but its effort at present-
ing content in a different way. Juxtaposing academic understanding with descrip-
tion, personal observation, and commentary can help make scholarship not only
interesting, but also real. Such a juxtaposition also highlights the grounding effect
of studies in environmental communication within the ongoing discussions of on-
tology and epistemology, semiotics and phenomenology that pervade current aca-
demic discourse. Perhaps most importantly, scholarly work in environmental
communication can record experiences gained through interaction with the envi-
ronment and show how they affect the interrelationship of the symbolic, abstract
reasoning of academia and the existence of the concrete and tangible.
Toward these ends, there needs to be a place for academic discourse that is de-
monstrably familiar with specific local places, times, conditions, and experiences
as environments. We as scholars of environmental communication need to reveal
our intimacy with the world to say anything of interest to those outside our field
and to keep our own discipline vital and active. As participants in the activities of
the field, we want to display through this essay one way of going about such a task.
We hope that our efforts result in a lightening of the often-dreary environmental
message, an infusion of enjoyment and wonder, and even a working partnership
with imaginative and creative environmental discourse in order to bridge the gap
between experience and research.
Perhaps the future of environmental communication will unleash a continuing
discovery of those places, both metaphorical and literal, that allow for new ways of
sensing, new modes of experience, new frames and formats, and new connections
between the environment, language, and ourselves. Let us hope that one of these
places is the unfolding content of many successive volumes of the Environmental
Communication Yearbook. Here may we find not only superior examples of our
scholarly expertise and academic research, but also descriptions of the experiences
of our natural lives, and manifestations of our love for the planet we stand upon.
NOTES
This essay is dedicated to the memory of David C. Williams, former Chief of
Planning for the Bureau of Land Management and a key influence in the creation
of the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
REFERENCES
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, The Tech (Cambridge: MIT, 1993). Available:
http://www-tech. mit. edU/Shakespeare/asyoulikeit/asyoulikeit. 2. 1. html (original work
published c. 1598).
CHAPTER TWO
Social Practice and Biophysical Process
Tarla Rai Peterson
University of Utah
Markus J. Peterson
Texas A&M University
William E. Grant
Texas A&M University
INTRODUCTION
The ability to understand the relations between human society and the biophysical
world has become increasingly critical in the face of rapidly increasing numbers of
humans , desires among this population for higher standards of living, and in-
creased human technical ability to alter the fundamental processes upon which all
life depends. Whenever scientists, politicians, or other groups attempt to address
concerns that human society has labeled as environmental, they become simulta-
neously enmeshed in both societal and ecological issues and processes. In essence,
however unwillingly, those who study social practices both influence and are influ-
enced by biophysical processes; just as those who study biophysical processes both
influence and are influenced by social practices. As we (Peterson & Peterson, 2001)
noted previously, applied ecologists rarely address human society with the intel-
lectual or analytical rigor they normally employ for evaluating ecological processes
and functions, and social scientists and humanists rarely analyze nonhuman na-
ture. Further, although numerous studies have quantified the monetary value of
wildlife and other natural resources, these efforts fall short of representing the total
value of the environment to human society (Peterson & Peterson, 1993, 1996), let
alone illuminating societal responses to ecological conditions or human-induced
impacts on biophysical processes. We are not arguing that quantifying the mone-
tary value of natural resources is without merit. Rather, such efforts do not address
in any holistic manner whether or how human society and the biophysical envi-
ronment interact. Because it focuses on the social practices that constitute knowl-
15
16 RAI PETERSON, PETERSON, GRANT
edge, relationship, and identity in the world, environmental communication
seems particularly well suited for developing more integrative approaches to envi-
ronmental issues (Peterson, 1998).
Toward this goal, we suggest a model grounded in Luhmann' s (1979, 1989,
1992) theory of communication as one means of beginning an integrative analysis
of biophysical processes and social practices. Both the development and suggested
uses of this quantitative model are attempts to promote rhetorical realism, "or an
awareness that although rhetoric may structure our lived relation to the real, con-
ditions of existence remain, [for the purpose of encouraging] rigorous interroga-
tion of constructionism that is needed for rhetoricians to offer significant
opposition to powerful social orthodoxies" (Peterson, 1998). In this essay, we first
outline the social theory that informs our model of communication. We then de-
scribe a quantitative model that simulates human society as communication,
based on Luhmann' s concept of social function systems (Grant, Peterson, & Peter-
son, 2002). Lastly, we suggest how this societal model can be used to simulate rela-
tionships among various social practices and biophysical processes. Our attempt
to explicitly integrate the biophysical and social, while no doubt simplistic, should
stimulate debate and further understanding of how human communication
emerges from this strange concoction of the symbolic and the material, and how
those communication practices constrain human society's responses to its envi-
ronment, thus enhancing our understanding of how communication figures into
environmental policy formation and implementation.
SOCIAL THEORY INFORMING MODEL
Debates among social theorists reflect an ongoing controversy over the relative sig-
nificance of symbolic action and material existence in constructing social situa-
tions. There is growing agreement, however, that it is imperative to understand the
complex interactions between symbolic and material dimensions of reality (Beck,
1992; Giddens, 1979, 1984). In order to create a model that focuses on the social
driving forces underlying land-use changes, we emphasize the communication
practices whereby people construct social reality, rather than the accuracy or pre-
cision with which they portray this reality as compared to some set of biological or
physical facts. The challenge is to understand how, as people mutually create the
multiple social realities within which they live, that symbolic activity both influ-
ences and is influenced by material flows.
Many communication scholars have joined other social theorists in turning
from the focus on subject-object notions of knowledge, toward an examination of
how meaning is constructed within interpretive communities. The best of these ef-
forts also offer critical analyses of the relations between material and symbolic di-
mensions of sociality (Blair, 1999; Selzer, 1999). Pezullo (2001) noted that the
material theorized by these scholars generally relates to biophysical processes, sug-
gesting rich possibilities for those who study environmental communication. Cox
2. SOCIAL PRACTICE AND BIOPHYSICAL PROCESS 17
(1982), for example, positioned materiality centrally when he explored what it
means to do something that cannot be undone to a species or a place. Peterson
(1998) argued further that, because "human actions and social structures associ-
ated with [nature] function rhetorically... environmental communication must
maintain the integrity of both verbal and natural systems since both are essential:
our existence depends on nature, and we use language to conceptualize and discuss
the natural systems on which we rely" (p. 372). Discourse constitutes reality, but
nature is not a text. While invention and the symbolic are important facets of envi-
ronmental communication, they do not constitute its entire domain. Even the
symbolic construct of transcendence versus immanence cannot eliminate the ma-
teriality of life and death.
Luhmann (1979, 1989, 1992) offered a social theory that places communication
at a center for the study of human society. He defined society as a self-organizing
system that is distinguished from its environment by communication, and pro-
posed a radicalized functionalism as a theoretical perspective toward society and
its environment. Rather than viewing functional relations as causal, he character-
ized cause as a special, and singularly opaque, case of function. Functional rela-
tions exist between a problem and a range of possible responses, and problems that
do not acquiesce to such a range are not social problems (Peterson & Peterson,
1993, 1996; Peterson, 1997). Thus, a social problem is defined as such by its multi-
plicity. Luhmann' s approach also introduced the potential for confusion regard-
ing the term environment. Thus far, we have used the term to describe the
biosphere, including human life. More specifically, environmental communica-
tion refers to social interactions among humans regarding the biosphere.
Luhmann used the word environment to designate anything beyond those social
interactions. This dual sense of the environment is not necessarily contradictory.
Rather, communication (or social interaction) defines society as a system, which,
as with all systems, exists within an environment. The environment refers to every-
thing beyond communication, including, but not limited to the biophysical world.
The presumption that before society can act upon an issue, that issue must first
make it onto the public agenda provides significant justification for our decision to
model society as communication. Stone (1988) noted, "the conversion of difficul-
ties into problems is said to be the sine qua non of moving policy problems onto the
public agenda" (p. 281). That conversion cannot occur without communication.
Kingdon (1995) concluded that the policy-making process consists of three
streams: problems, policies, and politics. These three streams are largely distinct
and independent. People discuss problems when they do not have policy solutions
and people work on solutions to issues that are not considered problems. Some-
times the streams flow in opposite directions, lead to different conclusions, and
thus hinder substantive progress down any path. When these streams flow to-
gether and join forces, the greatest policy changes are possible.
Research on political agenda setting indicates that before an issue can be acted
on, people must single it out for attention. Both Kingdon (1995) and Baumgartner
and Jones (1993) worked from the assumption that issue definition can be
changed, thus becoming a catalyst that causes the three policy-making streams to
join. For example, policy development proceeds even when no perceived problem
seems imminent, and people identify problems with no immediate policy solution
in mind. Kingdon noted that more work needs to be done to understand the com-
plex processes that enable agenda setting to proceed.
Because humans largely understand the world through the language we use to
describe our experiences with it, language creates the meaning we assign to the
world (Burke, 1966). As politicians and ecologists define problems and discuss
policy options, they not only influence their listeners' perceptions, they recreate
and develop their own understanding of those issues. Further, the manner in
which they define issues necessarily directs their attention towards certain ways of
understanding the problem and thus particular policy solutions, while excluding
other options. In other words, there is no predetermined point at which a condi-
tion becomes a problem. It is, rather, a matter of presentation and interpretation.
A condition becomes a problem when the presentation of facts enables society to
see it as one. For this reason, a model that explicitly recognizes the complexity of
the relationship between human society and the environment must be fully
grounded in communication practices into the policy-problem definition rela-
tionship. Therefore, Luhmann' s (1979, 1989, 1992) social theory, which focuses
on communication as the means whereby society defines itself as an entity, is par-
ticularly appropriate as the basis for modeling how people set social agendas.
Society as Communication
Luhmann (1989, 1992) argued that human society is defined by communication,
and that whatever is not communication is external to the social system. While this
interpretation recognizes that society has an environment, it presumes that social
relations with the environment are internally driven responses to, rather than in-
teractions with, the environment. Further, response to the environment comes
only in the form of communication. According to his theory of function systems,
late modern society is best conceptualized as a loosely coupled set of subsystems
that recognize each other's existence only through reliance on intrasystem and
intersystem communication, or resonance. Luhmann (1992) argued that, "there is
no information outside of communication, no utterance outside of communica-
tion, no understanding outside of communicationand not simply in the causal
sense for which information is the cause of the utterance and the utterance the
cause of the understanding, but rather in the circular sense of reciprocal presuppo-
sition" (p. 254). Thus, society is a closed system that creates the components out of
which it arises through communication practices.
Luhmann' s decision to focus at the system level may explain why he never ex-
plained how communication fulfills its function of constituting society. He does
differentiate his perspective from social theorists such as Austin (1962) , Habermas
(1979), and Searle (1969), who focued on communication's success or failure in
transmitting messages or understanding. Rather than interpreting information,
utterance, and understanding as communication functions or speech acts,
Luhmann (1992) postulated that communication occurs "through a selection ...
of information, selection of the utterance of this information, and a selective under-
standing o r misunderstanding o f this utterance and its information" (p. 252) . No
communication exists unless all three of these components are present, for with-
out their presence we remain in the realm of perception.
Luhmann used the concept of autopoiesis, which explains how systems
shape themselves according to their own internal structures, to posit an alter-
native to both the assertion that society adapts to its environment, and that the
environment selects the social systems that survive. Rather, he argued that soci-
ety shapes its own future according to internal structures. Society is thus a si-
multaneously closed (organizationally) and open (s tructurally) system. As an
autonomous, closed system, society strives to maintain an identity by subordi-
nating all change to the maintenance of its own organization as a given set of re-
lations. It does so by engaging in circular patterns of interaction (within itself)
whereby change in one element of the system is coupled with changes else-
where, setting up continuous patterns of interaction that are always self-
referential. Society's supposed interaction with its environment is both a re-
flection and a part of its internal organizationit responds to the environment
in ways that facilitate its own self-production.
Although society is organizationally closed, it remains structurally open. Sys-
tems maintain stability by sustaining processes of negative feedback that allow
them to detect and correct deviations from operating norms, and can evolve by de-
veloping capacities for modifying these norms to account for new circumstances.
The source of change then, is located in random variations occurring within the
system. This structural openness allows seemingly unrelated aspects of a system to
interact with each other. The structural openness specified by the theory of
autopoiesis encourages us to understand transformations of society as the result of
internally generated change, rather than as adaptation to external forces.
Chaos theory, which began developing in the 1960s, suggests that random
changes in a system can lead to new patterns of order and stability (Kiel & Elliott,
1996). Random variation within society, then, generates possibilities for emer-
gence and evolution of new system identities. Of course, possibilities do not neces-
sarily translate into practices, and the attendant potential for importing negative
entropy does not always result in its importation. Erratic changes can trigger inter-
actions that reverberate through the system. The final consequences of these
changes, however, are determined by whether the current identity of the system
dampens the effects of the disturbance through compensatory changes elsewhere,
or whether it encourages a new configuration of relations to emerge.
Since the aspects of social systems that enable these transactions to occur are
communicative interactions, society is structured by self-referential operations
(communication) that are produced within society's subsystems. These opera-
tions (communicative interactions) are the sole means for differentiating human
society from its environment. Communication, which refers to "the common ac-
tualization of meaning," rather than to information transfer, provides society's
"mode o f operation, and the environment includes everything that does not operate
communicatively" (Luhmann, 1989 pp. x, 7).
Despite Luhmann' s (1992) claim that when studying society, "one must not be-
gin with the concept of action but with the concept of communication. For it is not
action but rather communication that is an unavoidably social operation," he never
clearly explains how or why communication should be the sin qua non of society (p.
252). Communication remains for Luhmann, the ubiquitous black box that defines
the social system. For an elaboration on the practice of communication we turn to
Burke (1966, 1969), who posited that to be human is to feel estranged from, yet de-
sire identification and socialization with, others of our species. Burke argued that, in
a vain attempt to overcome our perpetual state of estrangement or separation, peo-
ple develop elaborate social hierarchies that simultaneously enable and constrain
our interaction. The social hierarchies we construct to achieve unity, however, si-
multaneously result in more estrangement and divisiveness, for members of the hi-
erarchy differ, both symbolically and materially, from each other. As humans, we
communicate to express the common interests needed to achieve the social unity we
desire (Burke 1966; 1969; Peterson, 1997). Mouffe's (2000) claim that human soci-
ety cannot escape the political resonated with Burke' s theory of communication.
Mouffe political theory suggested that whatever means people use to achieve a sense
of community carries with it the seeds of conflict. The task of those who would en-
courage the exercise of democracy is not, therefore, to achieve acceptable compro-
mise so much as it is to make use of conflicts among distinct interests.
Supplementing Luhmann' s rather sterile definition of communication with
concepts drawn from Burke and Mouffe suggests that members of society use the
resonance among function systems to define issues according to their interests.
Communication neither minimizes nor maximizes resonance among function
systems; rather it constitutes resonance. Without it, society does not exist. Com-
munication (or resonance) is a process as fundamental to human society as photo-
synthesis is to plant communities. At the same time, however, it is a practice social
actors use in conscious attempts to secure their own shifting and contradictory in-
terests. Further, neither political power nor personal abilities are uniformly dis-
tributed within society. Within this rather unruly space, increased resonance
among function systems enables social actors to examine issues from multiple per-
spectives, while decreased resonance minimizes such opportunities.
Social Function Systems
Luhmann described the society wherein these communicative transactions take
place as a centerless set of function systems that constrain both what can be com-
municated and how it is communicated. Because each subsystem fulfills only one
primary function (hence, the name function system), it cannot substitute for an-
other, as was the case within traditional societies that were differentiated through
stratification. In Medieval Europe, for example, the authority of the Pope, who oc-
cupied the pinnacle of the social hierarchy, could be brought to bear on any sort of
problem. Whether the issue was religion, economics, or education, the same ulti-
mate authority ruled. However, because modern society recognizes no single au-
thority figure that can cut across all questions and social issues, individual
functions assume primary authority for resolving problems.
Function systems sort experience into information according to a binary code
that obtains system closure by assuring that every choice refers exclusively to its
opposite. Luhmann (1989) designated economy, law, science, politics, religion, and
education as the most important function systems in contemporary society. He
then identifies a grammar for these function systems. Society only can discuss
economy in terms of ability-inability to pay; law in terms of legality-illegality, sci-
ence in terms of truth-falsity, politics in terms of in-out of office, religion in terms
of immanence/transcendence, and education in terms of better-worse. Like any
grammar, these codes reproduce system closure by resolving tautologies and para-
doxes, and by limiting further possibilities. Through their grammar, "society's
function systems constrain both what experience becomes information, and what
kind of information it becomes" (Grant et al., 2002, p. 145).
Luhmann (1992) wrote that because "self-reference (or reflexiveness) is not a
property peculiar to thought or consciousness but instead a general principle of
system formation ... there are many different possibilities for observing the world,
depending on the reference system that is taken as basic" (pp. 251-252). For exam-
ple, within the function system of science, a claim that is not true is false, and a
claim that is not false is true. Members of society are spared both the tautology that
truth is truth, and the paradox that one cannot truthfully maintain that one is
truthful. The principle of negation imputes binary codes with universal validity
because something that is not identified by one term, must be identified by the
other. Thus, the binary code of truth-falsity precludes the consideration of criteria
such as goodness or practicality or legality when evaluating an event that has been
interpreted as scientific. Alternately, if people label the same occurrence as an eco-
nomic issue, they understand it solely in terms of ability or inability to pay. Its
goodness, practicality, or legality is not at issue. The identical grammatical princi-
ple applies for each function system. The principle of negation (as materialized in
the binary code) that ensures organizational closure, however, also ensures struc-
tural openness by inducing society to examine the possibility of that which does
not exist (Peterson & Peterson, 1996).
Each function system's programs, which refer to its binary code, yet are not
terms of the code, further retain the system's openness. At the same time they
operationalize the system's binary code, they must remain variable because deter-
mining the relative suitability of one or the other binary value when appraising an
experience requires information from outside the system. Programs, then, refer to
the conditions necessary to determine the selection of one binary term over the
other. Structural openness then, allows social systems to utilize terms from within
other function systems, without losing their previously determined identities.
Luhmann (1989) argued that functional differentiation constrains society's po-
tential responses to environmental disturbances, for it can respond only in terms
of existing function systems. As with any system, society often remains oblivious to
environmental disturbances. When it does notice a disturbance, the resulting res-
onance between society and its environment is channeled into a function system
and treated according to the grammar specified by that system's binary code. So-
cial experience that is not translated into the binary code of a function system does
not become information. The same principle constrains society's internal pro-
cesses, where function systems form each others' environments.
The same function systems that produce organizational closure by sharply re-
ducing what counts as information within human society also produce s tructural
openness by causing resonance at the internal boundaries of societywhere com-
munication across function systems defines society. Although function systems
communicate with each other, however, their distinct binary codes mitigate
against complete integration, and maintain the possibility of multiple responses to
any event. Because events rarely fit neatly within the framework of one function
system alone, social responses may appear erratic, as they shift from the code of
one function system to another.
The structural openness obtained through resonance among function systems
maintains a precarious balance with society's organizational closure, ensuring that
operations can switch quickly from the code of one function system to the code of
another. Thus, although function systems rarely produce coordinated responses,
their communicative interdependency prevents society from becoming com-
pletely isolated from its environment.
Luhmann (1989) allowed for the fact that some function systems will exhibit
greater strength than others, but cautions that we endanger society's structural
openness by allowing any function system to eclipse all others. He claims that at-
tempting to derive the near totality of phenomena from any one sphere makes no
sense because the grammar of each function system's binary code provides differ-
ent constraints. After all, each function system experiences the environment
through its own programs and codes. For example, when observation of the natu-
ral environment is interpreted in light of ability-inability to pay the costs for pre-
serving a landscape, the social system can only observe interpretations of that
landscape after arbitrarily decontextualizing it from its noneconomic milieu. The
Bush administration' s recent proposal to open "the nation' s largest remaining
block of unprotected public land to oil and gas development," which also will con-
stitute "the largest single on-shore offering to indus try in the history of the Ameri-
can Arctic" appears relatively uncontroversial when viewed from within the
economic function system (Seelye, 2003). As a spokesman for the Bureau of Land
Management explained, "the price of oil has gone up, and our domestic supplies
have gone down, so there's a renewed interest by industry in leasing" (Seelye,
2003). By accepting only the grammar of the economic function system, we limit
the information considered relevant to the debate, and risk ignoring important en-
vironmental perturbations.
When the criteria and program of any function system are privileged over all
others, the number and variety of experiences that count as information in a soci-
ety are sharply reduced. Because society's ability to find resonance with its envi-
ronment is almost completely dependent on the secondary resonance that
develops among its function systems, this boundary activity is essential to the per-
ception of environmental disturbances. Secondary resonance enables society to
compensate for its inability to interact directly with its environment. Only through
recognizing the limitations of each function system can society benefit from the in-
ternal complexity of the integrated system into which it has evolved.
In summary, Luhmann provided a basis for developing a model of society that
is cognizant of environmental perturbations, but does not reduce to the oversim-
plification of attributing a singular causal relationship between society and the en-
vironment. Because society's ability to find resonance with its environment is
almost completely dependent on the secondary resonance that develops among its
function systems, this boundary activity is essential to the perception of environ-
mental disturbances. Secondary resonance enables society to compensate for its
inability to interact directly with its environment. Only through recognizing the
limitations of each function system can society benefit from the internal complex-
ity of the integrated system into which it has evolved. Using this conceptual foun-
dation, we constructed a computerized model that enabled us to simulate multiple
possible futures by specifying how society's primary function systems resonate
with each other to constrain and enable social responses to environmental distur-
bances (Grant et al., 2002).
GENERAL SOCIAL MODEL
Drawing on Luhmann' s theory we (Grant et al., 2002) developed a quantitative
simulation model where human society is represented as simultaneously closed
(organizationally) and open (structurally). Our model consists of six submodels,
each representing one a centerless set of the six primary subsystems of modern so-
ciety, economy, law, science, politics, religion, and education. In turn, each
submodel consists of seven state variables, each connected to all others by material
transfers. Six of the state variables represent active entities that can randomly ex-
change units of information daily; the seventh represents a repository of potential
information. We use the terms total information, active information, and inactive
information when referring to material flows or transfers. Luhmann (1989) ar-
gued that environmental inputs do not become information for human society
unless they become the subject of communication. In other words, before inputs
from society's environment can matter, society must select and understand (or
misunderstand) something about them (Luhmann, 1992). Thus we refer to these
materials collectively as total information. Active information refers to that upon
which society can base decisions, because it has been translated into the code of a
function system. Inactive information has not yet been translated into such a code,
and might eventually disappear without ever becoming active.
The daily probability that inactive information becomes active increases, and
the probability that active information becomes inactive decreases, as the
strength of the subsystem increases (Grant et al., 2002). Strength is determined
by the relative distribution of active information units among the state variables,
with maximum strength attained with uniform dis tribution. Communication
among the six subsystems depends on the relative strengths of the subsystems
and the frequency with which they resonate with other subsystems. Subsystems
communicate externally at the following frequencies: politics once yearly, eco-
nomics and education once every 3 months, legal once a month, and religion and
science once daily. We programmed the model in STELLA
®
6.0 (High Perfor-
mance Systems, Hanover, New Hampshire, USA) using a Pentium-based micro-
computer with a time step of one day.
We investigated model behavior by running a series of replicate stochastic sim-
ulations and monitoring system and subsystem strength and robustness and over a
period of 10 years (Grant et al., 2002). The simulated society was both stable and
robust. Both stability and robustness of subsystems were inversely related to the
frequency of communication with other subsystems, and both strength and ro-
bustness were more variable for subsystems with higher external communication
frequencies. System strength and robustness were most sensitive to changes in fac-
tors affecting the resonance among subsystems. Subsystems open to communica-
tion with others on a daily basis (religion and science) exhibited more frequent
occurrence of extinction than did subsystems open to external communication
less frequently.
We explored the model's usefulness in simulating societal constraints on envi-
ronmental action by coupling it to a simple ecological model that simulates use of a
common forage resource (Grant et al., 2002). We coupled the models by linking the
economic, political, and legal subsystems of society to the environment via a com-
munity of resource managers composed of six pairs of ranchers, with each pair shar-
ing a common forage resource. We structured the linkages of the economic and
political subsystems with the environment to represent the Prisoner's Dilemma; and
the linkages between the legal subsystem and the environment to represent the con-
cept of mutual coercion. We ran two series of simulations in which we unlinked and
then re-linked the environment to the legal subsystem. Results from the first series of
simulations demonstrated the classic ecological tragedy of the commons. Results
from the second series of simulations demonstrated the effect of periodically im-
posed (by mutual coercion) legal restrictions on stocking rates, which allowed re-
covery of forage resources and supported sustainable profits for ranchers. We also
examined the sensitivity of simulation results to changes in the values of key parame-
ters affecting the dynamics of premises as they are communicated between the envi-
ronment and society and among the subsystems of society. For a more detailed
description of the model, results of baseline simulations, representative sensitivity
analyses, and the an example of model use see Grant et al., (2002).
Our model successfully simulates human society as a system that closes in on it-
self, to maintain stable patterns of internal relations, a process that enables it to
maintain itself as a system. As proposed by Luhmann, our simulated society closes
in on itselfthus maintaining reasonably stable patterns of relationships within
and among function systemsultimately enabling it to maintain itself as a system.
In modeling society as closed and autonomous, we are not characterizing it as
completely isolated from the environment. The closure and autonomy is merely
organizational. As a functionally closed loop of interaction, society has no clear be-
ginning or end point. Because the system envisioned by Luhmann cannot escape
this closed loop, it makes no sense to say that society directly interacts with its ex-
ternal environment. Rather, as indicated by our simulations, apparent transac-
tions between society and its environment are prompted by resonance among
society's function systems, which in turn is a function of relative system strength.
That resonance enables society to respond to its environment while maintaining
its own boundaries. Increased resonance brings both increased responsiveness and
increased vulnerability to environmental stimuli.
Despite the model's focus on symbolic activity, that symbol use is grounded in
materiality. As Burke maintained (1978), the material and the symbolic realm are
inexorably linked together by the intermediate realm of human experience. He di-
rects our attention to those symbolic acts that are constrained by social and natural
structures, but still are voluntary. The fact that resonance among function systems
is grounded in perturbations from the natural system that forms part of society's
environment indicates that society (through its communication) remains con-
strained by structures that extend beyond it, both in time and space. In other
words, the human proclivity toward communication is grounded in biophysical
processes, which are entailed in communication.
Arguably, human society's goal is not to minimize the variety of possible envi-
ronmental outcomes per se, but rather to reduce the difference between possible
and favorable environmental outcomes to an acceptable level. To achieve this re-
duction, in addition to increasing the variety of possible social actions, society can
redefine the set of environmental outcomes it finds favorable. Thus, just as a natu-
ral system may adapt in order to simplify its task of self regulation, a societal
worldview may be changed to reduce the stress on an observer (Weinberg, 1975).
In our model, the interpretation of an environmental signal by a given subsystem
of society may change in a binomial fashion (from 0 to 1 or 1 to 0) as a result of
changes occurring within that subsystem. Further, resultant changes in subsystem
strength alter resonance among subsystems, thus altering both the responsiveness
and vulnerability of a given subsystem.
SOCIAL RESPONSES TO ENVIRONMENTAL PERTURBATIONS
We now illustrate how our quantification of Luhmann' s (1979, 1989, 1992) social
theory could enable us to construct an integrated account of social and biophysical
processes, an account that could be used to construct a more complete explanation
of natural resource management decisions. We offer two illustrations, both of
which focus on management of natural resources held in common among many
members of society.
Managing the Commons
Our first illustration is the frequently modeled common pasture for livestock.
Both observed and simulated results of this commons have supported the thesis
that when livestock managers are free to place as many animals on the commons as
they wish, the resultant mean number of animals on the commons is much greater,
and the mean available forage and animal weight much less, than what would be
best for the long-term viability of the grazing resource unless they are legally con-
strained from doing so (Grant & Thompson, 1997). Essentially, society interacts
with the pastureland to influence forage levels, which, in turn, influences the
ranchers' profits. This interpretation, however, misses the resonance, or commu-
nication interactions, within society itself (Grant et al., 2002).
Our social model provides additional information, both regarding internal
relations among function systems within the social system, and regarding poten-
tial interaction with the commons (Peterson & Peterson, 2001). When biomass
or forage decreases to levels that negatively impact the weights of their livestock,
our social model assumes that managers notice that something detrimental to
their operation has occurred. Although no individual rancher can s ignificantly
alter the situation, if enough members of this society determine that they are re-
ceiving insufficient profitability from their livestock, an environmental signal
may be translated into the code of the economic function system. The group then
may mutually agree that the shrinking vegetative biomass available for their ani-
mals has weakened their ability to pay (economic s trength) . Human society may
then reframe this economic problem as a political issue in an attempt to achieve
redress by the mutually agreed upon coercion suggested by Hardin (1968). The
motivation to seek a political solution to the problem of decreased vegetative
biomass resulting in decreased profitability might well be rooted in a religious
belief that the economic good of society as a whole transcends the economic
good of individual ranchers, that the good of future generations transcends the
good of the small number of those imminently involved, that the transcendent
value of the family ranch is such that society as a whole should assume the re-
sponsibility of paying to ensure the continuation of this way of life, or some com-
bination of these rationales. Voting, as well as other means of influencing the
composition of office-holders, enables society to legislate a potential solution to
the problem, in this case either a ranching subsidy, a statute requiring removal of
livestock from the commons when forage becomes depleted, or some combina-
tion of these approaches.
If voters passed a statute requiring removal of livestock from the commons
when forage levels decreased to some predetermined level, statements of truth de-
veloped within the scientific function system would be used to determine the level
beyond which no individual rancher is allowed to deplete the vegetative biomass
available in the commons. Educational achievement would come into play in de-
termining which persons are more or less qualified to determine the methods most
appropriate for determining these truths, as well as which persons are allowed to
select the exact threshold. To legislate a subsidy, society also would use statements
of truth regarding minimum acceptable levels of profitability needed to ensure
that ranchers are able to function positively within the economy. As in the live-
stock removal ruling, educationally based certifications of expertise would deter-
mine which persons are considered better able to determine the level of subsidy
required, and appropriate procedures for providing it to livestock managers.
Not every individual, however, voluntarily cooperates, which leads into the le-
gal function system. Here, members of society bring suit against those who choose
not to abide by the law, thus coercing them to remove animals from the affected
environment until the forage recovers to a previously agreed upon level. As in the
case of determining appropriate minimum levels of forage, certification based on
educational achievement is used to determine which persons are better able to de-
termine the legality or illegality of an individual miscreant's behavior.
Resonance among function systems does not always lead to harmonious so-
cial activities. Power relationships and conflicting interests may result in the pas-
sage of both a subsidy and a lower limit on forage beyond which livestock must be
removed from the commons. When both policies become law, society is faced
with conflicting meanings being simultaneously constructed by its function sys-
tems. The subsidy encourages managers to place more animals on the common
pasture because they require less forage to make a profit, yet they are simulta-
neously prohibited from doing so after forage decreases to the predetermined
level. This increased potential for profitability discourages managers from re-
moving livestock from depleted pastureland, even when forage levels drop below
those required by law, which stimulates the legal system to activity. Although so-
ciety itself neither encourages nor discourages maintenance of a healthy tension
among function systems, awareness of its systemic character can enable individ-
ual (or groups of) actors to develop political currency, and shape the issue by
drawing public attention to imbalances among competing function systems.
Global Warming
Our second example is one that has long maintained a hazy, yet persistent presence
in conflicts over environmental policy. The conflict over management of social be-
haviors within the United States that contribute to global climate change illus-
trates the difficulty with which environmental perturbations penetrate the social
system's boundary, as well as the multiple opportunities for resonance within soci-
ety once the system has recognized the existence of a biophysical process.
Climate system models, which generally include a full suite of representations
for air, water, land, and ice, provide policy makers with opportunities to compare
various futures (for examples begin with the EPA web site at http://www.
epa.gov/). They attempt to match planetary-scale circulation, seasonable variabil-
ity and temperature structures. Although they are limited by uncertainties in for-
mulation, calculations, and interpretation, they are accepted as important tools
for assessing future possibilities for human life on Earth. Truth claims regarding
causal patterns across short time periods and small spatial extents remain uncer-
tain, as does the exact match between model results and observed changes. Scien-
tific methodology provides strong support, however, for the truth claim that the
heat-trapping properties of rising levels of carbon dioxide and other greenhouse
gases resulting from the combustion of fossil fuels play a significant causal role in
existing rates of climate warming.
Both modeled and observed data provide "mounting evidence of human con-
tributions to climate warming" (Revkin, 2002) . Society could use the truth
claims from this scientifically validated information to initiate actions aimed at
mitigating current rates of climate warming, and the political dislocations they
will bringa relatively weak example of such action being the Kyoto Protocol.
Simultaneously, without dis puting the truth of climate warming, the electoral
program of the political function system in the United States places individuals
in office. The economic interests of those who hold office (or exercise direct in-
fluence on office holders) might suggest that certain policy changes are likely to
weaken the economic system (in terms of ability to pay) . Especially if the eco-
nomic function system has s ufficient strength relative to other function systems,
it could block the political system from communication with non-economic
function systems.
Our social model suggests that the Bush/Cheney administration has distorted
the U.S. conversation about global climate change by attempting to eliminate reso-
nance between the economic and other function systems. Although the adminis-
tration has attempted to construct competing truth claims, the scientific
community has been largely uncooperative, perhaps due to legitimate fears that
claims not supported by appropriate "scientific methodology" could damage its
credibility. Failing a competing truth claim, the administration has resorted to the
economic function system, arguing that it a more immediate issue. The concomi-
tant claim that mandatory motor vehicle or industrial emissions controls could
damage the economy, has provided political leaders with sufficient justification to
postpone mandatory emissions controls. Thus governmental personnel might
well use the codes of additional function systems, but only to buttress their eco-
nomically based decision. For example, they could argue that mandatory controls
would be illegal or that there is insufficient scientific information to adequately
ground the control systems.
As long as the social system in a modern, industrialized nation such the United
States retains a balanced tension among its function systems, however, no single
societal system is completely free of complications; it is in these "complications"
that hope for an informed social response to environmental perturbations lies.
Some members of society may demand education, in order to better their relative
position in the system. For example, a shareholder coalition formed from the State
of Connecticut Plans and Trust Fund and members of the New York-based Inter-
faith Center on Corporate Responsibility, contends that the release of carbon di-
oxide, which is strongly linked to climate warming, by power companies
constitutes a hidden risk to shareholders' economic status because of potential liti-
gation (Banerjee, 2003). The coalition contends that, since power companies have
acknowledged climate change as a risk factor internally, it is illegal for them to fail
to provide their shareholders with education regarding how they plan to address
this risk. The Interfaith Center justifies religious intervention in this legal question
by labeling it an issue where responsibility to the public good transcends any bene-
fits or harms that may occur to specific companies.
Additionally, the interpretation of an environmental signal by a given function
system of society can transform as a result of changes occurring within that func-
tion system. As elections loom, candidates for office struggle to demonstrate their
cognizance of scientific truth, which, again, can take many forms. Some may seek
out individuals whose educational status enables them to legitimately state an al-
ternative truth (social behaviors do not significantly contribute to climate warm-
ing) that does not seem to put existing economic premises in jeopardy. Others
might attempt to demonstrate that the existing link between the economic and po-
litical systems has been falsely articulated, because it has failed to account for other
function systems (establishment of mandatory emissions controls may negatively
impact certain individual's economic strength, but a more transcendent view sug-
gests that they would actually benefit society's economic strength). Further, these
changes alter resonance among function systems, thus altering both society's vul-
nerability and responsiveness to environmental perturbations.
Climate modelers are not unaware that human society is an important aspect in
their efforts. For example, Hansen et. al. (2000) simulate alternative scenarios
based on social dynamics such as human population growth rates, life style
choices, and energy sources. They do not, however, account for choices made
within the social system. Given increasing evidence that "most of the global warm-
ing observed over the last 50 years is attributable to human activities" (IPCC, 2001,
p. 10), the utility of climate models might be increased if they could be coupled to a
model that accounted for decisions made within the social system; decisions that
directly influence human activities.
COMMUNICATION PRACTICE IN THE BIOSPHERE
The social model we propose is relatively abstract and simplified, and, as with any
model, it does not explicitly account for all the richness that defines social con-
struction. It can, however, provide the basis for an explanation of how society's in-
ternal resonance (both among and within function systems) enables and
constrains its ability to respond to environmental perturbations ranging from
global climate change to communally held pastures. Traditional natural resource
management incorporates concepts from several fields in the physical and biologi-
cal sciences. No matter how elegant the scientific theories upon which manage-
ment plans are based, however, they cannot reach their full potential until they
become effective public policy and are implemented. We are not arguing that so-
cial sciences or humanities are more important than biophysical sciences when
formulating and implementing management policy. Rather, the development of
effective policies for managing natural resources requires integration of the hu-
manities as well as both social and biophysical sciences.
Both examples described above demonstrate that resonance among the six pri-
mary function systems enables society to respond to its environment while main-
taining its own boundaries . Increas ed res onance bring s both increas ed
responsiveness and increased vulnerability to environmental stimuli, while de-
creased resonance decreases both responsiveness and vulnerability. Arguably, hu-
man society's goal is not to reduce vulnerability by minimizing the variety of
possible environmental outcomes per se, but rather to reduce the difference be-
tween all possible and favorable environmental outcomes to an acceptable level.
To achieve this reduction, in addition to increasing the variety of possible social ac-
tions, society can redefine the set of environmental outcomes it finds favorable.
Thus, just as a biophysical system may adapt in order to simplify its task of regulat-
ing, a social practice may be changed to reduce the stress on society (Weinberg,
1975). We think it worth emphasizing, however, that society's systemic goal is not
necessarily identical to (or even complementary with) the interests of its members.
The examples we have offered suggest how groups or individuals can inadvertently
weaken the social system's resilience to environmental perturbations by minimiz-
ing resonance among function systems to achieve their own interests. Used criti-
cally, our model can help decision makers and other community members identify
and respond to this danger.
As the human population on Earth doubles yet again, the importance of holisti-
cally understanding how social structures and practices both influence and re-
spond to the biophysical world becomes increasingly critical. Despite our model's
focus on communication, it remains grounded in materiality. As Burke main-
tained (1978), the material and the symbolic realms are inexorably linked by the
intermediate realm of human experience. The fact that resonance among function
systems is grounded in perturbations from the biosphere indicates that society re-
mains constrained by structures that extend beyond it, both in time and space. "In
other words, the human proclivity toward communication is grounded in ecosys-
tems, which are entailed in communication" (Peterson & Peterson, 2001 p. 301).
We offer this analytical interpretation of Luhmann's social theory as a small step
toward a more holistic analysis of humans in the biosphere.
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CHAPTER THREE
Eulogy for Tobe West:
On the Agitation and Control
of a Salvage-Rider Timber Sale
Mark P. Moore
In July of 1995, President Clinton signed a budget rescissions bill into law that in-
cluded a salvage-timber rider to remove dead, dying, and diseased trees from for-
ests in the United States for the purpose of restoring forest health and reducing
future damage from potential forest fires. The rider, which was a special piece of
legislation placed on an unrelated spending bill, originally called for the logging of
only diseased and damaged timber stands, but the final version allowed for some
pre-1992 timber sales that were blocked by federal courts under the Endangered
Species Act to be logged as well. After the rider passed, federal judge Michael Ho-
gan further ruled that the rider would allow other timber sales to go forward even if
they did not meet the environmental regulations of what had become known as
The Forest Plan, that is, the plan created by President Clinton in 1993. As a result,
the rider freed 27 timber sales suspended previously since 1991. Three of the 27
were in Oregon. One of these three was located in the Coastal Range near the small
town of Alsea, Oregon, an area called Tobe West. Tobe West stood as an ancient,
old-growth forest grove with trees said to be over 400 years old. These trees pro-
vided habitat for the threatened marbled murrelet and surrounded what a Bureau
of Land Management (BLM) study classified as one of the best spawning grounds
for the threatened coho salmon in the entire Alsea River system. When the logging
began, environmentalists protested.
This chapter examines the environmental protest over Tobe West within the con-
text of the Northwest forest controversy in general, and the timber salvage rider in par-
ticular. The critical perspective for the study is informed first, by the theory of protest
rhetoric offered by Bowers, Ochs, and Jensen in, The Rhetoric of Agitation and Control
(1993), and then by the theory of the institutionalization of environmentalism for-
warded by Eder in The Social Construction of Nature (1996).
1
This study argued that
while the protest rhetoric surrounding the timber sale at Tobe West reflects various
33
34 MOORE
strategies of agitation and control identified by Bowers et al. (1993) a greater under-
standing of the protest as a rhetorical response to the social and cultural imperatives of
its time can be generated by placing the strategies of agitation and control within the
context of what Eder (1996) described in the late 1990s as a "post-environmentalism
and the emergence of a post-corporatist state" (p. 192).
This study attempts to contribute to the understanding of environmental rhet-
oric in social protest by demonstrating that the industry, the media, and the state
(establishment or authority) function in this case as a form of control against envi-
ronmental protest that suppresses, subverts, and co-opts the environmental
movement. The rhetoric of agitation in this case can be viewed as more ceremonial
or eulogistic than as an instrument for significant social change, one that stems
from what Cox (1982) refered to as "the Locus of the irreparable" in environmen-
tal discourse (p. 227) . However, references to the irreparable in this case signal
more of a lament or resignation over the loss of nature than the environmentalist
hysteria, for example, that Killingsworth and Palmer (1995) identified as charac-
teristic of discourse by activists committed to life in the present as well as the fu-
ture. As such, a greater understanding of the protest rhetoric in this case can be
gained by elaborating on the strategies and tactics identified by Bowers et al. (1993)
(more of a focus on how goals are pursued through agitation and control) with
Eder' s (1991) frame analysis of ecological communication, which centers more on
the content or substance of the discourse itself and the underlying values that mo-
tivate the construction of it.
This study also considers the implications of the control of social protest over
Tobe West for the freedom of speech, protest in the forest controversy, and envi-
ronmental communication in general after examining how the letters -to-
the-editor section of a local newspaper suppresses and subverts protest while
providing a political venue for indus try supporters to co-opt environmental
communication for their own purpose. This chapter examines letters to the edi-
tor by protesters and timber supporters regarding Tobe West as additional forms
of agitation and control that develop and function ins trumentally in public fo-
rum. The function of the letters-to-the-editor sections in daily newspapers as a
forum for public deliberation is informed by Wahl-J orgens en (2001) and others
to illuminate the ways in which the media, the public, and democracy intersect
with regard to environmental protest. Wahl-Jorgensen (1999, 2001) observed
that the editors of these letters often privilege individual expression over that of
activist groups and prefer emotionally charged, personal stories by individuals
that come from the heart to forge emotional bonds between readers and writers.
Thus, the letters-to-editors section of local daily newspapers can control agita-
tion as well by avoiding and suppressing letters that speak on behalf of or repre-
sent activist groups. It is argued in this chapter that an emphasis on individual
expression can diffuse the collective voice of protest while also allowing oppo-
nents to co-opt the language of environmental communication to convey their
personal (individual) views.
3. EULOGY FOR TOBE WEST 35
In addition, research by Hynds (1976, 1991, 1984, 1994) found that editors con-
tinue to remain positive about the role of letters in editorial pages and believe they
provide useful benchmarks and public forums for taking action on issues. Also, ac-
cording to Hynds (1994) editors received more letters today than in 1975 and that
on average smaller newspapers print 70 percent of the letters they receive (though
large and small newspapers edit the letters for length, libel, taste, and style). The
chapter begins with brief overviews of Bowers et al. (1993) on social protest and
Eder (1991) on the institutionalization of environmentalism, describes the con-
text of protest, then examines the discourse, including letters to the editor from
environmental activists and timber supporters, and finally discusses implications
of the study.
AGITATION, CONTROL,
AND THE INSTITUTIONALIZATION OF PROTEST
In the vocabulary of Bowers et al. (1993) protesters agitate to achieve social change
and the establishment (or what will be referred to in this study as the state) controls
agitation in order to resist change. In specific, they observed that "Agitation exists
when (1) people outside the normal decision-making establishment (2) advocate sig-
nificant social change and (3) encounter a degree of resistance with the establishment
such as to require more than the normal discursive means of persuasion." With such
cases, "Control refers to the response of the decision-making establishment to agita-
tion" (p. 4). A legitimate democratic state has social powers in the form of legisla-
tion and law enforcement. Attempts at significant social change by either a
protesting group or the state stem typically from substantive issues (whether to
raise or lower timber harvests in the Northwest), procedural issues (whether to de-
velop a plan that would ease the conflict over forest management), or some combi-
nation of the two. Accordingly, agitation would occur after a group has attempted
to seek change through the proper legislative or legal channels but has been denied.
At this point, strategies can be adopted by the group that fall outside the normal
discursive means of persuasion.
Bowers et al. (1993) identify seven strategies used by protest groups in their at-
tempt at social change. They are: (a) petition; (b) promulgation; (c) solidification;
(d) polarization; (e) non-violent resistance; (f) escalation/confrontation; (g) Gan-
dhi and guerrilla. Petition involves all of the normal discursive means of persua-
sion and would not in and of itself be considered agitative. However after
petitioning the state and being denied, a group would move onto other strategies
that follow petition, more or less in the order listed aforementioned. As such, pro-
mulgation is an attempt to gain public support through informational picketing,
displays, leaflets, and protest meetings. Solidification is the promotion of unity
within the protest group itself through the development of songs, slogans, and
in-group publications. The polarization strategy involves an effort to draw any un-
committed individuals into the ranks of the agitators. Nonviolent resistance in-
36 MOORE
creases the tension of a protest situation through the physical presence of agitators
who are violating the law and therefore must be removed by law enforcement offi-
cers (sit-in) or the physical and economic absence of agitators who willingly re-
move themselves from a particular situation (boycott). Escalation-confrontation
as a rhetorical strategy prods the state to an unsavory public display of physical vio-
lence against protesters, as Short (1991) examined in an analysis informed by
Bowers and Ochs (1971) on the nondiscursive forms of persuasion adopted by
Earth First! Gandhi and guerilla combines nonviolent resistance with physical de-
struction to force a no-compromise, win-lose situation upon the state.
To cope with agitation, Bowers et al. (1993) suggested that the state used four
strategies of control: (a) avoidance; (b) suppression; (c) adjustment; (d) capitula-
tion. As with agitation, Bowers et al. (1993) observed that these control strategies
unfold primarily in the order stated. That is, when confronted with agitation, the
state will first avoid, then suppress, then adjust, or finally capitulate to the changes
sought by the protesters. The state can avoid, for example, by engaging in counter
persuasion or denying protesters their means of agitation. They can suppress by
harassing protest leaders, denying agitator's demands, or banishing the agitators.
The state can adjust by accepting some of the means of agitation without response
or retaliation, or incorporating part of the personnel or ideology of an agitating
group. By capitulating, the state finally concedes to the demands. As stated, the cy-
cle of strategies in agitation and control move in opposite directions. While agita-
tion becomes increasingly aggressive and more violent in each strategy, the control
becomes increasingly submissive. While the control spends its aggressive energy
early, agitation builds and conserves it for later. By exerting its greatest resistance
early in social protest, the control seems to encourage the agitation to become in-
creasingly aggressive as the control becomes more passive or receptive to the de-
mands. It would also seem to encourage agitators to stay the course, because the
longer they endure the more likely they are to succeed.
Theoretically, then, it would seem that when the cycles of agitation and control
strategies are compared, in and of themselves, time is on the side of the agitators
and the cards appear to be stacked against the state. In the long run, with other
things being equal, it also seems safe to say that the cycle of agitation strategies are
more effective in achieving social change than the cycle of control strategies are at
preventing it. This may be an oversimplification of the theory, but if the agitation
and control strategies proceed in cycles at least generally, and these cycles are more
or less progressive, there is a certain determinism implied by the theory, if loosely
so (see Bowers et al., 1993, p. 20): as agitators become increasingly aggressive in
their persistence, the control becomes increasingly submissive in their resistance.
This view of agitation and control in the context of social protest therefore explains
how change may or may not come about, but how well does this model explain
protest rhetoric in the environmental movement?
Although certain changes in life are inevitable, they are not always achieved
through social protest. Yet while environmental protesters engage many of the
3. EULOGY FOR TORE WEST 37
strategies described by Bowers et al. (1993) there are situational and contextual
factors involved in environmental protesting that render the forms and outcomes
of agitation and control unique. Lange (1993), for example, observed that even in
the absence of direct interaction, rhetorical and communication strategies in the
environmental (as in agitation) and timber industry groups (as in control) during
the spotted owl controversy were "co-created" in a unique system of necessity and
constraint (p. 239). In addition, environmentalism is being considered responsi-
ble for ushering in the likes of a postcorporatist, postmaterialist, and even a
postenvironmentalist order (Eder, 1996; Kempton, Boster, & Hartley, 1995). In
doing so, Eder believes that environmentalism is no longer a protest movement
but a dominant (mainstream, domesticated) ideology, though the goals of envi-
ronmentalism were far from being realized. As a result, environmentalism has
been institutionalized (trumped) by political and economic interests before it has
produced significant social change.
To illustrate the institutionalization and cultural normalization (or domestica-
tion) of environmental concerns, and their integration with established patterns of
ideological thought, Eder (1996) tied environmentalism to a cyclical wave of social
protest that had reached its end. Furthermore, the end of this cycle of social protest
is marked by the fragmentation rather than universalization of environmental eth-
ics and concerns. Instead of a general and comprehensive ideology or philosophy,
environmentalism has evolved into multiple cultural responses to specific social
conditions. During the protest era of the 1960s and 1970s, environmental protest
groups put the environment on the public agenda. Yet since this time, opponents
to the environmental movement have appropriated environmental issues for
themselves. As Eder (1996) observed, "the environmental movements no longer
have to struggle to voice their concerns; they have actually become topical.
Ironically, there are now so many voices that it is difficult to be heard" (p. 165).
What this means is that environmentalism must now struggle to maintain its sense
of urgency, vigilance, and significance in the marketplace as a unique and legiti-
mate voice for ecological concern and social change.
Under these conditions public environmental discourse has been transformed,
according to Eder, into political ideology that must compete with other ideologies
(Marxism, capitalism), and environmentalism as a movement has survived in the
marketplace by transforming itself into well-organized public interest groups. So
the conditions under which environmental protesters protest have changed. To be
successful they must defend their image as one of sensitizing environmental con-
cerns. However, opponents and competitors of environmentalism have co-opted
the green image in the marketplace as well, making it increasingly difficult for the
environmental protesters to distinguish themselves as the true legitimate voice for
the environment.
2
In other words, there are now many shades of green in the mar-
ketplace and the environmental protesters must compete with them. In doing so,
environmentalism is now emerging from and integrating into what Eder (1996)
called "ecological communication," which is transforming the environmental
38 MOORE
movement into "cultural pressure groups" (p. 166) that force industries to present
themselves as public interest groups.
Ecological communication can be identified and examined through a frame
analysis that has been established recently by sociological researchers (Garnson,
1992; Snow & Benford, 1988, 1992). In such analysis, frames are patterns of experi-
encing and perceiving events that structure a social reality. For example, frames al-
low readers to identify what and where items are written in newspapers, to sort out
the world and reduce a continuous stream of events to a more limited set of signifi-
cant events (Eder, 1996, p. 166). To analyze ecological communication in such
frames, Eder followed three steps. The first step is the identification of cognitive
devices for constructing frames, of which there are three that dominate in public
discourse: moral responsibility; empirical objectivity; and aesthetic judgment. The
second step is the analysis of this construction of frames as a process of symbolic
packaging (Eder, 1996, p. 167). Symbolic packaging refers to the way that narrative
structures of collective actors (environmentalists, industry spokespersons, politi-
cal representatives, experts, or members of the media) are constructed within the
context of specific, empirical social situations. The third step involves an analysis
of the way this environmentalisrn is communicated to the public and then exposed
to public discourse.
As a function of ecological communication, agitation and control strategies not
only serve to encourage or resist social change, but moreover, as Eder (1996) sug-
gested, reinforce environmentalism as a dominant ideology in modern industrial
societies. With ecological communication, protesters apply pressure on industry,
while industry responds with ecological communication to convey its concern for
the environment and its commitment to the public interest. The cognitive devices
of moral responsibility, empirical objectivity, and aesthetic judgment can be
viewed as the organizing principles of the discourse that carry strategies of agita-
tion and control. The first framing device produces a humane sense of moral re-
s pons ibility toward nature. The second device organizes the empirical
observations and scientific modes of objectification. The third involves the quali-
ties that are inherent in the expressive relationship that humans have with nature.
All three of these frames are present in environmental discourse, and they organize
the rhetorical strategies of agitation and control over the environment in a way
that transforms environmentalism into an ordinary element in public discourse.
In other words, Eder (1996), described a redefinition of modern society as "an or-
der which constitutes collective action for solving collective problems" (p. 172).
The presence of all three framing devices in ecological communication has con-
tributed to a crisis of legitimacy in institutions that rely primarily on one frame to
define nature. Scientific facts do not speak for themselves and must compete in the
marketplace as commodities along with the likes of political opinions and pop art.
The more these frames are combined, the more institutions with only a single
frame are questioned. Therefore, framing devices not only organize discourse,
they propel environmentalism as a cultural force that is redefining modern society
not as capitalist or socialist, but in terms of collective problems that call for collec-
tive action. However, collective action is subverted by media and industry in fo-
rums for deliberative action as in the letters-to-the-editors sections of daily
newspapers. In doing so, environmentalism takes on and allows for many different
rationalities, so that it becomes a medium for clashing claims. Thus, this essay will
also consider the modes of publicity in this particular forum that regard the pro-
test.
3
In what follows, environmentalism as a cultural force is examined by consid-
ering the way that agitation and control strategies are organized by the framing
devices with respect to the forest controversy, the timber-salvage rider, and the
protest at Tobe West.
THE FOREST CONTROVERSY AND SALVAGE RIDER
Management practices of forests in the American Northwest have been questioned
and in dispute since the turn of the 20th century, when geologist Gannet (1900) es-
timated that the national timber stock would continue to meet demands for less
than two generations and described harvesting practices of his day as mere butch-
ery (Moore, 1997). At this time, Forest Inspector, Kellogg (1907) accused the in-
dustry of extreme mismanagement and neglect, and implored that the nation, in
using more timber than ever, would face a shocking reality if radical changes in
timber use did not occur. Although muckrakers tried to expand on such themes in
accusing the likes of Frederick Weyerhaeuser of devastating the forest with greedy
management operations, predictions of a bleak future with a timber famine by
Gannet and Kellogg had little effect on timber industry practices. Weyerhaeuser
biographers Hidy, Hill, and Nevins (1963), for example, described the muckraking
directed at America's greatest lumber baron as having a "popgun quality" in com-
parison to the large cannons then being leveled at the Harrimans, Rockefellers,
Carnegies, and Morgans (p. 36). Nevertheless, by the 1980s the dreary predictions
of scientists like Gannet and government inspectors like Kellogg were materializ-
ing right before the dismayed eyes of the Pacific Northwest. After little more than a
decade of record harvests during the Carter and Reagan years, Oregon experi-
enced, as Northwest historian Robbins (1988) noted, a not so surprising "rash of
mill closures, [and] a severe recession in the forest products industry" from,
among other things, the over cutting and increased exploitation of hinterland ar-
eas dependent on timber for their sustenance (p. 168).
What then followed on the heels of this recession during the late 1980s was a
much more unpredictable battle over a bird that all but froze the industry for the
first half of the 1990s, and in doing so, fueled an intense controversy over forest
management in general. This battle involved protection of the northern spotted
owl and diminishing ancient or old-growth forests in the Pacific Northwest. While
focusing on the loss of timber jobs and the loss of ancient forests, it raised the gen-
eral issue surrounding the transformation of human life style, from the changes in
the natural environment that have resulted from the extension of natural resource
40 MOORE
industries in the region. In recent years the forest and timber crisis has involved
Congress and the federal government in such efforts as maintaining or rewriting
the Endangered Species Act, as well as making exemptions to environmental laws,
such as the salvage logging rider, to open temporary windows of opportunity for
what Northwest environmentalists labeled, logging without laws. As of 1990, less
than 10% of the old forest remained undisturbed (and recent estimates place the
figure at less than 5%), yet Northwest timber harvests set record numbers during
the 1980s ("Environment's little big bird," 1990). According to The Oregonian,
70,000 acres of old-growth was cut in Northwest national forests during each year
of the 1980s (Durbin & Koberstein, 1990). However, when the economy and envi-
ronment were weighed in the late 1980s, Oregon Senator Mark Hatfield, one of the
original authors of the Endangered Species Act, stressed that timber sale reduc-
tions due to the forest controversy should be avoided, because it could cost "Ore-
gon and Washington 27,000 jobs, and as many as 54,000 jobs overall" (Hager,
1989, p. 2306; see Moore, 1993).
In the 1990s, President Clinton played a brief yet critical role in the forest con-
troversy that ignited a gamut of emotions from optimism to despair that rein-
forced what everyone but the President already seemed to know, that being you
cannot please everyone, you cannot save jobs and trees. After he promised to end
the controversy during his 1992 presidential campaign by doing just that,
Clinton attended a forest conference and then developed his forest plan in 1993.
However the salvage rider, with what Clinton called its unintended conse-
quences, ended his involvement in the forest conflict (Moore, in press). The sal-
vage rider was introduced by House Republican Charles Taylor of North
Carolina in March of 1995. Those who supported the bill argued that it would
"create thousands of jobs for workers who have been displaced by restrictions on
tree cutting [as well as] provide forest health," but the opponents claimed that
"the bill would also allow cutting live, healthy trees as part of a salvage operation"
(Benenson, 1995, p. 797). When Clinton first arrived at the forest conference in
1993, he said he was stunned by the scientific reports indicating how little timber
could be cut under spotted owl protection. In an interview with The Oregonian,
he explained that the first thing he asked in response to the report was, "' Can' t we
harvest more timber and save some more jobs consistent with the law' " (Durbin,
1993, p. Al ) ? Yet he went on to say he could not.
After 3 months of contentious debate in Congress (and after Clinton vetoed an
earlier version of the bill, his first veto as President) Clinton signed and endorsed
the 1995 rescissions bill that contained the salvage-logging rider. He objected to
the original version of the rider because it required, with language that would over-
ride existing environmental laws, the Forest Service and Bureau of Land Manage-
ment to sell more than 6-billion board feet of salvage timber over a 2-year period
(Clinton, 1995, p. 2). After the veto the salvage rider was amended so as to elimi-
nate requirements to sell a specific amount of timber, with the Forest Service
agreeing to sell roughly 41/2-billion board feet over 2 years. One important exemp-
tion to the law that the salvage rider created was that it protected timber companies
from being sued for salvage logging during the life span of the rider. This would
prevent environmentalists from using courts to stop the salvage timber sales au-
thorized by the federal government.
However, timber companies were still suppose to abide by the Endangered
Species Act while logging the trees, the same Endangered Species Act that envi-
ronmentalists used in federal courts to block timber sales during the first half of
the decade. Yet as soon as the salvage rider passed the timber industry went to
court for the release of green sales in addition to those deemed as salvage which
had been blocked by federal court since 1990. Then, many of these sales, particu-
larly those that occurred before 1992, were approved by federal court under the
salvage rider (Moore, in press). By September of 1995, merely 2 months after
Clinton signed the bill, federal judge Michael Hogan ruled that the salvage rider
applied to all unawarded timber sales in Oregon and Washington, and ordered
the government to release an additional 250-million board feet of timber. As the
industry resumed limited logging of the remaining old growth (not all of the sales
were old growth) environmental protesters returned to the woods in Western
Oregon. One area of concern for the environmentalists was the 77 acres of an-
cient forest to be logged at Tobe West.
SALVAGE LOGGING PROTEST AT TOBE WEST
To refer to the protests at Tobe West as eulogistic is not to suggest that all envi-
ronmental activists responding to the salvage rider in the Northwest were out
mourning the loss of ancient forests with public demonstrations. Logging pro-
tests to the north at Enola Hill, in the Mt. Hood National Forest, and to the South
in the Oregon Cascades at Warner Creek and along Elk River, where the Oregon
Cascades meet the Siskiyou Mountains, many protesters challenged the salvage
logging in an attempt to save what was left. At Warner Creek, for example, where
a portion of the forest protected as spotted owl habitat had been burned in an ar-
son fire and thus designated as a salvage sale, activists led by Earth First!, estab-
lished a logging road blockade to halt traffic by digging two deep trenches in the
road, erecting two teepees, setting up a field kitchen, and laying boulders in the
road that spelled out "Warner Creek Sucks" in September of 1995. The plan was
to stick out the Winter, which they did. By January, under 10 feet of snow, the
blockade grew to include a drawbridge over a deep trench and a wall of logs set
vertical to the ground. By July of 1996, protesters took to tree sitting and other
nonviolent activities to prevent logging.
However, several forest activists did mourn the loss of ancient forests with pub-
lic rituals at designated salvage-logging sites. In her book Tree Huggers, Durbin
(1996) described how members of the Quilcene Ancient Forest Coalition gathered
in Washington's Olympic National Forest on the day after Thanksgiving in 1995,
where they "collected rocks, branches, and leaves and made small shrines beside a
42 MOORE
nameless creek ... held hands in the rain and sent their respects to the doomed for-
est" just before the salvage logging began (p. 278), Durbin (1996) also documented
the lament over salvage logging with a quote by Jim Rogers, founder of the Friends
of Elk River, who had worked for 20 years to protect the ancient forest. In a letter to
the Siskiyou National Forest Supervisor, Mike Lunn, Rogers lamented that after
viewing the salvage logging in January 1996, "The sadness I feel, and the rage at the
injustice and stupidity of it all is profound" (Durbin, 1996, p. 279). Helen Engle,
member of the board of directors for the Audubon Socity, was quoted by Durbin
(1996) as saying that "We really believed when we signed on the Clinton Forest
Plan that the war would be over.... We just feel that we've been cheated" {p. 279).
The mixture of activism, eulogy, and lamentation seemed to create a new envi-
ronmental perspective in the Pacific Northwest that rendered the logging of the
ancient forest as no longer acceptable. Organizations like Witness Against Lawless
Logging and Green Fire Productions arose in response to the salvage rider to estab-
lish a strong presence in and communications link with activists in the woods,
where the site-specific protesting was taking place. On April 21, 1996, in obser-
vance of Earth Day, the Witness Against Lawless Logging sponsored rallies at
Enola Hill, the sacred ceremonial ground for several native American communi-
ties, and at Tobe West. With respect to the forest controversy and salvage-logging
rider, the framing devices of moral responsibility, empirical objectivity, and aes-
thetic judgment organized agitation and control strategies in varying degrees.
These framing devices can serve as the basic units for explaining and understand-
ing the environmental protest as a cultural force.
The Cognitive Framing Devices of the Protest Rhetoric
The major cognitive framing device for protest at Tobe West to be considered is
the moral responsibility that humans express for the environment. Moral re-
sponsibility as a framing device for environmentalism can be anthropocentric or
biocentric. Anthropocentric moral responsibility can be utilitarian, for example,
or future generational. It is interesting to note that while utilitarian views on the
environment where, that is, the value of nature is considered proportional to the
way humans use it, has been reinforced in North America since the seventeenth
century (Opie & Elliot, 1996), based on Judeo-Christian theology established
centuries before that (White, 1967). Yet recent studies show that they are no lon-
ger dominant views (Kempton et al., 1995, p. 102). Instead, concern for the fu-
ture of children and descendants now ranks, according to research by cognitive
anthropologists, Kempton et al., (1995) as one, if not the strongest, of values and
hence reasons, for environmental protection. A biocentric moral responsibility,
however, can be based on humanity as a part of nature that shares the same fun-
damental capabilities and is subject to the same ethics, the rights of other species
to be able to continue, or simply the intrinsic rights of nature itself. The principle
of intrinsic rights of nature itself is perhaps biocentric in the strictest sense and
stressed most often by environmentalists, but in the study by Kempton et al.,
(1995) previously mentioned above, the responsibility to preserve rights of spe-
cies to continue or survive was the biocentric moral responsibility most often
cited in their research.
Not surprisingly, moral responsibility is the dominant cognitive framing device
for protest at Tobe West, but it combines with empirical and aesthetic framing de-
vices to advance the idea of what might be called the good life beyond principles of
justice alone. The empirical or factual framing device is based on scientific objec-
tivity and carries considerable weight but the critique of science coupled with an
increasing dependence on science has left the facts about environmental disputes
in an ambivalent state. In short, environmental experts produce contradictory
facts such that objective knowledge no longer provides the certainty necessary to
control the vision of the world. The aesthetic framing device constructs nature as
an object of sensibility where the idea of paradise or an unpolluted nature serves as
a model for the good life. It is a prominent feature of environmentalism that mobi-
lizes action over environmental concerns and also gains importance as communi-
cation about the environment increases (Eder, 1996, p. 175). In all, the moral,
empirical, and aesthetic framing devices are used in ecological communication by
environmentalists to create an image of themselves as collective protest actors. In
the protest surrounding Tobe West, then, the moral framing device dominates
with the empirical and aesthetic framing devices playing more subordinate or sup-
plemental roles that, when combined, extend the notion of the salvage-logging
rider (logging without laws) beyond a mere act of injustice to one that threatens
the very idea of what it means to live the good life.
With the good life at stake, about 200 protesters met on April 21, 1996, in Alsea,
Oregon for what the Corvallis Gazette-Times called, "A day of protest without hos-
tility at Tobe Creek" (Manring, 1996, p. Al) . This peaceful rally, which coincided
with Earth Day celebrations, was insured by federal court, police and the
Hull-Oakes Lumber Company long before the event took place. For example, un-
der an emergency federal closure act, the public was barred from the actual logging
site. Also, organizers of the rally, the Corvallis Forest Issues Group, paid a $500
bond for a rally permit that spelled out the number of vehicles that the protesters
could bring to the area, how long they could stay, and how tours in the timber par-
cels would be conducted. For further insurance, BLM said they would hold the
rally organizers responsible for the protester's behavior. The constraints stood as
intimidating control strategies for avoiding and suppressing any demands lodged
by protesters. In fact, they were very effective if even needed at the remote, wilder-
ness protest site. Finally, it is of interest to note that video cameras were abundant,
but not in the hands of the protesters. Law enforcement officials taped people tak-
ing the guided tours into the area and the BLM even asked one individual, who said
he was not associated with the protest, to leave when he parked his van and pre-
pared to videotape the event (the lumber company was worried that he might be an
extremist who wanted to tape the locations of equipment for future sabotage).
44 MOORE
Under such controlled conditions, the limited protest rhetoric that emerged
was somewhat hopeful, but for the most part resigned. In addition, the media cov-
erage was limited to one paper, the Corvallis Gazette-Times. A few scattered signs
saying, "Restore Our Laws," could be seen, while the comments from protesters
questioned the utilitarian values of the industry in general and the salvage sale in
particular. One in attendance, Kitti Gale, seemed uninterested in the event as a
protest. She said, "I'm here just to listen and get more information." However, she
also expressed her concern by admitting that "We keep thinking the land has to pay
for itself.... I'm trying to turn that around" (Manring, 1996, p. Al) . Scott Stouder,
a former logger turned outdoor writer was more specific about addressing the loss
for future generations: "It's the end of endlessness. It's too simple to think things
will remain the same" (Manring, 1996, p. A6). Finally, 12-year-old, Luke Mallery,
stressed the cognitive framing device of moral responsibility by joining the future
generational argument with the biocentric view of humans as a part of nature, with
nature having intrinsic rights of its own. In an articulate fashion, he said, "If you
take the trees, you take apart the web of life. I think it will get better. But there's a
great chance it could get worse" (Manring, 1996, p. A6).
Since only one local newspaper covered the event and only 200 people were in
attendance (not counting lumber company representatives, BLM representatives,
the police, and a few timber industry supporters), the local newspaper served as the
media outlet for environmental protesters. In terms of protest rhetoric, there were
two outstanding consequences of the limited media available to exploit. First, the
timber industry was able to diminish the impact of the protest and avoid any finan-
cial adjustment or modification of goals by providing local media with counter ar-
guments from a divergent construction of social reality. For the Hull-Oakes
Lumber Company, the cognitive frame of moral responsibility was strictly utilitar-
ian and could be wrapped up in one word, money. In contrast to the concern for
future generations or intrinsic rights of nature, Oakes referred instead to the
$800,000 worth of blown-down timber lying on the ground in unit three of the
timber sale. Simply put, he said that "It's too much money to leave out there on the
ground" (Manring, 1996, p. A6). In addition, Oakes noted the $10,000 a week his
company was paying in security costs at the site, which included round-the-clock
watchmen, and the $30,000 invested by the BLM and others for habitat improve-
ments along Tobe Creek for the threatened coho salmon. These clashing values led
to what can be described as a no-lose situation for the lumber company. While
protesters carried signs saying stop the logging, the Corvallis Forest Issues Group
would be hoping for a negotiated settlement at best, not an end to the logging.
The second consequence of the limited media exposure was in essence the relega-
tion of a more lamentable protest rhetoric to the local newspaper, in the form of let-
ters to the editor that privileges individual voices over activis t groups.
Wahl-Jorgensen (2001) identified the difficulty activists face in this forum by ob-
serving that while "activist publicity captures the actual forms of public interaction
likely to occur in stratified societies such as ours," others, such as "dialogistic" facili-
tate public discussion, assume that public deliberation is central to democracy and
orient the public more toward consensus (p. 305). Hence, the problem for the envi-
ronmental activists with regard to Tobe West is that collective, activist protest is
marginalized to create a sense of fairness and drama for newspapers that cast collec-
tive protest as a dialogue among competing individuals. In this way, the promulga-
tion of environmental rhetoric against the salvage-rider timber sale after the April 21
rally can be questioned in terms of its effectiveness as protest rhetoric. However, it
provides useful evidence of the cognitive framing devices by the environmentalists
to express the sense of optimism, pessimism, or resignation. Furthermore,
Wahl-Jorgensen (2001) admited that "while the emphasis on individual display
does not square with democratic ideals, we must also be cognizant of how such dis-
play can be conducive to the creation of social solidarity" (p. 304). Such possibilities
notwithstanding, letters to the editor from timber industry supporters were also
published at the same time as the protest letters. The combination of letters from
protesters and timber supporters created a sense of dialogue that obscured the pro-
test rhetoric as environmental activism and therefore appeared to have a leveling ef-
fect on the protest rhetoric. For example, on April 25, 4 days after the protest rally,
the Gazette-Times published two letters with regard to Tobe West. One, by Monica
Bond, supported the protest and opposed Oregon Congressman Jim Bunn for his
role in suspending laws so that timber industries can clear-cut more ancient forests:
Ancient forests are more than isolated fragments where we can enjoy the scenery
for a few hours. All of Oregon' s forests deserve care and respect. Healthy forests
prevent soil erosion and protect salmon, drinking water, medicines and other vital
resources. Healthy forests have younger trees, old trees, dead and dying standing
and fallen trees, and a fantastic variety of species, from insects to fish and birds,
each playing its own part to support the way God created them. Forests are not tree
farms. (Bond, 1996, p. A9)
In the above passage, Bond began with what appears to be a biocentric argu-
ment for saving Tobe West based on the intrinsic rights of the forest itself. The ar-
gument then shifts to the utilitarian by suggesting that healthy forests "do things"
for humanity and nature, and then returns to a holistic, biocentric argument from
part-to-whole ecosystem reasoning. The passage finally ends with a religious or
spiritual reference to forests playing a proper role as God's creation, as opposed to
the role of tree farms, which are created by humans. This interweaving of utilitar-
ian, anthropocentric arguments with the biocentric is common in the protest rhet-
oric surrounding the Tobe West salvage sale. Following these comments, Bond
offered a utilitarian and future generational argument to close out the letter in a
sense of resignation:
I am not opposed to careful, selective logging for wood products. However, once
clear-cut, forests will never regain their healthbecause the trees will continue to be
46 MOORE
cleared every 40 years. Oregon' s forests are being stolen from my community and my
children. Mr. Bunn is leaving a sad legacy to future generations. (Bond, 1996, p. A9)
It is important to note that timber workers rely on many future generational
and utilitarian arguments as well, but they heavily emphasize economic survival.
For example, on the same day that the Gazette- Times published Bond' s letter, a let-
ter by logger M. L. Vogt appeared. While the utilitarian argument is clear and a fu-
ture generational argument appears to be present, the contrast between Bond and
Vogt reveals the divergent world views held by each group, as Vogt suggested:
... people that don' t agree with the logging don' t seem to have a problem with liv-
ing like the loggers do. That' s right. You know, a house made of wood. Paper to do
all those things that paper is good for, and the other many uses for wood. Whatever
happened to the environmentalis ts ' phrase "Split wood not atoms"? I jus t wish
they would shut up and let the loggers do their job and support their families .
(Vogt, 1996, p. A9)
The pattern of giving equal time to both protesters and timber workers continued
over the month of May that followed. On May 1, the Gazette-Times published two
letters from protesters and then one on the following day by a timber supporter. The
first letter was written by a Tobe West protest activist, Krista Donaldson:
After attending the rally at Tobe West on Sunday (April 21) , I am more convinced than
ever that these life-giving trees must be saved. After viewing the spectacular ancient
trees close up and seeing Tobe Creek, one of the only remaining natural streams in Or-
egon that beckons wild coho salmon, I feel very strongly about the fact that the steep
slopes of Tobe West must be saved from the chain saws of clearcutting ... Please help
us save Tobe West. (Donaldson, 1996, p. A9).
This passage from Donaldson's letter combines the biocentric argument of sav-
ing the forest for the forest's sake with a strong aesthetic appeal on behalf of what-
ever natural beauty remains in Tobe West with its spectacular view. If the message
is not one of resignation, though, the plea for help does not smack with optimism.
Compare this, then, with another letter published on the same day by environ-
mentalist Jim Draper, who described clearcutting throughout his letter as evil and
compared it to the Ku Klux Klan lynching Negroes in Natchez, Mississippi:
The issues are much the same. Clearcutting forests everywhere is regarded as evil by a
growing segment of the populationafter centuries of unques tioning acceptance.
Perhaps we are late in realizing the evil of a system which is leaving the streams and
land and air despoiled and uncounted species destroyed. But evil it is, nonetheless,
jus t as denying human beings their rightful place in society and the economy is evil.
The time is to stop now. (Draper, 1996, p. A9)
Once again, there is nothing optimistic about Draper's letter. It draws from a
dark side of America's past to create a dark picture of America's present. Further-
more, in a biocentric fashion it equates an immoral treatment of nature with that of
fellow human beings with an analogy that would probably be difficult to accept by
those affected in any way by the legacy of lynching. Yet the analogy, if outrageous, il-
lustrates a moral problem described as nothing less than evil, reference to which ap-
peared in the letter five times. The Gazette-Times countered this argument the next
day with a letter by logging supporter, Agnes Ann Vomocil, in the following manner:
... the protesters' intentions is to stop all logging on public lands (as I predicted years
ago) even though there are millions and millions of acres in set-asides already either as
state or federal parks or as sensitive habitat for animals. I certainly do believe that the
protesters' next target will be no logging on private lands. (Vomocil, 1996, p. Al 1)
Vomocil's allusion to the empirical or factual cognitive frame ("millions and
millions of acres in set-asides") is not specific, but it serves the purpose of dis-
counting the environmentalist argument that clearcutting will eliminate the an-
cient forest. In addition, these facts come in the support of an argument by
direction, or slippery slope as it might be taken, that environmentalists want to
prohibit logging on private lands as well as public. This can also be viewed as pessi-
mistic, even though the facts concerning set-aside acres on public lands has little or
nothing to do with the future prospects for logging on private lands (one reason
why logging on public lands is such an issue is because there is virtually no
old-growth on private lands left to cut). On the following day, May 3, more facts
are introduced by logger Mike Payne to contradict claims by protesting environ-
mentalists about the destruction caused by the salvage rider:
No roadless areas will be developed via the salvage rider harvests. It's generally ac-
cepted that only after the ice age, about 10,000 years ago, has Douglas fir existed
here. Forest ecosystems do not exist only in delicate balance, but are in a cons tant
state of change and evolution. Natural ecosystems often change through dramatic
events, far more destructive than small patch clearcuts scattered over the land-
scape. (Payne, 1996, p. A9)
The fact that Douglas fir has only existed in the Pacific Northwest since the ice
age does not support the claim that no roadless areas will be developed through the
salvage rider, nor does it speak to the effects of clearcutting. What it does is mini-
mize the significance of human activity in the timber industry by placing it within a
10,000-year span of natural history. To suggest that the effects of cleacutting could
match the effects of the ice age is absurd, but so is the comparison. On the same
day, the Gazette-Times also published a letter by Joseph P. Borowski, who attended
the April 21 rally and questioned the cut in more immediate terms:
48 MOORE
My youngest granddaughter and my son walked this sale, and they were photographed
by an unmarked, official vehicle. People cannot contest this sale in court, our rights
have been taken away and even though Tobe Creek is vital to wildlife, it will fall. Greed
is getting in the way of common sense, and it is time for all Americans to speak. Cut all
those corporate subsidies, and give the timber company back their money and pre-
serve all places like Tobe Creek. (Borowski, 1996, p. A9)
After referring to his own future generations, Borowski is indeed resigned to
the fact that Tobe West will be lost as an ancient forest and saddened by the mere
economic incentive that has motivated the action. Moreover for the environ-
mentalist, the anthropocentric value of economy and future generations are at
odds, but because of the cash value of the trees, the future of neither utilitarian-
ism, future generations, or wildlife is bright with respect to the forest. On May 6,
1996, a second protest rally took place at the Tobe West salvage site. This time 25
protesters were arrested for crossing an arbitrary line in a logging road drawn by
law officers that designated the point at which federal land was closed to the pub-
lic. The resistance was nonviolent; protesters were cited for trespassing after they
marched down a gravel road chanting "Save Tobe West," and were released a
short time later on a nearby road. One protester, Jim Fairchild, a member of the
Audubon Society, said, "We have no other legal recourse. . . . This is illegal cutting
of our forests" (Allen, 1996a, p. A1) . Another protester and member of the Audu-
bon Society explained that "We have to make a stand here because we expect five
square miles of old-growth timber to fall in the area, much in critical bird and
salmon habitat" (Allen, 1996a, p. A10). Finally, protester Stephanie Bergstrom
of the Oregon Natural Resource Council (ONRC) emphasized that "We're not
saying stop all timber cutting or destroy the industry. We want to work together
and get balancewhen you' ve cut 95 percent of the old-growth, how much more
can you take" (Allen, 1996a, p. A10)?
The protest rhetoric from the May 6 rally published by the Gazette- Times struck
the same chords of disappointment and resignation as on the April 21 rally. How
does one achieve balance when 95% of the old forest has already been cut? Letters
to the editor in the Gazette-Times followed the same pattern. For example, the Ga-
zette-Times published a letter by Katy Stokes on May 8, 2 days after the second
rally, that ended in the following manner:
We are on the threshold of witnessing the end of a beautiful, intricate and powerful
natural system.... A huge tide of citizen opposition is needed to stop the irresponsi-
ble sale of timber from our public lands. Our silence condones the hasty destruction
by man of nature' s thousand-year gift to us and our children. (Stokes, 1996, p. A7)
In the previous passage, Stokes combined an aesthetic and future generational
argument to express her sadness and concern over the salvage sale in much the
same fashion as in previous letters. After Stokes' letter, the Gazette-Times pub-
lished seven more letters in the month of May on the Tobe West salvage sale, five
from environmentalists and two from timber supporters. On May 9, for example,
Foster lamented that "Ancient ones are leaving.... The salvage rider is allowing old
growth alive for 400-plus years to fall" and then offered a biocentric plea of moral
responsibility in thanking "all those who volunteered their lives for such a brief
moment to save this ecology... Give something back to our Oregon and Washing-
ton" (Foster, 1996, p. Al l ) .
For industry sympathizers, the utilitarian argument remains most prominent.
In response to Jim Draper's May 1 letter in which he compared clearcutting to the
Klan's lynching of African Americans in the South, Diane Ratliff explained in a
May 12 letter that even though it "can look pretty ugly ... clearcutting is just part
one part of the natural cycle of birth, growth and death, one which allows us to use
the wood products and promote the rapid regrowth of the forest" (Ratliff, 1996, p.
A9) .
4
Then she reinforced the utilitarian argument, saying that "clearcuts will pro-
vide forest products, recreational opportunities and beautiful habitat in the fu-
ture" (Ratliff, p. A9). On the same day Pam Hamsher stated:
If they' d [protesters] stop and realize the importance of the forest industry they' d
also realize how easy the industry had made their life. Forest by-productsnot just
sawdust. Paper products such as toilet paper, Kleenex, notebooks, envelopes, the
books their children read in school, coffee filters, tea bags, wallpaper, formica
counter tops, pencils, stamps, greeting cards, food products in boxes, pop in
12-count boxes, labels on jars, timecards, pay-checks, computer paper, and let us
not forget newspaper. It could go on and on and on. Get real, people, give it up.
(Hams her, 1996, p. A9)
On the other hand, Fred Sieger countered the industry' s position with his con-
dolences on May 14 in a way that summarizes the sense of sadness and resignation
expressed by protesters since the first rally when he stated that "The forests have
been mismanaged by the good stewards of the land so badly since 1492 that we've
reached the end of ancient forests. Maybe it's time to stop chopping the oldies and
figure out how to sustain ourselves with a little less" (Sieger, 1996, p. Al 1). Then
On May 23, Linn observed that "It is easy to see, when driving through the Cas-
cades, that our forests are becoming cropsreplanted areas all look the same, with
identical trees of identical height" (Linn, 1996, p. A9). Following this, she chal-
lenged the timber industry claims about privileging jobs and people over trees in a
lament about life now and in the future by stating, "There are no guarantees for a
job ... There are even fewer guarantees for resource-based jobs, ask the fishermen,
miners, loggers around the world" (p. A9). Finally, ex-logger Will Gehr explained
his internal conflict between utilitarian needs and moral responsibility toward the
forest, as he admitted that "my desire to exploit the trees was often at odds with my
appreciation of forest ecology issues," and added that a clearcut is not a snapshot in
time, as Hull-Oakes forester, Tod Nystrom stated, but rather, "the practice of
50 MOORE
clearcutting and old growth eradication are eliminating the range needed to sus-
tain threatened and endangered species" (Gehr, 1996, p. A7).
5
On May 24, 1996, the Corvallis Gazette-Times reported that Hull-Oakes Lumber
and the federal government struck a deal to preserve 9 acres of old-growth Douglas
fir, as a 150-foot-wide buffer of trees, above a logging road at Tobe West. In ex-
change, Hull-Oakes would receive a less sensitive 4-acre tract in another part of the
state. In response to the trade, Oakes stated that "we try to do what's best," but envi-
ronmentalist Jim Fairchild submitted that "It's just a dumb place to clear cut. They
wouldn't be cutting those hillsides at all without the salvage rider." He then adds that
"This area is not going to look good ... Even this buffer zone is not adequate protec-
tion for this kind of unstable soil" (Allen, 1996b, p. Al, A12). A week later, 600 peo-
ple attended a third rally at the foot of the Tobe West sale site with signs saying "Zero
Cut", "Repeal the Salvage Rider", "Stop the Clearcut", and "Money Buys Congress"
(Klopfenstein, 1996, p. Al) . Views at the rally varied from the zero-cut demand to a
cautious sympathy for loggers, but resignation and a sense of sadness permeated
comments by protesters now witnessing the bald and steep hills that lined Tobe
Creek and the blankets of felled timber lying on the hillsides below. One protester
said "Mr. big corporate man' s doing all this. He doesn't care. He doesn't live here."
Another stated, "I see beautiful land here. And I see natural beauty. I don't want to
see that change." Finally, a third commented, "It took 400 years for those trees to get
w[h]ere they are. Do you know how many generations that is? We'll never replace
them in our lifetimes" (Klopfenstein, 1996, p. A8).
The media, that is, the Corvallis Gazette-Times, did not specify whether the pro-
test rallies at Tobe West influenced the rare timber exchange between the
Hull-Oakes Lumber Company and the federal government, but it was clear that
the BLM did. Not only had the BLM invested $30,000 in habitat protection along
Tobe Creek, for what they called some of the best coho salmon spawning and rear-
ing grounds in the Alsea River system, but they reported that the hillsides above the
creek where the 9-acre swap would leave a buffer zone were prone to erosion and
landslides whether they were logged or not. As a result, it was in the best interest of
the federal government via the BLM to keep a buffer zone for the threatened coho
salmon. In 3 weeks after the swap, wildlife biologists with the BLM observed a pair
of marbled murrelets fly out of a tree canopy at the Tobe West sale. Since the BLM
is required to protect known sites of the threatened marbled murrelet under the
Endangered Species Act, the siting stopped the 78-acre sale after only half of the
acreage had been logged (Sanders, 1996a, p. Al) . With about half of the unit' s tim-
ber on the ground, Don Oakes of Hull-Oakes Lumber questioned if murrelets were
nesting at Tobe West at all and asked if it was appropriate to leave 1.5-million
board feet of timber worth $500,000 just to rot and collect insects. No marbled
murrelets had been seen at Tobe West before the June 20 siting and none since. Yet
since federal guidelines state that once official biologists observe nesting behavior,
the area is considered an occupied site and no more surveys need to be conducted.
Thus the logging at Tobe West came to an end.
IMPLICATIONS/CONCLUSIONS
The implications of this study for the nature and criticism of protest rhetoric con-
cerning the Tobe West salvage-timber sale are twofold. First, the agitation and
control over Tobe West varies considerably from the model of protest rhetoric of-
fered by Bowers et al. (1993). In particular, the actions taken by the establishment,
decision makers, and police do not sufficiently account for the control of the pro-
test. While the state established the conditions under which the protesters could
legally protest, the industry and media also exercised significant control; the for-
mer with their physical presence and counter arguments at the protest site, and the
latter with their limited and exclusive coverage of the rallies and protest rhetoric.
With the added dimension of the remote protest site, the authorities, the timber
company and the local media would easily (if not intentionally on the part of the
media) control the protest through avoidance and suppression strategies.
The lumber company and media not only subverted, but co-opted protest rhet-
oric through the media coverage itself. In addition to the letters to the editor that
were published in a way that nullified attempts by protesters to promulgate their
messages, Hull-Oakes Lumber characterizes themselves during the protest as envi-
ronmental sympathizers with discourse that chimes with environmentalism. Dur-
ing the second rally, Oakes stated, "If they let us have 40 percent of the federal
timber, we'd be happy to let them have the other 60 percent for parks, wildlife, or
whatever ... We are good stewards of the land" (Allen, 1996a, p. A10). After the
second rally, Oakes notes that the timber swap negotiated by the federal govern-
ment was "the right thing to do ... we're trying all kind of new things anymore, and
we try to do what's best" (Allen, 1996b, p. Al) . After the marbled murrelet siting
that halted the logging, Oakes stated his concern by saying, "I'm a forester before
I'm a businessman" (Sanders, 1996b, p. Al) .
In terms of agitation strategies, it is clear that the Tobe West protesters relied
primarily on promulgation (letters to the editor, rallies with informational picket-
ing), and limited nonviolent resistance (trespassing), on one occasion. Since the
salvage rider prohibited lawsuits or other such forms of legal intervention to halt
logging during the rider's life span, petitioning was irrelevant at the time. Since the
protesters sought a balance between logging and preservation instead of zero-cut
policy as suggested by one sign that was photographed at the last rally and printed
by the Gazette-Times, polarization was also inappropriate. Since the themes of the
protest were sadness and resignation, escalation to confrontation or Gandhi and
guerilla made little sense either. As a result, the protest rhetoric did not develop as
Bowers et al. (1993) suggested, perhaps because both the location (physical con-
text) and goals of the protest rallies were unique.
Second, with the letters and the salvage-rider protests at Tobe West, the cogni-
tive framing of moral responsibility that is described by Eder (1996) surfaces as a
predominant feature of the protest rhetoric that further illuminates the discourse
in this case as eulogistic. It is through the cognitive frame of moral responsibility
52 MOORE
that protesters emphasize both anthropocentric and biocentric values for utilitari-
anism, future generations, humans as a part of nature, and the intrinsic rights of
nature itself. Also, the expressiveness of these particular values do not characterize
the protesters as either anthropocentric or biocentric, but both. In speaking to one
of the protest rally organizers, Krista Donaldson told me that the purpose of the
protest was to communicate just that, the value and the need for balance (personal
communication, October 9, 1997). The strategy, as she explained, was indeed to
communicate a deep sense of sadness and loss. For Donaldson, the protests were a
success in the sense that the one local paper covered them as well as they did and
provided an ongoing medium for protest and dialogue in its op-ed section.
Although the empirical and aesthetic cognitive frames could be identified in
support of the moral responsibility frame, the moral frame best suited the interests
of the protesters. It allowed them to establish a clear emotional tone of sadness and
create a collective protest identity based in the more rational appeals to balance.
Also it is in this way that they defend their image as one of sensitizing the public to
environmental concerns. However, the protests did not bring the salvage logging
to a halt and the logging would have probably continued if the marbled murrelet
was not sited on the premises. Furthermore, the lumber company was successful in
co-opting the voice of environmentalism to convey an image of environmental
concern and the letters written in response to the protests by timber supporters ef-
fectively neutralized the environmental communication from activists. Through
demonstrations and letters to the editor, protesters do convey enough sadness and
resignation to characterize their discourse as a eulogy for Tobe West. Unfortu-
nately, it is a eulogy that laments rather than prevents the logging of what little re-
mains by those who call themselves good stewards of the land.
NOTES
1. Originally published in 1971 by John Waite Bowers and Donovan Ochs for the purpose
of sharpening analytical skills and predicting the outcomes of agitational events, The
Rhetoric o f Agitation and Control (1993) offered a lucid theoretical frame of reference for
understanding the instrumental and symbolic acts constructed in both social protest
and the attempts by authorities (or establishment) to control such activity. By defining
rhetoric as "the rationale of instrumental, symbolic behavior" (p. 1), the authors fo-
cused attention on the impact of messages in agitational events that lead to the produc-
tion of other messages, which then lead to other messages, until the event passes. By
identifying the specific rhetorical strategies used in agitation and control, the authors
carefully illuminated the interaction between these two groups. In doing so, the
agitational event can be viewed as a product of instrumental interaction between the
symbolic efforts that promote social change through agitation and the attempts to
thwart such efforts when they arise. This theory widens the scope of rhetorical criticism,
because any social change that occurs from protest and agitation (or does not occur) re-
sults from the symbolic interaction of agitation and control (not a symbiosis, but more
like a synergism). As with McGee (1980), for example, this critique of the Tobe West
protest considered control to be "fundamentally rhetorical" (p. 6) and as such it de-
mands critical attention.
Murphy (1992) observed that critiques of social movements based on theories such
as the one forwarded by Bowers et al. (1993) are limited, because they tend to focus on
agitational strategies at the expense of control strategies. In addition, when control
strategies are the object of study the issues examined are too broad, "such as the ' public
vocabulary' available to rhetors, rather than the encounters between authorities and ag-
itators" (Murphy, 1992, p. 61). Murphy (1992) prefers to critique social movements ac-
cording to the concept of hegemony in order to consider how the symbolic strategies of
dissent develop in ways that are compatible with the "' dominant systems of meaning' "
(p. 65). With this in mind, the critique on the rhetoric s urrounding Tobe West in this
chapter responds to Murphy by focusing on both agitation and control in a particular
case, one with agitational rhetoric that is compatible with dominant systems of mean-
ing. In addition, however, this chapter examines how this rhetoric is nevertheless sub-
verted and co-opted by authorities with the aid (if even unwittingly) of the media. If the
protest over Tobe West was domesticated as Murphy suggested, then this domestica-
tion can be viewed as a consequence of agitation, control, and the media coverage of the
protest. Such domestication of dissent furthermore illustrates what Eder (1996) called
the institutionalization of environmentalism.
This chapter expands the view offered by Bowers et al. (1993) to consider how me-
dia coverage of the Tobe West protest also serves as a form of control that interacts
with strategies of suppression and subversion employed by the establishment (and in-
dustry) that not only co-opt the environmental movement, but shape (reduce) the
protest rhetoric to eulogy. To do so, this chapter also draws from Eder' s (1996) theory
of the institutionalization of evironmentalism, which posits that environmental com-
munication is constructed with cognitive framing devices, such as moral responsibil-
ity, that are conveyed through the narratives of the collective actors (for both agitation
and control) . These frames organize and complicate an environmental communica-
tion that calls for collective action (as seen in agitation) , but as argued in this chapter,
the collective action on the part of protestors is also subverted by media and indus try
(as seen in control) in forums such as the letters-to-editors sections of local daily
newspapers, a domesticated or institutionalized form of dissent in which the rhetoric
develops in ways that are not only compatible with the dominant systems of meaning,
but also absorbed by them. As such, Murphy' s focus on hegemony in social protest can
serve as a bridge that can connect the theory of agitation and control with that of the
institutionalization of environmentalism, for the critique of the Tobe West protest.
Finally, the letters-to-editors arise in a larger context of protest within which other
strategies and tactics are employed. Eulogy is felt in the demons trations but articu-
lated most profoundly in the letters.
2. Greenwashing, or the exploitation of environmental values and concerns in commercial
and political advertising by those who exploit (as in the excessive extraction of natural
resources such as timber) the environment for economic and political gain, appears reg-
ularly in the media. For example, after acquiring Willamette Industries, a major pro-
ducer of wood products in the state of Oregon, the Weyerhaeuser industry ran ads in the
Oregonian declaring that they have learned "to make the forests more productive. And
how to produce the wood and paper products people need, while protecting fish and
wildlife habitats" (see Anonymous, 2002, March) . After the Oregon Department of En-
vironmental Quality stopped mining at The Ross Island Sand & Gravel Co. after finding
chemical contamination, the company ran ads in the Oregonian to explain that "All of
us have a stake in the environmental safety of Ross Island and we know that continuing
to operate the island complex in a responsible manner is good for the entire commu-
nity" (see Anonymous, 2002, February). In addition logger Bruce Vincent recently
launched a program called "Provider Pals" that will allow middle school students across
54 MOORE
the nation to adopt a logger, farmer, or miner in the same manner that children adopt
endangered animals in classes to follow their adventures (see Bohrer, 2002). For a criti-
cal examination of the rise of green advertising, see Corbett (2002).
3. This chapter examines publicity for agitation and control in letters to the editor of a local
newspaper, but also agitation and control publicity as it filters through the news cover-
age of the support and objection to demonstrations, informational picketing, nonvio-
lent demonstration, the salvage rider, the timber sale, and timber harvest. The purpose
here is to illustrate that the letters arise within a wider context of agitation and control
over a remote wilderness site, publicity that is largely mediated by the press.
4. As in other letters, the Ratliff specifically cites Draper and discusses his letter in her own, lend-
ing a rather clear sense of public debate and deliberation to the letters-to-editor forum.
5. Specific references to such concerns as the Hull-Oakes Lumber Company, harvesting
practices at Tobe West, the salvage rider, the Tobe West location, the protesters, envi-
ronmental and economic impact at the local level of the timber sale, and threatened spe-
cies at the site, give the letters and the forum an overal sense of being site specific, where
the rhetoric of competing interests (protesters and indus try) are s ignificant, personal,
relevant to the actors involved, and heart felt.
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CHAPTER FOUR
Blue Skies, Green Industry:
Corporate Environmental Reports
as Utopian Narratives
Wende Vyborney Feller
College of St. Mary, Moraga, California
Imagine a world that creates sustainable growth without harming the environment.
That is a sustainable world. Imagine corporate citizens enriching their communities.
That is a sharing world. Imagine all employees leading fulfilled, balanced lives. That is
a healthy world. Imagine a world filled with intelligent devicesdevices that think and
share informationmaking people's lives easier, safer, more productive and more
fun. That is an amazing world. Now, imagine all of it together. That is the world
Motorola is bringing to lifeMotorola Corporate environmental report (2001, p. 7)
1
Although libertarian humorist O' Rourke once commented that big American cor-
porations represent "the true basis of the American character: Utopian greed"
(1992, p. 181), most corporate self-promotions contain far too little social com-
mentary to qualify as true Utopian discourse. Utopias do not merely offer self-
gratification. They challenge the dominant culture by providing alternative values
and lifestyles (Goodwin & Taylor, 1982) and implicitly demand that the status quo
justify itself (Ricoeur, 1986). In a society in which corporate advertising is often
portrayed as "the ground on which we live, the space in which we think, and the lens
through which we come to understand the world that surrounds us" (Jhally, 1993,
1
Supplying a date for a corporate environmental report can be difficult. In most cases, the date
provided is the copyright date on the print version of the report; when a copyright date was not
provided, I have estimated a probable publication date about four months after the date of the
newest data provided, based on my experience with corporate environmental reporting systems.
The relationship between the copyright date and any date included in the report title is tenuous,
as a '2000 report' may be published in early 2000 with 1999 data, in mid-2000 with partial 2000
data, or in 2001 with complete 2000 data. There is also no standard publication cycle for these re-
ports; as of December 2001, some companies were publishing partial 2001 data, while others still
presented, as their newest report, data from 1999 or even 1998.
57
58 FELLER
p. 806, italics original), the appearance of Utopian qualities in corporate discourse
should point to areas in which corporations are insecure in their control of the
space in which we think.
The opening excerpt, taken from Motorola's 2001 corporate environmental re-
port, pointed to these reports as channels through which corporations offer Uto-
pian narratives as a means of challenging dominant perceptions of the
relationships among big business, government, and the environment. Corporate
environmental reportsglossy brochures discussing environmental perfor-
mance, distinct from government-mandated emission reporting or Environmen-
tal Impact Reportswere first issued by major United States corporations in the
early 1990s (Skinner, 1993). Since then, "environmental reporting has gone from
the exception to the norm," reported the Investor Responsibility Research Center,
a not-for-profit portfolio-screening firm (IRRC Reports, 2000, p. 3).
Corporate environmental reports, which typically include information on
health and safety performance, as well as environmental performance, have been
the subject of advice (e.g., Azzoni, Brophy, & Noci, 1997; Morhardt, 2002;
Propper, 1998; Rose, Brownlie, & Simpson, 1995), research on aspects of environ-
mental cost accounting (Crowther, 2002; Gray, Owens, & Adams, 1996), and
quantitative reports on trends (Elkington, Kreander, & Stibbard, 1998; Krut &
Moretz, 2000; Thomas & Kenny, 1997), but have not been considered as texts that
demonstrate rhetorical strategies. While corporate environmental reports are pre-
sumably like other environmental communication in providing an opportunity to
set agendas and to frame issues internally and externally (Esrock & Leichty, 1998;
Heath, 1990; Killingsworth & Palmer, 1995; Nitz, 2000; Pezzulo, 2001), to apolo-
gize for perceived wrongdoing or to defend oneself from demands for apologies
(Tyler, 1997), and to influence stakeholders (Major, 1993), existing research has
not dealt with corporations' efforts to provide an elaborated explanation of their
entire range of environmental activities.
I would like to suggest that corporate environmental reports function as narra-
tives that unfold a free-market Utopia, and that this strategy is an attempt to re-vision
environmental issues. To elaborate on this position, the remainder of this chapter is
divided into five major sections. The first section sets corporate environmental re-
ports within the framework of Sproule's new managerial rhetoric (1988) and ex-
plains why these reports cannot adequately be understood as factual reports or as
conventional justifications for environmental performance problems. The second
section provides an overview of theories of Utopian narrative. In the third section,
this theory is used to explore three central themes of corporate environmental re-
ports; the fourth section discusses what is omitted from the corporate environmen-
tal Utopia. Finally, the fifth section considers the implications of the shift toward
combined environmental and social reporting in 20012002 reports.
The corporate environmental reports used here as examples were issued by the
38 companies that were members of the Global Environmental Management Ini-
tiative (GEMI) (http://www. gemi. org) as of December 2001. GEMI members were
4. BLUE SKIES, GREEN INDUSTRY 59
chosen because the organization has been recognized by environmental manage-
ment and policy professor Piasecki as especially well-positioned to lead environ-
mentally friendly change from within industry (Piasecki, 1995, p. 119). Thirty of
GEMI's members issued a corporate environmental report between 1998 and
2001. About two-thirds of the member organizations are in the electronics,
Pharmaceuticals, energy, petroleum, or chemical manufacturing industriesall
industries that have been especially motivated to produce corporate environmen-
tal reports so as to provide a context for publicly available Toxic Release Inventory
data (Plummer, 1998). GEMI companies include both experienced reporters with
established environmental management systems, such as Intel, and organizations
producing their first and only environmental reports, such as Enron.
OVERVIEW OF ENVIRONMENTAL REPORTING
The term report suggests that corporate environmental reports are similar to the
annual financial reports issued to shareholders by publicly held companies. In
practice, the similarity is more a matter of style than substance. Like annual finan-
cial reports, corporate environmental reports are issued as professionally designed
brochures laden with eye-catching photos, messages from corporate leadership,
mission and vision statements, descriptions of corporate divisions and products,
human interest stories, summaries of trends, and colorful graphs, tables, and pie
charts. Also like annual financial reports, corporate environmental reports have
migrated to the World Wide Web; while half a dozen GEMI members provided
only printed reports in 2000, all of the companies that produced environmental re-
ports made them available on the Internet by mid-2001.
For reports issued in the United States, the critical difference in substance stems
from the fact that annual financial reports are regulated by the Securities Exchange
Commission (SEC), while corporate environmental reports not regulated at all.
SEC rules require that every public company report the same categories of finan-
cial data, gathered under the same rules, with the accuracy verified by a third-party
firm, and with the format of some sections also tightly controlled. Financial report
data are thus comparable across companies and meet standards that are conven-
tionally agreed to be objective and truthful. The collapse of Enron has, of course,
highlighted how these conventions can be evaded or abused. The point is not that
SEC standards are unambiguous or unimpeachable, but that there is a legally man-
dated framework within which to dispute whether financial reporting is accurate
and ethical. No such framework exists for corporate environmental reports.
To understand the legal demands on corporate environmental reporting, it is
important to distinguish between corporate environmental reports and general
environmental reporting. In the United States, most companies are required to
report air and water emissions, waste disposal, hazardous waste management,
and toxic chemical use to the United States Environmental Protection Agency
(EPA) , state pollution control agencies, or both. These reports are public docu-
60 FELLER
ments in the sense that the U.S. EPA makes the data available to the public on
their Web site, as do some state agencies. Environmental activist projects such as
Environmental Defense' s Scorecard (http://www. scorecard. org) also provide
this data, although industry representatives have argued that the online data is
neither current nor interpreted fairly (Fairley & Mullin, 1998). While this gen-
eral reporting is regulated, corporate environmental reporting in the sense of a
published discussion of environmental performance, created for shareholders
and the general public, is not. Corporate environmental reports are not required
to include allor anyof the data from the corporation' s government- man-
dated environmental reporting.
Corporate environmental reports are thus not so much reporting tools as po-
tential issues management tools. Issues management is an effort to reconcile busi-
ness practices and public expectations, not only through public relations
initiatives but also through policymaking and strategic planning (Heath, 1997, p.
16). Corporate environmental reporting, with its supporting measurements, re-
sponds to internal and external pressures for organizations to achieve a higher
level of corporate responsibility. The term corporate responsibility includes hu-
man rights and community development issues, as well as environmental perfor-
mance, but in practice, many organizations started by reporting environmental,
health and safety performance in isolation and only later broadened their report-
ing to include social issues.
Finding Common Frameworks
Efforts to create an accepted, mutually comparable framework for corporate
environmental reporting have taken two forms: establishment of environmen-
tal accounting practices and development of voluntary reporting procedures.
Environmental accounting procedures attempt to quantify the impacts of en-
vironmental practices in the profit-and-loss terms of traditional accounting.
While environmental accounting has potential for informing management de-
cisions, marketing semiotician Crowther (2002) argued that proponents of en-
vironmental accounting do not provide evidence of any link between
environmental accounting practices, environmental management strategies,
or responses to environmental activitists. Rather, said Crowther, "the prime
use of environmental accounting data is for the production of reports for exter-
nal consumption" (2002, p. 59).
Environmental accounting thus becomes an internal process serving not man-
agement strategies, but the production of what Sproule (1988) termed the new
managerial rhetoric. In contrast to the classical public rhetoric of enthymemes, ar-
gumentation, and debate on issues, this managerial rhetoric focuses on providing
a prepackaged ideology through images, identification, and entertainment. Ap-
propriately, Sproule characterized this new rhetoric as a form that "creates its own
facts" (p. 473). While Sproule's point is that public relations is the business of cre-
ating events to serve as synecdoches for issues, environmental accounting literally
creates facts in the service of environmental reporting.
Widespread adoption of voluntary reporting standards would at least allow
these manufactured facts to be compared across companies, yet few companies
follow any of the several voluntary reporting standards available. Of the 10 compa-
nies that sponsored the Public Environmental Reporting Initiative (PERI) in 1993
(Skinner, 1993), only IBM still professed allegiance to PERI standards in 2001. In
the late 1980s, the Coalition for Environmentally Responsible Economies (better
known as CERES) had set out principles for environmental performance; these
principles included reducing wastes and emissions, restoring environmental dam-
age, and informing the public of environmental impacts. Although more than 50
companies endors e the CERES principles for environmental conduct
(http://www.ceres.org/our_work/principles.htm), fewer than half that number
used CERES' guidelines to prepare a 1998 or 1999 corporate environmental re-
port. By mid-2001, only five GEMI companies claimed to be following any volun-
tary standard in their most recent reports (Bristol-Myers Squibb, Proctor and
Gamble, Johnson and Johnson, and Anheuser-Busch followed Global Reporting
Initiative (GRI) standards, created in coalition between CERES and the United
Nations Environmental Program; Pitney Bowes followed PERI). One member,
Phillips Petroleum, was a PERI founder and had followed PERI standards in its
1997 and 1998 reports, but no longer did so in its 1999 report.
Although environmental accounting systems generate data for corporate envi-
ronmental reports, voluntary reporting standards seem to demand data that cor-
porations cannot or will not share with the public. A comparison of six reporting
or scoring systems with 106 corporate environmental reports from the mid-1990s
found that, in relation to reporting standards, corporate environmental reports
typically overemphasize corporate vision and policy while underemphasizing or
omitting environmental performance goals, environmental costs, environmental
initiatives, performance indicators, and discussions of the larger environmental
impact of the organization's activities (Morhardt, 2002). When Morhardt's team
rated 40 reports from major companies against the GRI standards that were gain-
ing currency in 2000, the average score was 17% of the possible total. Of the five
GEMI members included in the studyIntel, Lucent, Motorola, Phillips Petro-
leum, and Duke Energyonly Intel scored above 20% (2002, p. 48). The gap is not
necessarily the result of a deliberate or malicious omission. Environmental perfor-
mance data may be unreported because it reveals proprietary information, be-
cause the data collected under government-mandated reporting programs does
not match the data desired by environmental activist audiences, or because the or-
ganization has chosen to manage some complex and controversial environmental
issues through other channels.
Corporate environmental reports are thus reports primarily in the sense of tell-
ing about the company's performance. Whether in environmental reports or fi-
nancial reports, there is no clear relationship between quality of environmental
62 FELLER
disclosures and actual environmental performance (Stagliano & Walden, 1998),
little discussion of environmental performance outside the United States (Thomas
& Kenny, 1997), and little external verification of environmental data (Krut &
Moretz, 2000; Piasecki, 1995). Norms for telling about have developed in the ab-
sence of legal requirements or voluntary standards: at least 37 of the 44 pre-2002
reports analyzed include a statement of environmental principles or commitment,
a message from corporate leadership, a list of environmental awards, stories of suc-
cessful environmental projects, stories of community service projects or environ-
mental philanthropy, graphs showing emission reductions, health and safety
performance data (that is, performance under Occupational Safety and Health
Administration rules rather than environmental rules) , and photos of children,
employees, plants, or animals. In contrast, only four reports prior to 2002 mention
third-party verification of data (Dow, 1999; DuPont, 2001; Novartis, 1999, 2000).
Reporting Without Justifying Lapses
Although it might be expected that storytelling in corporate environmental re-
ports would be used to jus tify troubling corporate environmental behaviors, very
little space is given to explaining Notices of Violation for environmental perfor-
mance that failed to meet state or federal standards. Companies reporting viola-
tionsand some simply do not provide this datatypically offer little comment.
Ashland' s 130-odd 1999 Notices of Violation for health, safety, and environmental
problems are presented with less explanation of what went wrong, why, and what
was done about it (1999, p. 8) than Intel' s two noncompliance citations (2001, p.
13) or Motorola' s four environmental violations (2000, p. 21) during the same pe-
riod. Proctor and Gamble is unusual in devoting almost two pages of its 1999 re-
port to compliance problemsperhaps because the number of violations had not
decreased significantly over the prior 3 years, nor had the value of finesbut four
separate explanations do little more than reassure the reader that the problem has
been fixed and will not recur (2000, 23-24). This image restoration strategy of cor-
rective action, or showing that the problem is being fixed (Benoit, 1995), is per-
formed with minimal elaboration, in a reduced-size typeface. Phillips Petroleum,
in its brief 1999 report, demonstrated one of the more explicit justifications, mini-
mizing most violations as "minor alleged procedural, equipment and operational
violations" while introducing its section on compliance with an effort to evade re-
sponsibility for seemingly poor performance (2000, Compliance):
[I] t is growing increasingly difficult to be in absolute regulatory compliance. Regula-
tions and permit requirements continue to change in scope and complexity, and
some are subject to different interpretations. It is not unus ual for a company' s envi-
ronmental performance to improve, but its compliance record not, because of
changes in reporting requirements.
While other justification strategies such as denial, reduction or redirection of
responsibility, and reframing of actions in terms of larger goals (Benoit, 1995) are
vestigially present, they fail to account for the bulk of the typical environmental re-
port. For most of its length, a corporate environmental report simply does not rec-
ognize problems with environmental performance. Whether the company has an
outstanding environmental record like Intel, a spotty one like Ashland, or a trou-
bled one like Koch Industries, the corporate environmental report speaks the same
language of commitments to an ideal standard of environmental responsibility:
Intel Corporation and its subsidiaries are committed to achieving high standards of
environmental quality and product safety, and providing a safe and healthful work-
place for our employees, contractors, and communities (Intel, 2001, p. 7).
Ashland is committed to operating in a manner respectful of the environment. We
take special care to protect our employees, our customers and our neighbors by con-
tinuously seeking ways to improve our environmental, health and safety (EH&S)
performance (Ashland, 1999, p. 3).
We will strive to be associated with unmatched environmental performance as seen
through the eyes of our employees, customers, regulators, and the public (Koch In-
dustries, 1998, "Environmental principles").
OVERVIEW OF UTOPIAN NARRATIVE
Utopian narratives present an alternative society that has definitively solved the
critical problems of today. Literary theorist Morson, who has written widely on
Utopia, satire, and the novel, argued that Utopian narratives are a form of wisdom
literature, in which the plot is driven by the disclosure of the secrets of how to a
solve a seemingly unsolvable problem (1981, p. 84).
Depictions of literary Utopias are characterized by the principle that "seeing is be-
lieving": traditional Utopian narrative is a travelogue, in which the process of the
narrative is "unveiling the tableau to the non-utopian audience," posited feminist
literary critic Ferns (1999, p. 65) in a way that presents seemingly incredible claims as
undeniable accomplished facts (Morson, 1981). The narrator, a visitor from the
non-utopian here-and-now, is conducted through Utopia by a tour guide who has
opinions, beliefs, and a role in the surrounding society, Frye (1965) explained that
the narrator "is completely identified with his society and seldom admits to any dis-
crepancy between the reality and the appearance of what he is describing" (p. 26).
This reality is founded on "unqualified, absolute truths about morality and so-
ciety" (Morson, 1981, p. 77) that are no longer connected to time or progress. Dif-
ference from the past is not a differentiation strategy, but an expression of faith in
the "ceaseless innovation and growth" that characterized 19th century Utopias
(Ferns, 1999, pp. 68-69). Thus, Ferns explained, drawing on Mikhail Bakhtin' s
concept of chronotope: "[I]n the traditional Utopian narrative, the absence of any
64 FELLER
real sense of time can only be compensated for by a corresponding extension in
space. All the traveler can really do is visit, moving from place to place in a random
and arbitrary order to witness the various excellences of Utopian society" (1999, p.
21). This visit, Morson argued, sets up a metaphorical equation of the journey to
the Utopian world with the reading of the Utopian work. That equation, in effect,
places readers in the traveler's position, so that they can then be urged to repeat the
traveler's conversion (1981). Readers learn, through the process of reading, to an-
ticipate the narrator' s naive questions and objections, to predict and enjoy the
guide's answers, and to avoid identifying with the scoffers who are condemned by
both narrator and guide. The reader also learns what questions not to ask. It is thus
critical to ask what Utopias choose not to say, especially what aspects of the con-
temporary world are left unquestioned (Ferns, 1999, p. 27) .
CORPORATE ENVIRONMENTAL UTOPIAS
The vision of responsible environmental performance promoted through corpo-
rate environmental reports centers around three themes: solving the unsolvable
problem of sustainability; asserting unqualified, absolute truths about corporate
responsibility; and providing an array of vivid images and stories for the visiting
reader. Each of these themes is considered in the following.
Solving the Unsolvable Problem: Sustainability
Corporate environmental reports are constructed around the secrets of achieving
sustainable growth or sustainability, a term that appears in most of the GEMI com-
panies' reports and is featured in titles such as Sustainable Growth 1998 Progress
Report (DuPont, 1999), The Journey to a Sustainable World (Motorola, 2000), On
the Path to Sustainability (Bristol-Myers Squibb, 2001), and Sustainability Report
(Proctor & Gamble, 2001).
Although proponents of sustainable growth characterize it as the linchpin of "a
societal transition on a scale comparable to the Agricultural and Indus trial Revo-
lutions" (Fried, 2002, II. 2), the term seems to function as one of Weaver's rhetori-
cal absolutes, the words that are accepted as imbued with importance even when
their meaning is left obscure (Weaver, 1956, pp. 211-213). The Department of En-
ergy's definition is typically broad: "Sustainable development is a strategy by
which communities seek economic development approaches that also benefit the
local environment and quality of life" (http://www.sustainable.doe.gov/overview/
ovintro. shtml). Although the Department of Energy, SustainableBusiness. com
(http://www.sustainablebusiness.com), and other pro-sustainability organiza-
tions can define sustainability operationally by pointing to recycling programs,
materials reductions initiatives, cleaner energy sources, and reduced pollutant
emissions, the term is recruited in corporate environmental reports to describe
any virtually any corporate environmental practice. Petroleum refining is inher-
ently an industry based on using up a nonrenewable resource, but Ashland Petro-
leum defined itself as a sustainable business: "Sustainability, as we see it, means
reaching today's goals in ways that strengthen the ability to set and reach new goals
in the future" (1999, p. 1). The opening excerpt from Motorola's 2000 report im-
plied that sustainability is not merely compatible with Motorola's business prac-
tices, but inextricable from Motorola's business philosophy.
Unqualified, Absolute Truths
Statements of "unqualified, absolute truths about morality and society" (Morson,
1981, p. 77) are a staple of corporate environmental reports from virtually the first
page. Presented as environmental principles, these statements assert commitments:
Ashland is committed to operating in a manner respectful of the environment. We
take special care to protect our employees, our customers and our neighbors by con-
tinuously seeking ways to improve our environmental, health and safety (EH&S)
performance (Ashland, 1999, p. 3).
At Olin, we sum up our commitment to achieving excellence in the realms of work-
place health and safety with one phrase: The Goal is Zero (Olin, 2000).
As a good Corporate citizen, we [Bethlehem Steel] are dedicated to the continuous
improvement of the environment in which we all live (Bethlehem Steel, 1999).
In his recommendations to writers of corporate environmental reports,
Morhardt (2002), director of the Roberts Environmental Center, encouraged
opening messages that take a brief, visionary approach. His favorite, from the 1999
report of non-GEMI member Canon, is even more Utopian in tone than those of
the GEMI members studied:
In the years to come, we will continue fostering environmental protection activities
with the aim of contributing to world prosperity and the happiness of people every-
where (Morhardt, 2002, p. 80).
Morhardt (2002) noted that "visionary statements are more believable if they
openly discuss the business advantages of adopting them, but few firms do" (p. 81).
This practical emphasis on persuading through a compelling vision, rather than
through a compelling argument, is consistent with Sproule's new managerial rhetoric.
Instead, use of absolute statements carries into the report's discussion of the or-
ganization' s environmental impacts. A typical statement is Dow Chemical's "We
believe that chlorine chemistry is one of the most important contributions to soci-
ety in this century" (1999, p. 31) or 3M's "3M begins with the premise that all
workplace accidents and illnesses are preventable" (1999, p. 8). Rarely, if ever, do
66 FELLER
such statements lead to discussions of practical environmental management con-
cerns such as trade-offs among environmental goals, disagreements over which
environmental goals are most desirable, conflicting voices on whether environ-
mental goals are costeffective, or struggles to achieve environmental excellence;
rather, they are assertions of faith from which company activities follow. Environ-
mental excellence follows directly from simple principles; the corporate environ-
mental report is Utopian in that it reveals that "the world is not as complex" as one
might expect (Morson, 1981, p. 78).
Seeing is Believing: Visiting the Corporate Environmental Utopia
Corporate environmental reports do not present a sustained, developed argument for
the organization's position on environmental issues. Rather, the report is a bricolage
of stories, graphs, photos, lists of awards, diagrams of systems, pull quotes, and princi-
ples. If it seems unlikely that manufacturing companies in historically high-emission,
high-waste industries can become environmental leaders simply by implementing
measures that are good business anywaya common claim in environmental re-
portsthen here are the stories and awards that show success after success as accom-
plished facts. Consistent with Sproule's new managerial rhetoric, "proof is contained
not in ideas, but in verbal and visual images (1988, pp. 472473).
This seemingly random organization of images and slogans can be understood
as tableaux for the visitor to the Utopia. Unlike corporate financial reports, which
historically have moved from an emphasis on accounting of profit and loss, reliant
on spreadsheets, to a focus on accountability for business activities and results, re-
liant on stories, to an emphasis on strategic management, reliant on vision (Crow-
ther, 2002), corporate environmental reports mix accountability and strategic
management with relatively little use of comparable quantitative data. The bulk of
a corporate environmental report is a series of snapshots of environmental, health,
and safety performance, rich in immediacy but low in context. Thus Occidental
Petroleum told the story of successful remediation of a Niagara Falls landfill with-
out volunteering information about how the company became responsible for the
environmental contamination or how the remediation program fits into other
corporate environmental responsibilities (1998). Phillips Petroleum ended its
1997 report with the tale of how a Phillips crew rescued a baby seal near one of its
England terminals but explains nothing of its role in why "seals abandoned the
area in the 1860s, not to return for another 100 years" (p. 32). Proof is made a mat-
ter of vivid faits accomplis.
Consistent with the travelogue theme, journey and progress figure in a notice-
able minority of report titles. At the same time, corporate environmental reports
are consistent with Utopian literature's presentation of Utopia as a "static social vi-
sion" in which perfection has already been achieved (Ferns, 1999, pp. 20-21). Al-
though almost all reports show graphs of decreasing emissions, these decreases are
presented not as changes from the past, but as proof that the organization has al-
ways been committed to environmental excellence. Adhesive manufacturer 3M,
for instance, displays graphs showing substantial emission reductions since 1990
but traces its environmental commitment to 1975 (1999). Texas Instruments in
1999 had a $10 million reserve for handling "environmental liabilities related to
past operations" (2000, p. 9), but proudly announced that, despite "dynamic
changes in the world economy that TI's products are helping to drive, ... what has-
n't changed is our commitment to excellence in environmental safety and health"
(p. 1). Difference from the past is not a differentiation strategy, but an expression
of faith in the "ceaseless innovation and growth" that characterized 19th century
Utopias (Ferns, 1999, pp. 68-69).
WHAT ISN'T SAID: CRITIQUING ENVIRONMENTAL IDEOLOGY
The Utopia unveiled by corporate environmental reports centers on three principles.
First, good environmental practices are good business practices. Pitney Bowes ex-
plained: "As we continue to integrate the environmental, health, and safety func-
tions within the business, the link between the company's EH&S performance and
its financial performance becomes increasingly apparent" (1999, p. 1). Koch Indus-
tries goes further: "Our management philosophy requires us to produce superior
value for our customers using the fewest resources. Our management philosophy is
our environmental philosophy" (1998, "Environmental principles").
While graphs of reduced energy use, reduced waste, increased recycling, re-
duced air and water emissions, and reduced compliance problems figure in most
corporate environmental reports, and some reports discuss substituting less
toxic substances in products or making products recyclable, absent are state-
ments such as we discontinued this product because its harms outweighed its
benefits or we are considering changing our core business. Paper manufacturer
Temple-Inland can argue that it replaces trees as it uses them, but petro-
leum-refiners Koch and Ashland inherently base their profits on exploitation of
a nonrenewable resource. None of GEMI' s petroleum-refining members discuss
the environmental impacts of increased driving and longer commutes; indeed,
in a separate campaign after its 1998 corporate environmental report was issued,
Koch Industries touted its lower-sulfur Blue Planet gasoline with an ad cam-
paign that encouraged Minnes otans to drive for recreation (http://www.
blueplanetgas. com/advertising_ launch. htm). A second central principle of cor-
porate environmental Utopias is thus that environmental friendliness is a matter
of reducing the direct production impacts of existing industries, not a matter of
questioning whether some industries, or the lifestyles those industries support,
inherently produce more harms than benefits.
A third central principle is that government regulatory agencies, which hold
considerable power to inspect and fine companies, are redefined as equal partners
at the negotiating table, along with other stakeholders such as environmental
groups, workers, community leaders, and neighbors of production facilities.
68 FELLER
When required by GRI standards to identify stakeholders explicitly, Johnson and
Johnson (2001), Anheuser-Busch (2000), and Proctor and Gamble (2001) place
regulators below workers, customers, and neighbors, and Bristol-Myers Squibb
includes relations with regulatory agencies in a mixed bag of environmental issues
(2001) . A staple of corporate environmental reports is the story of a successful en-
vironmental project achieved by the issuing company discussing the problem with
many stakeholderssometimes including government regulators, but as often
notand reaching a mutually satisfying and economical solution. In contrast to
the government-dominated Utopias of fiction (Frye, 1965), corporate environ-
mental Utopias assume a government that is wisest when it respects dialogues be-
tween business and community.
While corporate environmental reports can certainly be characterized as self-
serving, the way in which they are self-serving points to a disconnection between
corporate and commercial dominance of entertainment media and profound in-
security about the corporation' s role in managing environmental issues.
This insecurity is grounded in three aspects of corporate environmental perfor-
mance as a public issue. First, corporations have traditionally found themselves in
an adversarial role with the U.S. EPA and its state-level equivalents, with the regu-
latory agencies potentially wielding the power to inspect facilities at will and make
public-relations hay out of routine minor violations. While the EPA touts initia-
tives like 7-year-old Project XL as a turn away from "command and control" regu-
lation (http://www.epa.gov/projectxl/), the prominence and separateness of these
programs suggests that collaboration in search of better environmental outcomes
remains novel.
Second, corporate capitalism is arguably cast as the villain in the prevailing
ideology of environmental issues. Statistician Lomborg argued that environ-
mental groups such as Greenpeace have successfully kept increased environ-
mental protection on the public agenda by promoting myths of declining
resources and impending doom (2001) . Although several critiques of environ-
mentalists' claims of impending environmental doom have been publis hed
(e.g., Bailey, 1993), Lomborg was hardly alone in initially dismissing them as
"simple American right-wing propaganda" (Wade, 2001) . If stakeholders most
trust organizations who seek to achieve "a balance of mutual interests" (Heath,
1997, p. 119), then many organizations can scarcely enter discussion with their
stakeholders until these stakeholders are moved to reevaluate the organiz a-
tion' s interests and hopes.
Third, corporate access to political earsan issue highlighted by Enron' s col-
lapseis no guarantee of success in promoting corporate agendas. In the case of
Koch Industries, a GEMI member that is both the second largest privately held
company in the United States and a significant contributor to Republican cam-
paigns, the perception of undue political influence was probably a factor in turn-
ing air emissions at Koch' s Texas refinery into a political football that could only
harm the company's public image. In August 2000, at roughly the same time that
the U.S. EPA was congratulating Koch on its cooperativeness in resolving envi-
ronmental issues, the company was indicted on 97 felony counts for violating
emission standards for cancer-causing benzene. While the Al Gore campaign
told the Washington Post that Koch' s performance showed how the oil industry
was buying influence with then-governor George W. Bush ("Alleged Texas pol-
luter," 2000), the Daily Oklahoman argued that the indictment had been timed to
discredit the Bush campaign ("Clinton-Gore justice, " 2000). In April 2001, the
charges were reduced to a single count, and Koch agreed to pay $20 million in
penalties ("All charges," 2001).
Although Koch's case is a single exampleand only one episode in a series of
environmental compliance difficulties that were pursued by state and federal gov-
ernment in the late 1990sthe company's misadventures illustrate the lack of a
necessary connection between efforts at political influence and avoidance of envi-
ronmental penalties. In 1999, regulatory actions against GEMI members just in
EPA Region 5 included a $143,800 fine against 3M for hazardous waste violations
at its Cordova, Illinois, specialty chemicals facility (U.S. EPA, 1999b); citations
against Ashland Petroleum for violating its air emission permit at a Detroit, Michi-
gan, refinery (U.S. EPA, 1999a); a lawsuit, in tandem with the Department of Jus-
tice, against Ashland for illegal benzene emissions at its Robinson, Illinois, refinery
(U.S. EPA, 1999c); and a proposed $661,237 fine against Dow Chemicals for fail-
ure to report hazardous chemical releases (U.S. EPA, 1999d). These enforcement
actions represent only the most highly publicized violations of federal environ-
mental regulations.
Paradoxically, these actions are taken against companies that are also winning ac-
claim as examples of environmental excellence. At the same time that Koch's Texas
refinery was allegedly emitting excess benzene, the same facility was part of the Clean
Air Responsibility Enterprise program; the company also won awards for pollution
prevention at its Louisiana ammonia facilities, for safe chemical transportation, for
"best overall reclamation" of a Virginia mining site, and for environmental steward-
ship at its Montana ranch. 3M's honors include a 1996 Presidential award for pollu-
tion prevention; Dow earned a 2000 Presidential Green Chemistry Challenge Award
for a termite control product and has a record of presentations on sustainable devel-
opment at industry conferences ("Top award," 2000). It is apparently possible to be
both a serious environmental offender and a benchmark of environmental excel-
lence. This paradox highlights the complexity of managing both environmental per-
formance and public perceptions of environmental performance: being an
environmental leader may involve inviting more public scrutinyand more criti-
cismthan the organization would ordinarily face.
Presenting a Utopian narrative, rather than a conventional argument or apolo-
gia, allows corporations to suggest that environmental issues are governed by ide-
ology as much as by science, simply by demonstrating that an alternative is
conceivable. Like political use of Utopian narratives related to family values, cor-
porate environmental reports attempt to recode social disputes as issues of private
70 FELLER
voluntary behavior (Cloud, 1998). Voluntary projects with community and gov-
ernment input are thus staples of corporate environmental reports.
REVISITING UTOPIA
Between mid-2001 and mid-2002, few of the GEMI companies updated or reis-
sued corporate environmental reports; many still had 1999 or even 1998 reports
posted on their Web sites as the most recent reports. This gap in reporting suggests
that, despite their visible allegiance to environmental excellence, GEMI members
were reconsidering some combination of business strategies, environmental man-
agement strategies, and corporate issues management strategies. Although the
cost of producing a corporate environmental report is not onerousGRI repre-
sentatives estimate about $200,000 for a large company and perhaps $50,000 for a
small company (http://www. globalreporting. org/Events/Decemberl999Taiwan/
TaiwanBriefing. htm)the explanation may be as simple as redeployment of cor-
porate communication staff to tasks related to shoring up the company' s image
during layoffs, decreased profits and dividends, or financial investigations. A cur-
sory scan of the GEMI members' annual financial reports for 2001 finds repeated
themes of difficulty, challenge, and change, confirming that explaining disap-
pointing corporate financial performance may have been the higher priority.
One alternative explanation is, of course, that a new Presidential administra-
tion's less demanding environmental policies decreased the perceived need for
producing corporate environmental reports. Within GEMI, there is some support,
albeit ambiguous, for this claim. Of the 15 GEMI companies that did not produce a
corporate environmental report to cover 2001 performance, six had never pro-
vided full corporate environmental reports. Two companies stopped reporting for
obvious external reasons: Enron went bankrupt following a well-publicized finan-
cial scandal; Compaq was bought by HP, which folded Compaq' s environmental
performance data into its own extensive reporting. Of the remaining seven
noreporting companies, five still post older corporate environmental reports on
their Web sites, as if they might return to reporting at some future date (Abbott,
Bethlehem Steel, Burlington Northern-Santa Fe, Louisiana-Pacific, and Tem-
ple-Inland) ; two provide general information on environmental commitment but
not full reports (Coca-Cola and Olin). Louisiana-Pacific, at least, may have been
distracted by the woes that led to its ranking among the Top 100 Corporate Crimi-
nals of the 1990s, with $37 million in environmental and consumer fraud fines
(http://www. corporatepredators. org/topl00. html). While there seems to be little
incentive for GEMI members to start producing environmental reports if they did
not have one before 1999, there is less a pattern of dropping environmental report-
ing than a wait and see attitude.
Similarly, there seems to have been little incentive to move toward using volun-
tary reporting standards. Although all of the companies that followed GRI stan-
dards in 2000-2001 did so in 2001-2002, only two companies shifted to GRI
(Anheuser-Busch, 2001; Dow, 2001); Pitney Bowes, which had previously fol-
lowed PERI guidelines, dropped voluntary standards altogether (2001). While the
GRI Sustainability Reporting Standards are consensus-based, actively marketed to
corporations, and expected to become the worldwide reporting standard
(Morhardt, 2002), their specificity and detail may intimidate companies that can-
not document superior environmental performance, a problem that may stem as
much from inadequate measurement and reporting systems as from poor perfor-
mance. Although there are companies, such as Intel (2002) , that do not claim alle-
giance to GRI standards but nonetheless seem to follow the spirit of the
Sustainability Reporting Standards, it is more typical that companies that do not
follow GRI retain strong Utopian narrative strategies in their reporting. Most strik-
ing, though extreme, is Koch Industries' 2002 report, which relies almost entirely
on narrative even though the company implemented extensive environmental
management systems in 1999.
The most provocative trend in corporate environmental reporting is the move
toward integrating environmental and social reporting under the broad heading of
corporate citizenship or social responsibility. While the 1970s saw the first argu-
ments in favor of broadening the scope of corporate accounting from the internal
activities of the business to the larger impacts of the business on its community and
society (Crowther, 2002), methods of social accounting and social reporting re-
main ill-defined. Deborah Doane of the New Economics Foundation argues that
social reporting has already been taken over by marketing departments (Cowe,
2000), but some companies have used social reporting as an opportunity to engage
stakeholders in critiquing both company policies and the way that these policies
are presented to the public (Pike, 2000).
Within GEMI membership, integrating environmental performance into a
larger picture of social accountability seems to have intensified Utopian themes.
Two examplesone from a company that had struggled with environmental re-
porting, one from a company praised for its thorough environmental report-
ingillustrate the triumph of Utopian fantasy over measurable results.
Phillips Petroleum, which merged with Conoco in August 2002, becoming the
sixth largest energy company in the world (http://www.conocophillips.com/
news/nr/-083002_complete.asp), was one of the original sponsors of the PERI, the
first voluntary reporting standard. PERI guidelines are looser and less specific than
CERES or GRI standards (Morhardt, 2002) and essentially ceased to be used in the
late 1990s. After using PERI guidelines in its 1997 and 1998 reports, Phillips lim-
ited its 1999 reporting to a brief Web site. In 2002, Phillips returned to print re-
porting with its 2000-2001 Social Investment Report, a 24-page brochure that
covers education and youth programs, arts and culture, environmental perfor-
mance, health and safety performance, acquisition of another petroleum com-
pany, and corporate contributions. While the 1999 Web report included metrics
of environmental performance, many showing mixed success, the Social Invest-
ment Report is virtually metric-free. The two-page environment section omits the
72 FELLER
type of data on releases and penalties found in earlier reports, in favor of stories
about wildlife preservation. The more social sections are similarly devoid of met-
rics other than measures of spending, and the entire report is tied together with the
theme of daring to dream. Phillips seems to be trying to transfer discussion of envi-
ronmental performance from the mundane world of compliance and measure-
ments into a dream world of aspirations. The compelling and detailed dream is, of
course, one of the conventional means by which the visitor enters Utopia.
Pharmeceutical giant Bristol-Myers Squibb was one of the early adopters of the
GRI voluntary reporting standards; the company's 2001 sustainability report was cho-
sen by strategic management consultancy SustainAbility as one of the 50 best reports
worldwide (http://www.sustainability.com/publications/engaging/trust-us-50.asp).
This 2001 report included substantial metrics and quantifiable goals, not only for en-
vironmental and health and safety performance, but also for nondiscrimination in
hiring and socially responsible investment. Quantitative measures were organized
into a single chart containing 4 years' data on key indicators, then analyzed in detail
later in the report. Although the company retains similar, updated information in the
sustainability portion of its Web site (http://www.bms.com/-ehs/index.html), its offi-
cial 2002 Social Responsibility report contains no comparisons, no graphs, no quanti-
fiable goals, and few numbers of any sort; it is composed entirely of success stories.
Environmental performance is reduced to two pages of positive stories, devoid of
measures. The stated theme of building a better tomorrow turns the focus away from
accounting of the past toward the Utopian future.
Environmental reporting thus seems to be moving away from accountability,
defined by Crowther as "reporting the activities and results of the business. . . pri-
marily concerned with the past" without moving toward financial reporting' s next
stage of strategic management, "concerned with the planning of the business's ac-
tivities and evaluation of its subsequent performance" (2002, pp. 18-19). Consis-
tent with Utopian narrative and the new managerial rhetoric, the proof of social
responsibility is not activities measured against goals, but emotionally gripping ta-
bleaux with which the visitor is encouraged to identify.
CONCLUSION
As Utopian narratives, corporate environmental reports attempt to elicit
re-visioning and renewed trust, rather than rational agreement. Despite a decade
of calls for adoption of environmental accounting procedures that measure the fi-
nancial consequences of the company's environmental impacts (summarized in
Lesourd & Schilizzi, 2001) and some evidence that sound financial and environ-
mental performance are not incompatible (Crowther, 2002) , corporate environ-
mental reporting among self-identified environmental leaders is moving away
from accountability.
The disconnection between financial accounting and environmentalsocial re-
porting is reinforced by how environmental and social responsibility reports are clas-
sified on the reporting companies' Web sites. Of the 25 GEMI members who posted
2001 or 2002 reports, not one placed the environmental report in its section of infor-
mation for investors. Ten companies classified their environmental reports in the
"About Us" or "Corporate Information" sections. One linked the report directly from
the main home page. Five classified it with "Community"; six with "Environment";
three with "Citizenship"; and the remainder with some mix of "social responsibility,"
"leadership," "commitment," or in a general list of publications. This symbolic sepa-
ration of environmental performance from economic performance obscures the
practical reality that economic considerations influence environmental decisions, de-
spite the popularity of doing well by doing good themes in reports and the U.S. EPA's
open promotion of economically feasible environmental protection.
The symbolic separation of environmental and economic performance also,
of course, implies that, while economic performance is, in a public company, a
public matter, subject to government regulation, environmental and social per-
formance is a community matter, dependent on the goodwill of the sponsoring
company. Judging from GEMI members' lack of enthusiasm for adopting volun-
tary reporting standards, the only way to assure comparable, quantitative,
benchmarked environmental reporting would be for the U.S. government to fol-
low the lead of European nations, such as the Netherlands, in adopting environ-
mental rep orting reg ulations . Such regulations would place corp orate
environmental performance squarely in the realm of public debatebut would
place reporting standards themselves beyond the debatable. Utopian narrative
strategies, conversely, open the issue of what constitutes environmental protec-
tion to re-visioning, but provide no means for comparing one vision to another,
or for measuring whether the proffered vision is feasible and desirable. The
reader can rethink the corporation' s role in environmental and social responsi-
bility, but cannot become a decision-making citizen of Utopia: we can only visit.
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zen/esh/english. pdf
CHAPTER FIVE
The Rhetoric of the Autobiographical
Voice in Women's Environmental
Narratives:
Lois Gibbs' Love Canal: My Story
and Sandra Steingraber's Living Downstream:
An Ecologist Looks at Cancer and the Environment
Diane Hope
Rochester Institute of Technology
INTRODUCTION
In 1997 and 1999, respectively, Lois Gibbs and Sandra Steingraber participated in
the Caroline Werner Gannett Lecture Series at the Rochester Institute of Technol-
ogy exploring environment and citizenship. Gibbs, the founder and director of the
Center for Health, Environment and Justice, was thrust into environmental con-
sciousness in 1978 from her quiet neighborhood near Niagara Falls, NY, when she
learned that her son's elementary school sat atop a toxic dump covering 21, 000
tons of chemical waste. The attempted cover-up of the dangers at the Love Canal
propelled Gibbs into confrontational activism with local, state, and federal offi-
cials that finally resulted in the relocation of 833 families. Gibbs' work as a citizen
activist with the Love Canal Homeowners Association eventually led to the forma-
tion of the Environmental Protection Agency's Superfund. Her narrative of the ex-
perience, first published as Love Canal: My Story in 1982 was reissued as Love
Canal: The Story Continues in 1998.
1
Steingraber' s role as an environmental activist began with her own examina-
tion of possible connections between the bladder cancer she had endured as a
young woman and the plains of central Illinois where she grew up. A biologist
and poet, Steingraber (1997) elaborated a human rights approach to disease, es-
pecially cancer, in her award winning book, Living Downstream: An Ecologist
Looks at Cancer and the Environment, in which she brought together data on toxic
All citations are from the 1998 edition, Love Canal: The Story Continues.
77
78 HOPE
releases and U.S. Cancer registries. Serving on President Clinton' s National Ac-
tion Plan on Breast Cancer she was internationally recognized for her work on
the relationship between illness and environment and won a wide spectrum of
accolades. In 1997, Ms. magazine named her "woman of the year," in 1998 she re-
ceived the Altman Award for "the ins piring and poetic use of science to elucidate
the causes of cancer," and in 1999 the Sierra Club deemed her "the new Rachel
Carson" (Steingraber, 2002) .
The two speakers provided s trong contrasts in delivery. Gibbs built an emo-
tional performance, pacing the stage with microphone in hand, often s houting
as she relived her anger over events at Love Canal while exhorting her audience
to become change agents in their own communities (Gibbs, 1997). Steingraber
stood calmly behind the podium and in a soft, well-meas ured voice delivered
an inspired lecture on ecological science, p unctuated by humor and bits of po-
etry (Steingraber, 1999). Both women used evidence of the proven and poten-
tial health consequences of environmental toxins to encourage audience
members to become citizen-activists and both used autobiography as a power-
ful rhetorical strategy. The speeches provided compelling, but differently fo-
cused demons trations that for these women at least, the pers onal was indeed
the political, and added new layers of meaning to the feminis t principle of so-
cial activism.
Gibbs spoke passionately of how her children' s illnesses and the ensuing events
at Love Canal transformed her from a young suburban mother into an interna-
tionally recognized leader in the environmental justice movement. Steingraber re-
vealed intimate details about her experience with bladder cancer as a 20-year-old
college student, and how her suspicion that the illness was related to environmen-
tal toxins changed her life. Both Gibbs and Steingraber immediately engaged the
student audience who stayed to talk with the speakers long after the lectures had
ended. As a powerful source of identification between rhetor and audience, the
personal testimony in both speeches was especially effective as motivation for en-
vironmental action.
Gibbs and Steingraber also chose to use autobiography as the s tructure for
their written narratives. Yet unlike the face-to-face experience of audience and
speaker, rich with nonverbal cues and charged with charismatic exchanges be-
tween speaker, performance, and audience members, written texts are disem-
bodied and must rely on language for affect and identification. In the written
autobiography, the narrator can only be imagined. Rhetorical style, narrative,
argument, and organization must construct a persona for readers. This chapter
compares the rhetoric of Gibbs' Love Canal (1982, 1998) and Steingraber' s Living
Downstream: An Ecologist Looks at Cancer and the Environment (1997) to explore
the appeal of the autobiographical voice in environmental advocacy. How do the
personal stories of Gibbs and Steingraber, so compelling in public address, struc-
ture the written narratives? How does the rhetoric of the autobiographical voice
inform the advocacy of environmental activism in these texts? The critique is
5. WOMEN'S ENVIRONMENTAL NARRATIVES 79
part of a larger project examining the rhetoric of the autobiographical voice in
women' s environmental narratives.
2
AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND THE RHETORIC OF SOCIAL CHANGE
Formal autobiography holds a significant place in the discourse of social change.
Strongly associated with political and social movements, the genre has been
termed a "democratic literary form" (Stone, 1972, p. 26), a description that pre-
sumes rhetorical, as well as literary motives. Beyond literary intents, movement
autobiography works as instruction and inspiration for readers who would be ac-
tivists. In movements for equality and human rights especially, the autobiographi-
cal voice has been a major source of rhetorical power. For example, works of
autobiography have enlivened African-American liberation movements and con-
tinue to serve as touchstones in the continuing struggle toward human justice.
From the slave narratives of abolitionists Frederick Douglas (1845) and Harriet
Jacobs (1861) through to the compelling Autobiography of Malcolm X (1965) and
Angela Davis: An Autobiography (1974), myriad autobiographical texts have been
written and read as calls to action by members of marginalized groups. Rhetorical
studies of movement autobiography by Charles Griffin (2000), Martha Solomon
(1991), and Thomas Benson (1974) illustrated the significance of narrative form
and style if the movement autobiographer is to empower readers as agents of
change. In these narratives, movement goals, self-identity, and agency are linked
through the structure of autobiography.
No matter why the tale is told, the rhetoric of autobiography narrates individual
change. Movement autobiography is further distinguished by the intersecting sto-
ries of personal change and social change, especially when movement figures chron-
icle their own transformations in tandem with historical events. If movement goals
are motivation for the story's telling, the narrator must invent a rhetoric that credi-
bly links transformed identities and social cause. Whether such changes are read as
gradually emergent (Solomon, 1991) or as sudden conversions (Griffin, 1990), au-
tobiographers must overcome the rhetorical problems implicit in narrating stories
of transformed self-identities. The effective movement figure turned autobiogra-
pher resists self-aggrandizement or martyrdom (Benson, 1974). Further, in order to
offer a model for agency, the autobiographer must find a voice that articulates
change through choices made and actions taken that readers may emulate.
Voices under study include Marjory Stoneman Douglas, (Vo i ce o f the River); Sally Carrighan
(Home to the Wilderness;) Lois Gibbs, (Love Canal: My Story); Sandra Steingraber (Living Down-
stream: An Ecologist Looks at Cancer and the Environment); Susanne Antonetta, (Body Toxic: An
Environmental Memoir); Terry Tempest Williams, (Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and
Place); Helen Caldicott, (A Desperate Passion); Irene Diamond, (Fertile Ground); T. Louise Free-
man-Toole (Standing Up to the Rock); and Julia "Butterfly" Hill (The Legacy of Luna: The Story
of a Tree, a Woman, and the Struggle to Save the Redwoods).
HOPE
Benson (1974) illustrated the inadequacy of the "passive figure of growth" (p.
9) to explain the transformative changes recounted in the Autobiography o f
Malcolm X and proposes the term enlargement to best describe the rhetorical
structure of Malcolm's autobiography. To account for the enduring appeal of The
Autobiography in spite of the apparent contradictions in Malcolm' s rhetoric,
Benson (1974) read the changes in Malcolm' s life as a drama that encompasses the
defeat of racism, white and black, and the embrace of a common humanity
(pp. 12-13). The term enlargement best captures the "dramaan enactment of
conflict," in Malcolm's defeat of racism's power as a motivation for action
(Benson, 1974, p. 9). In this sense, the term enlargement provides a locus for read-
ing autobiography that moves beyond the individual accomplishments or failures
of the narrator and offers readers a rhetoric of personal agency and social change.
As Gerda Lerner (2002) wrote of her autobiography, Fireweed: A Political Autobi-
ography, "When I think of writing about my life, it has to do with ordering, finding
a form, even though one knows precisely the pretense of such an effort, its artifice
(p. 1)." The critic of movement autobiography must discover the rhetorical form
in the writer's voice that best elucidates the relationship between narrator, reader,
and social action. Benson (1974) distinguished a rhetorical reading of autobiogra-
phy from a literary one: "In a rhetorician' s view, the aim is not to purify the work of
any taint of the real world. It is not how close to pure form the autobiography be-
comes, but how the work relates form to audience and external world that holds
the interest of the rhetorical critic" (p. 8).
This chapter borrows Benson's use of the figure of enlargement to examine the
rhetoric of autobiography in Love Canal and Living Downstream. In different ways
and for different reasons, both Gibbs and Steingraber felt constrained as public ad-
vocates. Gibbs experienced her role as mother and wife as confining and sought to
enlarge her activities as a citizen. A scientist, Steingraber resisted the sanctions
against personal history as evidence in ecological debate and argued for a human
rights approach to public health in which individual ecological histories are shared
as data. For Gibbs, the enlargement of her public voice paralleled an expanded
movement into places of power central to her narrative. Finally, an enlargement is
an image whose detail and beauty are enhanced through reproduction of increased
scale, a metaphor that figures prominently in Steingraber' s work. In the analysis
that follows, the term enlargement is used to explore the autobiographical voice of
Gibbs, housewife turned agitator for environmental justice, and Steingraber, sur-
vivor, scientist, and public advocate. Because the autobiographical voices of these
rhetors are female, the history, constraints and stylistic devices of women as public
advocates must be considered.
WOMEN AND AUTOBIOGRAPHY
The autobiographical voice is fundamental to the style of discourse identified as
consciousness-raising and of particular significance in women's advocacy. "It pro-
80
5. WOMEN' S ENVIRONMENTAL NARRATIVES 81
ceeds inductively, moving from personal experiences toward generalizations that
reflect the systemically shaped conditions of women generally" (Campbell, 1994,
xix). Women's autobiographical writing is an important source of feminist cri-
tique and theory (Brownley & Kimmich, 1999; Jelinek, 1980) and is of special in-
terest to rhetorical critics concerned with the discourse of movements to extend
women's rights. The autobiographies of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Anna Howard,
Emma Goldman, Margaret Sanger, Mary Church Terrell, Gerda Lerner, and oth-
ers are primary sources for historical, sociological, and critical work exploring
women' s rights discourse and for explication of the formation of an activist con-
sciousness in women. For example, Martha Watson's critical examination of
women' s autobiographies directs readers to women who "wrote their autobiogra-
phies precisely because of the roles that they played in efforts for women' s rights"
(1999, p. 2). Autobiography written by women' s rights activists most commonly
presents the status of women as rationale for personal disclosure and for the
self-centered explorations autobiography demands. Women whose economic, so-
cial, and public lives were constrained by patriarchal traditions argue for change in
women's status from traditional principles of human rights. Often they construct
personal narratives in terms of freedom, equality, and justice denied. Although
neither Gibbs nor Steingraber define themselves as feminists in these texts, their
autobiographical rhetoric is replete with references for a reading of their work that
privileges gender. Read in the context of women' s history, the two decades that
separate the writing of these texts contribute to the differing circumstances of each
woman as a public advocate for environmental justice and each text adds to our
understanding that public advocacy by women, no matter what the cause, cannot
be realistically separated from issues of gender (Campbell, 1993, 1994).
Gibbs was vilified as a "hysterical housewife," a derogatory term reserved for
women only. A child of the fifties, she grew up with traditional expectations for her-
self as a woman. Yet her working class neighborhood was not far from Buffalo, New
York, a city marked by political protest and confrontation throughout the 1960s and
1970s. Especially dominant were the activities associated with SUNY University at
Buffalo and SUNY College at Buffalo State, including the early emergence of radical
feminist groups and women's studies programs. Liz Kennedy, a founding mother of
Women's Studies at the University, described the scene in the 1970s:
Campus activists were making connections among various forms of social and polit-
ical oppression. Learning was connected to activism, to building a movement for
change, to challenging the state. Most important, faculty, students, staff, and com-
munity members had the idea that their action would make a difference. (p. 246)
Although during the Love Canal protests of 1978-79, pickets organized by
Gibbs were frequently joined by activists from Buffalo (Hope, 2001), Gibbs de-
scribed her community as one that distanced itself from political radicals. Before
the crisis at Love Canal, and in sharp contrast to the feminists down the road, she
82 HOPE
repeatedly talks about herself as a traditional housewife with a high school educa-
tion, happy with domestic life. In a preface to Gibbs' book, Levine wrote of Gibbs
world, "Women's liberation was a subject for raucous humor among her friends"
(Gibbs, 13). As shall be demonstrated in this paper, Gibbs' activism was marked by
a troubled awareness that in 1978 to assume a public voice was to redefine herself
in ways habitually disdained by family and friends, a change that immeasurably al-
tered her personal relationships and her life.
Steingraber, born in 1959, grew up in the 1960s, attended college and graduate
school and planned early for a profession in science. By the time she wrote Living
Downstream in 1996, two decades after the publication of Gibbs' Love Canal,
Gibbs' work and that of other women had paved the way for citizen-activism in the
cause of environmental justice. The voices of female public advocates were com-
monly heard for a variety of social and political causes and popular media had un-
abashedly declared a postfeminist age. Steingraber made strong appeals to women
readers with a focus on women throughout her narrative. Rachel Carson's work
and death is central to Steingraber' s argument as is the death of her friend Jeannie
Mitchell; she devotes pages of text to each. She writes passionately of the anony-
mous victims of breast cancer whose cell tissue is numbered for research and
whose lives are compiled into statistics of death. Steingraber gives no indication in
her book that she felt constrained by her sex, nor does she imply that environmen-
tal advocacy changed her life as a woman or as a wife. Neither Gibbs nor
Steingraber define themselves in their work as ecofeminists. Neither argue that
woman' s identity is fundamentally connected to nature, or that women' s oppres-
sion and environmental degradation are related, as many scholars postulate (Dia-
mond, 1994; Griffin, 1978; Kolodny, 1975; Warren, 1997). Instead, Gibbs and
Steingraber each use personal history to write herself as an evidentiary character in
support of citizen action and environmental policy reform.
RHETORICAL CONSTRAINTS
The primary subject in both Gibb's and Steingraber' s narratives is the relationship
between the autobiographer, a specific place and human health. Each advocates
for environmental justice, citizen action and changes in public policy. Although
separated by two decades, their similar focus reveals a shared pair of rhetorical
constraints. Unlike the discourse of women' s rights, rooted in traditional princi-
ples of human justice, the relationship of health to environment is primarily in-
formed by scientific debate and frequently centered on a geography unremarkable
as environmental landscape (Bruner & Oeschlaeger, 1998). Gibbs and Steingraber
thus faced two rhetorical problems: first is the severe constraint against recasting
the personal experience of private lives as evidence in the public discourse of sci-
ence, and second is the gendered construction of what constitutes an environment
worthy of public policy. As advocates for environmental jus tice both Gibbs and
Steingraber chose to structure their narratives with autobiography in spite of the
risks to their scientific credibility. In both works, geographies well outside tradi-
tional environmental concerns are the sites of their arguments.
Because claims and counterclaims regarding the health consequences of envi-
ronmental degradation are rooted in interpretations of scientific data, advocates
who use personal experience and emotional appeals are open to charges of subjec-
tivity, emotionalism, ignorance, and incredulity. Although the pure objectivity of
scientific claims has long been a subject of debate and has emerged as an important
issue in feminist theories of knowledge and rhetorical style (Campbell, 1994), the
use of personal anecdote as evidence in scientific discourse is clearly problematic.
(Keller, 1982; Rosser, 1988, 2000). When women attempt to redefine the terms of
scientific discourse through the lens of their own lived experience, they are easily
vilified, a problem confronted by Gibbs, a housewife and nonscientist, and the bio-
logical ecologist, Steingraber.
Another rhetorical constraint for both Gibbs and Steingraber was the
gendered division of place into pairings of domestic-female and wilder-
ness-male, with only the latter understood to be environmentally significant
(Hope, 2003). Historically the activities of traditional conservation and envi-
ronmental organizations have worked to associate environmental issues with
pristine sites and wilderness ecologies. Mountains and forests purported to be
far removed from routine domesticity of habitation
3
have been primarily asso-
ciated with men and traditionally male middle-class leisure adventures such as
hunting, camping, fishing, and hiking. Women like Julia "Butterfly" Hill, who
presumed to boldly occupy a wilderness site and make a redwood tree her
dwelling, confounded perceptions of environmentalism, as well as gender
(Schaumann, 2001; Wilson, 1999).
Domestic places of home and community, traditionally associated with women
and women's roles entered the environmental lexicon only in the last quarter of
the 20th century, largely due to the advocacy of women (Changing face of the envi-
ronmental community, 2001). The Center for Health, Environment, and Justice
founded and directed by Gibbs was in the vanguard of environmental justice orga-
nizations and provides a compelling model for community organizing. Such orga-
nizations are frequently founded, organized, led, and staffed by women, including
an increasing number of women of color (Taylor, 1997) and focus on what Layne
calls the toxic assaults of domestic spacescommunities, homes, workplaces, and
farms (2001). As both cause and consequence of the dominant role of women in
environmental justice organizations, issues that fall within the traditional topoi of
3
Many scholars explore the making of the myth of ' uninhabited wilderness. ' For example
see Simon Schama' s Landscape and Memory, (1995): Like all gardens, Yosemite presupposed
barriers against the beastly. But its protectors reversed conventions by keeping the animals in
and the humans out. So both the mining companies who had first penetrated this area of the
Sierra Nevada and the expelled Ahwahneechee Indians were carefully and forcibly edited out
of the idyll. (pp. 7-8).
HOPE
domesticity, for example, children, nurturing, health, and community, have
slowly entered the mainstream of environmental discourse. Internationally the
Goldman Prize recognizes grass roots activism for the environment, and at the na-
tional level politicians speak to issues of health and environment, as evidenced by a
speech to the National Press Club by Senator Hillary Clinton: "I believe the time
has come for us to fight back at the national level.... In that way we can learn more
about the linkage between disease and the environment and we can begin to do
more to break the connection and improve public health" (2001). A number of
sources report on potential connections between illness and environmental toxins
and attempt to teach citizens to conduct and organize their own local research. For
example the internet site, Health-Track, provides information on "your heath,
your community, and your right to know" (http://www.health-track.org).
A plethora of highly publicized legal battles and confrontational citizen actions
have become common items in the press (DeLuca, 1999). In popular films such as
"Erin Brockovich," and "A Civil Action," debate about environmental degrada-
tion has increasingly been framed within the context of human illness, environ-
mental justice and citizen action. Given this shift in public consciousness, it is
instructive to recall that in 1978, when the crisis at Love Canal linking community
illness and a toxic dump was first reported in the media, Lois Marie Gibbs was dis-
missed as a hysterical housewife.
THE HYSTERICAL HOUSEWIFE AT LOVE CANAL
For women, aspersions of emotionalism easily conflate into hysteria, a term his-
torically tainted with uterine derivations that linger even in post-Freudian times.
As Killingsworth and Palmer pointed out in their study, "The Discourse of Envi-
ronmentalist Hysteria" (1995), when applied to environmentalists, hysterical im-
plies a phobia of technological progress. The label hysteric attacks intellectual
character and questions the very ability of the advocate to separate objective fact
from egocentric fictions. Housewife is a term that epitomizes the wedding of
women' s bodies to places of indoor confinement and encapsulates the traditional
gender divisions of spatial boundaries. In addition, the term housewife codifies
economic dependence, powerlessness, and an existential purpose narrowed to re-
petitive chores. The terms homemaker and stay-at-home mom attempt to redeem
the derogatory housewife by presenting women as the owners of domestic nurtur-
ing space, but by implication these terms strongly reinforce a border between the
private space of wives and mothers and the public sphere of civic engagement.
4
Thus, the combined pejorative hysterical housewife denies the subjective, emo-
tional voice of the feminine style as appropriate to objective scientific discourse
For a classic visual representation of the homemaker see Nickolas Muray' s photo shot for
McCall's Magazine, "Homemaking Cover," 1939. George Eastman International Museum of
Photography. Rochester, New York.
84
and at the same time demeans the confines of domestic place as feminine, weak,
and irrelevant to environmental policy debate.
In spite of being vilified as the original hysterical housewife, Gibbs made Love
Canal, toxic dumps, and the connections between environment and community
health a national issue. Like Love Canal, the place, Lois Gibbs, the person, became
a highly charged symbol in public discourse. As an outspoken, young suburban
mother-her frustration, outrage, and pathos lent the Love Canal news story an at-
tractive human face. Murray Levine's introduction to the 1982 edition o f Love Ca-
nal: My story was reprinted in the 1998 edition
4
, and stressed Gibbs' youth, (she
was 27), and her ordinariness as a women busy with her life as wife and mother:
Harry and Lois both worked to save for the down payment for their home, but when
their children were born, Lois stopped working and stayed home, cooking, cleaning,
gardening, and sewing. Women' s liberation was a subject for raucous humor among
her friends. Neither she nor Harry was involved in community organizations, nor
did either have more than a passing interest in politics (pp. 13-14).
Reissued as Love Canal: The Story Continues, the reprinted text included a new
forward by Ralph Nader who testified to Gibb's working-class background, "She
grew up in a blue-collar community just outside of Niagara Falls and was one of six
children. Her father was a bricklayer who worked in the steel mills and her mother
was a full-time homemaker" (Gibbs, 1998, p. xii). Nader also wrote of the wide in-
fluence of Gibbs' work on the environmental justice movement: "At Love Canal,
with the nation watching, Lois proved that an 'average' person could become em-
powered enough to change not only her life, but also the lives of others" (Gibbs,
1998, p. xiv). Both Levine and Nader use the opportunity to promote citizen action
as they make rebuttal to those who attempted to discredit Gibbs and the "house-
wife' s data" her organization gathered (Gibbs, 1998, p.102). Yet the hyperbolic
promotion of Gibbs threatens to reduce her to a mythical hero, weakening the po-
tential of her influence as a realistic model for action. In this chapter, I argue that
the rhetoric of Gibbs' autobiographical voice in Love Canal succeeds in providing
readers a model who is neither hysterical housewife nor working-class hero, but a
woman who overcomes the constraints of traditional womanhood in order to
achieve public agency.
Gibbs' experience and that of others at Love Canal set the mark for grassroots
community organizing by women who were first and foremost mothers and wives
and created the agenda for the burgeoning environmental justice movement. In
writing Love Canal, Gibbs demonstrated few literary aspirations beyond accessi-
bility and inspiration, stating that her overriding goal was to empower "ordinary"
readers: "I want to tell you our storymy storybecause I believe that ordinary
citizens ... can influence solutions to important problems in our society" (1998, p.
19). Gibbs's appeal is built on strategies of identification that include both the sub-
stance of her story and the style of her telling. She reminded readers that she was
86 HOPE
"just a housewife with a high-school education" (1998, p. 158) but that "we won
the fight" (1998, p.19). If Gibbs is to achieve her goals, readers of Love Canal must
be convinced that they too can overcome the powerlessness of their own situations
through the agency of community action.
Reading the text as a drama of enlargement reveals the rhetorical power and
strategy of Gibbs' autobiographical voice. Two enlargement narratives are con-
nected throughout the text. The first is the story of Gibbs's changing moral vision,
from that of a woman "interested only in myself and my child," (1998, p. 28) into
one of a national leader for environmental justice. Gibbs's expeditions from the se-
curity of her small suburban home into increasingly public spaces provide a sec-
ond drama of enlargement and supports her widening vision. It is on the streets of
her working-class neighborhood, motivated by frustration, shock, and rage, where
Gibbs first finds her voice as community organizer. The use of public places as the
sites for her transformative conflicts with institutions of power is particularly ef-
fective for readers similarly situated, and detailed descriptions of each confronta-
tion provide a step by step manual for overcoming self-doubt.
Gibbs offers her experience in the voice of an intimate friend; as a woman
speaking to other women, a mother to mothers, and as a working-class neighbor
she invites readers to experience what she experienced and to respond the way she
respondedwith outrage and action. Initially, the more she learned about Love
Canal the more incredulous she became, and the early sections of the book re-
sound with colloquialisms to register her shock with her readers. She confided and
highlighted the naivete of her early responses: on the historical collusion between
Niagara Falls city officials and Hooker Chemical to profit from the site at the ex-
pense of school children, "I was stunned" (1998, p. 28); on the inaction of New
York State officials, "I couldn' t believe what I was hearing," (1998, p. 38); and espe-
cially on the toxicity of the dump, and the sickness all around her, "Everything was
unbelievable," (1998, p. 34). Much later, in 1979, when events have led to direct
confrontations with Governor Carey and the State Health Commissioner she
wrote: "I never thought anything I heard from the state would surprise me again,
but I was wrong" (1998, p. 144). Gibbs detailed the private moments when her in-
tellectual and emotional surprise turned to outrage, motivating the young
mother' s development of a social conscience and propelling her into the larger so-
ciety as a moral leader. Her transformation is presented to readers as a drama in
which she conquered her own ignorance and moreover, she abandoned her inno-
cence as a trusting wife and citizen. Love Canal: My Story (1982) covers the few
years from 1978 to 1980 when President Carter finally signed the order to relocate
more than 800 families out of the toxic neighborhood. The initial episode of Gibbs'
story contains the major acts of the drama: A widening of her concerns about her
child's health to include the health of people everywhere threatened by toxic as-
sault; the concurrent unraveling of her faith in government officials and her deter-
mination to do something, the throwing off of her confines as a housewife; and her
developing skill as a public advocate in ever larger places of power.
Gibbs is slow to connect her life with a series of news stories in the Niagara Falls
Gazette about a nearby chemical dump written by reporter Mike Brown in 1978.
She pointedly described her inattentiveness and apathy: "Although I read the arti-
cles, I didn't pay much attention to them"(1998, p. 27). Thinking the contami-
nated area was across town, she thought it "terrible" that a school is built on the
dump, ". . . but I lived on the other side ... Those poor people over there ... were the
ones who had to worry. The problem didn't affect me, so I wasn't going to bother
doing anything about it, and I certainly wasn't going to speak out about it" (1998,
p. 27). After realizing that the 99th Street school her son attended was the school on
the dump, Gibbs's first response was to get her child out. She called the superinten-
dent of schools and the president of the PTA for help in transferring the boy. When
neither obliged, she obtained letters from physicians attesting to the child's sus-
ceptibility to chemicals, his asthma and his newly developed epilepsy. Again, her
request was denied on the grounds that, "if the area were contaminated ... then all
the children should be removed and ... that they weren' t about to close the 99th
Street school" (1998, p. 29). Furious, Gibbs decided to talk to the people who live
on 99th Street to see if any other parents felt as she did, and to see "if something
could be done," remarking, "At the time, though, I didn't really think of this as 'or-
ganizing' (1998, p. 29). Gibbs account of her venture out into the neighborhood
frames and situates her transformation. She recalled the decision to leave the
kitchen, the house, and her street to "knock on doors" as "terrifying": "I had never
done anything like this and I was frightened. I was afraid a lot of doors would be
slammed in my face, that people would think I was some crazy fanatic" (1998, p.
30). No one answered the first door and "perspiring," Gibbs thought: "What am I
doing here? I must be crazy. People are going to think I am.. Go home, you fool! And
that's just what I did " (1998, p. 30). Gibbs retreats back to her house, to her kitchen
table and sits, to "build my self-confidence". The following day she tried again, this
time going only to the homes of close friends and people she knew. Finding many
people wanted to talk, hearing more and more stories of sickness, dying pets and
vegetation, Gibbs is moved to spend the summer knocking on doors with a peti-
tion to have children transferred from the school. She "develops a set speech"
(1998, p. 32) and alerted her readers to the changes she felt as she covered more
neighborhood territory. "Something began to happen to me as I went around talk-
ing to these people" (1998, p. 31). As she spent more time on the public streets, she
described the problems of keeping up with her domestic chores, and appealed to
her readers for sympathy in understanding her transformation from housewife to
organizer and the conscious abandonment of her previous identity. As is charac-
teristic, her voice is intimate and confessional:
It was hot and humid that summer. My mother kept saying I was crazy to do it. I was
losing weight, mainly because I didn't have much time to eat. My house was a mess
because I wasn' t home. Dinner was late and Harry sometimes was upset. Between the
kids and the heat, I was getting very tired. But something drove me on (1998, p. 31).
HOPE
Her dutiful attention to household and motherly chores weakened as her com-
mitment to the Love Canal crisis increases. Once, coming home late, hungry and
exhausted from a crisis meeting, she absentmindedly ate three quarters of a cake
her neighbor had prepared for Gibbs' 26-year-old son's birthday that Gibbs had
forgotten. She told the story in two poignant pages and ended with this emo-
tional entreaty to her son and, by implication, to her readers: "I was angry. I
could have cried ... It was Michael' s birthday and I didn' t have a gift. No cake.
Nothing ... I hope Michael will understand and that he will forgive me someday"
(1998, p. 74). Gibbs' continuing journey through her community increased her
anger. The new awareness that her moral responsibility goes beyond her son and
the 99th Street school began a career of agitation that is marked by movement
into public places of power.
Section titles throughout the book reflect the significance Gibbs gave her new
mobility: "Knocking on Doors," (1998, p. 30), "A Meeting in Albany" (1998, p.
45), "A Street Meeting" (1998, p. 52), "A Meeting at The White House" (1998, p.
68), and "Another Trip to Washington" (1998, p. 155), signaled her newly emerg-
ing self. She began in Buffalo at the University and at Roswell Park Cancer Center,
to seek help and information. After months of inaction, state officials finally hold a
public meeting about Love Canal in Albany, over 300 miles away. With a group of
neighbors Gibbs traveled to Albanyher first visit to the capitaland confided:
We were flabbergasted ... There we were in the state capital with its large beautiful
buildings that reminded us somewhat of a city in a science-fiction movie. They must
have cost billions. On the other side, however, right next to the state capital, were
poor people who spent their lives in crowded dingy buildings. Something is wrong
with the way we do things, I thought. (1998, p. 48)
During this first Albany meeting, Gibbs found herself publicly confronting state
officials. The group had been told that pregnant women and children under two
should leave the Love Canal area. "With that I almost lost my cool. . . I was furious. I
jumped up and said to Commissioner Whalen, If the dump will hurt pregnant
women and children under two, what for God's sake, is it going to do to the rest of
us!? What do you think you're doing?' Now very emotional, I said, 'You can't do
that! That would be murder!'" (1998, p.49). Elected president of the Homeowner' s
association, Gibbs learned to run a meeting and handle the media, and overcame ac-
cusations by other homeowners at Love Canal that she was "in it for the publicity"
(1998, p. 142). Undeterred by advice to go back to her kitchen, she is coached in pub-
lic speaking by her brother-in-law, and becomes a noisy irritant to Governor Carey,
the State Health Department and many legislative committees. As a guest on the Phil
Donahue television show, she travels to Philadelphia and argued with the mayor of
Niagara Falls on national television. Finally Gibbs appeared at hearings in Washing-
ton, DC and eventually meets with President Carter.
88
As Gibbs moved out from her house and into places of power, she continued to
report her anger, determination, and tactics in the voice of the neighbor next door.
But she is no longer the housewife she was; by 1981 Gibbs had created and entered a
much larger world than that she inhabited in 1978. By book's end, Gibbs occupies a
higher moral ground as a result of moving beyond the housewife role that had earlier
kept her silent. As Gibbs occupied a larger and larger moral space, so too could oth-
ers move out of domestic confinements and into the largeness of the public world.
Gibbs opened her life for examination by other citizens in a chronology of the
events at Love Canal. However, as an autobiographer, she leaves much unsaid. For ex-
ample, it is a full 17 years later, in a brief afterward to the second edition of Love Canal
that readers learn of her divorce "as a result of Love Canal" (1998, p. 220). She wrote:
Harry wanted me to return home and pick up where we had left off. This meant being a
full-time homemaker. I, on the other hand, felt I had a serious responsibility to share
what we had learned through our struggle at Love Canal with members of other com-
munities who called almost daily asking for information and help (1998, p. 221).
Although keeping private the details of her dissolving marriage, Gibbs reported
that she had become a different person, larger than what she was before, "I grew
through the Love Canal process and, to a certain extent, outgrew my husband ...
The whole world had changed for me" (1998, p. 221). Richard Newman (2001),
currently at work on a 100 year environmental history of Love Canal writes:
"Gibbs's autobiography is ... the first grassroots rejoinder to the classic environ-
mental literature in that it is aimed specifically at the ordinary citizen trapped in a
precarious environmental state" (2001, p. 78). Educating herself about the con-
nections between government, politics, and media, about toxic waste disposal and
about community organizing, Gibbs' recreated a larger self through a dramatic
story she offered as one her readers can emulate. Gibbs continued influence is tes-
timony to the success of her rhetoric. A 1990 winner of the prestigious interna-
tional Goldman Prize in Environmental Activism, Gibbs is the founder and
executive director of the Center for Health, Environment, and Justice. She contin-
ues to tell her story, providing information, training, and inspiration for environ-
mental justice groups all over the world.
THE SURVIVOR FROM CENTRAL ILLINOIS
Living Downstream: An Ecologist Looks at Cancer and the Environment is described
by Steingraber as a search for her "ecological roots" (1997, p. xv). Her decision to
"include the deeply personal" in her book (1997, p. xv) confronted directly the
constraint on using the subjective voice in scientific discourse. Likewise, her focus
on the deep ecology of the "utterly unexceptional" place of central Illinois (p. xv)
challenges traditional assumptions of landscape as pristine spectacle common in
environmental discourse. Like Gibbs, Steingraber created two narratives, both of
90 HOPE
which can be read as rhetorics of enlargement. The first narrative is Steingraber' s
challenge to the scientific community to enlarge the scientific voice. The second
story of enlargement is to turn a magnifying lens on herself and the place of her
youth. Steingraber's rhetorical strategy is analogous to that depicted in Michelan-
gelo Antonioni' s 1966 film Blow-Up, in which a murder is accidentally uncovered
through information revealed by multiple enlargements of a photograph. In this
sense Steingraber enlarges private ecological snapshots of herself and one place in
Illinois to make visible hundreds of clues otherwise concealedclues connecting
environments and cancer.
Steingraber' s story is told as a mystery in which she is both victim and scien-
tific investigator. In this dual role, she challenged the confining demands of sci-
entific impersonality, and framed her cancer narrative in a voice enlarged by her
individual history and by her extraordinary knowledge of place. Unlike Gibbs,
Steingraber' s public voice was not constrained by the traditional female role, but
as a scientist she confronted a strong tradition of professional silence about per-
sonal experiencea tradition she determined to break open. Addressing both
"ordinary citizens" and "sympathetic researchers," (1997, p. 79) Steingraber' s
careful balance of scientific instruction and autobiographical reference provided
pragmatic and poetic guidance for readers to conduct similar investigations of
their own histories of place. Metaphors of detection inform the text: "... brilliant
environmental sleuthing ..." and "heroic perseverance by ordinary citizens"
working together with "sympathetic researchers" have resulted in some success
at documenting links between cancer and toxins, she wrote (1997, p. 79).
Steingraber used two investigative tools related respectively to space and time;
data on environmental contamination newly available throug h federal
right-to-know laws, and data on cancer incidence rates, available through cancer
registries. She is careful to refrain from premature claims: "Like the assembling
of a prehistoric animal' s skeleton, this careful piecing together of evidence can
never furnish final or absolute answers" (1997, p. 29) but she argues that in the
face of incomplete evidence, precautionary policy regarding environmental tox-
ins is a human right.
Scientists who construct argument from autobiographical reference are harshly
disparaged as unscientific and subjective; when the scientist is a woman, such ac-
cusations can easily negate her professional identity. Michael Bryson described
some responses to Living Downstream from critics who "claim that Steingraber' s
scientific critique is poorly executed, unpersuasive and contaminated ... by her
personal narrative" (2001, p. 177). Yet Steingraber refused to be reduced to a scien-
tist without human history. Instead she argued for a human justice approach to
cancer research, based on scientific methods, individual knowledge and experi-
ence, and the right of people to know their ecological roots. Like Gibbs,
Steingraber refused to accept the confines of an identity demanding silence, and
presented her personal history as an enlargement of the scientific voice. However it
is her references to Rachel Carson that best make clear the reasons Steingraber
chose to risk her credibility as a scientist in order to more powerfully make her case
as a survivor and advocate.
Carson was an inspirational source for Steingraber's writings and the subject of
much consideration in the text. Carson is both mentor and accomplice to
Steingraber's disclosures, and Steingraber alternates reflections on Carson's life and
work with her own. Like Steingraber and her friend Jennine Marshall, Carson fell vic-
tim to cancer and like Marshall, Carson died of the disease. Well aware of the pitfalls of
'contaminating' her scientific persona, Carson meticulously avoided self reference in
The Silent Spring and Steingraber mused over Carson's decision in the chapter titled
"Silence": "Rachel strictly forbade any discussion, public or private, about her illness.
This decision was intended to retain the appearance of scientific objectivity as she was
documenting the human cost of environmental contamination" (1997, p. 25). Yet
Carson's attacks on corporate and chemical interest groups, and the apocalyptic "Fa-
ble for Tomorrow," were used to brand her an hysteric; a charge still alive:
While granting the beauty and challenge of Carson's accomplishment, then, we must
on final analysis admit that there remains a trace of unresolved hysteria in the rhetoric
of Silent Spring, which if left unexamined, is liable to prove detrimental to the health of
the emerging environmentalist ego. (Killingsworth & Palmer, 1995, p.15).
Steingraber was ready to confront similar accusations when using her private life
to enter public debate, but the professional risk did not compare to the pain she
read in the correspondence between Carson and Carson's friend Dorothy Free-
man: "Rachel instructed Dorothy to say nothing of her condition ... If need be,
Dorothy was to lie. ' . . . Say ... that you never saw me look better. Please say that.'"
(1997, p. 25). For Steingraber, there is "a personal price each of these women paid
for upholding the code of silence ..." (1997, p. 25). Further, Steingraber insisted
that personal silence allows public complicity in ignoring the truth:
Carson's state of health should have been obvious to anyone who cared to look at her
... In ... photographs [Carson] looks for all intents and purposes like a woman in
treatment for cancer. She wears an unfortunate black wig. Her face and neck exhibit
the distorting puffmess characteristic of radiation. She holds herself in the ginger,
upright manner of one who has undergone surgery. (1997, pp. 25-26.)
Using the language of vision to oppose the self-censuring silence of others,
Steingraber added, "But not seeing is another form of silence" (1997, p. 25).
Steingraber then, takes the opposite tack from Carson's silence and refuses to pres-
ent herself as a scientific voice without a body or a past.
Visual metaphors and the language of looking are stylistically significant in the
rhetoric of Living Downstream and occur throughout the book. "Making visible the
links between cancer and environmental contamination was challenging for Carson,
and the task continues to be daunting" (1997, p. 27). In her autobiographical refer-
ences, Steingraber "makes visible" her life's connection to the land, water, and air of Il-
92 HOPE
linois as a model for her argument that we all have the "right to know our ecological
histories." For Steingraber, a "human rights" approach to cancer research depends on
the abilities of individuals to reveal and share environmental histories of place. "In
this, the story of central Illinois is utterly unexceptional. It receives my scientific atten-
tion not because its history is so unusual but because it is so typical. It receives my de-
votional attention because central Illinois is the source of my ecological roots, and my
search for these roots is part of the story "(Steingraber, 1997, p. xv). Steingraber wished
to reveal what can only be seen by extremes of magnification. In a chapter detailing the
occurrence of cancer in animals, Steingraber wrote, "I wish the [diseased] flounder
beds were as visible to us as the bright interior of a Smithsonian diorama" (1997, p.
144). She analyzed the impact of pesticides and herbicides prevalent in Illinois-grown
soybeans and corn but led readers to their invisible presence by describing in painterly
language her own Boston kitchen. "I like fruit in the fruit bowl, greens in the crisper, a
sack of onions in the cupboard, potatoes under the sink, a wreath of garlic bulbs nailed
to the wall. The more dirt on the carrots the better. I like to visualize my food growing
in the field" (1997, p. 149). Explaining the research of epidemiologists, Steingraber
wrote, "Epidemiologists investigate patterns of diseases in human populations. They
look at the world through a wide-angle lens" (1997, p. 73).
By concentrating her eye on the prairie of Illinois only because she grew up there,
Steingraber confronted directly the tradition of mainstream environmental organi-
zations to focus on places extraordinary in geographic and ecological features. "In Il-
linois, a capillary bed of creeks, streams, forks, and tributaries lies over the land. . . .
And this is only the water that is visible. Under your feet lie pools of groundwater
held in shallow aquifersinterbedded lenses of sand and graveland in the bed-
rock valleys of ancient rivers that lie below" (1997, p. 2). She also offered her readers
poetic ways to reexamine personal geographic histories. In addition to the visual im-
ages presented as enlargements of scientific fact, Steingraber presented childhood
memories of her home state as a place of magic and visual mystery:
On a clear night after the harvest, central Illinois becomes a vast and splendid planetar-
ium ... When I look out the window, the black sky is so inseparable from the plowed,
black earthwhich dots are stars and which are farmhouse lights?that it seems I am
floating in a great, dark, glittering bowl. (1997, p. 1)
The vivid descriptions of land, earth, space, and water enlivened her scientific in-
vestigation of growing up downstream from pollutants and provided relief from
the careful interpretation of data. As a place, Illinois is neither pristine nor wild,
but ordinary and commonly polluted.
The book's chapters telescope in and out between the devotional attention of
the survivor and the scientific attention of the researcher. Some chapters provide
tightly focused close-ups of a personal event before opening out to view a scientific
pattern, others loosely describe a small personal memory before magnifying a
complicated scientific detail. Transitions from personal to scientific and back
again make the links visible. For example, the chapter explaining cancer registries
is titled Time and opens with this sentence: "Like a jury' s verdict or an adoption de-
cree, a cancer diagnosis is an authoritative pronouncement, one with the power to
change your identity" (1997, p. 31). A brief description of Steingraber's emotional
reaction to her diagnosis of bladder cancer follows:
The scene I happen to remember most vividlyand this must have occurred weeks
after my discharge from the hospitalis unlocking my door and discovering that my
roommate had moved out. She did not want to live with a cancer patient. This was
my redefining moment. Fifteen years later, the sight of a bare mattress can still cause
me to burst into tears. (1997, p. 32).
While the bulk of the chapter described methods of statistic gathering, the problems,
findings, research funding, data, and expert conclusions, Steingraber's transitions
from the voice of the young cancer patient into the voice of the scientist illustrated
her ability to infuse even the driest text with human affect." In 1995, an estimated 1.2
million people in the United Statesthirty-four hundred people a daywere told
they had cancer. Each of these diagnoses is a border crossing, the beginning of an un-
planned and unchosen journey. There is a story behind each one" (1997, p. 32). Al-
though bladder cancer was the disease she fought within her own body, it is
Steingraber's stories of breast cancer that are particularly powerful for women read-
ers. Although generations apart, the lives and deaths of Rachel Carson, Steingraber's
intellectual mentor, and Jeannie Mitchell, Steingraber's friend, shape the narrative
and motivate Steingraber's determination to enlarge her own voice.
Five pages of thick numerical analysis of cancer incidence over time are inter-
rupted by memories of Jeannie Mitchell's death in Boston, "The whole concept of
time was unbearable. I wanted to be back in Illinois in the middle of winter. I
wanted to walk across frozen fields. No ocean. No leaves. No boats. She was gone"
(1997, p. 40). More pages of analysis of cancer types; lung cancer, breast cancer,
melanoma, lymphoma, are interspersed by a short description of Steingraber's
visit to Jeannie's grave and another memory:
Last summer she waited with me for hours at the ultrasound clinic. 'They had a
hard time seeing what they wanted to see,' I reported back to her as we finally
walked out the door. ' And then one of the technicians looked at the image in the
monitor and whistled.' She laughed. 'You know that ranks right up there with
'Hey, nice tits!' (1997, p. 46)
Steingraber's autobiographical voice is thus insistently human and especially
female, giving readers a way to connect individual lives to scientific data. The mys-
tery of environmental links to cancer is not solved in this text, but the rhetorical
strategy of enlargement provides readers an understanding of the complexities of
place and the tools to begin their own investigations. Steingraber's latest book con-
tinues to reach out to women. Having Faith: An Ecologisf 's Journey to Motherhood
94 HOPE
(2001), chronicled stage by stage her own pregnancy (with her daughter Faith) , an
investigation of fetal toxicology and the effects of environmental toxins on fetal
development and health.
CONCLUSION
The autobiographical voice creates a compelling rhetorical s tructure in Gibbs '
Love Canal and Steingraber's Living Downstream. Both authors use the experi-
ence and history of illness in their own lives to advocate for environmental ac-
tions that connect citizens to science and geographic place to human health.
Gibbs confessed her psychological and intellectual journey from parochial
housewife to international leader for community organizing in environmental
action. Her trans formation is further marked by a physical liberation from the
domestic space of her home to sites of public power and policy. Steingraber re-
bels against the silence of her intellectual mother, Rachel Carson, and refuses to
keep the secrets of her own bodily illness from the public eye. In rejecting the tra-
ditional separation of scientific data from lived experience Steingraber devel-
oped what she called a human rights approach to ecology and disease. Her
meditations on breast cancer, especially, invite women to reconcile their own
sense of privacy with public action. Her moral stance positions the right to know
our ecological histories with good science.
The figure of enlargement provides a reading of both narratives that enables
readers to use the texts as inspiration and models for action. As Benson (1974) in-
dicated in his original analysis of the Autobiography o f Malcolm X, for autobiogra-
phy to work as a rhetorical form, the motive for the narrator' s actions must be
made "available to ... readers, who are invited to assume their roles as actors in the
drama of enlargement and reconciliation" (Benson, 1974, p. 13). Both Gibbs and
Steingraber invited their readers to overcome political indifference (and potential
victimization) by overturning constraining roles through citizen action.
Gibbs overcame these obstacles by giving readers a dramatic story of her per-
sonal conquest as evidence of the crisis. Even as she is initially motivated by her
role as a mother, she moves beyond the silence of the housewife to community or-
ganizer and public watchdog. Intentionally throwing off a confining identity,
Gibbs inspired her readers that they could do the same. She challenged traditional
perceptions of a woman' s place and in spite of her early timidity, occupied larger
and more public spaces, turning the "typical ... lovely neighborhood ... of neat
bungalows," and "lots of trees," that was Love Canal into a nationally publicized
battleground for environmental responsibility (Gibbs, 1998, p. 26).
Steingraber' s professional credibility as an ecologist is the identity she brings to
her narrative and the scientist's voice dominates the book. Yet because she is deter-
mined to make real the possible connections between cancer and environment she
alternates the voice of the scientist with her own voice as a cancer survivor. Pres-
enting herself as the intellectual daughter of Rachel Carson, Steingraber enlarged
her identity as a scientist by putting her individual self back into the discourse, a
diseased self Carson had purposefully held silent. By creating herself inclusive of
illness, passion, and sorrow, Steingraber's autobiographical voice works as a lens
for readers to see what has previously been invisible in science and in the environ-
ment. Steingraber thus defies the constraint against subjectivity in scientific dis-
course by giving a voice and a life to the scientific persona. In the same way, she
enlarges the details of ecology and cancer, striving to make the clues of mysterious
connections visible.
Both women also subvert the gendered construction of place traditional to the
history of environmentalism by focusing on ordinary communities far from the
wilderness of conservation posters. Although both titles indicate physical spaces,
Love Canal: My Story merges Gibbs' identity with the crisis of a place. Living
Downstream: An Ecologist looks at Cancer and the Environment, immediately
identifies the author as a scientistindeed an ecologist with expert credentials.
In describing their relationships with place, Gibbs and Steingraber see their two
environments differently. The Love Canal neighborhood is but minutes from the
magnificent geology of Niagara Falls, but Gibbs never mentions its beauty or the
position of the Niagara river in the flow of Great Lakes water. Steingraber, writ-
ing about what she called the "unexceptional nature of Central Illinois," dwelled
on the wonder of landscape, rivers and sky, "the extraordinary beauty" of this
"ordinary" place (1997, p. xiv-xv).
There are other differences between these two books. Chronologically the nar-
ratives work from opposite points: Gibbs presses forward, starting with her own
crisis in 1978, she keeps the promise of the future as motivation. She must get the
families out, she must prepare for the next event, and she must plan finally her own
departure from Love Canal, leaving the past and her past self behind. Steingraber
moves the reader backwards, opening the text with her adult visit back to Illinois,
she revisits the scenes of her childhood and her early cancer, and in exploring pos-
sible roots of her disease in the waters and lands of Illinois she even reconstructs
geological time for her readers' instruction. Gibbs, charismatic community orga-
nizer, was a self-identified "housewife with a high-school education" from a work-
ing-class culture as different from Steingraber, an accomplished poet-scientist
with a Ph.D. in biology, as they both are from Marjory Stoneman Douglas, Julia
Butterfly Hill, and the countless others of women environmentalists around the
globe who have elected to tell their stories in the service of environmental advo-
cacy. Yet their narratives echo each other, resounding with the power of autobiog-
raphy as dramas of enlargement for readers across the globe. No doubt, upon
investigation, the writings of other women environmentalists will reveal different
rhetorical strategies, but in these two authors advocacy for environmental justice
has been enlarged immeasurably by the autobiographical voice.
96 HOPE
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CHAPTER SIX
At the 20th Century's Close:
Framing the Public Policy Issue
of Environmental Risk
Donnalyn Pompper
Florida State University
INTRODUCTION
This longitudinal study examined environmental risk
1
representation among com-
peting sources involved in complex environmental policy debates by scrutinizing
how risk was framed for specific newspaper audiences during the late 20th century.
This time period is especially important because it represents the final years of the
millenium wherein the United States witnessed sweeping socioeconomic effects of
the Industrial Revolutionincluding commercial land development, industrial
toxic waste proliferation, and nuclear energy growth. By interpreting such conse-
quences and providing rules of "how to select, order, and explain signals from the
physical world," the news media have come to act as "amplification stations"
(Kasperson, 1992, p. 159). In order to sort through a myriad of potential news items,
journalists have come to rely on framinga convention that involves "selecting and
highlighting some features of reality while omitting others" (Entman, 1993, p. 53).
Thus, this content analysis linked the arenas of mass communication, risk, cultural
studies, sociology, and anthropology to identify sourcing practices and to discover
patterns among environmental risk frames used to appeal to particular social blocs.
1
The terms environmental risk and environmental risk issue are used synonymously in the
current study. The terms were operationalized by combining definitions used in earlier environ-
mental risk issue analyses: (e.g. Bowman & Hanaford, 1977; Downs, 1972; Lacey & Longman,
1993; Riechert, 1996; Riechert & Miller, 1994). A list of 59 key words used to collect news stories
for analysis was developed based on these scholars' definitions. Obviously, key words used for
the news story searches revealed some nonenvironmental risk issue stories. For example, the key
word environment can be used to describe a work environment context. Similarly, the word nu-
clear might be used to describe a nuclear family or nuclear war. Such news stories are not rele-
vant to the current study and were discarded by the principal researcher. Appropriate Boolean
search syntax was used. (continued on next page)
99
100 POMPPER
This study examined the New York Times, USA Today, and the National En-
quirerbecause these three newspapers are distributed nationally, boast large circu-
lations , and generally target readers of specific upper, middle, or lower
socioeconomic class blocs. When viewed in the context of a news production con-
tinuum, these print media differentiate themselves from each other by targeting
distinct cross-sections of the U.S. population. The New York Times is known as a
mainstream, elite newspaper for the upper class. Since the days of yellow journal-
ism, the New York Times has distinguished itself by stressing "information" over
"story" in its writing style in order to appeal to a "relatively select, socially homoge-
neous readership of the well to do" (Schudson, 1978, p. 5). USA Today positions it-
self as a newspaper for everyone, particularly the large middle class in the United
States. Its founder, Allen H. Neuharth, described the newspaper' s niche: "[W]e'd
be glad to let The New York Timeshave the top one or two percent of the intellectu-
als in the country" (Babcock, 1998, p. 2). Furthermore, it has been said that USA
Today "is not in a league with, say, The New York Times," because this colorful,
easy-to-read newspaper is produced for "real people" and "cater[sj to everyone's
hometown" (Kurtz, 1998, p. 126). The National Enquirer, and other weekly tab-
loids produced for lower socioeconomic groups, are increasingly being recognized
by scholars (Bird, 1990; Glynn, 1993; Hinkle & Elliott, 1989) and mainstream
press, such as Newsweek (Pedersen, 1996), as worthy sites for study and news. Evi-
1
(continued)
Air Fuel Power
Atmosphere Fungicide Preserv!
Biodiversity Garbage Protect!
Chemical Glob! Quality
Clean-up Habitat Rare
Climate Hazard! Recycl!
Conserv! Health Resource!
Contaminat! Herbicide Restor!
Danger! Insecticide Risk
Dump Jungle Safe!
Earth Land Save
Earth-Day Litter Scarce
Ecology Natur! Slaughter
Ecosystem Nuclear Solid-waste
Endanger! Outdoors Species
Energy Pesticide Toxi!
Environment! Planet Trash
Extinct! Poach! Water
Fertilizer Poison! Wildlife
Forest Pollut!
6. AT THE 20TH CENTURY' S CLOSE 101
dence suggests that tabloids circulate most heavily among people who are
marginalized by mainstream news media (Bird, 1992), and National Enquirer re-
porters write stories with this audience in mind (Barber, 1982).
Environmental risk policy issues are far-reaching, complex, and controversial,
thereby offering a universal context for mining the framing concept. Despite in-
creased awareness of natural habitat damage, we still lack a global environmental
ethic (Gare, 1995) or a coherent international legal or regulatory regime
(Kasperson & Kasperson, 1991). Indeed, numerous mass communication re-
searchers examined environmental risk news coverage throughout the 1960s and
1970s following a period of intense environmental movement activity.
2
By com-
parison, environmental risk news analysis overall has received less attention be-
yond 1980 in spite of ongoing policy debates. The current study sought to fill this
gap by posing three research hypotheses and two research questions related to
source framing, news media framing, and frame changes over time:
H
1
Print media that target different social blocs will rely on different sources in-
volved in policy debates.
RQ
t
How do these sources, in turn, define environmental risk issues?
H
2a
In reporting environmental risk issues, mainstream newspapers will use
frames that support the status quo.
H
2h
In reporting environmental risk issues, tabloid newspapers will use frames that
emphasize opposition to dominant ideology.
RQ
2
Do frames used in coverage of environmental risk issues shift over time?
REVIEW OF LITERATURE
Literature relevant to this study was reviewed in four contexts: (a) selecting news
and framing; (b) news media apparatus and the social amplification of risk; (c) en-
vironmental risk news and sourcing practices; and (d) journalism as storytelling.
Selecting News & Framing
Using language to create coherent contexts that audiences can relate to has been ana-
lyzed in the disciplines of communication,
3
cognitive psychology, physics, and se-
Scholars who have scrutinized environmental risk issue news of the 1970s and 1980s include
Bowman & Hanaford, 1977; Catton & Dunlap, 1980; Hannigan, 1995; Honnold, 1981; Milbrath,
1984; Shanahan & McComas, 1997.
3
News texts have been examined in the arenas of semiotics (Hartley, 1982), linguistics (de
Saussure, 1974;Fowler, 1991; Halliday, 1978; Sapir, 1929; Whorf, 1956), and sociology (Merton,
1968). Many labels have been attached to this concept; scripts (Schank & Abelson, 1977), proto-
types (Rosch, 1975), paradigms (Kuhn, 1970), stereotypes (Fowler, 1991), schemata (Schutz,
1945), and frames (Entman, 1993; Gamson, 1989; Gamson & Lasch, 1983; Garrison &
Modigliani, 1989; Goffman, 1974; Graber, 1988, 1989; Minsky, 1975; Rachlin, 1988; Rumelhart,
1980; Tuchman, 1978; van Dijk, 1988).
102 POMPPER
mantics. In particular, mass communication researchers have developed numerous
theories over time to explain how news is defined and determined. Conflict between
what is, and what is represented by the news media, raises serious questions about
the sociopolitical implications of the newsmaking process on the world about which
it reports. Use of a popular convention among journalistsframingcrystallizes a
paradigm shift in theoretical underpinning of news analyses because it emphasizes
the human agency component of newsmaking. While combining words to offer a
representation of the world for meaning making may seem innocuous, use of the
framing convention results in news that is far from objective.
Gitlin (1980) modified Gans' (1979) list of theories that explain news selection
by creating three categoriesjo urnal ist-centered theories that suggest professional
newsworkers are capable judges of what's news, the event-centered theories that ar-
gue that news mirrors the actual nature of the world, and news-as-social-construct
theories that emphasize news as a product of human agency.
Even though contemporary journalists believe that they reflect reality and vow
to ethically report news fairly and objectively, deep analyses of news production
have discredited the event-centered theories and eschewed their mirror metaphor
(Glasgow University Media Group, 1976, 1980; Hall, 1979). Similarly, the journal-
ist-centered theories have been resolutely criticized. Journalists, as humans who
must perform their function efficiently and on deadline, rely on routines and con-
ventions such as framing to facilitate quick closure on how news means.
How does framing work? News frames are rooted in a shared vocabulary with
meanings that a heterogeneous mass audience "steeped in the same culture readily
understand [s]" (Graber, 1989, p. 151). Frames "determine what the story is about"
(Griffin & Dunwoody, 1997, p. 363) by sorting "mere happenings or mere talk"
(Tuchman, 1978, p. 192) into "tacit mental categories" (Fowler, 1991, p. 17). For
example, framing a dictator as "another Hitler" lends deeper meaning to a news
story because it evokes images of genocide, persecution, and racial discrimination
(Graber, 1989, p. 148). Thus, by "trans form[ing] mere happenings into publicly
discussable events" (Tuchman, 1978, p. 3) and slicing "strips" of the everyday
world (Goffman, 1974, pp. 10-11), newsworkers more closely resemble producers
than mirrors or unbiased conduits (Fowler, 1991; Galtung & Ruge, 1973). Thus,
news is characterized as a value-laden, manufactured, social construction shaped
by complex subjective processes (Berger & Luckmann, 1966; Carey, 1986; Gans,
1979; Tuchman, 1978).
The current study builds upon framing theory and the news-as-social-
construct theories by also considering influences located in social conditions out-
side the news organization, such as "the most powerful news sources" (Gitlin,
1980, pp. 250-1) who often make themselves available as sociocultural resources,
or "information subsidies" (Gandy, 1982, p. 61). Key to combining these con-
structs is the common human agency component.
Indeed, sources routinely frame their information subsidies to make them
palatable to journalis ts . Several communication scholars have probed j ournal-
6. AT THE 20TH CENTURY'S CLOSE 103
ists' dependence on authoritative sources, suggesting that their frames shape
news accounts in ways favorable to institutions, at the expense of non-elites. In
particular, framing has been examined in policy-conflict issue studies where par-
ties compete to influence how issues are represented for audiences. The news
frame format promotes an "imprint of power" and hegemony is continually re-
created by the dominant social class as a result of challenges posed by
oppositional cultural elements (Entman, 1993, p. 55; Williams, 1977). Thus,
framing lends insight into our culture and how meaning is produced within, be-
tween, and among people and institutions.
News Media Apparatus and the Social Amplification of Risk
To analyze the source-journalist sponsorship of environmental news frames, it is
important to scrutinize the larger context of mass media as an ideologically
loaded apparatus and social amplifier. According to Althusser (1971), capitalism
reproduces itself in more covert than overt waysexploitation and repression
by the powerful in an established order occur through apparatuses such as an ed-
ucation system, a political system, and through cultural systems such as the
church and the mass media.
All apparatuses involved in the process of structuring and reshaping consent
and consensus through dominant ideology are called ideological state apparatuses
(Althusser, 1971). Hall (1979) enumerated the prominent social functions of the
mass media apparatus as a: (a) constructor of social knowledge through images,
meanings, practices, and values; (b) reflector of social plurality through preferred
meanings and interpretations; and (c) producer of consensus through a process of
argument, exchange, debate, consultation, and speculation. Gramsci (1971) pos-
ited that a central feature of hegemony is its fluidity. Contradictions within domi-
nant ideology and emergent voices of opposition provide for counter-hegemonic
realities (Rachlin, 1988). Thus, it may be possible over time to expose how some
news media provide "information and values subversive to the capitalistic logic of
our society" (Lowe & Morrison, 1984, p. 89).
Unless a risk is observed by human beings and communicated to others, it
may be socially irrelevant Luhmann, (as cited in Kasperson, 1992). According to
the social amplification of risk model, the news media operate as an "amplifica-
tion station" using symbols, signals, imagery to provide rules of "how to select,
order, and explain signals from the physical world" (Kasperson, 1992, p. 159).
Consistent with this linear model, a physical event triggers the amplification pro-
cess. Next, individuals, groups, and institutions serve as "amplification sta-
tions," involved in eight steps: passing through attention filters, decoding
signals, drawing inferences, comparing the decoded messages with other mes-
sages, evaluating messages, forming specific beliefs, rationalizing belief systems,
and forming a propens ity to take corres ponding actions ( Renn, Burns ,
Kasperson, Kasperson, & Slovic, 1992, pp. 140, 142). Amplification stations may
104 POMPPER
be advocacy groups, private citizens, or the news media, which encode texts by
framing risk issues for decoding message receivers.
The social amplification of risk model has proven useful in studies of events
such as biological hazards, persistent-delayed hazards, rare catastrophes, threats
to life, and natural and radiological hazards. It has been suggested that the print
news media's processing of risk contributed substantially to a risk event's socio-
economic impacts (Renn, et al., 1992). The current study suggests that news
frames determine the course of the social amplification of risk model's ripple ef-
fects as they touch victims, as well as country, region, town, company, industry,
and technologies. Thus, this chapter examines the news media as an apparatus that
incorporates source-journalist sponsorships in processing and attenuating envi-
ronmental risk.
Environmental Risk News and Sourcing Practices
The environment, its protection and management, affects all inhabitants of planet
Earth. Scholars have linked environmentalis m (Lowe & Morris on, 1984;
Schoenfeld, Meier, & Griffin, 1979) and risk avoidance (Golding, 1992) as
sociopolitical issues since the late 1960s. Furthermore, environmental risk issues
have been categorized as a subset of science news (Salomone, Greenberg, Sand-
man, & Sachsman, 1990). Overall, analyses of environmental news coverage have
focused on growth in environmental awareness, environmental news effects, and
the subsequent growth of environmental advocacy groups, news coverage patterns
over time, and problems with environmental risk news.
Historically, environmental risk aversion and awareness has become a wide-
spread social phenomenon among Western societies (Yearley, 1991). In particu-
lar, conservationists worked during the late 19th and early 20th centuries to
reserve public lands for national parks following exploitation of the New World's
plentiful and cheap lands (McConnell, 1954). The risk assessment and manage-
ment fields grew (Krimsky & Golding, 1992; Tiemann, 1987) in conjunction with
the ecology movement of the 1960s, and environmentalism today represents peo-
ple's grassroots response to the adverse effects of modernity (Gare, 1995). In fact,
Milbrath (1984) suggested that environmentalism has become a permanent fix-
ture in modern industrial societies.
The risk-environment intersection is most conspicuous when controversy is
involved, such as the hazardous potential of nuclear power and other technologies
(Gamson & Modigliani, 1989; Nelkin, 1987) and man-made, industry-related di-
sasters.
4
Furthermore, news media coverage of natural disasters that pose risk to
humans, such as plague or blight (Lacey & Longman, 1993; Singer, 1990) and
weather-related catastrophes (Walters & Hornig, 1993) link risk with environ-
4
Studies of news media coverage of non-natural disasters include Brown, 1987; Bowman &
Fuchs, 1981; Downs, 1972; Friedman, Gorney, & Egolf, 1987; Gans, 1979; Molotch& Lester, 1974.
mental issues. In order to facilitate this information transfer, journalists attempt to
take the technical language of risk analyses and transform it into comprehensible
texts that the public can easily understand and use (Goodfield, 1983).
Much literature considers where consumers obtain environmental news and
how they use it. While not the focus of the current study, it is important to recog-
nize that people use news media as a primary source for environmental qual-
ity-risk information, (Dunwoody & Neuwirth, 1991; Friedman, 1991; Mazur,
1990; Nelkin, 1987) which shapes their environmental risk perceptions
(Hannigan, 1995; Sandman, Weinstein, & Kloz, 1987; Slovic, 1987; Wilkins &
Patterson, 1987). Environmental risk messages produced for a variety of mass me-
dia have been extremely popular, including special network television programs,
green products' ecological features emphasized by advertising agencies, increased
production of environmental paperback books, and publication of magazines de-
voting entire issues to nature protection (Hannigan, 1995; Rubin & Sachs, 1973).
Several scholars have examined the rise of environmental advocacy groups in con-
junction with increased attention to the environment (Novic & Sandman, 1974;
Wiebe, 1973) and growing dissonance between the public and political leaders.
Not only have government agencies and politicians been unable to agree on the
best policies to manage the environment, but the public has been excluded from
debates. Thus, non-legitimated power brokers, or "outsiders" such as community
activists (Funtowicz & Ravetz, 1992, p. 268), have forced their way into the dia-
logue (Brown, 1987) by taking to the streets to demonstrate their convictions.
During the controversy stage, two fairly distinct sides usually emerge with a face off
between the establishment and the challengers (Mazur, 1990).
Several longitudinal studies have tracked the quantity of environmental risk
news coverage over time. A weekly newsmagazine study suggested that journal-
ists' attention to ecology was extremely low in the 1960s, but grew in prominence
by the 1970s (Funkhouser, 1973) leading to new protective U.S. policies (Cole,
1993) and the staging of the first Earth Day on April 22, 1970 (Hannigan, 1995).
During the 1980s and early 1990s, news magazine attention to environmental is-
sues fell jus t short of pre-1970 levels (Bowman & Hanaford, 1977), and many
newspapers dropped environment beats (Friedman, 1983) and failed to offer in-
formation that the public needed to make environmental risk decisions (Sand-
man, Sachsman, Greenberg, & Gochfield, 1987). Environmental risk coverage
on network television decreased in the 1990s (Shanahan & McComas, 1997) and
offered little information that the public could use (Greenberg, Sachsman, Sand-
man, & Salomone, 1989). To understand the ebb and flow of media attention to
environmental risk, scholars have suggested invoking wider cultural resonances
(Hansen, 1991; Rayner, 1992) and underscored the morality lesson surrogate
role served by environmental risk issues (Beck, 1995). For example, coverage of
fluoridation during the 1950s reflected American concerns about strong govern-
ment and weak individual liberties. The energy crisis in the mid-1970s meshed
with public concern about nuclear energy. The news media framed Chernobyl as
106 POMPPER
an accident early on, but later framed the issue as a potential danger among do-
mestic nuclear reactors (Earle & Cvetkovich, 1995).
Other longitudinal studies have probed the quality of environmental risk news
coverage over time. Even though the news media almost always consider environ-
mental risk issues to be newsworthy (Bell, 1994) and science writing has become
more specialized over the past 20 years (Friedman, Dunwoody, & Rogers, 1986), en-
vironmental risk news quality has come under fire. During the 1980s, news coverage
of commercial, promotional aspects of environmental risk supplanted political im-
plications and causes (Lacey & Longman, 1993; Wilkins & Patterson, 1987, 1990).
Furthermore, coverage has focused on dramahigh-consequence, low-probability
risks (Earle & Cvetkovich, 1995), resulting in simple human-interest discourse
(Killingsworth & Palmer, 1992) that absolves journalists of addressing the more
complex environmental picture (Dunwoody & Griffin, 1993).
Environmental coverage's shortcomings have been traced to journalists' lack of
training and reliance on scientists, private industry representatives, and bureaucrats
as news sources. Improperly trained journalists often enable elite sources to provide
their own slant on an issue since environmental reporting involves gathering diffi-
cult-to-acquire-and-understand science and political information.
5
When this hap-
pens, the goals and aims of environmental beat reporters and risk experts, or
informed sources, can become closely tied (Wilkins, 1993). Such collaboration has
been called "fact by triangulation" (Fishman, 1980, p. 20), "information transfer"
(Sigal, 1973, p. 125), and "information triangle" (Dunwoody & Ryan, 1983, p. 647).
Whatever the name, the effect is the same. In producing environmental news, the
media rely on authoritative sources for the technical, quantitative, scientific data,
and government policy elements (Cole, 1993; Tourney, 1996), and on laypeople for
the nontechnical color, emotion, and human elements (Molotch & Lester, 1974;
Sandman, Weinstein, et al., 1987). Combined, these elements constitute an environ-
mental risk news story. This passive approach promotes acceptance of sources on
blind faith and advances elitism (Nelkin, 1987; Salomone, et al., 1990).
Journalism as Storytelling
Previous sections of this literature review have explored news selection and fram-
ing, the news media apparatus, and environmental risk news sourcing practices.
This section examines journalism as ideologically loaded storytelling, while com-
paring and contrasting mainstream and supermarket tabloid newspaper narra-
tives produced for audiences situated differently within the social order.
Many mass media scholars have characterized journalism as contemporary sto-
rytelling. Even though few mainstream journalists would classify their work this
Researchers who have examined the quality of environmental reporting include Cole, 1993;
Nelkin, 1987; Sandman, Sachsman, 1987a; West, Sandman, & Greenburg, 1995; Wilkins &
Patterson, 1990; Witt, 1974.
way, the narratives they produce reveal much about how our culture makes mean-
ing.
6
Like all literary acts, journalism provides audiences with models for selecting
enemies and allies (Burke, 1989). For example, Fishman (1980) found that news
stories about crimes against the elderly framed senior citizens as helpless victims
and vilified institutions. Yet, while all narrative forms represent comparable sites
for scrutinizing ideology, not all storytelling media are regarded the same way.
Both mainstream newspapers and weekly supermarket tabloids use similar news
production methods and a style that involves finding the story within an event and
shaping it to fit a particular construction of-reality (Bird, 1990). However, critics
differentiate the two types of storytelling media.
Mainstream newspapers are respectable press produced to inform elites, while
weekly supermarket tabloids are produced to entertain social blocs marginalized
by class, gender, and educational distribution (Bird, 1992). Consequently, main-
stream newspapers are perceived as official, conventional, traditional, and legiti-
mate news p urvey ors , and convers ely, s up ermarket tabloids often are
characterized as second-tier media with sensational, outlandish, and fantastic sto-
ries (Glynn, 1993). Even though Editor & Publisher once called the National En-
quirer "the most accurate paper in the country" (Barber, 1982, p. 49) and
Newsweek applauded the tabloids for increasingly covering "perfectly legitimate
news stor[ies]" (Pedersen, 1996, p. 26), tabloids are accused of exaggerating, get-
ting details wrong, and taking events out of context.
Journalists produce stories relevant to particular conditions of social existence
(Glynn, 1993) and in the process, diverse worldviews are promoted. Mainstream
newspapers advance the hegemony of dominant social blocs while supermarket
tabloids tend to undermine them by "subvert[ing] the norms of official journal-
ism" and "interrupt[ing] certain circuits of sociocultural power" (Glynn, 1993, p.
19). Overall, supermarket tabloids sustain a sense of popular antagonism toward
dominant blocs since readers believe that big business, government, media, and
scientists have their own agenda and are "conspiring against the people" (Bird,
1992, p. 130). Therefore, analyzing both mainstream newspapers and supermar-
ket tabloids as cultural capital that merely occupy different points along a storytell-
ing continuum and are circulated among audiences of different socioeconomic
status may facilitate a more well-rounded understanding of the public policy issue
of environmental risk and how media portray and influence perceptions of it.
METHOD
Issues critical to this study are selective definition of environmental risk issues by
different sources, news media emphasis of different frames depending on sources
cited, and shifts in competing frames over time. The content analysis method was
6
Researchers who have examined journalism as storytelling include Barkin, 1984; Darnton,
1975; Bird & Dardenne, 1988; Campbell, 1991; Nord, 1989; Park, 1940; van Dijk, 1988.
108 POMPPER
used for its utility in studying a culture' s changing themes, ideas, issues, and dilem-
mas (Weber, 1984), as well as messages' encoding. The strength of Catpac (CATe-
gory PACkage) software from Terra Research and Computing, Inc. (Woelfel,
1998) lies in its ability to read a nearly unlimited amount of text, reveal complex
patterns associated with word clusters based on frequency and content, and graph-
ically depict these patterns (Barnett, 1996; Woelfel, 1993).
7
The 1983-1997 sample years for this content analysis represent most of the
1980s and 1990s. These newspapers were selected because all three are distributed
nationally, boast large circulations, and target varying social blocs among the
American population:
1. The New York Times, a mains tream, elite daily newspaper of record
(5,475 issues).
2. USA Today, "The Nation' s Newspaper" (no Sunday edition) (4, 680 issues).
8
3. The National Enquirer, a weekly tabloid that appeals to lower socioeconomic
groups (780 issues).
A random sample of 180 weeks was drawn for content analysis using a Perpetual
Calendar and Random Numbers chart (1 week per month over the course of 15
years for each of the three newspapers). All articles from these weeks became part
of the sample. This random technique enabled comparison of coverage during like
time periods across three newspapers (Lacey & Longman, 1993; Riffe, Aust, &
Lacy, 1993). Searches using a key word-compatible electronic database, a print in-
dex, and manual reading were then conducted of sample weeks to collect a wide
range of full text environmental risk news stories. Lexis-Nexis was used as the pri-
mary database for the New York Times 1983 through 1997 and for USA Today 1989
through 1997. A print index was used to collect full text news articles of USA Today
from 1983 through 1988 because this information is not available electronically.
Contents of the National Enquirer were manually searched, also because this infor-
mation is not available electronically, using key words to identify germane stories.
All news stories were downloaded or scanned (or typed manually where text qual-
ity was poor) and saved as ASCII text.
9
News stories resulting from key word searches were content analyzed using
Catpac, a set of unsupervised self-organizing artificial neural network ( ANN)
7
Detailed description of a Catpac dendogram is "tedious" and can detract from unders tand-
ing the usefulness of Catpac (Woelfel, 1993, p. 74). What is s ignificant about the technique is the
neural networks' capacity to assimilate huge quantities of text in order to provide frequencies
used to identify patterns.
8
The first full year of publication for USA Today was 1983.
9
No free-standing photographs or graphics were included in the analysis, as the visual com-
ponents associated with the texts would constitute a different kind of study. For round-up news
stories, only paragraphs relating to environmental risk issues were content analyzed.
computer programs designed to perform semantic network analysis. Simply,
Catpac identifies the most frequently used words in a text and determines patterns
of similarity based on the way the words are used in text (Woelfel, 1998).
10
The re-
sulting words-by-words matrix of cooccurrences represents a compilation of the
connection weights among the neurons, showing associations between all the
words in a given text. The matrix then serves as a basis for further analysis, such as
cluster analysis.
FINDINGS
A random sample of 6,378 environmental risk news stories representing 15 years'
coverage (180 weeks) in three nationally circulated newspapers underwent Catpac
analysis. This hypothesis was supported.
H
1
Print media that target different social blocs will rely on different sources in-
volved in policy debates.
Table 6.1 and Fig. 6.1 show environmental risk news sources cited in The New
York Times, USA Today, and National Enquirer, calculated as the percentage of to-
tal sources cited in each newspaper in which the source label appeared. Among the
5,127 New York Times, environmental risk stories, sources most frequently cited
were: government (52.4%), industry (19.4%), public (11.8%), interest groups
The neural model works by creating a words-by-words matrix called a WIN, or weight-
input-network matrix. Catpac treats each word as a neuron as it moves a scanning window
through text. Each window represents a case, wherein neurons representing words are activated
and then deactivated, decaying over time when the scanning window disappears (Woelfel,
1993). Neurons, or words, become positively interconnected in the network when they are si-
multaneously active in the window. Those that seldom or never co-occur become negatively in-
terconnected. As the scanning window moves through the text, Catpac performs calculations
not only for neurons-words that are active in the window, but also determines what other neu-
rons are activated as a result of their connections to the active neurons. Several steps were in-
volved in this analysis: 1) News stories were formatted into ASCII text and organized into files to
facilitate comparisons according to newspaper name and time period. 2) Source types (govt.
[government], ind. [indus try], pub. [public, including unaffiliated researchers], inter, [interest
group], oth. [other], unat. [unattributed]) were manually inserted into text by three readers.
This was done so that the Catpac procedures would report the specific words associated with
each source type. The source type list was developed from earlier analyses of the relationship be-
tween the environment and the news media (Sandman, Sachsman, et al., 1987; Spears et al.,
1995). Sources were cited directly or indirectly in newspaper stories. 3) Next, the dendogram re-
sulting from Catpac cluster analysis was examined as a graphic illustration of relationships be-
tween words used by the various sources and newspapers. These word clusters then were
interpreted as frames. 4) Finally, the frames were closely examined against original texts in order
to discern the context from which each frame emerged. News stories in the sample were read
many times by the principal researcher in order to illuminate word clusters, or frames, identified
as a result of Catpac analyses. Such qualitative interpretation complemented and strengthened
the quantitative computer outputs.
TABLE 6.1
Environmental Risk News Source Frequencies 1983-1997
Government Sources
Industry Sources
Public Sources
Interest Group Sources
Other Sources
Unattributed Sources
TOTAL
New York Times
%
52.4
19.4
11.8
11.6
3.9
.9
100
USA Today
%
36.8
25.4
16.9
15.4
3.8
1.7
100
National Enquirer
%
31.5
7.4
41.0
13.9
5.2
1.0
100
I )
FIG. 6.1. Environmental risk news source frequencies 1983-1997.
110
(11.6%), other (3.9%)," and unattributed (. 9%).
12
Among the 1,150 USA Today
stories, the most frequently cited sources were government (36.8%), industry
(25. 4%) , the public (16. 9%), interest groups (15. 4%) , other (3. 8%), and
unattributed (1.7%). Among the 101 National Enquirer stories, the most fre-
quently cited sources were the public (41.0%), government (31.5%), interest
groups (13.9%), industry (7.4%), other (5.2%), and unattributed (1%).
RQ
t
How do these sources, in turn, define environmental issues?
Semantic network analysis revealed word clusters that formed around
source labelsas illustrated in dendograms and were interpreted as frames and
named. See footnote 10.
As the official assessors of environmental risk, government and industry
sources cited in The New York Times promoted an EPA & Nuclear Power-Safety &
Research frame. See Tables 6.2 & 6.3. In USA Today, government and industry
sources cited in environmental risk stories used a Power-Energy Industry Prob-
lems frame. In the National Enquirer, government, public and industry sources ad-
vanced a Government Grants & Hazards frame.
11
Sources labeled other were those that did not fit comfortably as government, industry, in-
terest group or public sources. Primarily, they were sources such as college professors, scientists,
specialists, analysts, observers, experts, critics, opponents, studies, reports that were not funded
or otherwise associated with a government, industry, or interest group source.
12
Sources labeled unattributed in The New York Times, USA Today, and the National Enquirer
appeared to be as vague as sources, others, or lacked clear attribution with phrasing written in
passive voice such as, "it is believed that. . . " "many say ..." "some s us pect. . . " "according to esti-
mates ..."
TABLE 6.2
Government News Source Environmental Risk Frames 1983-1997
New York Times USA Today National Enquirer
EPA & Nuclear Power-Energy Government Grants
Power-Safety & Research Industry Problems & Hazards
(Company, Federal, Power, (Air, State, Govt, Year, (Animals, Govt, I, Pub, Day,
Problem, New, Safety, Nu- Going, Ind, Government, US, Going, Think, Fire, Put,
clear, Research, EPA, Year, Time, Down, Energy, Ex- Little, Year, Declared, Ind,
Govt, Ind, Part, Service) pected, Industry, I, Major, Find, Gas, Government,
People, Problem, Big, New, Million, Grant, Home)
Clean, Million, Others, Sea,
Plant, Power)
Frames promoted by members of the public were framed as Cancer Cases in
The New York Times. See Table 6.4. The public and employees expressed clear con-
cern about health risks associated with environmental issues. Likewise, the public
promoted a Pollution & Toxic Waste-Natural Environment frame in USA Today.
In the National Enquirer, public sources talked about environmental risk news
within a Government Grants & Hazards frame. Citizens and residents addressed
environmental issues such as surviving fire and other industrial accidents, revers-
ing adverse effects of chemicals, and preparing for future energy shortages.
Interest groups' comments in The New York Times clustered within an Energy
Industry & Workers-Research frame. See Table 6.5. These stories involved interest
groups' recommendations for addressing environmental risk. In USA Today, in-
112 POMPPER
TABLE 6.3
Industry News Source Environmental Risk Frames 1983-1997
EPA & Nuclear Power-Energy Government Grants
Power-Safety & Research Industry Problems & Hazards
(Company, Federal, Power, (Air, State, Govt, Year, (Animals, Govt, I, Pub, Day,
Problem, New, Safety, Nu- Going, Ind, Government, US, Going, Think, Fire, Put,
clear, Research, EPA, Year, Time, Down, Energy, Ex- Little, Year, Declared, Ind,
Govt, Ind, Part, Service) pected, Industry, I, Major, Find, Gas, Government,
People, Problem, Big, New, Million, Grant, Home)
Clean, Million, Others, Sea,
Plant, Power)
TABLE 6.4
Public News Source Environmental Risk Frames 1983-1997
Cancer Cases Pollution & Toxic Government Grants
Waste-Natural & Hazards
Environment
(Among, University, Case, (Area, Pollution, River, (Animals, Govt, I, Pub, Day,
Known, High, Pub, Near, Week, Long, Without, US, Going, Think, Fire, Put,
Used, Cancer, Town, Peo- Think, Water, Company, Little, Year, Declared, Ind,
ple, Species, Garbage, Oth, Trees, High, Pub, Least, Na- Find, Gas, Government,
Office, Project) tional, Toxic, Waste) Million, Grant, Home)
TABLE 6.5
Interest Group News Source Environmental Risk Frames 1983-1997
Energy Industry Federal Environmental God & Life-Taxpayers
& Workers-Research Research & National Enquirer
Readers
(Commission, Park, New (Already, Environmental, (Can' t, City, Food, Money,
York, Workers, Found, I, Mil- Group, Home, Day, Presi- Human, World, Stop, Tax-
lion, Recent, Department, dent, Earth, Near, Can't, payers, God, Life, Lion, Old,
Gas, Energy, Industry, Group, Study, Inter, US, Gallons, Inter, National Enquirer,
Study, Inter, Site) Know, Several, Today) Readers, Water)
terest group sources represented the movement and invoked a Federal Environ-
mental Research frame. In the National Enquirer, interest groups characterized
environmental risk news within a God & Life-Taxpayers & National Enquirer
Readers frame. These stories encouraged National Enquirer readers to join the
newspaper' s letter-writing campaigns designed to stop expenditures of tax-
payer-supported resources to countries and programs that misused the resources
and abused animals around the world.
H
2a
In reporting environmental issues, mainstream newspapers will use frames
that support the status quo.
This hypothesis was supported. Results overwhelmingly suggest that sources most
frequently cited in The New York Times and USA Today during 1983-1997 were gov-
ernment and industry spokespeople who represented the status quo. See Fig. 6.2.
Furthermore, elite sources were cited most often in conjunction with energy
generation issues in both mainstream newspapers. See Table 6.6. Nearly three
quarters (71.8%) of all sources cited in The New York Times environmental risk
news stories represented hegemonic institutions-federal, state, county, or local
government (52.4%), or company officials, spokespeople, plant managers, indus-
try experts, or groups (19.4%). By comparison, public sources (11.8%) and inter-
est group sources (11.6%) combined constituted less than one-fourth (23.4%) of
sources cited in The New York Times' environmental risk news.
USA Today also relied most heavily on government sources (36.8%) and industry
sources (25.4%), meaning that nearly two-thirds (62.2%) of sources cited in USA
Today's environmental risk news coverage represented dominant, hegemonic insti-
tutions. By comparison, public sources (16.9%) and interest group sources (15.4%)
together accounted for only about one-third (32.3%) of sources cited in USA Today
environmental risk news during the 1983-1997 time period. Thus, USA Today
114 POMPPER
FIG. 6.2. Elite & nonelite sources.
sources had a slightly more popular orientation than New York Times sources, but
the balance still favored hegemonic institutions in both newspapers.
Beyond dominating mainstream newspapers' environmental risk coverage,
government and industry sources clustered closely together in news frames. In The
New York Times, for example, government and industry sources emerged as part of
a EPA & Nuclear Power-Safety & Research frame. Similarly, in USA Today, gov-
ernment and industry source labels also both emerged as part of the same
Power-Energy Industry Problems frame.
Government sources' promoted their institutionalized responsibilities to legislate,
investigate and decide on matters of environmental risk. As suggested by the EPA &
Nuclear Power-Safety & Research and Power-Energy Industry Problems frames, gov-
ernment sources usually characterized environmental risk in terms of power or energy
generation and the research, money, and time necessary to reduce dependence on for-
eign fossil fuels and to regulate domestic manufacture of nuclear power. For their part,
industry spokespeople debated their ability to manufacture cost-effective, quality
power services within a regulatory framework designed to preserve natural resources,
protect worker safety, and ensure that adequate research had been performed.
TABLE 6.6
Elite Sources and Frames 1983-1997
% Frame % Frame % Frame
Government 52.4 EPA & Nuclear Power-Safety 36.8 Power-Energy Industry Problems 31.5 Government Grants & Hazards
Sources & Research
(Air, State, Govt, Year, Going, Ind, (Animals, Govt, I, Pub, Day, US,
(Company, Federal, Power, Prob- Government, Time, Down, En- Going, Think, Fire, Put, Little,
lem, New, Safety, Nuclear, Re- ergy, Expected, Industry, I, Major, Year, Declared, Ind, Find, Gas,
search, EPA, Year, Govt, Ind, Part, People, Problem, Big, New, Clean, Government, Million, Grant,
Service) Million, Others, Sea, Plant, Power) Home)
Industry 19.4 EPA & Nuclear Power 25 .4 Power-Energy Industry Problems 7.4 Government Grants & Hazards
Sources Safety & Research
(Air, State, Govt, Year, Going, Ind, (Animals, Govt, I, Pub, Day, US,
(Company, Federal, Power, Prob- Government, Time, Down, En- Going, Think, Fire, Put, Little,
lem, New, Safety, Nuclear, Re- ergy, Expected, Industry, I, Major, Year, Declared, Ind, Find, Gas,
search, EPA, Year, Govt, Ind, Part, People, Problem, Big, New, Clean, Government, Million, Grant,
Service) Million, Others, Sea, Plant, Power) Home)
TOTAL 71.8 62.2 38.9
115
Ul
116 POMPPER
H
2b
In reporting environmental issues, tabloid newspapers will use frames that
emphasize opposition to dominant ideology.
This hypothesis was s upported. Combined, nonelite public (41. 0%) and in-
terest group (13. 9%) sources promoted slightly more than half (54. 9%) of the
viewpoints about environmental risk issues, as printed in the National En-
quirer. See Tables 6.6 & 6.7. By comparison, elite government (31. 5%) and in-
dustry sources (7. 4%) were cited less frequently in the National Enquirer than
nonelite sources, cons tituting only about two-fifths of all s ources cited
(38. 9%), compared with roughly three quarters in The New York Times and
two-thirds in USA Today.
Government, industry, and public source labels emerged in the National En-
quirer in a Government Grants & Hazards frame and interest group source labels
emerged as part of the God & Life-Taxpayers & National Enquirer Readers
frame. However, the grouping of public source labels with government and in-
dustry does not indicate agreement among these sources. On the contrary, pub-
lic and interest groups' views expressed in the National Enquirer were generally
counter-hegemonic and sometimes hostile toward the status quo. Frames cre-
atively challenged power structures, often referring to "the money-wasting bu-
reaucrat" (Lee, 2000, p. 455). This tabloid frequently cited government officials
who criticized the establishment for wasting taxpayers' money and vilified their
colleagues as spendocrats, and characterized scientists as eggheads. Further-
more, the public criticized government fund waste and indus try sources com-
plained about strict government regulations that interfered with commerce.
Nearly all sources cited in National Enquirer environmental risk news promoted
counter-hegemonic views.
RQ
2
Do frames used in coverage of environmental issues shift over time?
Results suggested that frames remained thematically fixed over the years, but a
handful of unique frames that distinguished contemporaneous issues and events.
A total of 90 frames emerged from semantic network analyses: 30 for each of
three newspapers based on 10 frames for each of three increments of five years
(1983-1987, 1988-1992, 1993-1997.) See Tables 6.8, 6.9 and 6.10. Among the 90
news frames shaped by clusters of words bearing close relationships, three major
themes became apparent. The Power & Energy Generation theme joined stories
about power production based on fossil fuel burning and nuclear fusion. The
Toxic Waste & Pollution theme linked stories about environmental damage and
health hazards posed by manufacturing processes and byproducts, as well as gar-
bage. The Conservation & Preservation of Wildlife theme connected stories about
species protection and preservation of habitat.
VJ
TABLE 6.7
Non-Elite Sources and Frames 1983-1997
% Frame % Frame % Frame
Public Sources 11.8 Cancer Cases 16.9 Pollution & Toxic Waste- 41.0 Government Grants & Hazards
Natural Environment
(Among, University, Case, (Animals, Govt, I, Pub, Day, US,
Known, High, Pub, Near, Used, (Area, Pollution, River, Week, Going, Think, Fire, Put, Little,
Cancer, Town, People, Species, Long, Without, Think, Water, Year, Declared, Ind, Find, Gas,
Garbage, Oth, Office, Project) Company, Trees, High, Pub, Government, Million, Grant,
Least, National, Toxic, Waste) Home)
Interest Group 11.6 Energy Industry 6- Workers- 15.4 Federal Environmental Research 13.9 God & Life I Taxpayers
Sources Research & National Enquirer Readers
(Already, Environmental, Group,
(Commission, Park, New York, Home, Day, President, Earth, (Can' t, City, Food, Money, Hu-
Workers, Found, I, Million, Re- Near, Can't, Study, Inter, US, Gal- man, World, Stop, Taxpayers,
cent, Department, Gas, Energy, Ions, Know, Several, Today) God, Life, Lion, Old, Inter, Na-
Industry, Group, Study, Inter, tional Enquirer, Readers, Water)
Site)
TOTAL 23.4 32.3 54.9
DISCUSSION
Framing theory provided a solid basis for this study's discovery of relationships
among environmental risk issues, source groups, and newspaper coverage. Net-
work analysis revealed important word clusters that were interpreted as frames,
named, and examined to reveal how source groups in mainstream and tabloid
news framed environmental risk policy issues over a 15-year period.
118 POMPPER
TABLE 6.8
Major Themes for Environmental Risk News Frames New York Times 1983-1987,
1988-1992, 1993-1997
Major 1983-1987 1988-1992 1993-1997 # of
Theme Frame:
Toxic Waste Toxic Landfill Issues Legislating Federal Government 13
& Pollution Environmental Waste Health Studies
Cancer & Garbage
Cleanup Studying Recycling Issue Monitoring Cancer-
Lead & Chemical Waste
Health & Environment Chemicals, Gas & Energy-
Pollution-Health Local Local Environmental
EPA Report Issues
on Hazardous Waste Federal Government-
Toxins in the Natural Federal Pollution
Environment Research
Global Warming
Conservation Federal Forest Public Areas & Species Local Wildlife 8
& Conservation Conservation
Preservation & Managing Pollution Wildlife Risks
of Wildlife & Conservation Property Development
Development & Wildlife & Wildlife
Protection Fish & Indus try
Legislation Adminis tering
Conservation
Power Nuclear & Chemical Federal Nuclear Environmental
& Energy Plants-Accidents Problem ProblemsFuel
Generation & Safety Indus try
Federal Government Nucleur Power Issue in
Power Generation New York
Impact of Energy
Proposal
TOTAL 9 8 10 27
119
TABLE 6.9
Major Themes for Environmental Risk News Frames USA Today 1983-1987,
1988-1992, 1993-1997
Major 1983-1987 1988-1992 1993-1997 # of
Theme Frames
Toxic Waste & Chemical-Gas Indus- Federal Studies of Pollution's Global Warming 13
Pollution try-Pollution & Waste Health Impact
Problem Toxic Threats
Pollutants & Recycling: to Natural World
Congress & Superfund Federal Programs
Program
Industry Byproducts
Federal Govern- & Environmental Impact
ment-Toxins & Health
Cancer Sites
Cancer-New Jersey &
New York Coast Officials & Workers-Spills &
Drought
EDB Damage &
Cleanup EPA-Measurable Problems
Conservation Legislation in Alaska Life on Earth-Business Conservation 8
& Preservation in New York & Pollution-
of Wildlife Waterways & Wildlife Nationally & Globally
People & Waterways
Parks & Hunting
Federal
Conservation
Funding
Federal
Conservation
Efforts
Power & Federal Energy- Fuel-Energy Cleanup Energy Sources- 9
Energy Power Sites Environmental
Generation Gas-Oil Plant Fires Impact
Hazards of Heat
& Fossil Fuels Nuclear & Auto
Industries
Nuclear Byproducts
Issues Gas, Power
Plants-Impact
on Life
Federal Energy
Impact
TOTAL
10 10 12 30
Sourcing Practices: Targeting Specific Social Blocs
The three national newspapers analyzed here generally target readers of upper,
middle, and lower socioeconomic class blocs. As hypothesized, each newspaper se-
lected news sources according to its target audience: elite sources for upper-class
readers and nonelite sources for lower-class readers. USA Today, which targets
middle-class readers, also relied on elite sources. Government sources constituted
120 POMPPER
TABLE 6.10
Major Themes for Environmental Risk News Frames National Enquirer 1983-1987,
1988-1992,1993-1997
Major Theme 1983-1987 1988-1992 1993-1997 #of
Frames
Toxic Waste & Federal Bureaucracy: Garbage & Health Chemicals & Gas in the 10
Pollution Information About Environment
Environmental Risks Hazards
& Community Auto Issues
Scientific Study
Monitoring Local Risk
University Research
California Issues
Research on Threats
to Humans
Conservation & Animal Issues Elements of the Animal Cruelty 14
Preservation of & Destruction Natural World
Wildlife Problems in America
Federal Help for Commemorating En- & Around the World
Wildlife vironmental Events
Wild & Endangered
National Enquirer Conservation Costs Species-Bureaucracy
Readers' Value
Systems Taxpayers & Animal Killing
Environmental Waste
Threats to Animals Tax Money & Waste
& Humans
Wasteful Spending
Power & Traditional & Federal Bureau- Centralia Fire 3
Energy Alternative Fuel cracy-Chernobyl
Generation Research
TOTAL 9 10 8 27
the most frequently cited source group in The New York Times and USA Today,
whereas public sources were cited most in the National Enquirer. Thus, this study
confirmed that print media do rely on different sources involved in policy debates
in order to produce news for specific social blocs. The following paragraphs ad-
dress the implications of these findings.
New York Times: As expected, this national newspaper of record, relied most
on official sources when producing news for its upscale readership. This study's re-
sults confirm that observation, showing that The New York Times routinely, and of-
ten exclusively, cited elite sources. Since frequency is a measure of degree of
importance (Ogilvie, Stone, & Kelly, 1982; Stone, 1997), it follows that The New
York Times considered government authorities the most appropriate framers of en-
vironmental risk for elite readers. By comparison, nonelite public and interest
group sourcesincluding unaffiliated scientists such as those from universi-
tieswere cited far less in The New York Times than elite government and industry
sources. This imbalance was crystallized in a 1990 story about nuclear weapon pro-
duction site cleanup costs that cited EPA and Energy Department officials, Con-
gressmen, the Bush administration, federal agents, and nuclear industry
reportsyet no nonelite sources were interviewed (Schneider, 1990, p. Al) . Only
the last sentence mentioned that residents had sued the Energy Department for
causing pollution that lowered real estate values and created health problems. Thus,
it appears that The New York Times seldom looked further than elite sources when
producing environmental risk newsor perhaps other news sources were unavail-
able or unwilling to engage in conversation with journalists.
USA Today: Since this newspaper is produced primarily for a middle-class
population, it was presumed that nonelite sources would be the primary environ-
mental risk framers. Yet this study's results showed that USA Today and The New
York Times produced environmental risk stories in exactly the same way by ranking
elite government and industry sources as most important, followed by public, and
finally interest group sources. Even though both mainstream newspapers preferred
government rather than public sources, USA Today texts reflected a fairly equitable
distribution of sources used. For example, USA Today's coverage of the 1986
Chernobyl nuclear accident in Ukraine included interviews with government offi-
cials, nuclear industry spokespeople, members of the public, and interest group
sources (Chernobyl, 1989; Glamser, 1988; Kohn, 1986; Nichols, 1989; Reactor,
1988). This finding among USA Today texts supports claims that journalists incor-
porate all sides of a debate as a means of achieving objectivity (Dunwoody & Ryan,
1983; Fishman, 1980).
National Enquirer: Including this tabloid as a site for news analysis follows the
lead of Bird (1990) who concluded that tabloid and mainstream newspapers cover
many of the same issues, but in different ways. It was expected that the National En-
122 POMPPER
quirer would cite members of the public most often when reporting on environ-
mental risk coverage for disenfranchised readers. Indeed, the public constituted
nearly half of all sources cited in the National Enquirerwith many environmental
risk stories featuring public sources exclusively. Regular people shared
down-to-earth stories ranging from homespun tips for cutting utility bills to avoid
further depletion of natural resources, to taking vitamins to combat the effects of
pollution, to using signs from the environment to predict the future. Of course, one
explanation for comparatively fewer elite sources may be the result of such sources'
unwillingness to give interviews to National Enquirer reporters.
Professional Ideology: Distinctions Among Sources
Results gathered in response to this study' s first research question indicate that
government, industry, public, and interest group sources distinctly frame envi-
ronmental risk news. Framing provides a means for promoting one's own set of
ideas, or "professional ideology," which has been defined as the collection of polit-
ical, economic, and social ideas that inform the practices of particular professional
groups (Storey, 1993, p. 3). Even though the public is not categorically part of a
professional group per se, employees and neighbors consider how environmental
risk personally affects them (Wynne, 1989), resulting in a coherent de facto ideol-
ogy. The following paragraphs chronicle how each of the four source groups
government, industry, the public, and interest groupsframed environmental
risk, advancing their own brands of ideology.
Government Sources: Journalists' attraction to government sources indicates
the strength and legitimacy of government in this culture (Sigal, 1986). Some re-
searchers have explained that business and government institutions are near the top
of the power hierarchy in Western society and have far greater media access than
any other group (Einsiedel, 1988; Hansen, 1991; Nimmo & Combs, 1985;
Patterson, 1989). Certainly, this study's results showed that government sources
were cited most often in the New York Times and USA Today, and just behind public
sources in the National Enquirer. Overall, their frames focused on power generation
research, funding, and hazardsunderscoring a professional ideology marked by
administrative responsibility for creating and enforcing laws and policies at all gov-
ernment levels. Such findings emphasize the salience of energy production in the
United States and journalists' reliance on legitimated sources. Furthermore, gov-
ernment sources' use of technical language and jargon promoted their authority
status and fostered a pretense of superiority. For example, journalists seemed to re-
gard government sources highly, often referring to them simply as officials, and cit-
ing them in environmental risk news story leads and in early paragraphs. In this
way, government sources represented the official word on high-profile power gen-
eration risk issues.
Industry Sources: Industry sources were consulted second to government
sources in USA Today and The New York Times, and consulted least of all in the Na-
tional Enquirer. Furthermore, industry and government sources clustered together
in all three newspapers. Few stories included interviews exclusively with industry
representatives, however. Government sources explained the legal, economic, and
regulatory aspects of the environmental risk, and industry sources either confirmed
or refuted their organization's involvement. This finding concurs with earlier re-
search that described framing as a valuable defense mechanism when issues are neg-
ative (Galtung & Ruge, 1973; Gamson & Modigliani, 1989). Conversely, National
Enquirer coverage rarely included industry sources. Lengthy stories about indus-
trial accidents identified companies by name, but offered no quotes from
spokespeople. It is very unlikely that industry sources would grant interviews to
National Enquirer reporters. Or, perhaps in its counter-hegemonic style, National
Enquirer reporters believed that it is understood among readers that industry is to
blame for much environmental risk. Earlier public attitude research found that in-
dustry representatives are perceived as biased (Cole, 1993).
Public Sources: Even though average people have limited media access, their
interest in environmental risk issues has remained high over the years (Downs,
1972; Hartley, 1982; Sigal, 1973). Public sources were cited most in the National En-
quirer, but ranked third in USA Today and The New York Times. Thus, even though
the public may want to participate in environmental debates, the degree to which
mainstream media included them in the conversation was far smaller when com-
pared to elite sources. Public sources' frames were embedded with worries about
leading a healthful, hazard-free life and being able to trust government to spend
wisely on environmental programs. These findings concur with earlier research
that found journalists use authoritative sources for technical, quantitative, policy
information, and laypeople for drama (Cole, 1993; Molotch & Lester, 1974; Sand-
man, Weinstein, 1987). For example, even though public sources were unlikely risk
framers in New York Times stories, their health concerns were included when details
were dramatic. Furthermore, the National Enquirer promoted public sources as
heroes who live with risk, energized by their personal strength, faith in God, and be-
lief that Americans can endure anything.
Interest Group Sources: This group had the weakest voice in framing environ-
mental risk news in all three newspapers. When included in environmental risk de-
bates, however, interest group spokespeople defended the environmentspeaking
on behalf of bottlenosed dolphins, peregrine falcons, and redwood grovesas well as
crowds of individuals, such as employees. Overall, interest groups took government
and industry sources to task, citing their own independently funded reports on envi-
ronmental conditions. This finding concurs with earlier researchers, who ascertained
that interest groups act as intermediaries, interpreting risk for the public and chal-
lenging the establishment (Mazur, 1990; Sapolsky, 1990). Indeed, interest groups'
124 POMPPER
professional ideology involved advocating new research and campaigning for safer
workplaces. To gain the attention of news media gatekeepers, some interest groups
have orchestrated dramatic, visual, and controversial protests to garner media atten-
tion (Hannigan, 1995). The current study's news frame analyses found that interest
groups often were cited in conjunction with high-profile Earth Day celebrations and
other events.
Mainstream and Tabloid Response to the Status Quo
Both hypotheses positing that the two mainstream newspapers would reinforce
dominant ideology by advancing status quo frames, and that the supermarket tab-
loid newspaper would undermine authority by promoting oppositional frames
were supported. The mass media generally produce consensus through a process
of argument, exchange, debate, consultation and speculation among contentious
groups (Hall, 1979). Yet, these findings posit that little debate took place with elite
sources outnumbering nonelite sources about 3:1 in New York Times in stories and
2:1 in USA Today stories. In addition, frequency statistics showed that both main-
stream newspapers ranked government sources as most important, followed by
industry, public, and finally interest group sources.
Furthermore, it would appear that the status quo is maintained in the main-
stream newspapers since government and industry source labels clustered together
in environmental risk frames. In particular, both elite sources framed stories about
power generation issuesan EPA & Nuclear Power-Safety & Research frame in The
New York Times and a Power-Energy Industry Problems frame in USA Today.
Nonelite sources accounted for only about one third of sources cited in USA Today
and less than one quarter of sources cited in The New York Times.
On the whole, lower socioeconomic groups lament that they most experience
risk but are excluded from policy making (Brown, 1987; Dickson, 1984). Even
elites cited in the National Enquirer advanced counter-hegemonic viewpoints.
This newspaper' s opposition to dominant ideology is best illuminated by compar-
ing specific environmental risk issues as covered in all three newspapers, such as
global warming-greenhouse effect. Based on interviews with an EPA spokesperson
and government-funded scientists, The New York Times warned in 1983 that the
Earth would begin heating up by the 1990s (Shabecoff, 1983). USA Todayreporied
on this issue in 1989 as part of its Earth Day coverage, by interviewing a paleontolo-
gist with the U.S. Geological Survey, Apple Computer' s CEO, and the Wilderness
Society (Manning, 1989). The National Enquirer covered the greenhouse effect
story, too, but it interviewed non-government-supported scientists, who called
the greenhouse effect "hullabaloo" (Downey, 1991, p. 6).
Researchers have concluded that the drama of environmental issues, and the
sport of blaming wealthy and powerful villains for them, keep the public inter-
ested in environmental policy (Downs, 1972). One way that this tabloid inspired
readers to political action was through sponsorship of letter-writing campaigns
for protecting endangered species and ending animal cruelty around the world.
Full-page stories featured interviews with celebrities and pre-addressed tear-out
coupons for readers to use when writing their federal legislators in protest. Sub-
sequent follow-up stories told readers how successful their participation had
been in affecting new legislation. Thus, the National Enquirer also provided a
means for readers to affect change.
Patterns in Environmental Risk Coverage
Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, all newspapers scrutinized here generally char-
acterized environmental risk as conflict between society and nature. When looking
for evidence of shifts in environmental coverage over time, no stories proposed
eliminating industrialized social orders that inherently pose risks to natural land,
air, and water resources.
13
Instead, specific patterns, or recurring themes, emerged
from source groups' framing of how to best minimize environmental risk. Three
central themes tightly binding frames that emerged from cluster analyses were
qualitatively identified by the principal researcher, as consistent with previous ap-
plications of the Catpac software. No major shifts in environmental coverage over
time were detected.
Toxic Waste & Pollution Theme: This theme linked the largest number of
news frames to emerge in these analyses, resonating similarly in all newspapers and
consistently across all time periods. The news media have widely covered waste and
pollution issues since the 1960s (Bowman & Fuchs, 1981; Lacey & Longman, 1993;
Parlour & Schatzow, 1978). Some researchers have attributed this wide coverage to
the 1962 release of Silent Spring, (Carson, 1982) a best-selling account of toxic risks
in America (Bosso, 1987; Rubin, 1994). The expose inspired chemical manu-
facturers' counterattacks in the news media, and has been credited for giving birth
to populist ecological awareness (Stauber & Rampton, 1995). Thus, such debate
sparked dramatic news, shaping the environmental risk agenda during the 1960s
and 1970s (Fagin & Lavelle, 1997). The current study's results suggest that news me-
dia attention to toxic waste and pollution issues was sustained through the two sub-
sequent decades, with 36 frames.
Clearly, the Toxic Waste & Pollution theme resonated among journalists, per-
haps because such frames engage two important news values, the desirability of so-
cial order and the need for national leadership to maintain order (Gans, 1979).
Stories routinely detailed environmental disorder caused by chemical spills and
decomposing garbage, as primarily told by government and industry spokes-
people who assured readers that they had the situation under control. Compara-
tively, nonelite public and interest group sources' framing of health and safety
associated with pollution issues gained less attention. Despite thematic similarity
3
Overall, there has been no broad anti-environmental movement (Milbrath, 1984).
126 POMPPER
across newspapers, the National Enquirer did not share the mainstream media' s
apprehension in upsetting order, however. In advancing the Toxic Waste & Pollu-
tion theme, the National Enquirer criticized bureaucrats as ineffective and offered
readers self-help tips for fighting pollution. In doing so, this tabloid newspaper af-
firmed its readers' lack of faith and trust in the establishment and encouraged
them to consult their own devices.
14
Another noteworthy difference among frames shaped by the Toxic Waste & Pollu-
tion theme involved distribution over time. This theme was used regularly throughout
the 1980s and 1990s in The New York Times. However, evidence of this frame, as used
in USA Today and the National Enquirer, tapered off later in the 1990s.
Conservation & Preservation of Wildlife Theme. By the end of the 20th cen-
tury, the news media fluently reported on relationships between humanity and the
natural environment, including recognition of a need for flora and fauna conserva-
tion. Evidence of this relationship clearly was reflected in 30 frames bound by this
theme. It has been suggested that conflict constitutes news, and that news media at-
tention to conservation issues grew exponentially with controversy among dissent-
ing groups who could not agree on how to balance economic growth with natural
resource protection (Hannigan, 1995; Milbrath, 1984; Yearly, 1991). Indeed, all
three newspapers analyzed in this study debated industrialized society's impact on
parks, forests, and species. Such issues were cast as conflicts between oppositional
goals: a comfortable, cost-efficient way of life now versus preservation of wildlife
for future generations.
Mainstream newspapers tended to incorporate this theme in coverage only
when events were dramatic, conflicting, and highly visual, such as group demon-
strations over the spotted owl issue and massive bulldozing of rain forest trees.
Historically, such symbolic imagery of emotionally charged events has appealed to
journalists (Downs, 1972; Krimsky & Plough, 1988; Molotch & Lester, 1974;
Nelkin, 1987). The current study showed that even though the public may place a
high value on natural resource conservation and protection, mainstream newspa-
pers often ignore public sources unless a dramatic reaction is sought.
Overall, the Conservation & Preservation of Wildlife theme was most prevalent
in the National Enquirer's 14 frames marked by wildlife violations and debated
value systems, as framed in emotion-filled animal cruelty stories and exposes of ir-
responsible federal animal research spending. Bird (1992) argued that tabloids can
comfortably appeal to their audience' s schemata because they are relatively inde-
pendent of large advertisers, unlike traditional media that can feel compelled to
appeal to "a demographically valuable audience" (p. 202).
Power & Energy Generation Theme. This theme emphasized a balance be-
tween society's reliance on electricity and petroleum for heating and powering fac-
4
In the context of the National Enquirer, waste referred to government spending waste.
tories and automobiles, and risks posed by nuclear energy generation and fossil fuel
production. Social researchers have found that power and energy issues resonate in
the United States because crisis potential is high (Gamson & Modigliani, 1989;
Mazur, 1990; Nelkin, 1987; Spears, van der Pligt, & Eiser, 1995). Furthermore,
power issues weigh heavily on U.S. economic conditions that would stagnate with-
out power and energy (Duncan, 1978). Thus, energy generation has received signif-
icant media attention in recent decades. In fact, this theme linked 18 frames in the
current study. Power production consistently was represented in The New York
Times and USA Today as a necessary evil with manageable consequences. This posi-
tion comes as no surprise, since, as discussed earlier, the Power & Energy Genera-
tion theme and its frames were promoted almost exclusively by elite government
and industry sources.
The National Enquirer invoked the Power & Energy Generation theme less of-
ten than the other two themes and significantly less often than the mainstream pa-
pers. However, when covering power generation issues, this tabloid presented
bureaucracy as overwhelmingly inefficient in policy decisions, including develop-
ment of alternative fuels.
In conclusion, while it is impossible for any three newspapers' accounts to be
representative of all mass media content, analyses of these specific discourses offer
new insight into relationships among class hegemony, the press, and culture pro-
duction. Perhaps the most important, and most troubling discovery in this study is
the lack of diversity among risk definers in news media discourse and the limited
range of potential ideas that were expressed. Indeed, other mass media researchers
have examined ways in which various source groups define risk in an effort to dis-
cover how messages are constructed and used by audiences. However, this longitu-
dinal study involved using a computer to analyze massive amounts of text and has
underscored the substantial extent to which elite sources themselves dominate
framing of environmental risk in newspapers examined.
The implications of government and industry source dependency in envi-
ronmental risk news stories are many. On the one hand, it may be considered a
positive outcome that journalis ts are receptive to elite sources' environmental
risk news contributions . Such relationships mean that government adminis-
trators, politicians, and industry spokespeople can count on having the oppor-
tunity to tell their side of an environmental risk story and promote public
safety. Furthermore, elite sources such as government scientists and other gov-
ernment experts may appreciate the accuracy that this privileged status affords
if journalis ts are poorly trained or unable to synthesize scientific issues on their
own, and therefore simply use information subsidies verbatim. On the other
hand, such a high profile could potentially place a greater burden on these elite
sources because there is no hiding from journalis ts during environmental risk
events even if these sources would prefer to say nothing publicly. Such may be
the case when details are unavailable or when a government agency or a major
corporation is embarrassed or at fault.
128 POMPPER
Perhaps the greatest implications of the lack of diversity among environmen-
tal risk news definers are a potential compromise in democratic values and inad-
equate journalism school training. Voices of common people who live with
environmental risk every day and voices of groups organized to save the environ-
ment from industrialism are drowned out by elites cited most often in environ-
mental risk stories. For nonelites who challenge major corporations and
legislators, this study's major finding has grim implications, indeed. The news
media essentially ignore them. Furthermore, evidence of one-sided reporting
runs counter to journalism schools' foundational principles and minimizes the
news media's impact as a social amplifier of risk. Journalism school graduates
may lack proper training or critical thinking skills necessary to explain technical
subjects and distinguish good scientific evidence from bad. Perhaps journalis ts
succumb to the everyday news production pressures such as tight deadlines and
inadequate newsroom staffing.
This chapter contributes to the news-as-social-construct theories of news se-
lection by emphasizing human agency in journalists' use of the framing conven-
tion and use of elites to subsidize information about environmental risk. The
current study seems to confirm that the mains tream news media marginalize
lower-order social blocs and a s up ermarket tabloid p romotes coun-
ter-hegemonic views. Whether they realize it or not, the mains tream news media
rarely report a balance of perspectives on environmental risk. As addressed ear-
lier, perhaps nonelite news sources are unavailable or unwilling to give inter-
views. Nevertheless, such limitations on the marketplace of ideas may severely
handicap the environmental risk policy-making process.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Dialogue and Deliberation
in Environmental Conflict:
Enacting Civic Science
Gregg B. Walker
Steven E. Daniels
Utah State University
INTRODUCTION
During the second presidential debate of the 2000 campaign, moderator Jim
Lehrer asked then Governor George W. Bush: "Would you believe the federal gov-
ernment still has some new rules and new regulations and new laws to pass in the
environmental area ...?" Governor Bush replied: "Sure, absolutely, so long as
they're based upon science and they're reasonable. So long as people have input."
Lehrer then asked: "What about global warming?," and Bush responded, "I think
it's an issue that we need to take very seriously. But I don't think we know the solu-
tion to global warming yet. And I don't think we've got all the facts before we make
decisions" (Commission on Presidential Debates, 2000).
Presidential candidate (and now President) George W. Bush' s view that envi-
ronmental policy decisions should be "based upon science" and "all the facts"
mirrors a common assumption that many people hold. Science will provide the
answers and the solutions to the nation' s and world' s environmental problems.
No one disputes that scientific knowledge is an important element of environ-
mental decision making and policy development, but can science alone provide
the remedies to controversial and complex situations? As Wilkinson noted,
"good science, good laws, good economics, and good communities come to-
gether in the idea of [environmental] sustainability" (1992, p. 297). Even some-
thing as specific as maintaining the viability of a particular species relies on more
than simply scientific data. "Endangered species conservation," Clark, Reading,
and Clarke wrote, "is a multidimensional task of interacting biological, profes-
135
136 WALKER AND DANIELS
sional, sociological, organizational, economic, political, and policy dimen-
sions." They emphasize that species conservation requires an interdisciplinary
approach, because "attempting to restore species by ignoring everything but the
species biology invites failure" (1994, p. 419).
Scientific inquiry and scientific and technical knowledge are clearly essential,
when working through environmental conflicts and developing environmental
policy. Yet there needs to be a space, too, for citizen concerns and traditional (local
and indigenous) knowledge. Scientific-technical and traditional knowledge and
inquiry, in a policy decision making context, are better conceived of as a part of
"civic science" (Lee, 1993). This chapter considers the concept of civic science and
its communication dimensions. The chapter features civic science as an organizing
concept for fostering meaningful communication interaction among scientists,
citizens, and managers-decision makers.
THE NATURE OF EFFECTIVE ENVIRONMENTAL POLICY
In earlier work, we discussed key features of policy effectiveness and the paradox of
public involvement (Daniels & Walker, 2001; Walker & Daniels, 2001). We have
noted that an effective policy decision needs to: (a) be generated from an adaptive
process; (b) use the most appropriate science and technology; (c) be imple-
mentable; and (d) have low transaction costs. These characteristics of effective pol-
icy correspond to a broad view of civic science.
Participants in an adaptive policy decision-making process acknowledge that
all management decisions are inevitably field experiments that apply existing
knowledge and assumptions as implicit operating hypotheses. The participants in
an adaptive process strive to learn from those field experiments as quickly and reli-
ably as possible, in order to test those fundamental assumptions and the adequacy
of current knowledge. If a policy does not achieve its intended objectives, it is not a
failure per se, but rather an opportunity to examine which of its motivating as-
sumptions might be faulty. For example, reforestation practices, power line siting
actions, and water diversions (e.g., dams) have all generated continual informa-
tion even as they may have fallen short of management goals.
Applying the most appropriate science and technology seems to be an obvi-
ous criterion for policy formation, particularly when addressing complex s itu-
ations. However, most appropriate is open to varied interpretations, reflecting
underlying values about science. Some technically trained specialists may asso-
ciate most appropriate with most advanced or s tate-of-the-art. In some cases,
though, the most advanced technical solutions to policy problems are not the
most appropriate or adaptive, particularly when their costs are too great, or
they result in policy recommendations that are not culturally or politically via-
ble (Daniels & Walker, 2001) .
For a policy to be effective it must be capable of being implemented. Certainly
citizens will measure effectiveness based on the results of an operational policy.
7. DIALOGUE AND DELIBERATION IN ENVIRONMENTAL CONFLICT 137
Specialists, for example, can conduct sophisticated computer simulations of en-
vironmental policy scenarios (such as Superfund site clean-up), but the benefits
of policy are derived from tangible accomplishments. As Daniels and Walker
(2001) observed:
The federal forest planning process that was conducted pursuant to the National For-
est Management Act of 1976 exemplifies elegant policy that had limited implementa-
tion. The linear programming models that supported each forest' s plan were
immense, with thousands of rows and columns of data. Even so, the land allocations
that many of the plans generated were subsequently appealed, and some have never
been fully implemented. In regions such as the Pacific Northwest, the plans bear little
resemblance to the ecosystem-based management efforts currently under way. (p. 3)
The fourth policy effectiveness factor, low transaction cost, relates to imple-
mentability. Transaction costs are those expenses (e.g., financial, resource, oppor-
tunity) that a society or community incurs to implement a policy. Generally a
lower transaction cost implies more effective policy formation, particularly when
policy options are compared. For example, if one policy generates a particular set
of benefits while avoiding costly administrative appeals or litigation, it is by this
measure more effective than one that incurs those costs.
Collectively, these aspects of policy effectiveness comprise social legitimacy. If
segments of society determine that a particular environmental policy process (e.g.,
clean water standards, roadless area designation) lacks legitimacy, and the issues
are important enough, they may organize as interest groups committed to pre-
venting the implementation of that policy. Social legitimacy is a culturally situated
concept, that is, its meaning varies across societies and communities. Two criteria
define the social legitimacy of environmental policy (Daniels & Walker, 2001):
Decisions should be made rationally and policies must be recognized as
technically sound.
People whose lives may be affected by a policy process should have a voice
in that process.
As we noted elsewhere and refer to later in this chapter (Walker & Daniels,
2001), a tension exists between these two dimensions of social legitimacy that
generates the fundamental paradox of basing decisions on sound science while
respecting citizens' voice. Replacing science with civic science offers a way
through the paradox.
Citizens demand technically sound decisions, but as situations become more com-
plex, fewer people have the technical background needed to either meaningfully
contribute to, or critique, the decisions. By the same token, these complex situations
often touch people's lives in fundamental ways. Our traditions of participatory de-
mocracy imply that those people should be at least consulted or even directly in-
volved if they desire to be. These dual goals technical competence and
participatory processcreate a compelling dynamic between a narrow politics of
expertise and a broad politics of inclusion, a dynamic that cuts across public policy
disputes such as nuclear waste disposal, health care, and land management. People
feel that they should have a voice in public decisions that affect their lives, but how
can that voice be meaningful if the terms, concepts, and technical trade-offs are all
new to them? Finding ways to increase the quality of technical expertise, while simul-
taneously increasing the inclusivity of decision processes, is perhaps the fundamen-
tal challenge of effective policy formation. (Daniels & Walker, 2001, p. 4)
CIVIC SCIENCE
Effective environmental policy relies on more than simply the interpretation of
scientific data, yet science should not be tossed aside in deference to the social pref-
erences of interest groups. The elements of effective policy and the dimensions of
social legitimacy suggest that scientists, citizens, and decision makers (i.e., manag-
ers and legislators) need to interact. These three major players should continually
share concerns and expertise as they participate in the development, implementa-
tion, and monitoring of environmental policy. Civic science provides a conceptual
foundation for doing so.
In Compass and Gyroscope, Lee (1993) explained his ideas of civic science.
"Managing large ecosystems should rely not merely on science," Lee wrote, "but
on civic science; it should be irreducibly public in the way responsibilities are exer-
cised, intrinsically technical, and open to learning from errors and profiting from
successes" (1993, p. 161). Civic science integrates the idealism of science with the
pragmatism of politics.
The challenge of building and maintaining civic science and the institutional rela-
tions necessary to do civic science is at bottom individual. Civic science is political
activity; its spirit and value depend upon the players, who make up, modify, imple-
ment, and perhaps subvert the rules. (Lee, 1993, pp. 161-162).
The players in an environmental conflict situation possess both technical and tra-
ditional knowledge. Understanding environmental policy situations is enhanced by
integrating ideas from a variety of sources: physicalbiological science, political-so-
cial science, the local community, and indigenous cultures. Within a civic science
orientation, environmental policy decision making honors traditional knowledge
(both indigenous and local) just as it seeks scientific and technical knowledge; voices
from nonscientific communities are heard alongside those of the scientists.
In a just released publication, Adler and Birkhoff (2003) emphasized the im-
portance of accommodating both technical and traditional knowledge, or what
they refer to as knowledge from "away" and "here." They noted:
When people disagree over environmental issues, as they inevitably will, we forget
this most fundamental principle: different people and different groups think in dif-
ferent ways. Some people value knowledge that is experientially or intuitively de-
rived. Others treasure expert knowledge or knowledge revealed from spiritual
sources. Some people prize stores and aphorisms passed down from [elders]. Others
give priority to data and scientific principles (2003, p. 4)
Consequently, Adler and Birkhoff (2003) asserted that the best stakeholder
processes:
do not privilege one way of knowing above others
ensure that both kinds of information-technical and local, scientific and cultural, lay
and expertare accessible to everyone involved....
emphasize that all information is subject to respectful questioning about validity, ac-
curacy, authenticity, and reliability....
improve the capacity of all participants to learn from different kinds of knowledge, (p. 5)
Adler and Birkhoff s ideas about varied ways of knowing could be extended to
ways of learning, communicating, and deciding. Our conception of civic science
encompasses these ideas. For example, the tenets of effective environmental policy
can be addressed through civic science forums that emphasize constructive com-
munication interaction: dialogue, deliberation, and learning. As Lee (1993) noted,
civic science combines "a political strategy of bounded conflict with ecological
learning based upon experimentation." Civic science, Lee claims, "promises the
most rapid and least costly approach to sustainability" (p. 185). Given that both
science and politics are adaptive, communication interaction in a civic science
venue needs to feature pluralistic debate (Lee, 1994). Such debate could occur in
venues that use relevant and accessible technology, such as such as geographic im-
aging system (CIS) techniques and products. "We need ways to help communities
think about their futures and consider the consequences of the choices they are
making," Rivlin proposed, "technology can help ... one can now imagine town
meetings in which people crowd around the computer screen to experiment with
different options and talk about them" (1993, p. 258).
ENACTING CIVIC SCIENCE THROUGH DIALOGUE
AND DELIBERATION
Civic science in practice can foster shared understanding and discovering areas of
both agreement and disagreement on all aspects of effective policy. Attainment of
these goals hinges on constructive communication. Consistent with a social con-
struction perspective, civic science forums presume that communication is hu-
man symbolic activity through which meanings are constructed and negotiated
and some degree of understanding achieved. Although Lee did not address com-
munication issues specifically, civic science is enacted via forums that promote di-
alogue and deliberation.
Dialogue
Dialogue refers to communication interaction between parties that hold discov-
ery, learning, and understanding as their primary goals. Dialogue draws its
strength from both the commitment and skills of the participants. One of the fore-
most writers on dialogue, the late physicist Bohm, explained that via dialogue:
A group of people can explore the individual and collective presuppositions, ideas,
beliefs, and feelings that subtly control their interactions. It provides an opportunity
to participate in a process that displays communication successes and failures. It can
reveal the often puzzling patterns of incoherence that lead the group to avoid certain
issues or, on the other hand, to insist, against all reason, on standing and defending
opinions about particular issues. (Bohm, Factor, & Garrett, 1991, p. 1)
Dialogue is open, nonjudgmental communication (Yankelovich, 1999). It is
promoted via a norm of equality in which parties have opportunities to share their
ideas; to speak and be listened to (Eisenberg & Goodall, 1993). Participants in a di-
alogue listen intently, ask questions to learn and understand, and see tremendous
worth in the collective wisdom of the participants. In The Fifth Discipline, Senge
wrote that dialogue is essential to team learning. Citing Bohm' s work, Senge noted
the importance of "thought as a collective phenomenon" (1990, p. 240). Dialogue
is important to collaborative processes and the practice of civic science; it is the
form of communication that creates a shared understanding of the situation.
Writers on dialogue make distinctions among dialogue, discussion, debate, and
argument. These distinctions seem somewhat artificial and contrived. Our per-
spective on dialogue as a part of civic science regards dialogue as a form of open,
learning-oriented discussion in which parties communicate openly, construc-
tively, and respectfully.
For a number of years we have been developing, applying, and refining a frame-
work or approach for environmental policy decision making and conflict resolu-
tion, Collaborative Learning (Daniels & Walker, 2001). Collaborative Learning
(CL), both in theory and practice, embraces the idea of civic science. Scien-
tific-technical knowledge and traditional knowledge are both valued as parties in a
CL process work through their understanding of the specific situation and gener-
ate appropriate policy or management improvements:
In the early stages of Collaborative Learning, participants engage in dialogue as they
seek to develop a shared understanding of the situation. As Collaborative Learning
participants work through the stages of the CL process, their dialogue about con-
cerns, interests, and possible improvements evolves into deliberation. As their con-
versation becomes increasingly deliberative, their decision-oriented discussion
retains the qualities of their earlier dialogue. (Daniels & Walker, 2001, p. 128).
Deliberation
A civic science forum designed to foster meaningful interaction among and be-
tween scientists, citizens, and environmental policy decision makers may feature
dialogue as the primary communicative form. Still, venues may be more meaning-
ful if that dialogue evolves into deliberation. In CL processes, for example, dia-
logue is valued along with deliberation. As a CL process progresses through
situation understanding and improvement stages, participants' dialogue becomes
increasingly decision oriented. As they present improvements, they deliberate
about the desirability and feasibility of the actions they propose.
Deliberation, Barber explained (1998), is civil discourse that is dialectical, re-
flective, and reflexive. "The public voice of civility is deliberative," Barber wrote,
"critically reflective as well as self-reflexive; it can withstand reiteration, critical
cross-examination, and the test of time" (1998, pp. 116-117). Public deliberation
"transforms, modifies, and clarifies the beliefs and preferences of the citizens of a
political society" (Christiano, 1997, p. 234). It is an open and thoughtful process of
public debate that values inclusiveness, egalitarianism, and fairness (Gaus, 1997).
Dialogue provides a foundation for deliberation. Whereas dialogue emphasizes
learning and understanding, deliberation builds upon that learning and under-
standing as parties begin to debate possible actions and philosophies. Deliberation
emerges as parties discover the need to make a decision. This relationship can be
viewed along a discussion continuum (Fig. 7.1).
Collaborative Argument
Constructive, collaborative argument characterizes the deliberative interaction of
civic science. Some public participation analysts might associate argument only
FIG. 7.1. The Discussion Continuum.
with traditional processes in which advocacy seems the preferred competency. In
contrast, processes of civic science and civic discovery (Reich, 1988) consider ar-
gument as an essential dimension of communication competence in collaborative
public participation. Constructive argument can be critical to a collaborative pro-
cess's success. Parties must transcend traditional negative views of argument (usu-
ally related to arguers rather than argument per se). Participants see the promise of
healthy argument, and work to debate issues collaboratively. This commitment in-
cludes valuing disagreement, a desire to learn, willingness to risk, open-
mindedness, mutual respect, and acceptance of an ethical responsibility of
fairness. Arguers agree to disagree, as both advocates and inquirers. They rely on
fundamental argument skills, such as questioning, reason-giving and explanation,
individual and joint case-building and modification, refutation and constructive
criticism, explicit values discussion, and appraisal (Walker, 1991). In CL, collabo-
rative argument is enacted through the deliberative stage of "debating desirable
and feasible change" (Daniels & Walker, 2001).
Inquiry and Advocacy
In The Fifth Discipline, Senge distinguished between inquiry and advocacy. He
wrote that learning is the most productive when people combine skills in these two
areas. "What is needed," Senge asserts, "is blending advocacy and inquiry to pro-
mote collaborative learning" (1990, p. 198). When inquiry and advocacy are com-
bined, he explained, "the goal is no longer to win the argument but to find the best
argument" (1990, p. 199). According to Ross and Roberts of the Center for Orga-
nizational Learning, "When balancing advocacy and inquiry, we lay out our rea-
soning and thinking, and then encourage others to challenge us." We do so by
stating: "Here is my view and here is how I have arrived at it. How does it sound to
you? What makes sense to you and what doesn' t? Do you see any ways I can im-
prove it?" (Ross & Roberts, 1998, p. 1).
Communication interaction in civic science forums, as both dialogue and de-
liberation, encourages both inquiry and advocacy. Scientists, citizens, and manag-
ers need to ask questions as they learn and understand. They deserve opportunities
to voice their views as they propose and test technical and traditional ideas perti-
nent to the environmental conflict situation at hand. Both inquiry and advocacy
are important as discussion moves from dialogue to deliberation (Fig. 7.2).
CIVIC SCIENCE IN PRACTICE
Civic science approaches address the tenets of effective policy and work
through the fundamental paradox of public involvement that is an inevitable
part of environmental policy conflicts. As we noted at the outset of this chapter,
the paradox appears in most every complex and controversial policy s itua-
Balance Inquiry and Advocacy
In The Fifth Discipline, Peter Senge presents guidelines for inquiry and advocacy
(1990, pp. 200-201).
When advocating your view:
Make your own reasoning explicit (i.e., say how you arrived at your view
and the "data" upon which it is based).
Encourage others to explore your view (e.g., "Do you see gaps in my rea-
soning?").
Encourage others to provide different views (i.e., "Do you have different
evidence, data, conclusions, or interpretations?").
Actively inquire into others' views that differ from your own (i.e., "What
do you think?," "What are your views?," "How did you reach your conclu-
sions?," "Are you basing your view on data that I have not considered?").
When inquiring into others' views:
If you are making assumptions about others' views, state your assump-
tions clearly and acknowledge them as such.
State the evidence or "data" on which your assumptions are based.
Do not bother asking questions if you are not genuinely interested in the
other party's response and in learning from the other party (i.e., if you are
only trying to be polite or show the other up).
When you arrive at am impasse (others no longer seem open to inquiries about
their own views):
Ask what evidence, data, or logic might modify their views.
Ask if there is any way you might together design a study (or some other
inquiry activity) that might provide new information.
When you or others are reluctant to express your views or consider alternate ieas:
Encourage them (or you) to think out loud what might be making it diffi-
cult (i.e., "What is it about this situation, and about me or others, that is
making the open exchange of ideas difficult?").
If there is mutual desire to do so, design with other ways to overcome barriers.
FIG. 7.2. Peter Senge's View of Inquiry and Advocacy.
143
tionbetween the emphasis on one hand for the best available scientific and
technical knowledge to be applied to any given environmental policy s ituation,
and a simultaneous emphasis on inclusiveness in the policy decision-making
process, that is, a desire for meaningful voice. Environmental conflict resolu-
tion seems to favor either technical expertise or an involved citizenry, when, in
fact, both are important. A partial response to this paradox resides in civic sci-
ence processes like CL that seek to provide venues and forums for bringing sci-
entists and citizenstechnical knowledge and traditional knowledge
together. Doing so begins with scientist and citizen communication compe-
tence (Walker & Daniels, 2001).
Communication and Learning Focal Points
Civic science communicationscientist-citizen-manager interaction as dialogue
and deliberationemphasizes both learning and decision making. The parties in a
civic science process communicate and learn about a variety of matters, including:
The technical, legal, and financial issues at hand
Information gaps and needs
Connections between issues and parties
Procedural factors
Community impacts
Cultural meanings and interpretations
Individual and collective (e.g., organizational) meanings and interpretations
Perceptions, concerns, and values of other participants
The parties' goals-their own and those of others
Personalities
Communication styles
The parties' options-their own and those of others
Relative benefits of different strategies
External pressures and constraints
Areas of agreement and disagreement
Shared and divergent assumptions and worldviews
Communication Competence
If scientists and members of the public are to interact well about environmental
and natural resource management controversies, they must be willing to partici-
pate meaningfully in that interaction. Interaction and mutual learning as part of
good decision making rely on a basic degree of communication competence
(Walker & Daniels, 1997). All parties must contribute constructively to the process
and strive to communicate well.
Scientists, citizens, and managers alike need to communicate appropriately and
effectively. They should adapt their communication behavior to the situation in or-
der to foster understanding. Scientists need to respect cultural preferences in learn-
ing and knowing and employ clear language. Scientists should be patient with
citizens and nonscientists, and should listen openly and actively. They need to moni-
tor their interaction behavior and be aware of how their communication behavior is
affecting and being interpreted by citizens and managers (Walker & Daniels, 2001).
In a meaningful scientist-citizen-manager dialogue, citizens, too, have a re-
sponsibility to communicate competently. Citizens need to listen actively and
be open to learning. Citizens can strive to understand the complexity and sys-
temic nature of a situation. They need to accord scientists the appropriate op-
portunity to share their technical knowledge. Citizens should employ clear
language and be willing to provide evidence for the knowledge claims they con-
tribute. Citizens need to recognize science is uncertain, and that there is no sci-
entific or technical silver bullet where complex environmental policy matters
are concerned. Furthermore, citizens should respect technical expertise, be
willing to learn and study, and should communicate traditional knowledge
clearly (Walker & Daniels, 2001).
Like scientists and citizens, managers or decision makers should communicate
competently, attending to the features of both scientists and citizen communica-
tion competence, such as using clear language, listening actively, and monitoring
their communication behavior. Uniquely, managers need to clarify their role in
the environmental conflict situation, such as stakeholder-advocate, convener, or
facilitator (Daniels & Walker, 2001). Managers need to address procedure and de-
cision space, including the contributions that scientific/technical and traditional
knowledge can make to the decision process.
Civic Science Actions
Innovative methods of public participation provide opportunities for implement-
ing the idea of civic science. These methods are typically collaborative. As Gray
(1989) explained, collaboration emphasizes "the pooling of appreciations and/or
tangible concerns, e.g,. Information, money, labor, etc., by two or more stake-
holders to solve a set of problems which neither can solve individually" (p. 12).
Selin and Chavez (1995) observed that "collaboration implies a joint decision
making approach to problem resolution where power is shared, and stakeholders
take collective responsibility for their actions and subsequent outcomes from
those actions" (p. 190). Based on earlier work (Walker & Daniels, 2001), the fol-
lowing is a list of activities for doing collaborative civic science. The list is not ex-
haustive; rather, it provides a starting point for thinking creatively about
developing and implementing effective environmental policy.
Study Groups. Study groups represent a recent innovation in public involve-
ment, one that has proven conducive to the interaction of scientific and traditional
knowledge (Richard & Burns, 1998). They can be convened by non- profit organi-
zations or government agencies. Study group membership is voluntary and poten-
tially diverse. Sutdy groups may be tied to a specific project or and management
area.
Field Trips. Natural resource management agencies have utilized field trips as
part of planning processes. A field trip can provide a rich opportunity for scientists
to interact with members of different interest groups in a mutual learning environ-
ment. Whether tied to a study group process or simply an activity related to a natu-
ral resource management planning effort, field trips serve as an effective way for
citizens and scientists to interacton the ground.
Science-Scientist Consensus Forums or Science Summits. In some complex
natural resource policy areas, such as restoring salmon runs in the Columbia
River basin of the Pacific Northwest, there seems to be significant conflict over the
science of the situation. Venues need to be available in which scientists can inter-
act collaboratively to work through science conflicts. In a science consensus fo-
rum, scientistsfrom federal and state agencies, sovereign Indian nations,
interest groups, and industrycan come together in an extended (e.g., multiday)
forum to argue constructively about research needs, data, and scientific interpre-
tations. A science consensus forum could produce a report that could be distrib-
uted to interested parties who might then come together in a subsequent forum,
such as a science and citizenry dialogue to discuss the findings of the science fo-
rum and their implications.
Scientist-Citizen-Manager Dialogues. As a follow up to a science consensus
forum or in situations where study groups may not be feasible, organizations and
agencies can sponsor dialogue venues that bring scientific knowledge and tradi-
tional knowledge together. Natural resource agency, interest group, university, and
industry scientists generally contribute scientific-technical knowledge in the physi-
cal and biological areas. Within any community on most any environmental or re-
source management situation, there are people with rich local or indigenous
knowledge of the issues at hand.
Citizen-Scientist-Manager Project Collaboration. Citizens and scientists who
have participated in CL workshops we have conducted tell us that, while they find
meetings useful, they prefer to be out on the ground, practicing stewardship rather than
simply talking about it. Field projects, led by scientists while relying on citizen partici-
pation, can foster interaction that embodies civic science. Project collaboration may
take a variety of forms, including research (e.g., field site development, data collection);
implementation (e.g., planting seedlings in riparian area, installing fish screens in a wa-
tershed); and monitoring (e.g., fish counts, water temperature readings).
Citizen Assessment and Planning. Another way to work through the paradox
and foster mutual learning between science, citizen, and manager communities
features assessment. Natural resource management agency scientists and special-
ists have been trained to perform analyses, but that expertise may exist outside
agencies as well. For example, in Northern California, with funding from a re-
source conservation development council, a nonagency team of local specialists
has prepared a watershed analysis that compares well with similar analyses devel-
oped by agencies.
Open Planning Meetings. Related to assessment, citizens can serve as ad-
junct members of planning teams. For example, a USDA-Forest Service inter-
disciplinary ID team could include citizens as participant-observers in ID team
meetings and other activities. Although care would need to be taken to ensure
that citizen involvement was compatible with relevant statutes, such as the Fed-
eral Advisory Committee Act, citizens as adjunct planning team members could
foster trust in the agency and dialogue between scientists and members of the
public. For example, The Chugach National Forest land management plan ID
team included citizens as adjunct members in two ways. First, the dates and
times of ID team meetings were publicized so that interested citizens could at-
tend and observe. Although citizens could not participate in the actual meet-
ings, they could talk with ID team members before any after meetings. Second,
as the ID team worked through public comments (generated via CL workshops
and other comment opportunities) , citizens were consulted with regularly to
provide feedback on the ideas and interpretations the ID team is generating
(Daniels & Walker, 2001).
Guest Essays and Traditional/Local Expert Presentations. Managers can foster
civic science by providing foeums for citizens and scientists alike to share their ex-
pertise and insights with others in visible, somewhat formal ways. An agency news-
letter, open house, or public forum could include writers and speakers who, in
additional to or instead of agency personnel, are citizens or scientists knowledge-
able about the issues under review. The Chugach National Forest land management
plan ID team published a periodic newsletter throughout the plan revision process,
as both print and on-line versions. The newsletters included as a regular feature es-
says on forest plan revision issues written by citizens who had important ideas and
perspectives to share (see for example, the Chugach National Forest plan revision
web site (Chugach National Forest).
Joint Training. Civic science ideas and citizen-scientist-manager interaction
can be fostered by brining the parties together in training programs germane to the
environmental policy situation. If a environmental or natural resource manage-
ment project includes a training component, training participants can be drawn
from each group.
As noted previously, these activities are proposed as methods for working
through the seemingly competitive tensions of technical expertise and inclusive-
ness. The dual goal of applying the best available science to an environmental pol-
icy situation while involving citizens meaningfully can be met. Collaborative civic
science venues can be developed and applied that bring scientists, citizens, and
managers together so that mutual learning can occur and both technical and tradi-
tional knowledge can be communicated. These venues may involve the design of
new, innovative methods or may draw upon existing approaches to collaboration
(e.g., Burgess & Burgess, 1996; Diemer & Alvarez, 1995; Sirmon, Shands, & Liggett,
1995; Walker & Daniels, 2001).
An Illustration: Wenatchee National Forest
Fire Recovery Planning
One of our earliest CL applications illustrates well the importance of a civic sci-
ence orientation to collaboration, public involvement, and natural resource
management planning. Over a 7-month period in 1994 and 1995, we worked
closely with members of the Wenatchee National Forest Leaders hip Team
(FLT) as part of its fire recovery planning effort. Throughout the project, we
placed a priority on the integration of scientific-technical knowledge and tra-
ditional/local knowledge.
The Wenatchee National Forest Fire Situation. On Sunday evening, 24 July
1994, a lightning storm moved east across the Cascade Mountain range of Central
Washington. Following in the wake of recording-breaking summer temperatures,
the storm came upon forests suffering from years of drought-like conditions. It ig-
nited numerous fires; 41 in the Wenatchee National Forest alone.
The fires thrived for a variety of reasons. In addition to the unusually dry forest
conditions and large volume of natural fuels, the fire burned in steep terrain,
stoked by strong winds with gusts up to 50 miles per hour. When the fires broke
out, limited local fire fighting resources were available. Fire fighting equipment
based in the Pacific Northwest, for example, was being employed to fight fires in
the Rocky Mountains. During the first few days of the fires, extreme, unpredictable
fire behavior hindered containment efforts. Many veteran firefighters encoun-
tered wildfire activity far different than what they expected. Some reported that
fires made dramatic, rapid runs down valleys, consuming over 1,000 acres in a
two-hour period (Wenatchee National Forest, 1994, p. 1).
By late July, four significant fires burned simultaneously in the Chelan County
portion of the Wenatchee National Forest: the Tyee Creek, Rat Creek (which was
human-caused), Hatchery Creek , and Round Mountain fires. Together the fires
burned over 181,000 acres, temporarily closed major highways, destroyed 37
homes, drew over 8,000 firefighting personnel from 25 states, and cost almost $70
million to suppress (Wenatchee National Forest, 1994, p. 2). Although the fires
were generally contained by mid-August, some high country areas continued to
burn through September.
In late August, Wenatchee National Forest personnel initiatied a short-term re-
habilitation effort to thwart erosion, reduce the risk of floods, and maintain public
safety. As short-term rehabilitation efforts proceeded, forest-level and ranger dis-
trict management began to plan for the long-term health of the forests. They real-
ized that rehabilitating the forests required a comprehensive fire recovery
planning effort.
The forest supervisor, the forest rehabilitation director, and district rangers,
all key members of the Wenatchee National Forest Leadership Team, decided
that the fire recovery public involvement situation provided an opportunity
for a new, innovative approach. They recognized that forest restoration activi-
ties were complex and could be controversial, and that different views about
fire recovery and forest health provided the potential for conflict. Conse-
quently, the Wenatchee FLT decided to employ a CL approach, and solicited
the our participation.
Enacting Civic Science as Part of Collaborative Learning. This CL application
has been discussed extensively elsewhere (Blatner, Carroll, Daniels, & Walker,
2001; Daniels & Walker, 2001; Walker, Daniels, & Cheng, in press). We focus here
on aspects of the Wenatchee National Forest CL project that featured civic science.
1. The involvement of a science team. The fire recovery effort needed to be
grounded in ecosystem-based management (ESBM), combining the best available
scientific and technical knowledge with thorough public involvement. To draw
upon the best available science, the FLT supported the development of a science
team organized by the Wenatchee, Washington Lab of the USDA Forest Service Pa-
cific Northwest Research Station. The science team incorporated data from the
Wenatchee National Forest fires and previous fires to determine management sce-
narios that would maintain forest ecosystem health.
2. The participation of science team members in the CL workshops. Fire recov-
ery science team members were actively involved in the CL workshops that oc-
curred in ther communities of Leavenworth and Entiat, Washington in Chelan
County and Lynnwood, Washington in the Seattle area. Scientists gave presenta-
tions, participated in small group discussions with citizens, and along with other
citizens developed management improvement ideas.
3. Field trip opportunities. Field trips are a standard practice in natural re-
source management planning. As part of the Wenatchee National Forest CL pro-
ject, field trips served as part of the public involvement strategy, and often included
members of different interest groups. One field trip occurred as a result of a CL
workshop discussion. A group of university students challenged the views of a
Wenatchee National Forest fisheries biologist. In response, the biologist offered to
guide the students on a field trip into a key fire recovery riparian area.
4. Giving voice to traditional-local knowledge. In addition to employing sci-
entists as issue presenters at the CL workshops, we sought out people with local
knowledge. For example, a local independent logger had fought the Tyee fire and
took numerous photographs as he did. We were very impressed with his knowledge
of the forest and his experience fighting fires. We asked him if he would become an
issue presenter at the fire recovery CL workshops, and he agreed. His talks were as
compelling and as informative as any given by the scientists.
CONCLUSION
Given their complex and controversial nature, environmental conflict situations
seem ripe for civic science ideas and approaches. In terms of understanding the
policy challenges posed by environmental conflicts, the concept of civic science
and the ideas of Lee are insightful. The task of designing policy processes that can
accommodate civic sciencethe integration of science and politics, of scientists
and citizensdictates matching the tool to the task. We must think very carefully
about the fundamental attributes and challenges of environmental conflict situa-
tions and then design collaborative civic science systems that are robust in the face
of the challenges.
CL, a method we have been developing, applying, and refining over the past
few years, provides a case in point (Daniels & Walker, 1996; Daniels & Walker,
2001; Daniels, Walker, Carroll, & Blatner, 1996). CL has three features that make
it well suited to integrating science and citizenry as a part of an environmental
conflict situation: (a) it explicitly adopts a systems approach to the situation and
works to improve the participants' systems understanding; (b) it is more modest
in its expectations for progress than the more frequently used rationalcom-
prehensive models that seek solutions; and (c) it expects and attempts to accom-
modate a wide range of worldviews about environmental issues and the strategic
behaviors that those worldviews are likely to generate in controversial situations.
CL, though, is simply one framework that can be employed to advance the princi-
ples of civic science. Many other methods exist that seem compatible with civic science
(see Gray, 1989; and Dukes, 1996; Wondolleck & Yaffee, 2000 for reviews), such as
communities of interest and open decision making (Sirmon et al., 1993) or public dia-
logues (Littlejohn & Domenici, 2000; Public Dialogues Consortium). New methods
and venues can be designed that feature civic science ideas and activities.
Lee proposed that civic science may be most promising when four conditions
exist: a crisis, organizational disorder, information skepticism, and patience. In
this chapter, civic science as a concept has been modified to provide a perspective
on the interaction of different kinds of knowledgescientific-technical, tradi-
tional, and administrativein environmental conflict situations. Consequently,
civic science emerges in this chapter as a broader, more encompassing idea than
Lee may have originally intended. Still, many of Lee's thoughts on civic science re-
main relevant to this new conceptualization. As Lee explained, "adaptive manage-
ment and conflict are complimentary, each can catch errors and misunder-
standings that the other cannot" (1993, p. 173). Furthermore, "social learning
works best when it produces good science." In CL and other collaborative ap-
proaches that emphasize meaningful dialogue and deliberation, the tenets and ac-
tivities of civic science can generate good environmental policy decisions.
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ideas (pp. 123-156). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
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tion in natural resource management. Washington DC: Island Press.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Sense of Self-in-Place for Adaptive
Management, Capacity Building,
and Public Participation
James G. Cantrill
Northern Michigan University
In recent years, those interested in studying the sundry processes of environmental
communication have increasingly focused on place-based analyses of local at-
tempts to preserve the natural world. In tune with what McNeely and Pitt (1985)
called conservation from below, these studies often stress the means by which local
initiatives and governmental programs pursue enlightened ecosystem manage-
ment or the prevention of toxic spillover effects attending human commerce or
development. Sometimes lost in the hoopla of such localized studies regarding
public participation, however, is the fact that many of the places citizens and gov-
ernments wish to protect are already populated by those whose grounded attitudes
more-or-less may be at odds with others' ideas regarding the wise use of natural re-
sources. Indeed, it may be that the social dimension of environmental protection,
rather than the natural, is what ultimately secures the durable yet dynamic life of
humans interacting within a larger ecosystem context (Christensen et al., 1996).
Expanding upon Razee's (1996) description of the geography of rhetoricthat
environmental communication can invariably be traced back to a focus upon dif-
ferent place-based exigenciesthis chapter attempts to unite the physical (i.e.,
places) with what is demonstrably social (i.e., communication practices). Spe-
cifically, it focuses on the link between situated selves, public participation, and the
need to enhance the role of local understandings in building community capacity,
preserving natural resources, and reaping the bounty that nature provides. I begin
by briefly reviewing the extent to which geography provides a wellspring for argu-
ments about the environment, as well as a symbolic backdrop for approaching the
environment itself. Next, I turn to a body of scholarship that has examined senses
of place and self in the context of environmental discourse. Finally, I apply the
analysis to one approach by which natural resource professionals attempt to man-
age our use of the land. In doing so, I argue that natural resource management, if
153
154 CANTRILL
bereft of the vantage provided by citizens' senses of who they are given the places
they cling to, is largely shortsighted. By these means, I hope to further illuminate
the extent to which particular places serve as a perceptual, as well as physical
grounding, for how we symbolically approach, discuss, or eventually act upon en-
vironmental conditions, thereby welding geography to the social mileau in which
environmental communication occurs.
GEOGRAPHY AND THE COMMUNICATIVE IMPULSE
In order to study the effectiveness or appropriateness of environmental communi-
cation, most students and scholars of the subject often find it necessary to focus on
texts or campaigns dealing with particular places. For example, in Silent Spring,
Rachel Carson examined how a history of pesticide use could destroy the quality of
life in a future community; Henry David Thoreau went Walking in a particular
woods and explored a pond called Walden; Aldo Leopold's reflections in A Sand
County Almanac can be compared to the writings of John Muir, Edward Abbey,
Annie Dillard, or Terry Tempest Williams to the extent they all focus on the senses
people have for distinct places (cf. Razee, 1996). Yet these authors did not write in a
social vacuum, as their observations were as much a product of what their contem-
poraries thought about the environment as they were the result of the landscapes
they themselves perceived. Through such writings, we may begin to sense the tec-
tonic force of a distinctly human geography at play in the field of everyday commu-
nication and environmental discourse.
A relationship between social interaction and physical location was forecast
long ago by Mackinder (1887) when he noted that the discipline of geography is
"the science whose main function is to trace the interaction of [humans ] in society
and so much of [their] environment that varies locally" (p. 143). More than a cen-
tury later, most academic geographers have come to embrace this unification of
land and people as they describe what the Earth appears to be and how we might
live upon it (e.g., Johnson, 1997; Kates & Burton, 1986). In this context, specific
places represent the most complex of all geographic markers because they repre-
sent not only the physical and social elements of the spaces we recognize on the
landscapes of various regions but, more importantly, the memories and feelings
people have for those locations.
Our mental constructions of the sociogeographic places we perceive may be
strong or weak, positive or negative, lived-in or seldom visited. In a very real sense,
the places we know are found in our hearts and minds as reflections of what we
have experienced in life. Relph (1985) elaborated:
[Places] are constructed in our memories and affections through repeated en-
counters and complex associations. Place experiences are necessarily time-deep-
ened and memory-qualified. In geographical experience, a place is an origin; it is
8. SENSE OF SELF-IN-PLACE 155
where one knows others and is known to others; it is where one comes from and it is
one' s own ... (pp. 26-27)
In essence, place-based ownership and knowledge has become something of a cor-
nerstone in geographers' attempts to share their understanding of human-nature
relationships with students, citizens, and decision makers as they practice the art
and science of geos graphiEarth-writing.
One of the earliest formal attempts to analyze the relationship between peo-
ple and places occurred in the 1950s and 1960s at the University of Chicago. In
that seminal approach, humans were seen as developing mental images of their
environments that could be identified through research and reliably associated
with how people behave in reference to environmental risks and opportunities
(Kates & Burton, 1986; White, 1985). Particularly influential were the writings
of Simon (1957) who, as with others in the Chicago School of Behavioral Geog-
raphy that followed in his footsteps, suggested that the way we talk about the
physical environment results far more from our cognitive image of and social
networks based upon the built and natural environment than reality itself. In a
sense, our mental picture of the world out there resembles a map-like s tructure
in the mind that allows us to understand and act in everyday life. According to
Gould and White (1986) , most of our mental maps are based upon psychologi-
cal reactions to geographic places, the communication networks that permeate
those landscapes, and the social distinctions that carve up daily life. Conse-
quently, when we make reference to the environment or attend to environmen-
tal discourse, the landscape of our mind channels perception, highlights some
features while obscuring others, and roots awareness in social as well as physi-
cal relationships between people and things.
As a robust concept, the notion of place is also integral to a great many aspects
of our communicative lives and provides a foundation upon which a good deal of
discourse is constructed. The physical space we move through is full of land-
marks and references that, at various times and places, provide both a source for
environmental discourse as well as topoi (i.e., common-places) that can be re-
peatedly turned to explain a concept or make a point. Furthermore, communica-
tion about the environment often reflects what Harvey (1969) coined our
collective geographical imagination, or a recognition of the role places play in
our personal lives and the way that positioning allows us to relate to others in the
process of advocating options for land use or environmental protection.
Mugerauer (1985) argued that even the act of studying environmental commu-
nication depends on a time-space dynamic when he wrote: "environmental dis-
ciplines are possible only insofar as they critically work from our historical
interpretation of environment, which itself is possible only insofar as moun-
tains, rivers, meadows already show themselves, in language, to us as they are" (p.
66). In other words, not only does communication take place at some point in
156 CANTRILL
time (and, conversely, history can only be found or located in reference to some
description thereof), conceptions of place are intimately connected to and influ-
ence the language of environmental discourse as well (cf. Honadle, 1999; Menig,
1979). Indeed, a number of contemporary environmental historians have high-
lighted the role that place plays in the march of civilization and emerging advo-
cacy regarding natural resource policy (e.g., Cronon, Miles, & Gitlin, 1992;
Power, 1996; Wilkinson, 1992).
One way to illustrate the relationship between geography and the communi-
cative impulse is to consider the manner in which vicarious experiences of na-
ture or wildernes s drawn from the p op ular culture of p hotog rap hic
representations regarding landscapes found in coffee-table books, calendars,
and any number of advertising appeals that clutter the mediainfluence the
ways we think and talk about the world. Basing his analysis in the works of
Burke (e.g., 1969), Muir (1996) argued that such "powerful images influence
our awareness of nature, shape our expectations for outdoor experiences, and
constrain the way in which we approach political decisions about the future of
our environment" (p. 1; cf. Hoch & Franz, 1994; McKibben, 1995; Meister &
Japp, 2002) . In particular, embellished or digitally enhanced photographs and
paintings of wilderness settings constitute examples of what Knighton (1993)
has called eco-pornography, or objectified and idealized versions of what is ac-
tually a more-or-less flawed landscape encompassing a range of sometimes un-
appealing characteristics (e.g., mosquitoes, gray skies, trees blocking one' s
view) rendered invisible by the artist' s hand. The fact that artists throughout
history have altered their representations of places to seduce and titillate their
targets is less important than the effect such visual trans formations have on our
approach to the environment in general (Oravec, 1994). Consequently, as a so-
ciety we may have come to the point when our expectations for what is a healthy
and attractive place (e.g., a patch of unsullied wildernes s ) are unrealis tic at
their base. We have thus become disenchanted with the reality of natural sys-
tems and relationships when we attend to environmental communication or
have to deal with the world as it isoften urban, overpopulated, or polluted in
unseen ways.
Although there is certainly much more to the field of geography that what I pre-
viously described, the foregoing analysis should at least prompt us to seek deeper
understandings of the relationship between environmental communication and
the social dimensions of place. However, at the level of policy and practice, such
understandings are all-too-often eschewed by typical approaches to public partici-
pation and environmental protection. If advocates and insurgents or governments
and stakeholders are ever to develop greater capacity to hasten a wiser use of natu-
ral resources, they need to appreciate how people see themselves in the places they
think they belong. And it is not as if we lack some direction in purs uing this objec-
tive! To one degree or the other, scholars have already focused their attention on
exploring the person-place dynamic.
A SENSE OF SELF AND A SENSE OF PLACE
Just as environmental communication takes place in a geographic context, so too
do people think about the environment in reference to whom they are, given where
they exist. This cluster of beliefs brings together one's personal identity, her or his
perceptions of the environment in general, and personal assumptions about spe-
cific places on Earth. Obviously, our experiences of living in the worldwhat we
have seen throughout our personal historiesmold our present conceptions of
and feelings about the particular places we inhabit, visit, or avoid. An important
implication of the fact that people have tacit understandings of who they are given
where they are is that what we hear and say about the environment is significantly
affected by the particular place-based identity we possess. For example, people
growing up highly urbanized environments will tend to have one view of them-
selves and the world that can be contrasted against those who have matured in
more rural settings. Similarly, when we re-visit a type of environment time and
again (e.g., mountainous regions), or steadfastly shun other locations (e.g., big cit-
ies), such experiences color our views of where we fit into nature and human soci-
ety. The landscapes we habitually experience and our perceptions of who we are in
those environments shape our worldly engagements, thereby influencing what we
think about when presented with environmental communications.
For more than half a century a variety of scholars, especially those in the fields of
anthropology and geography, have thought about and examined the extent to
which people develop a sense of place. As an idea that changed the face of geogra-
phy itself (Relph, 1997), the sense of place construct has been approached from a
variety of directions. Some (e.g., Agnew, 1989; Altman & Low, 1992; Hummon,
1992; Hunter, 1978; Tuan, 1977) have focused on persons' emotional bonding or
attachment to particular places while others have examined the relationship be-
tween personal and collective meanings that intersect at a particular physical site
(Basso, 1988; Steele, 1981) or the way in which people imbue meaning in different
locations (Bragg, 1996). Still other contemporary scholars have examined the con-
cept in terms of cultural forces (Grossberg, 1993), orientations toward time
(Lutwack, 1984), interacting social relations (Massey, 1994; cf. Zonn, 1990), one's
length of tenure in a region (Cantrill, 1998), the structure and consistency of activ-
ity (Stokols & Shumaker, 1981), the relationship between perceptions of place and
socio-economic status (Cantrill & Masluk, 1996), or the tangibility of specific en-
vironmental features (Fournier, 1991).
All of the sense of place analyses completed to date seem to share the same as-
sumption that place-based perception is the product of various social processes
grounded in the known past, observed present, and anticipated future; it is "a set of
place meanings that are actively and continuously constructed and reconstructed
within individual minds, shared cultures, and social practices" (Williams & Stew-
art, 1998, p. 19). These meanings are generated and sustained in one of two ways:
either by way of direct action in the environment across the lifespan or through vi-
158 CANTRILL
carious experiences gleaned from the mass media, such as watching the Travel
Channel, or interpersonal encounters, such as friends recounting their vacation
adventures. These social and perceptual processes result in reasonably durable im-
pressions of what either specific (e.g., a particular industrial brownfield or wildlife
refuge) or general locations are like (e.g., what is typically associated with indus-
trial brownfields or wildlife refuges) or both, whether those places should be ap-
proached or not, and what would be acceptable characterizations of those areas if
others were to discuss them.
Yet a sense of place, per se, would be somewhat vacuous if it were not for the
people whose identities resonated with such mental creations. That is, as people
develop a sense for what various places are likecleaving to some and not to oth-
ers along the waythey are also nurturing a sense of who they are in relation to
those places. It is the symbiotic relationship between place-perception and
self-concept that drives, at least in part, our periwinkle-like attachment to special
places in the world and galvanizes our self-interest in issues that affect the land-
scapes with which we identify.
Scholars have often pondered over the extent to which the environment is im-
portant to the formation of one's identity (e.g., Beeson, Stewart, & Stowkowski,
1996; Carbaugh, 1996; Twigger-Ross & Uzzell, 1996). For instance, we know that
early childhood experiences in nature can have a profound effect upon a person' s
later appreciation for and identification with wildlife, the habitats animals depend
on, and particular types of environmental settings (Korpela, 2002; cf. Meyers,
1998). We also know that, as people develop a sense of who they are, their identities
grow out of experiences in particular environments. In essence, we all develop
what Cantrill (1993) called an environmental self, or that portion of our self-con-
cept that is associated with the physical world beyond our own bodies (cf. Bragg,
1996; Cuba & Hummon, 1993; Roszak, 1992).
An extensive body of literature dealing with schema theory (e.g., Cantor &
Mischel, 1979;Mandler, 1984; Schmidt & Sherman, 1984; Taylor & Crocker, 1981)
suggests that an individual' s sense of self is partially represented by beliefs associat-
ing the self-as-perceived with the external physical or social environment. What
we believe about the self is buttressed by what we encounter in our daily lives (cf.
Miller, 1982; Tybout & Yalch, 1980). For example, we know that the self exerts a
strong referential effect in focusing attention and stimulating memory (e.g.,
Kihlstrom et al., 1988) and Tichenor' s (1988) analysis demonstrated that when we
assess surveys of what others think are grave environmental problems, we use our
own experiences in the environment as a basis for determining how we should re-
act to potential problems. Here, the perception of solutions, as well as problems,
seems hemmed in by the way we picture ourselves in relation to our environments,
or our environmental self.
The environmental self is created in much the same way that the rest of our
self-concepts form (e.g., Cooley, 1968; Kihlstrom, 1993; Kihlstrom & Klein, 1994).
For example, Gergen and Gergen (1988) suggested that our self-concepts evolve via
the tacit narratives we create to make sense of life events in systematic typically
self-serving ways. Because these mental autobiographies are the product of social ex-
changes in and about the environment, since they are continually in the process of
being reinforced, the environmental self is always accessible in perceiving environ-
mental problems (cf. Bargh, 1989; Williams & Stewart, 1998). Even in those situa-
tions where environmental conditions are far from benign (e.g., an arid desert,
frozen tundra, or polluted slum), the human drive to adapt will necessarily result in
an internal association between who someone is and where he or she finds them-
selves spending most of their time. Also the visceral experience of becoming habitu-
ated to one type of an environment over another can result in all manner of biases.
Bixler and Floyd (1997, 1999) found, for example, that children raised in the inner
city are typically disgusted or even frightened by nature beyond the urban fringe;
they simply do not see themselves as fitting into those types of places. Different bases
of experience result in different reactions to different environments, preferences for
different types of activities, and assumptions regarding one's vested self-interest in
different environmental issues (cf. Krause, 1993; Simons, 1993).
The combination of a sense of place and the environmental self results in what
could be considered a sense of self-in-place. In their review and application of the
sense of self-in-place construct, Cantrill and Senecah (2001) reported that how we
see ourselves in relationship to place affects our commitments to either dominant
or emerging world views (e.g., Cantrill & Masluk, 1996) and how we react to local
land-use controversies (e.g., Cantrill, 1996, 1998, 1999; Lagerroos, Shiffered, &
Graf, 1995; Quinn & Potter, 1997). Just as others have maintained (e.g.,
Brandenberg & Carroll, 1994; Hester, 1985; Preister, 1994), they report that, even
across extensive geographic regions, citizens' views of the natural and social envi-
ronment are modified by psychological processes and personal assumptions
grounded in personal or indirect experience. That is:
Considered as a whole cloth, such studies of the self-in-place construct suggest that the
fabric of one's environmental self and a sense of place is richly textured and has a ten-
sile strength largely dependent on separate strands of economic and social life accom-
panying any given location. Schema for the natural world are, thus, best conceived as a
tapestry of intersecting experiences, often times cut-off from the actual physical envi-
ronment. As such, when citizens and policy makers appeal to one another in an effort
to promote different land-use options, they must do so in an awareness of the compet-
ing cognitive demands experience places on the processing of advocacy. And using the
framework to reconsider various examples of contemporary public policy promotion
may provide some hint of how complex the process of natural resource advocacy can
be in light of the self-in-place construct. (Cantrill & Senecah, 2001, p. 192)
To compliment Cantrill and Senecah's (2001) exposition on the practical utility
of the sense of self-in-place construct, I want to now turn to a general class of natu-
ral resource management practices that clearly implicate a viable role for under-
160 CANTRILL
standing selves and places in the process of public participation, capacity building,
and environmental conduct.
SOCIAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF PLACE
AND ADAPTIVE MANAGEMENT
The use of adaptive management strategies for natural resource policy implemen-
tation in the United States can be viewed as one contemporary approach to the
practice of ecosystem analysis and conflict preemption at something of a landscape
scale (Boormann, Cunningham, Brookes, Manning, & Collopy, 1994; cf. Lee,
Regier, & Rapport, 1982; Lee, 1993). In general, this suite of resource extraction
and protection strategies focus on the sustainable yield of a natural resource, best
management practices, and monitoring the interface between a range of utilitarian
values pertinent to a particular region (e.g., forest plans promulgated by the USDA
Forest Service). However, as policy makers and natural resource specialists at-
tempt to mesh economic and social desires for on-the-ground activity with the
need to maintain the natural rhythms of ecosystems, they must take into account
the fact that human perception ultimately drives both the process and the product
of adaptive management.
To the extent adaptive natural resource management is goal driven, and those
goals evolve in a sociopolitical context supported by the ways in which citizens and
decision makers view the world, it becomes necessary to also adapt land-use prac-
tices to the psychologies of those affected by remedial actions, forest-stand treat-
ments, regional policy making, and the like. Discussions regarding adaptive
management (e.g., Holling, 1978; Stankey & Shindler, 1997; Walters, 1986;
Walters & Holling, 1990) equally assume that the process of managing regional re-
sources is neither simple nor linear. Resource management must be treated as a
landscape-scale, experimental situation requiring careful attention to continual
monitoring of feedback from the system, evaluation, and adjustment. Here, the
time frames for assessment and policy implementation are longer than what may
occur at the level of, say, a forest stand and the political backdrop for land manage-
ment is often much more contentious. Consequently, in addition to requisite sci-
entific and technical directives, a wide variety of social factors should be loaded
into the calculus for innovative land-use decision making. In particular, Shindler,
Cheek, and Stankey (1999) observed: "It is important to pay attention to the spe-
cific characteristics of the management setting and the participants involved; these
are often the reasons citizens choose to become involved [in the adaptive manage-
ment process] in the first place" (p. 1). Considered in this light, practices of adap-
tive management should proceed in concert with democratic consensus building
at the local level, where those most affected by land use policies and who are most
attached to a place reside.
Design principles for the adaptive management process typically are oper-
ationalized in Adaptive Management Areas (AMAs) , such as those instituted in the
Pacific Northwest following President Clinton's "forest summit" in 1993. In the-
ory, agency planning for specific AMAs must continually adapt to changing stake-
holder values (Shands, 1991), as well as embrace a plurality of equally applicable
perspectives for land-use modification, remediation, or both. Such requires an ef-
fective scheme for incorporating public participation in the adaptive management
process, just as it is required by alternative environmental initiatives (e.g., NEPA) .
Paehlke and Torgerson (1990) contended that public participation is essential in-
sofar as citizens' vested interests and localized knowledge regarding an AMA me-
diate their acceptance or rejection of agency directives (cf. Lawrence & Daniels,
1997; Senecah, 1996).
The contemporary move toward ins tituting adaptive management as the
modus operandi for natural resource agencies may reflect what Bengston and
Xu (1995; cf. Grumbine, 1994) observed as being a fundamental shift in the val-
ues of natural resource managers and mains tream environmental organiza-
tions since the early 1980s. At least in principle, resource managers accept the
fact that policy making and implementation must occur in accordance with
public perception. In reference to establishing specific AMAs, Stankey and
Shindler (1997) elaborated:
The act of drawing a boundary around a piece of land infers [sic.] that the enclosed
area possesses some kind of meaning. Boundaries, as Michael (1995) notes, are im-
portant to both individuals and organizations. They support prevailing belief sys-
tems and, in turn, reinforce them. They determine access, power, and legitimacy.
The level of formality with which their meaning is codified can differ widely; it
might be statutory, ... or it might be highly informal, albeit widely recognized ...
The key point is that the designation carries with it a meaning that many people
recognize and value, (p. 3)
In short, place-based knowledge is an essential foundation for instituting an
adaptive management regime; as the product of interaction between people and
particular sites (Lang, 1990), such knowledge is held by more than merely the
management team for an AMA. In particular, a person's sense of self-in-place
serves as a platform for understanding and processing claims regarding the envi-
ronment, thus placing people in reference to policies compatible with an adaptive
management regime.
Although the concept of adaptive management explicitly references the need to
actively assess human perceptions of the process, actual attempts to measure those
perceptions often fall short of the mark. Unfortunately, a good deal of the analysis
under girding adaptive management short-sheets the role of public participation
qua local perceptions by referencing expert knowledge systems (e.g., economic,
scientific, technical) over less tangible ways of knowing (Peterson & Peterson,
1996), or by seeming to give only perfunctory emphasis to a range of human values
in any given ecosystem (Stankey & Shindler, 1997). Consequently, public partici-
162 CANTRILL
pation is often minimal, shallow, or considered as a proforma afterthought to
championing one course of action over another (cf. Killingsworth & Palmer,
1992). Such departures from the ideal may occur for various reasons, each of
which are more-or-less grounded in a faulty approach to appreciating, identifying,
and measuring public concerns regarding AMAs.
A major barrier to using citizens' beliefs as one basis for adaptive management
follows from the way in which natural resource managers have been trained to think
about ecosystem management per se. Most of the tools used by present-day environ-
mental decision makers in an adaptive management context (e.g., Dale & English,
1999) still seem rooted in an engineering model that either eschews the role of per-
ception or, at best, turns to the preferences of secondary interest-groups rather than
individual stakeholders (cf. Forester, 1989; Wellman, 1987; Westley, 1995). This is in
stark contrast to field studies and tests of various models dealing with rational choice
that demonstrate citizens evaluating their options for environmental conduct based
on immediate and local circumstances (e.g., Honadle, 1999; Ostrom, 1990; Popkin,
1979; Russell & Nicholson, 1981). Although the adaptive management process is of-
ten viewed as an experiment in learning how to learn (Boormann et al., 1994), too
often human variance is seen as an obstacle to successful policy implementation,
rather than an integral part of the educational setting. As a consequence, even in the
preliminary planning process conflicts can arise between regional stakeholders and
resource agencies requiring preemptive conflict management interventions.
Unfortunately, preemptive AMA conflict-interventions themselves may fur-
ther polarize the parties in a dispute. Conflict assessment related to adaptive sys-
tems typically addresses tensions from a structural perspective (e.g., Wondolleck,
1988; cf. Senecah, 2000), focusing on judicial or legislative remedies rather than
dealing with the underlying psychology that sparks conflict in the first place. When
human perception is taken into account, it often gets relegated to the status of be-
ing merely "an adjunct to the formal, scientific knowledge held by experts, such as
wildlife biologists or silviculturalists" (Stankey & Shindler, 1997, p. 8). Honadle
(1999) indicted this approach in writing:
[Resource] preservation generally aims to separate people from natural areas ... this
is often seen as "anti-people" by local populations. The ecological reasoning of out-
side "experts" is not well understood and local populations do not accept it as a legit-
imate decision. They see it as theft of their livelihood, theft of their birthright, and
destruction of their continuity of place, and they respond accordingly, (pp. 17-18)
Thus, even if stakeholders know and accept arguments in favor of one course of
action over another, they may nonetheless be reluctant to adopt those proposals pre-
cisely because they feel that their local interests have not been addressed and are,
therefore, somehow threatened (cf. deHaven Smith, 1988; Stamm &Grunig, 1977).
On the other hand, when resource managers do make a concerted attempt to
assess the beliefs of AM A stakeholders, they may not be tapping into perceptual di-
mensions that matter most in promulgating policies. For example, many ap-
proaches to adaptive management (e.g., Walters, 1986) suggest measuring the
demographics of or values held by those in an area under prescriptive consider-
ation. However, sociodemographic variables provide a rather poor basis for seg-
menting audiences and predicting responses to policy proposals (see Cantrill,
1993 for an extended review). Furthermore, Albrecht, Bultena, Hoiberg, and
Nowak's (1982) research demonstrated that social factors do not seem to exert a
uniform effect upon environmental perception; different individuals selectively
embrace competing orientations toward the environment simultaneously (cf.
Cantrill & Chimovitz, 1993).
In addition to the shortcomings of demographic representation, and depend-
ing on how one pictures the function of values in daily life, resource managers can
easily draw inappropriate inferences if they choose only to survey the attitudes of
those living in an AMA. For example, Bengston and Xu (1995) parsed stakeholder
values into instrumental (i.e., economic, utilitarian, or life supporting) and
noninstrumental (i.e., aesthetic, moral, or spiritual) categories to assess differ-
ences between foresters, mainstream environmentalists, and the general public.
Yet, who is to decide if an aesthetic response in one location is any less instrumen-
tal to an AMA stakeholder than a utilitarian assessment by a resource manager? It
seems likely that drawing such distinctions may, in of itself, be quite value laden
and obscure to those whose cooperation in an AMA planning process is essential.
It might be far better to focus on individual forests and inductively generated be-
liefs when assessing values since that is where self-interest truly becomes grounded
(Vining & Ebreo, 1991).
Overall, the perception of solutions (e.g., adaptive management directives),
as well as environmental problems, seem mediated by the way we envision our-
selves in relation to where we live. Fostering "adaptive capacity," or "creating the
ability to continue to assess a changing environment and to construct new re-
sponses to the changes" (Honadle, 1999, p. 21), requires enfranchising large sec-
tors of the population that have previously been marginalized in the decision
making process (cf. Schmidheiny, 1992). Perceptions of place and self may hold a
key to clarifying persons' general responses to adaptive management initiatives
on public and private lands, thereby providing a warrant for reconceptualizing
what is important to learn about and adapt to when trying to include citizens in
the adaptive management process.
Insofar as research and theory supports the idea that a sense of self-in-place
influences what we valueboth in our own localities as well as at a distancere-
garding use of the land, natural resource managers should remember that those
from within often know more than those from without (cf. deHaven Smith,
1998; Freeh, 1993; Hester, 1985; Krause, 1993; Mitchell, Force, Carroll, &
McLaughlin, 1993; Stokols, 1990). Also, the academic exercise of exploring rela-
tionships between places and policies is often matched by our lived experience.
For example, consider the places people care about in contrast to those they
164 CANTRILL
hardly ever think about. Typically, the extent to which we think we are a member
of a particular community, or would like to live in a specific type of place, deter-
mine the strength of what we value about that setting. Also, those special places
or general environments that are adjacent to where we live or want to reside are
more valuable to us than areas at a distance.
Empirically, the tendency for people to draw close to places they prefer and to
distance themselves from places they do not like, or geographic discounting
(Hannon, 1994; cf. Norton & Hannon, 1997), suggests that what we value in the
environment and how we respond to environmental threats are a function of how
close something is in time and space to places we care for or disdain. The strongest
positive or negative evaluations people have of proposals or physical conditions
relate to what they typically experience in the present tense. The further from the
present we envision a place, and the further away from our immediate place a
problem or opportunity exists, the less likely we are to express strong opinions or
do anything about what happened in the past, is happening now, or is going to
happen in the future (cf. Harvey, 1996; Massey, 1994; Miles, 1978; Schroeder,
1996). Thus, the practices of adaptive management must be predicated upon a
public participatory process that enfranchises local stakeholders who are con-
cerned, foremost, over the immediate future for places they sense are spatially con-
nected to who they are or hope to be.
Findings such as those reported earlier indicate that the promotion of natu-
ral resource policies under the aegis of adaptive management ought to pay close
attention to the sense of self-in-place cons truct. By way of illus tration, Wil-
liams and Stewart (1998) argued that in order to avoid the automatic rejection
of any p rop os ed l and - us e chang e, commonl y r ef er r ed to as the
not-in-my-backyard or NIMBY syndrome (e. g. , Maz manian & Morell, 1994),
natural resource professionals mus t take into account the social dimens ions of
an area that get mapped onto citizens' personal unders tandings of the world at
large. As they point out, to know the politics of an issue, one mus t know the pol-
itics of the place (p. 22; cf. Cantrill, 1999; Dean, 1994; Weigert, 1997). Williams
and Stewart (1998) further observed:
Negotiating a shared sense of place that incorporates both natural and social history
allows managers opportunity to find common ground without pigeonholing people
into utilitarian, environmentalist, or romantic preservationist positions. That is, it
may be possible to build a level of consensus around sense of place because it readily
leads to a discussion of desired future conditions of a resource in both ecological and
human terms, (p. 23)
Of course, I contend that a sense of place does not trump the environmental
self; both must be considered when agencies try their best to do what is appropriate
since people, with all their perceptual blemishes, are part of the ecosystem we seek
to wisely manage purs uant to a range of human values.
CAPITALIZING ON PLACE PERCEPTION
AND ENVIRONMENTAL PERSONHOOD
Clearly, one approach to making environmental sustainability matter to natural
resource policy stakeholders, as well as other citizens in the public sphere, is to
deluge them with personally meaningful information regarding land use poli-
cies, prescriptions, and practices. If people are inundated with persuasive ap-
peals s ugges ting that their immediate s elf-interes ts are well served by
cooperating in ecosystem management regimes, related research indicates they
are likely to change their attitudes and behaviors (e.g., Allen, 1990; Bishop,
Oldendick, Tuchfarber, & Bennet, 1980; Cordell, Bergstrom, & Watson, 1992;
Vogel, 1986; Zimmerman, 1996). This warrant for increasing citizen ownership
in the project is especially relevant to issues that are not easily seen in daily life,
such as the preservation of biodiversity (van Es, Lorence, Morgan, & Church,
1996). Furthermore, by offering well-reasoned arguments based on stake-
holders' senses of selves-in-place, citizens may be motivated to voice their con-
cerns as well as demand accountability, all of which seems consistent with
democratic values at a very local level.
Effectively advancing principles and practices of adaptive management to the
public at large may be something of a daunting task. On the one hand, natural re-
source managers must correctly identify what constitutes a salient sense of
self-in-place for target audiences in an AMA since citizens may distort informa-
tion that accompanies policy changes if those directives run counter to their senses
of place and selves in the environment. On the other hand, merely prompting citi-
zens to focus on the interaction between humans and the biosphere may trigger at-
titudinal backlash grounded in their preference of social factors over those of
nature. In this context, those interested in adaptive management need to advise
policy makers and ordinary citizens as to the ways in which the mind, placed as it is
among competing social and environmental pressures, functions to make sense
out of advocacy related to the self.
In some situations, especially those in which a public is willing to spend time
and effort in crafting narratives regarding their concerns, it may be possible to
have people produce written records of their special places in an area
(Lindholdt, 1999). By getting people to focus on and report about the details of
those places they hold dear, environmental advocates can begin to discover
what Thomashow (1995) called the ecological identity of a group of people.
Not only does this process have the advantage of empowering advocates with a
general unders tanding of valued places in a local environment, it also prompts
those providing reports a good deal of self-discovery regarding why they have
an affinity for particular places. Following further introspection and guidance,
most stakeholders may come to unders tand the extent to which their collective
desires for peace of mind or a particular quality of life depend on one type of
policy or action as opposed to another.
166 CANTRILL
Another approach to identifying citizens' senses of self-in-place has been
adopted by a number of researchers in a variety of settings (e.g., Cantrill, 1996;
Greider & Garkovich, 1994; Lange, 1993; Peterson, Gilbertz, & Varner, 1995;
Priester, 1994). In this case, stakeholders are interviewed about whatever re-
gion is being considered for modification or protection, the interviews are
transcribed, and an open-coding methodology is used to categorize responses
to interview questions (Delamont, 1994; Strauss & Corbin, 1990). Although
this methodology is rather time consuming, it res ults in a highly empirical as-
sessment of themes characterizing perceptions of the social and natural envi-
ronment. This process involves the gradual building and verification of a
categorization scheme, indexing the most common themes employed by re-
spondents when describing their lives in a community or region. The act of
making comparisons between individuals' responses and within res pondent' s
narratives or answers is quite flexible in that it permits line-by-line analysis of
phrases or single words, examination of sentences or paragraphs , or inspection
of an entire interview to isolate and compare dominant themes and percep-
tions. These themes can be compared against one another to discover which
topics (e.g., landscape changes expected to take place in the near future) are re-
liably associated with particular demographic variables (e.g., age, length of res-
idence, political affiliation) . This type of data can then be used to craft various
communication campaigns aimed at specific segments of a population (cf.
Grunig, 1989).
Taking the time to tap into citizens' senses of self-in-place is a sensible and
truly adaptive approach that strengthens our capacity to act on the land without
becoming bogged-down in an undue legislative or judicial process. Specifically,
managing conflict or promoting policy can thus be trans formed into a
nonrecursive process wherein resource managers assess and take into account
stakeholders' senses of selves-in-place, serve as facilitators in the process of
teaching antagonists the perceptions held by one another, and craft consensual
policies that satisfy the demands of stakeholder desires while maintaining the in-
tegrity of the ecosystemic approach (cf. Daniels & Walker, 1996; Lawrence &
Daniels, 1996; Shindler & Neburka, 1997).
In closing, I hope to have provided the reader with a different perspective on
how scholars and specialists in the field can approach the practice of environ-
mental communication, as well as advance the notion of enlightened ecosys-
tem management that has a place for human desires and needs, from the
vantage of citizens' senses of selves-in-place. Such wants and necessities are
founded upon the exigence of geography and psychology that should be heeded
as we try to adapt ourselves to the land and the land to ourselves. I recognize
that the sense of self-in-place cons truct is but one avenue toward a greater un-
derstanding of human behavior in a most complex social and natural resource
policy-making context, and I encourage others to draw connections between
their perspectives and that which has been surveyed in this chapter. Ultimately,
our joint abilities to solve the puzzle of how perception mediates environmen-
tal conduct will be tested by our tenacity in reexamining old findings, crossing
disciplinary lines, and synthesizing new ideas. For the planet is pockmarked by
perceptions that, collectively, define the only home we will ever know and I
think it best to get on with the job of sustaining a society that appreciates our
collective place in the world.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Portions of this chapter were presented at the 2000 International Conference of
the Society for Human Ecology, the 2000 International Symposium on Society and
Resource Management, and the 2000 meeting of the National Communication
Association. Grateful appreciation is extended to Dr. Susan L. Senecah for her in-
sightful contributions to those earlier manuscripts.
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CHAPTER NINE
And the Beat Goes On: The Third
Decade of Environmental Journalism
Sharon M. Friedman
Lehigh University
In 1990, I wrote an essay about the first two decades of environmental journal-
ism in the United States and was not too optimistic about how this specialty
would progress as the years went on. Comparing the environmental reporting
of the 1970s to the 1980s, I saw many similarities and not much progress in the
quality of the reporting. I criticized it for its focus on event reporting of envi-
ronmental disasters such as the Bhopal chemical accident and Exxon Valdez oil
spill and pollution-oriented problems of Love Canal and Times Beach without
looking at root causes. In particular, I singled out a lack of depth and context
that confused audiences about the environmental health risks they heard trum-
peted in the media (Friedman, 1991). My criticism echoed that of communica-
tion researchers and some reporters over the decade (see Carmody, 1995;
Dunwoody & Griffin, 1993; Nelkin, 1995; Rogers, 1999; Wilkins, 1987). How-
ever, in the 1990s, things changed.
This chapter evaluates the third decade of environmental reportingwith a
bonus of the first two years of the new centuryfrom views expressed in some aca-
demic journals , two profes s ional publications , Environment Writer and
SEJo urnal,
1
and by a dozen senior environmental journalists who represent all
forms of media.
2
Surprisingly, given the often-differing opinions of academics and
working journalists, there was agreement that what happened in environmental
journalism during the decade was generally positive.
Environment Writer was published by the Environmental Health Center of the National
Safety Council until 2002, when it changed publishers and is now published by the Metcalf Insti-
tute for Marine and Environmental Reporting of the University of Rhode Island. SEJournalis the
quarterly publication of the Society of Environmental Journalists.
A short list of questions was sent to 16 senior environmental journalists who are former or
present members of the Board of Directors of the Society of Environmental Journalists, as well as
two former journalists who are long-time observers of the field. Twelve responded with cogent
(continued on next page)
175
176 FRIEDMAN
The 1990s became the decade that environmental journalism as practiced by
full-time specialty reporters
3
grew into its shoes, becoming more sophisticated
with the help of the Internet and a professional organization, the Society of Envi-
ronmental Journalists. The field also matured as stories changed from relatively
simple event-driven pollution stories to those of far greater scope and complexity
such as land use management, global warming, resource conservation, and bio-
technology. Growing into shoes can be painful if they pinch, however, and envi-
ronmental coverage, like most other journalism beats during this decade, faced a
shrinking news hole brought about by centralization of media ownership, revenue
losses and challenges from new media. Environmental journalism' s dilemma was
dealing with a shrinking news hole while facing a growing need to tell longer, com-
plicated and more in-depth stories.
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE NEWS HOLE
AND THE ENVIRONMENTAL BEAT DURING THE 1990s?
There is nothing new about journalists complaining about lack of space and air time.
This lack has been a consistent constraint in most areas of journalism. A 2000 survey
of 55 full- and part-time environmental reporters in New England reported that they
considered the size of the news hole as second only to time constraints as the most
frequent barrier to reporting on the environment (Sachsman, Simon & Valenti,
2002). As the 1990s progressed, a rapidly declining environmental news hole ap-
peared even more severe because reporters faced a famine after a feast.
The feast at the start of the decade saw environmental journalism enjoying a re-
surgence after being in the doldrums as a beat through a good part of the 1980s.
The resurgence actually began in 1988 when a severe drought and summer heat
wave led many Americans to ponder what they were doing to the environment.
Media attention once more focused on the environment, including Time maga-
zine, which named the Endangered Earth as its "Planet of the Year" in January
1989. Increased public and media coverage also catalyzed a massive Earth Day cel-
ebration in 1990, the 20th anniversary of the first Earth Day.
Adding to the excitement were the two Pulitzer Prizes for environmental stories
awarded in 1990. One, for national reporting, went to The Seattle Times for coverage
of the Exxon Valdez oil spill, and the other was given to the Washington (NC) Daily
(continued) answers. While their answers are not representative of all full- or p art-time envi-
ronmental journalists in the United States, their long years of experience give them a perspective
that is highly knowledgeable and insightful about what has happened over the past 12 years. In
this chapter, because of promised confidentiality, individual journalis ts are not identified with
their comments except as a member of the group that responded to the questions. Citations for
members of this group are as senior environmental journalists or senior reporters. My thanks to
all of the journalists for their assistance.
Most remarks in this chapter apply to reporters who spend the majority of their time on the envi-
ronmental beat and not general assignment reporters who cover environmental issues occasionally.
9. THIRD DECADE OF ENVIRONMENTAL JOURNALISM 177
News for public service for its coverage of a local water contamination scandal. No
Pulitzers had been award to environmental stories since 1980 and before then they
were few and far between (A review of environmental Pulitzers, 1999-2000).
This spate of greatly increased media attention to the environment went on
for about 3 years and included the 1992 Earth Summit in Rio, which generated
reams of copy, including another Time cover story. More media attention meant
more environmental reporters and more space and air time for environmental
issues. Caught up in the wave of interest, some editors and news directors even
proclaimed the environment to be the issue of the decade. Major newspapers,
such as the New York Times and the Los Angeles Times, not only covered environ-
ment on their front pages, but also featured it in other sections, even the business
section. At least, three new environmental magazines began publication. Busi-
ness Week started a special environmental section, as did many newspapers, and
television stations added E-teams after market research showed the environment
greatly interested viewers (Friedman, 1991).
A survey by the Scientists Institute for Public Information showed that 138
small newspapers were giving more coverage in 1990 to environmental issues than
they had 1 or 2 years earlier (Friedman, 1991). In 1993, a study sponsored by the
Foundation for American Communications showed that half the newspapers and
one-fourth of the local television stations surveyed had specifically assigned a re-
porter to cover environmental issues, although few covered the environment ex-
clusively (Ward, 1993).
Unfortunately, the feast gave way to the famine as environmental interest once
again faded in the American public and its media. The environmental beat has
never really been stable, riding a cycle of ups and downs like an elevator. These cy-
cles, and consequent increases or decreases in numbers of environmental report-
ers and their space or air time, appear to be driven by public interest and events, as
well as economic conditions.
After a high point in the early 1990s, the environmental journalism elevator
went down and both the number of environmental reporters and the news hole be-
gan to decline. In 1994, Bud Ward, editor of Environment Writer said: "Virtually
every objective indicator suggests that public interest in environmental issues has
declined rather than increased in recent years. Anecdotal indications are that air
time and column inches on environmental issues also have declined" (p. 2) .
Indeed, a survey done at Michigan State University in 1996 found that 23% of
newspaper and 44% of television environmental journalists were spending less
time reporting about environmental issues than they had the year before. More
than one-third of the 496 environmental journalists responding to the survey said
they spent no more than one-quarter of their time on the environmental beat and a
majority spent no more than half their time covering environmental stories. Lack
of space or air time was one of their major complaints (Detjen, Fico, & Li, 1996).
Television news, in particular, dropped from an environmental coverage peak
on the three national networks (ABC, CBS, and NBC) of 774 minutes in 1989, the
178 FRIEDMAN
year of the Exxon Valdez oil spill, to a low for the decade of 122 minutes in 1994.
For the next few years, the range of minutes devoted on the three major networks
to environmental issues ranged from 174 minutes in 1996 to 280 in 2000 (A. Tyn-
dall, personal communication, Sept. 18, 2002).
On the local television scene, stations that had established environmental
beats in 1990 to ride the wave of public interest reduced the air time available for
environmental stories and soon dropped the beat thereafter. Said one local tele-
vision news director in 1996: "The environment doesn' t show up as high as it
used to in our research. It' s not there. It' s gone. People stopped buying the prod-
uct" (Ropeik, 1996, p. 22) .
Without the attention-getting benefits of the environmental disasters of the
1980s and pseudo-events such as Earth Day anniversaries, the environmental news
hole kept shrinking during the mid- and late 1990s. At the national level, the
Clinton-Gore years were a time of less controversy over the environment than the
Reagan-Bush years, and less controversya major constituent of hard news
means less coverage. One major exception was an attempt by House Republicans
to roll back environmental regulations in 1995. This attempted retrenchment gen-
erated coverage, even on national television newscasts.
Faced with economic downturns, some editors saw the opportunity to pare
their staffs by assigning environmental stories to general assignment reporters or
asking environmental reporters to cover other topics. Despite these negative pres-
sures, environmental issues did not disappear from the media by any stretch of the
imagination, except perhaps on television where spurts of coverage erupted only
when a major environmental event occurred such as the Kyoto Conference in 1997
(A. Tyndall, personal communication, Sept. 18, 2002) .
The up elevator for the environmental beat and news hole restarted when
George W. Bush took office. His anti-environmental moves in energy, reversing
his campaign promise to reduce carbon dioxide emissions, and his drive to drill
in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, generated controversy and brought envi-
ronmental issues back to the front pages of major newspapers (Hall, 2001) . In
this up cycle, network television coverage also increased, with 617 minutes of en-
vironmental coverage for 2001 on the three major networks (A. Tyndall, per-
sonal communication, Sept. 18, 2002) . On local television, according to Scott
Miller, environmental reporter for KING-TV in Seattle, more environmental re-
porting was going on, but not often by beat reporters (S. Miller, personal com-
munication, Oct. 12, 2002). The increasing news hole trend continued until the
events of September 11, 2001, knocked environmental and other speciality sto-
ries off the news pages and nightly newscasts. One year after 9-11, even with in-
creased coverage devoted to terrorism and a possible war in Iraq, environmental
journalis m stories were again appearing in the nation' s media and the beat ap-
peared to have regained some of its resilience.
Reflecting on the coverage cycle over the decade, senior environmental j our-
nalists who provided information for this chapter were unanimous that the news
hole at some publications and most broadcast stations has decreased overall.
"There are fewer resources for enterprise stories and few are the media at which
environment is a ' cheris hed beat, ' one likely to g enerate lots of
page-one/above-the-fold possibilities," said one. Another pointed out that page
one is difficult to achieve and there is more competition for it, although good sto-
ries still regularly make it. He added that inside space in many A sections has been
reduced. Almost all reporters noted that the events of September 11 have shrunk
the news hole even further.
Yet some senior reporters did not see the impact of the shrinking news hole
on environmental journalism in newspapers as very dire. One explained that
early in the decade, environmental journalists had a "bubble" with dedicated
environmental sections in the newspaper that were not sustainable. "There re-
ally wasn' t any way to fill all of the space we got, in many cases," he said, adding
that today, environmental journalis m articles are competing on an almost
equal footing with other stories rather than having dedicated space to fill re-
gardless of merit.
Another senior reporter said his news hole has actually increased during the de-
cade, but that "the perception of the environmental story being a trendy or a
unique feature is pretty much gone." A third senior journalist explained that while
all news holes have shrunk in newspapers, good compelling stories are given the
room they need.
CHANGES IN COMPLEXITY AND THE RANGE OF STORIES
What did and does a good compelling story mean for environmental journalism?
In the early days, it meant writing about the tragedies of environmental disasters
and victims' suffering from contamination. Yet as time went by, scientists and oth-
ers found that environmental issues were quite complex, and journalists were
faced with trying to explain this complexity in all its scientific, sociological, politi-
cal, and economic ramifications.
According to one senior environmental journalist: "The belching smokestacks
and burning rivers of the 70s, that gave rise to environmentalism of the 70s and
80s, had been cleaned up. The obvious stories gave way to more complex issues like
particulate air pollution, climate change, endocrine disruption, and non-point
source water pollution. The challenge grew to find the big stories, the big issues and
to explain them thoroughly within space and time constraints."
Another senior reporter said that coping with complexity was a major challenge
for the decade, and it continues to be so today. As these complexities became more
apparent, the job got more difficult. Confronting the complexity required more
substantial research and more points of view in stories, according to a third senior
reporter. In the last half of the decade, some journalists turned more frequently to
long-term investigative projects, which required them to dig deeply into issues,
not only sorting through historical records and other data, but also talking to
180 FRIEDMAN
epidemiologists, toxicologists, and other scientists. Said a senior reporter, "jour-
nalists needed to know enough science to ask the right questions." As the issues be-
came wider, the background knowledge requiredalready especially large for
environmental reportersexpanded even more, another pointed out.
All 12 senior environmental journalists who provided information for this
chapter maintained that the range of topics today is not only more complex but
also broader than in the early 1990s. They offered a variety of reasons why this ex-
pansion had occurred.
Said one: "There's a growing realization that the environment is more than just
pollution and critters." Instead, environmental journalists are now covering
wide-ranging issues such as land management, sustainability, climate change, en-
docrine disrupters, new technologies such as hybrid cars, overfishing, invasive
species, energy efficiency, farm practices, and suburban sprawl. According to an-
other senior reporter: "... suburban sprawl is a topic that editors once looked at
only as a county planning issue. Now there is recognition that road building has an
impact on the environment, and that the environment is a 'lifestyle' issue."
Other senior reporters saw the expansion as part of a focus on new topics such
as biotechnology issues and genetically modified organisms. At the start of the
1990s, one pointed out, "I did not envision covering biotechnology, and then ul-
timately bioterrorism and biowarfare. Everything from transgenic crops to an-
thrax to even West Nile virus all are now part of the environmental beat." Several
noted a closeness to or even merging of the environmental beat with the public
health beat in recent years.
Another senior reporter offered a different reason for expansion of the range of
topics over the decade. He explained that the typical 1980s pollution story that said
"there's pollution flowing from the local landfill probablyand rightly sois no
longer a Page One story." This is because the public has become numbed by pollu-
tion scares, he said, and readers and editors are more sophisticated about environ-
mental issues. He added that they are "demanding clearer presentations of risk and
strong feature articles that can convey complex issues in a more compelling way
than the standard news approach."
While most of the senior environmental reporters agreed that as the decade
progressed there was a move away from covering strictly pollution-oriented sto-
ries, one explained that the balance between pollution, growth and nature stories,
for example, depends very much on a reporter's location. "In high-growth areas in
the South and especially the West, growth and nature-oriented stories dominate."
Nevertheless in the East and the Northeast, pollution is still paramount, although
somewhat less than a decade ago, he said.
Also commenting on changes in pollution reporting, several senior report-
ers pointed out that there will always be an emphasis on "what kinds of toxic
chemicals are out there," but today there' s more depth to these stories than in
the past. Another said reporters are now covering pollution issues rather than
pollution events.
However, a few were more critical and said that, even today, environmental
reporting is still too pollution oriented and does not focus on the root causes
such as consumption patterns, demographic trends, population and land use
patterns. This small number of critics was echoed by the survey of 55 New Eng-
land environmental journalists, where about 56% said that environmental re-
porters generally concentrate too much on problems and pollution, rather than
writing stories to help the public understand research or complex issues
(Sachsmanetal. , 2002).
Another criticism lodged by a senior environmental journalist was about the
scant coverage of social issues embedded in environmental stories. He noted that
"environmental justice is now on the map, but few reporters travel there." He also
pointed out little coverage is given to the special roles and privileges of corpora-
tions and how these affect the environment, as well as the changing role of the judi-
cial system regarding protecting the environment.
A third criticism of current practices related to reporting on health risks from
environmental pollutants and other hazards. Risk has always been a difficult sub-
ject for reporters to cover because of the possibilities for sensationalizing risks to
make good copy, dueling experts with different views about degrees of risk, and
problems the publicand some reporters and editorshave in understanding
risk assessment procedures, probability and other statistical issues. According to a
senior reporter, one specific problem is that when environmental journalists de-
scribe studies that show a numerical association between a risk and a consequence,
they often fail to point out the difference between a statistical association and cau-
sation. This is an absolutely vital point that is not that difficult to explain, he said.
Studies that I and other communication researchers have done also show a
weakness in reporting about the complexities of environmental risks and, in par-
ticular, in putting risks into perspective. Problems noted include avoiding expla-
nations of important technical details and of relative risk so readers and viewers
can better understand and judge their own risk levels (Cohn, 1990; Friedman,
1999; Friedman, Villamil, Suriano, & Egolf, 1996; Sandman, Sachsman,
Greenberg, & Gochfield, 1987).
Despite these concerns from academia, close to 67% of the New England envi-
ronmental journalists surveyed in 2000 rejected a suggestion that environment
writers generally have overblown environmental risks, unduly alarming the pub-
lic (Sachsman et al., 2002). There is no question that environmental risk report-
ing has improved over the decade, but it still needs refinements to increase public
understanding of risk.
OTHER CHANGES IN ENVIRONMENTAL REPORTING
Many other important changes occurred in environmental journalism during the
12 years from 1990 to 2002. Here is a brief review of some that both I and the senior
environmental journalists thought were important:
182 FRIEDMAN
Environmental journalists are using a larger number and a wider range of
sources today than in the early 1990s. According to one senior reporter,
there is much more skepticism about the assertions of environmental
groups and a greater willingness to include opposing views. Reporters are
also doing a better job in critically examining what sources say, he noted.
In addition, the New England environmental reporters surveyed said
"they used a wide variety of sources in covering their beats, from federal,
state, and local government officials to academic experts and from busi-
ness groups to national and local environmental groups" (Sachsman et al.,
2002, p. 423). However, other academic studies still show a heavy reliance
on government sources in environmental stories (Lacy &Coulson, 1998).
More major enterprise and investigative stories are appearing in the largest
25 newspapers, but there are fewer big series in mid-size and smaller news-
papers, one senior reporter noted. Two others worried that such stories are
an "endangered species at too many news outlets," and that editors may be
looking for trendier topics. One senior reporter said this would challenge
journalists who want to do environmental investigative or enterprise stories
to tell these stories in "fresh, compelling ways that don't sound like they've
been done a million times before." However, he also pointed out that the
enterprise beat "is alive and well, as evidenced by the number of major
awards environmental stories have won in the last decade."
Indeed, environmental enterprise and investigative series won many
prizes including a number of Pulitzers during the 1990s, after the double
win in 1990 for national reporting and public service. During the decade,
articles or series about environmental issues grabbed Pulitzers every year
except 1991, 1995, and 1999. In 1999, three environmental stories were fi-
nalists for Pulitzers (Taylor, 2000).
Local issues were the main focus for stories throughout the decade and
even more so toward its end and into the new millennium. Randy Lee
Loftis, environmental writer at the Dallas Morning News, confirmed this
local orientation in an interview (personal communication, Oct. 11,
2002), and said: "he isn't supposed to cover national news anymore." He
gave an example about writing a story on a new generation of people being
exposed to dioxin contamination in Vietnam. Although his story involved
a dioxin expert in Dallas, his editor questioned why he had written the
story, saying no one would be interested in it.
One senior reporter pointed out that he still covered international is-
sues if he could develop a local angle. Scott Miller, environmental reporter
for KING-TV News in Seattle, (personal communication, Oct. 12, 2002)
supported this point. He said: "The challenge for environmental journal-
ists is to learn how to make the global environmental stories local."
There's almost always a way to tell these stories, but often reporters don't
find the right way, he added.
Use of graphics increased during the 1990s, which helped sell stories to ed-
itors and readers. However, there were differing opinions among the se-
nior reporters about what other changes in story format had occurred
during the decade.
Editorial support for environmental journalism remains strong at many
newspapers but increased pressure to trim newsroom budgets is eroding
that support, according to some of the senior reporters. Those editors who
are still committed to environmental journalism are doing it better, said
one. In the study of New England environmental journalists, about 66%
thought their editors considered the environment as an important sub-
ject, although they ranked editors eighth out of seventeen in barriers to re-
porting (Sachsman et al., 2002).
A CATALYST FOR CHANGE: THE INTERNET, WEB
AND OTHER COMPUTER TECHNOLOGIES
Many of the changes previously discussed, particularly those related to source use and
more information resources, have been catalyzed in part by development of the
Internet and the World Wide Web. One senior reporter called the Internet "the single
most significant change of the last decade," adding that it drastically changed the way
journalists do their jobs, mostly for the better. It is now much easier to find a broad
range of voices for stories and to get background material quickly and efficiently, he
said. Another said it is the best way to set up interviews. He added that scientists who
often are difficult to get by phone are always available by e-mail, and documents and
other materials also are regularly distributed by e-mail. Several senior reporters said
they did not know how they once functioned without the Internet.
Despite this high praise for the Internet, the senior reporters were aware of some
of its problems. Almost all said they preferred not to interview sources by e-mail.
There also were the risks of overlooking sources that are not yet on the Internet and
of the faulty information that resides there. One senior journalist pointed out that
finding people involved in a particular issue is easy on the Internet, but making sure
these new sources are accurate and trustworthy requires "old-time reporting skills."
Despite their extensive use of the Internet in recent years, it appears that some
environmental journalists and their news organizations have not taken full ad-
vantage of all of the opportunities that it has to offer when publishing online or
gathering information. Three major issues arise. The first is not including more
context and background information in online stories than originated in print or
broadcast versions. Generally, when information is added online, it consists
mostly of links to other information sources, databases, and archives of past sto-
ries. According to a recent study on context in print and online environmental
articles in five leading U.S. dailies, none of the newspapers used the potential of
the Internet consistently to add more context to environmental articles online
(Randazzo & Greer, 2002).
184 FRIEDMAN
A second lost opportunity concerns attracting more Web readers through the
use of multimedia dimensions for stories including audio, video, and interactive
graphics. This approach can be an incentive to some reporters (see Belleville,
1996), but only a few traditional environmental journalists have enlarged their
role by adding a Web dimension. A more adventuresome set of freelance writers
and Web journalists may eventually fill this role, if they are not already doing so.
The third underutilized opportunity the Internet and other computer technol-
ogies offer is that of using computer-assisted reporting (CAR) and Geographic In-
formation Systems (GIS) technology to develop information for stories. Use of
GIS, spreadsheets, and other CAR techniques has expanded in the past few years,
particularly for some major environmental series, and how to use these techniques
has been discussed fairly often on the pages of SEJournal. However, CAR and GIS
are not much of a presence in daily journalism. One reason, according to several
senior reporters, is the time needed to collect or build and then analyze datasets.
ANOTHER CHANGE CATALYST: THE SOCIETY
OF ENVIRONMENTAL JOURNALISTS
An important catalyst for changes in environmental journalism during the 1990s
was the formation of a new professional society, the Society of Environmental Jour-
nalists (SEJ). It helped the still young environmental journalism field grow more so-
phisticated by broadening members' communication network through its quarterly
SEJournal, listserves, conferences and Web site. All of these provided, among other
things, advice on a multitude of professional matters as well as information gather-
ing and writing techniques, and opportunities for advanced training.
Founded by a small number of journalists in 1990, SEJ is a "grass roots organi-
zation led by journalists for journalists," according to its mission statement. It has
grown over the decade into a very active professional society of more than 1,200
members by 2002. Only journalists, educators, and students can become active or
academic members.
The services SEJ has developed during its relatively short existence have been a
prime factor in helping environmental reporters become better informed, said one se-
nior environmental reporter. In addition, she pointed out: "its collegiality has helped
keep a lot of us reporting in more or less the same area for more than a decade."
A survey of SEJ members in 2001 showed that its members considered its an-
nual national conference its single most important and effective activity. Second in
importance was the biweekly TipSheet,
4
which alerts reporters to upcoming issues
that they might want to write about and suggests information sources (2001).
The TipSheet is co-sponsored by the SEJ, the Radio and Television News Directors Founda-
tion, and the Metcalf Center for Marine and Environmental Reporting, taking over for the Envi-
ronmental Health Center.
Besides publishing its informative and influential SEJournal, the society pro-
vides a wealth of information for members and nonmembers on its Web site,
www.sej.org, which was launched in 1994 and improved in 2000 and 2002. Ac-
cording to SEJ then-vice president Dan Fagin of Newsday, the Web site is supposed
to be "the Grand Central Station of environmental journalism." He added: "It's al-
ready so rich in content that it's the equivalent of a virtual annual conference run-
ning 24/7/365. Members and non-members can go to see the news of the day,
research a story in the 1,500-link 'links library' or in the searchable archives of
TipSheet, SEJournal or EJToday" (Bruggers, 2002, p. 2). EJToday features a selec-
tive, daily Web-based listing of annotated links to an array of print and broadcast
stories and is updated each weekday morning. It provides story ideas for journal-
ists and lets them see how others are covering various issues.
Other aids for journalists on the Web site include a collection of some of the
best environmental journalism stories of recent years in "The Gallery," an envi-
ronmental events calendar and searchable archives, among other features. To keep
the environmental journalism field progressing, SEJ also offers a mentoring pro-
gram for new environmental journalists, a speaker's bureau, regional meetings,
and an award for environmental reporting. (Links to the 2003 winners also are on
the SEJ Web site). As a major agent for change, SEJ's main impact has been on de-
veloping professionalism, shared goals, camaraderie, and a sense of community
among environmental reporters (SEJ members come across largely satisfied with
organization, 2001).
CHALLENGES AHEAD
Numerous challenges lie ahead for environmental journalism in the next few
years. Among these are loss of information and databases from government
sources, a trend that began even before September 11, 2001, but has escalated
since. Also of concern is a move in Congress to limit the types of government infor-
mation subject to disclosure under the Freedom of Information Act. One senior
environmental reporter pointed out that there are growing signs of the
politicization of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency "in a way that report-
ers have never quite seen before." He feared that reporters will no longer be able to
turn to EPA for "semi-objective background, positions and reactions."
Selling stories to editors and news directors to get space in a shrinking news hole
is also a formidable challenge. It is a constant balancing act to provide numerous
points of view, explanations, background, and context when the news hole is get-
ting smaller, explained a senior reporter. Yet, he said, the best environmental re-
porters "can hold the TV generation's attention with clear narrative writing and
contextual reporting that emphasizes impacts on readers while still depicting the
inevitable subtleties and uncertainties of the issues involved."
Led by a core of experienced, mature environmental journalists, the third de-
cade of environmental journalism has been an exciting one. During this time, a
186 FRIEDMAN
relatively new field left its teen-age years behind and grew into young adulthood.
Catalyzed by the Internet and the Society of Environmental Journalists, environ-
mental reporting has become more impressive than it was in 1970s and 1980s,
even in the face of significant economic constraints on media organizations.
Without a doubt, the environmental beat will continue in its cycles as this new
century progresses. Nevertheless, for the future, given the increasing under-
standing about the complexity of environmental issues, and all of the challenges
that face environmental journalists to produce more exciting, in-depth and
thoughtful stories, could anything be more exciting for a reporter than covering
the environment?
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Credit and special thanks are due to my colleague and spouse, Kenneth A. Fried-
man, who helped me conceptualize the approach to this essay and edited numer-
ous drafts of it.
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Belleville, B. (1996, Summer). Wet field reporting for the web. SEJournal, 6(2), 1, 10-11.
Bruggers, J. (2002, Spring). New web site and conference display SEJ's strength. SEJournal,
11(4), 2,9.
Carmody, K. (1995, May/June). It's a jungle out there: Environmental journalism in an age
of backlash. Columbia Journalism Review, 40-45.
Cohn. V. (1990). Reportingon risk: Getting it right in an age of risk. Washington, DC: Media
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Duwoody, S., & Griffin, R. J. (1993). Journalistic strategies for reporting long-term environ-
mental issues: A case study of three Superfund sites. In A. Hansen (Ed.), The mass media
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Detjen, J., Fico, F. & Li, X. (1996). Covering environmental news is becoming more diffi-
cult, new survey by Michigan State University researchers finds. News release. 6 pp.
Friedman, S. M. (1999). The never-ending story of dioxin. In S. M. Friedman, S.
Dunwoody, & C. L. Rogers (Eds. ), Communicating uncertainty: Media coverage of new
and controversial science (pp. 113-136). Mahway, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Friedman, S. M., Villamil, K., Suriano, R., & Egolf, B. (1996). Alar and apples: Newspapers,
risk and media responsibility. Public Understanding of Science, 5, 1-20.
Friedman, S. M. (1991). Two decades of the environmental beat. In C. L. LaMay & E. E.
Dennis (Eds.), Media and the environment (pp. 17-28). Washington, DC: Island Press.
Hall, J. (2001, May/June). How the environmental beat got its groove back. Columbia Jour-
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Lacy, S., & Coulson, D. C. (1998, August). Newspaper source use on the environment beat:
A comparative case study. Paper presented at the meeting of the Association for Educa-
tion in Journalism and Mass Communication, Baltimore, MD.
Nelkin, D. (1995). Selling science: How the press covers science and technology. (Rev. ed). New
York: Freeman.
Randazzo, R., & Greer, J. (2002, August). Context in print and online environmental arti-
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Mass Communication, Miami, FL.
Rogers, C. L. (1999). The importance of understanding audiences. In S. M. Friedman, S.
Dunwoody, & C. L. Rogers (Eds.), Communicating uncertainty: Media coverage of new
and controversial science (179-200). Mahway, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Ropeik, D. (1996, Winter). The challenge of TV. Nieman Reports, L(4), 21-23.
Sachsman, D. B., Simon, J., & Valenti, J. (2002, June). The environment reporters of New
England. Science Communication, 23(4), 410-441.
Sandman, P. M., Sachsman, D. B., Greenberg, M. R., & Gochfeld, M. (1987). Environmental
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(2001, June) . SEJ members come across largely satisfied with organization. Environment
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Taylor, R. (2000, Spring). Government exposures win reporting prizes. SEJournal, 10(1),
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Disaster. New York: Greenwood Press.
CHAPTER TEN
Reasoned Action in Environmental
Communication Research:
Demonstration of an Augmented Model
Craig W. Trumbo
University of Vermont
Garrett J. O'Keefe
Colorado State University
What leads a person to allow their lawn to turn brown, dial down the thermostat,
or purchase a fuel efficient vehicle? Of the various approaches for understanding
behavior one theoretical approach stands out: Ajzen and Fishbein's (1980) Theory
of Reasoned Action (TRA) (or its more recent counterpart, Planned Behavior).
This theory almost seems tailored for use with behaviors linked to politically and
socially charged environmental issues.
Perhaps one of the most interesting things about the TRA is its wide use by com-
munication researchers despite the fact that the theory itself is not about commu-
nication per se. Rather, communication researchers have joined others in
extending the model through the inclusion of adjunct variables. The purpose of
this chapter is to present and demonstrate such an expanded TRA-based model.
We first briefly examine the range of studies that have expanded the TRA, and then
present an augmented model that we feel has good utility for environmental com-
munication researchers.
ADJUNCT VARIABLES IN THE TRA
The work of Ajzen and Fishbein that came to be formulated as the TRA first ap-
peared over 30 years ago (Fishbein, 1967). Numerous published accounts describe
the development of this tradition of attitude-behavior research (e.g., Eagly &
Chaiken, 1993). The conceptual hallmarks of the work are the inclusion of an in-
tervening variable (behavioral intention) between attitude and behavior, and the
189
190 TRUMBO AND O' KEEFE
parsimonious prediction of behavioral intention based on attitudes and norms
specific to the behavior in question.
Originally designed for application to circumstances in which relatively simple
behaviors are under voluntary control, the theory underwent a significant revision
to function under circumstances in which action is not entirely voluntary, but
rather is subject to the actor successfully executing one or more behaviors of vary-
ing difficulty (e.g., weight loss). The inclusion of the third antecedent vari-
ableperceived behavioral controltransformed the TRA into the Theory of
Planned Behavior (TPB) (Ajzen, 1985, 1987, 1988, 1991).
Both models have enjoyed considerable application, and have been well sup-
ported empirically. Meta-analyses have reported respectable and consistent effect
sizes, with 41% of intention and 34% of behavior typically accounted for (Conner
and Armitage, 1998; Godin & Kok, 1996; Sutton, 1998).
Perhaps one of the more interesting aspects of the TRA lies in its sufficiency
claim. The idea that two or three variables can account for the lion's share of vari-
ance in behavioral intention effectively challenges researchers to search for other
variables that might also be included.
The theory has in this manner been widely applied to studies of environmental
communication, focusing, for example, on the burn policies of the National Park
System (Bright, Manfredo, & Fishbein, 1993), water conservation (Kantola, Syme,
& Campbell, 1982; Seligman, Hall, & Finegan, 1983; Trumbo & O'Keefe, 2001),
orientation toward nuclear power (Showers & Shrigley, 1995), and agricultural
conservation (Luzar & Diagne, 1999; Heong & Escalada, 1999).
Of course, the TRA's use in environmental communication research represents
only a fraction of the theory's broader use in communication, which spans diverse
areas such as risk-information processing (e.g., Griffin, Neuwirth, & Dunwoody,
1995; Griffin, Dunwoody, & Neuwirth, 1999), argument (Stewart & Roach, 1998),
community commitment (Jeffres, Dobos, & Sweeney, 1987), and health commu-
nication. Use of the TRA in health communication has been especially strong in
the context of campaign evaluation, with a range of topics examined. Such work
has examined, for example, condom use (Greene, Hale, & Rubin, 1997; Sutton,
McVey, & Glanz, 1999), smoking cessation (Babrow, Black, & Tiffany, 1990), and
teen alcohol use (Rise & Wilhelmsen, 1998).
Authors in the field of social psychology have also used the TRA to look at persua-
sive message effects in a variety of contexts, including career choice (Strader & Katz,
1990), speeding (Parker, Stradling, & Manstead, 1996), and adolescent body shape
and self-esteem (Conner, Martin, Silverdale, & Grogan, 1997). Additionally, com-
munication effects have been included in TRA studies looking at voting behavior
(Singh, Leong, Tan, & Wong, 1995), computer use (Pancer, George, & Gebotys,
1992), and organizational innovation (Monge, Cozzens, & Contracter, 1992).
As just sketched, many studies have made use of the TRA as a vehicle for exam-
ining communication effects on some target behavior or to consider the place of
communication in some related area of concern. Like much of this work, the study
10. ACTION IN ENVIRONMENTAL COMMUNICATION RESEARCH 191
that we present here can also be classified as applied rather than purely theoretical.
The overarching purpose of this study is to provide feedback for policymakers.
Our approach has therefore been utilitarian.
AUGMENTED MODEL FOR ENVIRONMENTAL
COMMUNICATION
The model we developed for this project adds three elements to the TRA: commu-
nication, values, and past behavior. Many other models could have been assem-
bled, and certainly others might be superior. Yet this model served other goals in
our project. Because it also performed well in its own right we feel it is worth pre-
sentation as it may have good utility for others as well. First we briefly identify
background literature for the adjunct components of the model. We then describe
our rationale for the model's structural characteristics.
Because we are especially interested in the inclusion of communication effects
in the model, we broke communication down into three important components:
information seeking, exposure, and attention.
Information seeking has been an extensively investigated variable in communi-
cation. Work over the past decade has invoked information seeking in a number of
applied and theoretical arenas, including: organizational communication (Casey,
Miller, & Johnson, 1997; Mignerey, Rubin, & Gorden, 1995; Miller, 1996; Myers,
1998; Rahim, 1990; Teboul, 1994, 1995), health communication (Cegala,
Coleman, & Turner, 1998; Freimuth, Hammond, Edger, & Monahan, 1990; John-
son & Meischke, 1993), uncertainty theory (Douglas, 1994; Kellerman &
Reynolds, 1990; Wheeless & Williamson, 1992), cultivation theory (Gandy &
Baron, 1998), voting behavior (Lowden, Anderson, Dozier, & Lauzen, 1994), and
fear appeals (Roser & Thompson, 1995).
Exposure and attention also appear in volumes of published research (almost
reflexively in many cases). Work specifically on the relation between the two con-
cepts has demonstrated that exposure and attention are unique entities (Chaffee &
Choe, 1979; Chaffee & Schleuder, 1986; Drew & Weaver, 1990; McLeod & Kosicki,
1986; McLeod & McDonald, 1985). Subsequent research using exposure and at-
tention has demonstrated the effectiveness of including both variables in analyses
(e.g., Weaver & Drew, 1993, 1995).
The larger context of our project also argues for the inclusion of two other vari-
ables that have been previously evoked in expansions of the TRA.
The TRA traditionally takes no account of values. However, Conner and
Armitage (1998) explored this in terms of morals. They stated that: "Moral
norms can. . .be defined as one' s own socially determined and socially validated
values attached to a particular behavior" (Conner & Armitage, 1998, p. 1442).
They describe a number of studies that examine this concept as an addition to
the TRA, including work of Cialdini, Kallgren, and Reno, (1991), who concep-
tualized personal norms.
Other researchers have included environmental values in studies of environ-
mental behavior. Grob (1995) included personal philosophical values with per-
ceived control, environmental awareness, and emotions as predictors of
membership in a green drivers association in Germany. Values were found to be
the strongest predictor, accounting for 39% of variance in behavior. Other such
studies examine recycling (Thogersen, 1996), values and gender (Stern, Kietz, &
Kalof, 1993), a range of proenvironmental behaviors from recycling to voting
(Karp, 1996), membership in environmental organizations (Thompson & Barton,
1994), and a set of 10 proenvironmental behaviors reported in the General Social
Survey (Dietz, Stern, & Guagnano, 1998).
The challenge with values is that they tend not to be object specific, but more gen-
eral. While a number of the studies just mentioned do find a place for values in anal-
yses of environmental behavior, many other authors have shown that object-general
concepts such as values do not perform as well as object-specific concepts such as at-
titudes when formally using the TRA. For the case of environmental or conservation
behaviors, such values may be especially germane because of their high social sa-
lience and the strength to which individuals hold (or do not hold) them.
For purposes of this study, the most fruitful line of research that can be applied
to the capture of general environmental values involves the New Environmental
Paradigm (NEP). In their original work on the NEP, Dunlap and Van Liere (1978)
argued that there has been a long-standing Human Exemptionalist Paradigm em-
phasizing "our belief in abundance and progress, our devotion to growth and
prosperity, our faith in science and technology, and our commitment to a lais-
sez-faire economy, limited governmental planning and private property rights"
(p. 10). An alternate world view is described by the NEP. This world-view recog-
nizes an essential environmental-economic parity, the balance of nature, the dan-
gers of unlimited growth, and the importance of humans finding sustainable
relationships within natural systems.
The NEP, and its associated measurement device, have been utilized in a range
of studies assessing scale reliability (Noe & Snow, 1990), behavioral prediction
(Scott &Willits, 1994), attitudes toward wildlife (Edgell& Nowell, 1980), business
attitudes (Shetzer, Stackman, & Moore, 1991), authoritarianism (Schultz & Stone,
1994), and a range of other applications (Albrecht, Bultena, Hoiberg, & Nowak,
1982; Arcury, 1990; Caron, 1989; Geller & Lasley, 1985; Kuhn & Jackson, 1989).
These studies "provide insight into the basic values and beliefs on which more spe-
cific environmental attitudes and actions are based and serve as aids in interpret-
ing paradigmatic shifts across time" (Scott & Willits, 1994, p. 240). A component
(described int the following) from the NEP scale is used in this project to capture
an indication of environmental values (we note that our study was initiated prior
to more recent reformulation of this concept: Dunlap, Van Liere, Mertig, & Jones,
2000; LaTrobe & Acott, 2000).
In addition to values, the context of the study strongly argues for the inclusion
of past behavior. The inclusion of past behavior in the TRA has been an issue of
some concern. Eagly and Chaiken (1993) examined a range of work incorporating
past behavior and concluded that: "The addition of past behavior to the model is
eminently sensible from behaviorist perspectives which postulate that behavior is
influenced by habit, or more generally, by various kinds of conditioned releasers or
learned predispositions to respond that are not readily encompassed by the con-
cepts of attitude and intention" (1993, p. 179). In such a model, which Eagly and
Chaiken presented, past behavior co-varies with attitudes and norms, and then
predicts both intention and behavior.
Yet how to array past behavior, values, and communication effects with atti-
tudes and norms? Many alternative arrangements could be presented. We config-
ured the variables in a manner to have coherence with the temporal aspects of
survey data. We ask about current attitudes and normative pressures in relation to
communication effects specified to have occurred in the recent past and behaviors
specified to occur in the future. We assume that past behaviors and environmental
values are more enduring and have temporal precedence over the other compo-
nents of the model. The starting model is depicted in Fig. 10.1, and is presented in
lieu of a set of research questions (which would relate to the paths with dashed
lines) and hypotheses (which would be related to the solid lines). This approach is
in essence exploratory rather than confirmatory.
METHODS
The data to be analyzed in this chapter are drawn from a larger project examining
attitudes and behaviors toward water conservation throughout the Truckee River
Watershed in California and Nevada.
FIG. 10.1. Model to be evaluated. Relationships predicted by theory and previous work
are solid lines, purely exploratory relationships are dashed.
Along its 140-mile course, the Truckee River flows out of Lake Tahoe, past the
California tourist and lumber town of Truckee, and through the center of the
rapidly growing metropolitan area of Reno-Sparks, Nevada. From there, a por-
tion of the river is diverted by a canal system into a "make the desert bloom" agri-
cultural project established in 1908, called the Newlands Project. This
agricultural area supports several towns, the largest of which is Fallon, Nevada.
Finally, the river follows its natural course to terminate in alkaline Pyramid Lake,
which has been home since 1859 to the Pyramid Lake Paiute Indian Reservation.
Pyramid Lake provided a sufficient fishery for the Paiute until lake levels began a
precipitous drop in the early 1900s, shortly after the establishment of the New-
lands diversion canal system. Today, the lake level is some 50 feet lower than it
was at the turn of the century, with two fish on the endangered species list. Legal
conflicts have been numerous among all parties dependent upon the river's wa-
ter. Recently, agreements have been reached in which water rights have been
transferred from the Newlands Project back to the Paiutes, and Reno-Sparks has
made a commitment to improve water conservation by 10% (Bremner, 1999;
Jones, 1991; Voyles, 1997).
The larger purpose of this project is to examine the factors associated with water
conservation behavior throughout the Truckee River Watershed, and to specifi-
cally examine factors predicting the voluntary adoption of water meters in the
Reno-Sparks metro area. The final goal of the project, in keeping with the goals of
the funding program, is to present recommendations to water planners and policy
makersin this case, on how communication may be best used to promote water
conservation and voluntary meter adoption.
Because a number of other important concepts needed to be included in the
study (i.e., several relating to adoption of innovations), and because phone survey
methods were employed, it was necessary to operationalize the TRA in a more effi-
cient manner than is done in some of the social psychological literature (this ab-
breviated approach is not uncommon, see for example: Roberto, Meyer, Boster, &
Roberto, 2003).
For this analysis, attitude-toward-act, social norms, and behavioral intention
are each single measures using a 1-7 agree-disagree response scale: I believe it is
important to conserve water (M= 6.2, SD = 1.5); People I know think water con-
servation is important (M= 5.6, SD = 1.6); I intend to save more water in 1998 than
I did in 1997 (M = 4.7, SD = 2.0). Information seeking and attention are likewise
captured in single questions: How much effort have you made this year to look for
information on water conservation? (l=none to 7=a great deal, M = 2.7, SD = 1.9);
When you come across information on saving water how much attention do you
give it? (1=little to 7 = a lot, M = 4.7, SD= 1.8).
The other variables used in the analysis are indexed measurements. Informa-
tion exposure includes nine potential sources: newspaper, television, radio, fam-
ily, friends, neighbors, Sierra Pacific Power Company, other utility companies,
and information from other groups (such as University of Nevada Extension). Re-
spondents were asked to rate their exposure to water conservation information
from each source on a 0 to 10 scale (never to a lot, M= 2.4, SD = 1.9, alpha = .75). A
composite of all three communication variables was also constructed for use in
one stage of the analysis following (hierarchical regression). For this variable, seek-
ing, exposure and attention were averaged (M = 3.3, SD = 1.4, alpha = .64).
Past behavior is measured by asking if the respondent (yes-no) has executed
any of a range of 10 water-saving behaviors (e.g., fixing leaks, washing fuller loads,
watering less). Summing "yes" responses serves to create a 1-10 index (M = 5.9, SD
= 2.2, alpha = .63). Environmental values are measured by averaging the response
to a set of three questions (1-7 disagree-agree) drawn from the NEP instrument
described previously (The balance of nature is delicate. Humans must live in har-
mony with nature in order to survive. Mankind is severely abusing the environ-
ment. M = 6.0, SD = 1.3, alpha = .71).
These approaches to measurement, especially the use of abbreviated forms of
the TRA and the NEP index, were evaluated positively in a pretest conducted by
mail survey in March and April of 1997 (N = 212, 50% response) (for some analy-
ses of these data see Trumbo, Markee, O'Keefe, & Park, 1999).
Interview schedule development, pretesting, data collection, cleaning, and en-
try were conducted by the University of Wisconsin Survey Center during the sum-
mer of 1998, with survey efforts terminating September 1, 1998. A modified
random digit dialing sample was used to contact households in four calling areas
across the watershed: Truckee, California; Reno-Sparks; Nevada; Fernley-
Wadsworth; Nevada; and Fallon, Nevada. A total of 733 interviews were com-
peted. Response rates varied by calling area (from 39% in Truckee to 57% in
Fernley-Wadsworth), with an overall average response rate of 46%. Interviews
lasted 15 minutes on average, and most were completed fully, with missing data in
only 3% of all cells in the data set. The large sample size was dictated by other analy-
ses targeting contrasts across communities (Trumbo & O'Keefe, 2001).
RESULTS
First, we note that we decided to employ the TRA rather then the TPB. Inclusion of
a measure of self-efficacy, response-efficacy or perceived behavioral control ("The
things I can do around the house to save water won' t really make any difference for
the community") did not significantly improve the prediction of intention in any
of the analyses presented in the following. The average correlation among the main
variables (intention, norms, attitude) is about .42, while the average correlation is
only .08 between those variables and self-efficacy. This result was not entirely un-
expected. Water conservation in the survey area is a completely voluntary matter,
and one needing only relatively simple skills to execute to some effect. This is dem-
onstrated by the distribution of the variable, past behavior, which is statistically
normal about a mean of 5.9 (SD=2.2) on an index with a range 0-10. Most respon-
dents are clearly capable of doing something to save water. Since the behavior is
voluntary and relatively simple, the less complex TRA is employed (other efforts
directly testing the TRA vs. the TPB in similar circumstances also report support
for the simpler approach, see Sutton, et al., 1999).
Correlations among the variables in this analysis are presented in Table 10.1. The
primary variables of the TRA have correlations of about .42, and other variables to be
included have moderate to strong correlations with both each other and with the
TRA variables (note that the largest correlations are artifacts among indexed items).
The final evaluation of these data will make use of path analysis executed
through structural equation modeling (with AMOS 3.6; Arbuckle, 1996). This ap-
proach allows the examination of a range of relationships controlled for one an-
other (partial coefficients), and also provides a number of useful fir statistics (see
Maruyama, 1998; Schumacker & Lomax, 1996). Summary goodness of fit indica-
tors used in this analyses include: the Chi-square-df ratio, which should approach
1 and present a p- value greater than .05 (this is the most demanding of the fit indi-
cators because it assesses statistical departure from a "perfect" fit); the Adjusted
Goodness of Fit Index (AGFI) takes model complexity into account, and ranges
from 0 (no fit) to 1 (perfect fit) with .90 considered acceptable; and the Root Mean
Square Error of Approximation (RMSEA) is an assessment of error-.20 is consid-
ered the upper bound. Structural modeling and path analyses have been employed
TABLE 10.1
Zero-order Correlations Among Variables (N = 733)
1 Behavioral Intention
2 Attitude Toward Act .41
3 Social Norms .43 .43
4 Environmental Values .17 .28 .13
5 Past Behavior .15 .18 .16 .16
6 Communication .38 .34 .25 .18 .31
7 Seeking .27 .23 .15 .09 .25 .80
8 Exposure .20 .17 .17 .08 .20 .71 .34
9 Attention .39 .36 .27 .24 .26 .78 .50 .28
Note. All correlations s ignificant at p < .05, correlations greater than . 13 s ignificant at p < .01
to good effect in other research making use of the TRA (e.g., Boldero, 1995; Taylor
& Todd, 1997; van den Putte & Hoogstraten, 1997).
To begin, hierarchical regression is used to explore the form of the model pre-
sented in Fig. 10.1 and to lay the foundation for a structural equation model. Table
10.2 presents these regressions. First, it is shown that intention is well predicted by
attitude and norms, with both variables presenting similar (and significant) partial
coefficients. With 24% of variance explained, these data have similar characteris-
tics to previous work with the TRA.
What additional effect might communication have? The second step of the
first regression shows that communication increments R
2
significantly by 5%, a
modest amount but in keeping with most of the other variables added to the
TRA in previous work (Conner & Armitage, 1998). It is also shown in the
fourth and fifth regressions that communication effects are a strong predictor
of both attitudes and norms.
The model also seeks to explore the function of past behavior and environmental
values. First, it is shown in the second regression that environmental values and past
behavior increment R
2
by an insignificant 1% (and by even less when entered after
communication, as shown in the third step of the first regression). So values and past
behavior do not do much to predict intention (as might have been predicted by the
relatively weak correlations shown in Table 10.1). What about their relationships
with attitudes, norms, and communication? In the third regression it is shown that
values and past behavior together predict 11% of the variance in information.
Clearly, the values one holds and one's past actions (themselves correlated r = .16)
have some influence over the information one seeks and pays attention to. In the sec-
ond step of the fourth regression, it is shown that values and past behavior increment
the prediction of attitudes above norms and communication by 4%. Yet here it is
clear that past behavior is not a strong part of the equation. In the fifth regression, we
see that environmental values and past behaviors do not significantly improve pre-
diction of norms over the effects of attitudes and communication.
Taken together, this series of regressions argues for a model in which intention is
directly predicted by attitudes, norms, and communicationwhich all co-vary. Envi-
ronmental values are antecedent to attitude and communication, and past behavior is
antecedent to communication only. This is the model proposed in Fig. 10.1 trimmed
of some paths. The analysis of the model is presented in Fig. 10.2. This model has a
good fit with the data, with a desirable nonsignificant chi-square statistic (a fairly diffi-
cult test to pass, especially with a large data set). All of the specified paths have signifi-
cant partial coefficients, and the R
2
values for the endogenous variables are moderate
to good, with 34% of the variance in the dependent variable accounted for.
CONCLUSION
Here we conclude with a discussion of the path model just described in the results.
First, the initial analysis using both hierarchical regression and path modeling, as
Note. All partial coefficients are from the saturated equation (N = 733).
presented in Table 10.2 and Fig. 10.2, demonstrates the strength of the Theory of
Reasoned Action. As an expression of human decision processes leading to behav-
ior, this theory has a great deal going for it (as many researchers have already dem-
onstrated). Yet the place of communication in this model has been largely ignored.
While many studies involving communication have made use of the TRA, few (if
any) have intentionally tested the ability of communication to improve the TRA.
TABLE 10.2
Hierarchical Regressions Leading to Configuration of Path Model.
Reg Step Dependent Independent Variable R AR
2
P R
2
P
Variable
1 1 intention attitude .20
1 others .28 .24 <.01
2 communication .24 .05 <.01 .29 <.01
3 environmental values .04
3 past behavior .00 .00 .54 .29 <.01
2 1 intention attitude .25
1 others .29 .24 <.01
2 past behavior .06 .01 .07 .25 <.01
3 1 communication environmental values .14
1 past behavior .29 .11 <.01
4 1 attitude norms .36
1 communication .21 .24 <.01
2 past behavior .04 .04 <.01 .28 <.01
5 1 norms attitude .36
1 communication .11 .20 <.01
2 past behavior .06 .001 .29 .21 <.01
FIG. 10.2. Results of path model. All paths and R
2
values are significant at p < .05, stan-
dardized coefficients shown. Model fit indicators: x
2
= 19, df = 12, p = .08, AGFI = .98,
RMSEA = .03, N = 733.
Other efforts to review studies adding new variables to the TRA have not located a
body of work on communication that does so. Nevertheless in this admittedly ba-
sic test of communication's function in the TRA the results clearly argue that com-
munication effects are on par with the effects of most other variables considered
for inclusion in the TRA. The composite measure of communication effects used
here improves prediction of behavioral intention by 5%, while other studies have
shown that, on average, this prediction is improved 7% by past behavior, 4% by
moral norms or values, and 1% by self-identity (Conner & Armitage, 1998).
Communication also has an interesting relationship with the other two vari-
ables included in this model: values and past behavior. Although values and past
behavior do have significant relationships with behavioral intention (R
2
= .05 p
<.001, both coefficients significant), the two variables do not significantly improve
prediction of behavioral intention when attitudes and norms are included. Yet
they do appear to play an indirect function through communication. Thus, in this
model, communication plays a significant and central function as an antecedent to
behavioral intention.
Yet how to interpret this? Of course, the context must be considered. In this case,
it would seem likely that those with pro-environmental values, and past behaviors
consistent with such values, would be more likely to seek and attend to information
on water conservation. Communication effects, then, may be a manner in which en-
during value systems and past behavioral patterns are reinforced. Having a high
value on the variable communication effect must then signify an individual primed
to be, in this case, oriented toward conserving water. This is then reflected in the
strong relationships between communication and both attitudes and norms.
200 TRUMBO AND O'KEEFE
It is the remaining direct path from communication to intention that is the
most intriguing. Seeking, being exposed to, and attending to information provides
some direct impetus for the intention to conserve water, beyond a reinforcing ef-
fect with attitudes and social norms. This is possibly encouraging news for those
who broker information on water conservation in the drier corners of the world.
As in all studies, this one has flaws that must be considered when weighing
the value of this work in total. As discussed previously, the analysis presented
here is from a larger project with a range of additional goals. Meas urement,
which is always a challenge with attitudes, was complicated further by the size
of the project and the need to economize on question items. There are better
ways to measure most of the concepts we use in this analysis (including some
that have been developed since our data collection). Nonetheless, we feel rea-
sonably confident that the results we have obtained here would be largely repli-
cated with alternate measurements.
A second serious issue that must be weighed when evaluating the form of evi-
dence we present here is the form of the model tested. We have postulated a set of
relationships, some of which are ordered in time, and have set forth a structure for
a model. There are a great number of alternate forms for this model, others of
which would also present significant results. Modeling is a tricky business, as much
art as science. Yet generally speaking, the preferred method is to specify a model to
be tested rather than sort through all possible configurations for a set of variables
looking for the best arrangement. We would certainly encourage others to test al-
ternate forms of this model.
Despite the inherent flaws and the modest relationships found, we feel this ap-
proach to analyzing the role of communication in conservation is worthwhile and
useful. First, the model is based on a sound theory. The TRA provides a well known
base upon which to consider the effects of other variables. Second, the model is
simple. While reality is certainly much more complicated, models are designed to
reduce complexity so that basic processes can be examined. We feel that the funda-
mental elements included in this model provides such a view. Finally, the model
places the role of communication at the center and allows for the isolation of those
effects against a backdrop of other relevant variables and processes.
Our application of this model was to the evaluation of a broad communication
campaign on water conservation, and was designed to provide feedback for future
communication efforts on that topic. We feel it was useful in that application and
would recommend its replication or adaptation in other work on conservation in-
tention, for water or other resources as well.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
The work presented in this article was supported by a grant to Craig W. Trumbo and
Garrett J. O'Keefe from the National Science Foundation (EPA-NSF Partnership for
Environmental Research, Decision-Making and Valuation for Environmental Pol-
icy Section, Grant No. SBR-97-27797). The use of human subjects in this work was
reviewed and approved by the University of Wisconsin Institutional Review Board.
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
Framing of Newspaper News Stories
During a Presidential Campaign Cycle:
The Case of Bush-Gore in Election 2000
Michael Nitz
University of North Dakota
Holly West
Mountain View Hospital
The presidential election of 2000 will go down in history as one of the closest
ever. It was one of only three elections (along with 1876 and 1888) in which the
popular vote winner did not receive an Electoral College majority. It ended with
the closest possible division of seats in the Senate, fourth closest in the House,
and second closest electoral vote (Ceaser & Busch, 2001). Wayne (2001) , in his
overview of the events of Election 2000, stated that the presidential campaign was
the most expensive, one of the longest, and highly competitive. Ceaser and Busch
(2001) called it the Perfect Tie, because almost all partisans voted for candidates
from their own party and all the short-term factors worked equally on voters in
different and offsetting directions.
This chapter argues that the environment was possibly one of those factors.
Early prognosticating seemed to indicate that the environment was shaping up as a
critical issue in both the Democratic primary and the 2000 general election (Ceaser
& Busch, 2001). The environment was an issue on which candidates differed sub-
stantially (Abramson, Aldrich, & Rohde, 2002). Gore had been anointed as the
most pro-environment presidential candidate in modern history who would make
environmental protection the centerpiece of his administration. Bush's record on
the environment had been criticized almost from the announcement of his candi-
dacy. Ralph Nader, as candidate for the Green Party, tried to place environmental-
ism on the campaign agenda.
How this issue of the environment was framed in media coverage during the
2000 presidential campaign cycle is the focus of this chapter. First, the nature of en-
vironment as a political issue is discussed. Second, the media are introduced as key
205
206 NITZ AND WEST
shapers of this process. Third, framing is proffered as a concept that can help ex-
plain this process. lyengar's (1991) predominant frame thematic-episodic con-
ceptualization, along with several other aspects associated with framing, is
discussed.
ENVIRONMENT AS POLITICAL ISSUE
The environment plays a significant role in developing political opinion (Smith,
2002). Smith argued that because many environmental controversies turn on gov-
ernment regulations and action, environmental issues trigger basic level, conser-
vative views about the appropriate size of government and its role in society.
People have always been worried about environmental issues, but environmental
interest surged during the 1960s and 1970s (Corbett, 1991). Social concern for the
environment has been remarkably stable and consistent since 1983 (Friedman,
1991; Jones & Dunlap, 2001). When it comes to the economy versus the environ-
ment, the majority believes that we can have both economic growth and a high
level of environmental quality. Yet when asked which is more important, more
than two-to-one (61% to 28%) chose protection of the environment over eco-
nomic growth (Corbett, 1991). Larger majorities usually voice proenvironmental
positions, while smaller minorities voice anti-environmental views (Glynn,
Herbst, O' Keefe, & Shapiro, 1999).
Stimson (1999) noted, however, that while the environment is an important
area of concern, it lacks the consistency and glue of sustained party positions over a
long period of time. Some point to a cyclical, spasmodic pattern of concern about
the environment (McComas & Shanahan, 1999; Trumbo, 1996). Stimson believed
that part of the reason for this inconsistency is that issues, including the environ-
ment, have value trade-offs. Norms of ecological sustainability are incompatible
with current American norms of materialism, success, and individualism. A citi-
zen is faced with weighing the relative merits of environmental quality versus free-
dom from government regulation.
A key force in this cycle of inconsistency may be the media. A certain fickleness
exists between the media and the public in terms of newsworthiness of environ-
mental issues (Smith, 2002). The media play a key role in communication about
environmental issues, especially during political campaigns.
MEDIA
Research suggests that the media are the primary and often the only source people
turn to for information about environmental issues (Shanahan & McComas,
1997). The media play a dominant role in public education on environmental is-
sues (Priest, 2001; Smith, 2002). While people are often ambiguous about their de-
pendence on the media for information, part of the media' s power to shape
political discourse in campaigns comes from an underlying semiconscious belief
11. FRAMING OF ENVIRONMENTAL NEWS STORIES IN ELECTION 2000 207
that media-provided information is more reliable than other sources, including
personal experience (Delli Carpini & Williams, 1996). Dunwoody and Neuwirth
(1991) noted that even when people may prefer interpersonal channels, few of
these channels may be available in early onset stages of risk situations. Conse-
quently, the person is forced to rely on the media for information.
Media Coverage of Environmental Issues
in the Political Opinion Process
In an ideal world, the media would strive to present numerous, in-depth environ-
mental stories producing a well-informed public. Coverage of the environment,
however, is poisoned by inconsistencies, distortions, and a misrepresentation of
data (Boyle, 1993; Cantrill, 1993; Nitz, Jarvis, & Kenski, 1996). Ruben (1994), for
instance, analyzed newspaper headlines and found rampant inconsistency. Head-
lines ran the gamut from "Wider damage to earth' s ozone layer is feared" to "After
2000, outlook for ozone layer looks good."
Media will often overstress certain priority criteria (key for a campaign), over-
simplify complex issues, and adopt a dominant role in public perceptions (Fried-
man, Dunwoody, & Rogers, 1999; Scanlon, Whitelegg, & Yates, 1999). In an effort
to be sensational, timely, and simple, the media tend to underemphasize risks and
overdramatize disputes in reporting on the environment. Problems and conflicts
are mentioned over solutions (Jaehne, 1990). Journalists themselves admit that
coverage of complicated environmental issues lacks credibility, with only 30 per-
cent saying it is good (Bowman, 1996; Stavins, 1995).
The significance of this coverage is reflected in the political public opinion pro-
cess. Media coverage helps shape public perceptions (Jamieson, 2000) through a
process of agenda setting, framing, and building. This is particularly the case for
environmental issues (Nitz, 2000; Shanahan & McComas, 1999). Media presenta-
tion of environmental issues has an enormous role in framing and shaping politi-
cal discussion (Carmen, 1998). Media attention toward environmental risks
diminishes or fuels public concern according to the amount and quality of cover-
age the issue receives (Priest, 2001). The character and form of that coverage can be
a help or hindrance in drawing attention to environmental issues (McComas &
Shanahan, 1999). Consequently, framing of a news story becomes important, es-
pecially in shaping the campaign agenda.
FRAMING
This chapter adopts framing as the conceptual groundwork for analyzing media
content. While framing is sometimes referred to as a fuzzy concept, it nonethe-
less offers a useful, and distinct, theoretical approach to analyzing media and its
effects (Kim, Scheufele, & Shanahan, 2002; Scheufele, 1999). The media can have
a strong impact in constructing social reality by actively setting and creating
208 NITZ AND WEST
frames of reference for audiences. Framing is a way of making meaning by indi-
cating which facts are important and implying a connection among those facts
(Entman, 1993; Rendahl, 1995).
This chapter adapts lyengar' s (1991) approach to framing, which suggested
that news reports may be usefully analyzed by their thematic or episodic content.
The thematic framing of news attempts to place events in a broad context of related
events, show effects of events, and discuss possible implications of outcomes that
may result. It gives the viewer helpful social, political, and historical background
knowledge regarding the cause and effect of problems. An example of a thematic
campaign story would be how a candidate' s stance on an environmental issue con-
nects with a party platform, an account of environmental policy, or a candidate' s
history of stances on these issues.
Episodic framing, by contrast, presents public issues as single, concrete events,
as specific case histories, and instances occurring more or less in isolation. It only
provides snapshots of an issue, with any explanations based upon sensational and
emotional appeal. An example of an episodic campaign story would be a simple
wire service report that says a candidate is in favor of offshore oil drilling, a candi-
date spoke today at a nuclear power plant, or a candidate speaking at an elementary
school about the environment.
lyengar (1991) noted that, while these thematic and episodic categories are rea-
sonably distinct and exhaustive, a clear distinction between the two stories is al-
most impossible. It is rare to encounter a story that is either exclusively thematic or
episodic. For example, a story on the 2000 campaign might begin with lead-in re-
marks by a reporter about the issue of the environment in the campaign, while
then offering a look at an environmental problem affecting a person in a small
town in the Northwest. On the other hand, an account of the struggle over envi-
ronmental policy surrounding the Kyoto summit might include a brief scene or
description of schoolchildren.
Nonetheless, one frame or the other clearly predominates (Iyengar, 1991). This
predominant frame or focus is the most important factor. According to lyengar
(1991), one reads the entire news story and then makes a decision about whether
the story, framed as a whole, is predominantly thematic or episodic.
In general, stories that are predominantly thematic do better at informing citi-
zens (lyengar, 1991). Citizens begin to see the connection of chronic problems to
wider societal and structural factors. There is also less of a tendency to blame
idiosyncracies of individuals. Conversely, stories with a frame that is predomi-
nantly episodic provide a learning that is often disjointed and unconnected to a
larger contextual picture.
Episodic framing, however, is clearly the predominant frame in most news cov-
erage of a variety of issues, including the environment and political campaigns
(lyengar, 1991; Nitz, 2000; Schoenbach & Becker, 1995). Surprisingly, this epi-
sodic imperative of news coverage crosses the boundaries of various types of me-
dia, extending even to newspapers (Graber, 1980; Neuman, Just, & Crigler, 1992).
Such a focus trivializes public discourse, discourages citizens from seeing links
among issues, and erodes public accountability (lyengar, 1991). The premium
placed on episodic framing leads to the exclusion of many important issues, in-
cluding, lyengar (1991) noted, environmental degradation, which in turn inhibits
the public's ability to critically analyze events.
This chapter adapts this predominant frame conceptualization. It examines
whether environmental stories during the 2000 presidential campaign cycle were
primarily framed, as a whole, from a thematic or an episodic perspective. How-
ever, in addition to examining the entire story for the predominance of such
frames, the research argues that framing includes additional, related dimensions.
Additional Dimensions of Framing
The following sections present some of the additional dimensions or aspects of
framing. These dimensions are presented to help further develop a detailed under-
standing of framing in news stories about the environment during the 2000 presi-
dential campaign cycle.
Responsibility and Solutions. The seriousness of framing comes with attribu-t-
ions of responsibility. Causal responsibility addresses the source(s) of a problem
while treatment responsibility addresses solutions for problems. Within these cate-
gories of causal and treatment responsibility, comes the notion of individualistic ver-
sus societal attributions. Individual attributions tend to be associated with episodic
frames, while the societal attributions tend to be associated with thematic framing
(lyengar, 1991). Individual attributions would assign responsibility primarily to spe-
cific individuals (candidates, government officials, and other personal and character
factors). The societal attributions assign responsibility to social, economic, govern-
mental, and other more broadly based processes.
A framing process in which the media ferret out individuals as being responsi-
ble for causing and solving problems rather than excavating broader governmen-
tal and societal solutions for those problems does little to encourage rational
decision making at the policy level. Politicians tend to blame each other rather
than work together to achieve a solution. When policymakers can agree, they will
need the consent of the governed. This is nearly impossible since such episodic
coverage hinders the ability of individuals to comprehend the ramifications of a
problem, let alone form an opinion in favor of preventive solutions. Voters be-
come skeptical and remove themselves from political process. The effect, lyengar
(1991) contended, "is to generally induce attributions of responsibility to individ-
ual victims or perpetrators rather than to broad societal forces, and hence the ulti-
mate political impact of framing is pro-establishment" (p. 16). This chapter
attempts to ascertain, within these two types of responsibility, whether news sto-
ries about the environment during the 2000 presidential campaign predominantly
210 NITZ AND WEST
focused on individual responsibility for environmental problems and solution, or
whether broader, more societal foci predominated.
Tone. lyengar (1991) stated that the tone of coverage can be significant in
shaping public opinion. News stories can adopt either a positive or a negative tone
toward government, politicians, and other individual and societal institutions. A
negative, adversarial tone in news accounts only breeds more cynicism and encour-
ages voters to focus on character and emotion, rather than the substance of an issue
(Moy & Pfau, 2000). It is possible that the news value of conflict (Jamieson &
Campbell, 2001) intrinsic in many environmental and campaign stories may be
similar to the disconnectedness present in episodic framing, and may encourage in-
dividuals to take these stories less seriously, resulting in an uninformed electorate
and superficial discussion. This work therefore looks at news stories to see whether
they were predominantly positive or negative in tone.
Sources. Cantrill and Oravec (1996) note that with "our environment, what
we say is what we see...." (p.1). Unfortunately, journalists tend to use the most
available eyes when seeking information for environmental issues (Davis, 1995;
Hendry, 1994). Hansen (1991) indicated that the government or someone in a po-
sition of public authority usually is cited most often. Print media often relies heavily
on scientists (Wilkins & Patterson, 1991). Trumbo (1996) stated, however, that sci-
entists are decreasing in value as news sources as environmental issues becomes in-
creasingly politicized.
The sources selected for information could be significant determinants of me-
dia's potential ability to prime viewers about the nature of a particular issue
(Stallings, 1990). A good deal of the journalistic discretion that goes into shaping
media coverage of an environmental issue occurs by way of deciding which sources
to use and how much overall attention to give to the issue (Trumbo, 1996). Multiple
sources could provide helpful understanding of an issue, but could also lead to con-
fusion if the sources conflict and are presented within an episodic context that lacks
background depth. A focus on only one type of source could lead to certain view-
points creeping into news stories that privilege certain voices or issues over others
(Tedesco, 2001). This supports lyengar's (1991) assertion that episodic framing sup-
ports the dominant, hegemonic power structures in society which makes it difficult
for policy-makers to initiate any sort of in-depth discussion of issues. Consequently,
it is important to ascertain which sources are cited in news stories. This chapter
therefore examines news stories to determine which sources were predominantly
featured in environmental news stories during the 2000 election.
Political Campaign Frames-image Versus Issue. Political frames occupy a sig-
nificant, and often primary, position in news stories on the environment (Lacey &
Longman, 1993). Through this framing, the media have the ability to affect percep-
tions of a story's salience through the selection of frames used to discuss an issue
(Entman, 1993). The way media frame political and environmental issues in an
election can affect the way voters perceive campaign communications. Gunter and
Mughan (2000) believed that communication media are a key channel through
which information about these campaign issues gets presented to citizens.
Political framing can focus either predominantly on issues or on more im-
age-based frames. Unfortunately, the media in election campaigns typically fo-
cus on the image-based political frames of horse race or politicians' style and
persona, rather than issues (Jamieson, 2000; Perloff, 1998). This focus on im-
age-based types of political frames tends to oversimplify and is generally unhelp-
ful to the political process (Hollihan, 2001). Image-based political frames inhibit
citizens' comprehensive understanding of policy and issues by concentrating on
style over substance, which leads to a more disconnected, episodic form of dis-
cussion. Consequently, this chapter examines whether news stories about the en-
vironment during the 2000 presidential campaign predominantly used image-
based political frames.
Type of Environmental Issue. Despite the predominance of image in political
campaigns, issues still matter (Jamieson, 2000). Issues are important in the con-
text of how they help candidates play and win the game (Alger, 1996). Yet the me-
dia go beyond this, sometimes intentionally and sometimes uninten- tionally, by
selecting and emphasizing views they believe to be worthy of publication
(Schoenbach & Becker, 1995). Smith (2002) noted that environmental issues
only get coverage or public interest when they are harmful, dramatic, and imme-
diate. The media promote interest (or disinterest) in an issue (Neuman et al.,
1992). Unfortunately, if issues are presented within episodic frames, the public
will not receive the in-depth information necessary that permits them to ade-
quately comprehend these issues (lyengar, 1991). Neuzil and Kovarik (1996) ar-
gued that by writing stories on a particular topic and ignoring others, the media
can help define problems, and therein lies the media's true power, especially in a
close political election campaign like 2000. A predominance of one environmen-
tal issue type over the other may be an indication of media assignment of worthi-
ness or importance of that issue. Therefore, this chapter attempts to examine
which types of environmental stories were predominantly featured during the
2000 election campaign.
HYPOTHESES
This chapter is interested in how the news media framed the environment as an is-
sue during the Election 2000 presidential campaign cycle. More specifically, the
chapter is interested in which frame, episodic or thematic, was predominant in
news stories about the environment. Therefore, the following hypothesis attempts
to answer this question:
212 NITZ AND WEST
H1: News stories about the environment during the Election 2000 campaign cycle
will be predominantly episodic.
The following hypotheses look at the predominance of various dimensions of
framing in news stories about the environment during the Election 2000 presiden-
tial campaign cycle:
H2: When news stories discuss causal responsibility for environmental problems,
they will predominantly focus on individual attributions.
H3: When news stories discuss treatment responsibility for environmental prob-
lems, they will predominantly focus on individual attributions.
H4: News stories will use a predominantly negative tone.
H5: News stories will predominantly use governmental sources.
H6: News stories will predominantly use image-based political frames.
There are a wide variety of environmental issues that could be mentioned in
news stories. Due to this factor and since it would be difficult to hypothesize as to
which environmental issue might be more prevalent than another at any given
time, the research offers one research question:
RQ1: What environmental issues will be predominantly featured in news stories?
METHOD
A search for newspaper stories about the environment during the Election 2000
presidential campaign cycle was conducted using LEXIS-NEXIS. The search cov-
ered the time frame of January 1998 to November 2000. The search utilized a wide
variety of search terms in order to find as many stories as possible. The search be-
gan by searching for stories using the terms Gore + Bush + environment + elec-
tion. This was modified to include various combinations of these initial four terms
(Gore + environment + election, Bush + environment + election, Gore + Bush +
environment, Gore + environment, Bush + environment) . These search terms
were then modified by adding the year (1998, 1999, and 2000) to each combina-
tion. Finally, similar searches were conducted adding specific environmental is-
sues (see Table 11.1 for a complete lis ting) to the previously mentioned
combinations. In all cases, the specific issue was combined with the terms Gore,
Bush, and election, since the main focus of this work was environmental stories
during the presidential campaign cycle.
This search process initially yielded more than 8,000 matches. Since this
would be a rather unmanag eable number for coding, the matches were
screened for relevance (Neuendorf, 2002) in order to come up with a reason-
able sample. The authors went through the list of matches and selected only
TABLE 11.1
Environmental Issues Appearing in Newspaper Stories During Election 2000
Type of story Percentage of occurrence
Campaign 14.4
General mention 14.1
Pollution 13.5
Oil industry influence 9.9
Global warming 9.9
Government policy 6.3
Mix 6.3
Dams 5.4
Development-sprawl 4.5
Energy planning 3.6
Conservation 3.6
Trade 2.7
Waste 1.8
Wildlife 1.8
Note. Percentages are frequency of occurrence in news stories. Some issues appeared in more than one
story. Some stories had more than one issue.
those appearing in major newspapers, defined as those belonging to major met-
ropolitan regions of the United States, stories with the Associated Press byline,
or both. Second, the initial list included numerous examples of taglines and ed-
itors' notes. Therefore, items were only selected if they had an actual story at-
tached. Editorials, cartoons, and photos were not included. News stories were
included from all pages of a newspaper (not jus t the front page) . Finally, this list
of stories was supplemented by stories (again using the major newspapers and
Associated Press criteria) about Gore-Bush and the environment during the
Election 2000 presidential campaign cycle that appeared in newspapers sub-
scribed to by the first author' s department. The results of this search process
produced a sample of 110 newspaper stories (See Table 11.2 for a detailed list of
the location of the 110 stories).
214 NITZ AND WEST
TABLE 11.2
Location of the 110 Newspaper Stories
Number
Name of newspaper of stones
New York Times 37
USA Today 10
Spokesman-Review 10
Los Angeles Times 8
Associated Press 6
Boston Globe 5
Washington Post 5
Houston Chronicle 4
Chicago Sun Times 4
Austin American Statesman 4
Denver Post 3
Newsday 3
Seattle Times 3
Times Union 2
Washington Times, New Orleans Times-Picayune, Atlanta Journal 1
Constitution, Palm Beach Post, St. Petersburg Times, and Village Voice
Justification for Newspapers
It may be thought that Election 2000 was primarily one of television. Yet, newspa-
pers still maintain some vestige of unique perspectives from which to cover envi-
ronmental issues (Eilders, 1997; Wilkins, 1993). Hollihan (2001) argued that the
sheer volume of daily newspapers in the United States is impressive. Neuzil and
Kovarik (1996) noted that newspaper readers have identified environmental news
as the fastest growing topic of news interest. Smith (2002) revealed that public re-
action to energy issues can be assessed by the way the daily newspaper covers envi-
ronmental issues. National newspapers often provide the most thorough,
comprehensive coverage of political campaigns (Jamieson, 2000).
Time Frame
The years 1998 to 2000 were selected for a combination of two primary reasons.
First, the media mentioned Al Gore and George W. Bush as frontrunners in the
presidential campaign as early as 1998 (Wayne, 2001). This was especially evident,
at least for Gore, during the Lewinsky scandal as reporters commented on how
Gore's handling of the situation would impact his likely run as Clinton's heir ap-
parent to the White House in 2000. Bush had also been receiving political coverage
that mentioned him as having the best chance to return Republicans to the White
House. This "Great Mentioner" function of the media has become quite common
in recent years (Schramm, 2000), as the traditional notion of what defines a presi-
dential campaign cycle is continually expanding (Jamieson, 2000)
Second, the Kyoto Summit had been held in Japan in December 1997. Gore
played a prominent role, personally flying to Kyoto in order to try to complete an
agreement on global warming and climate change. News stories' reflections in
early 1998 on the implications of Gore's anointing as Mr. Environment (Nitz,
2001) led to the introduction of the environment as a key issue for Gore, as early as
1999 and the Democratic primaries (Ceasar & Busch, 2001).
Coding Scheme-Categories
Thematic-Episodic. Stories were coded first for the presence of thematic or
episodic framing. lyengar's (1991) notion of predominance served as the basis for
coding. Stories were read in their entirety to determine whether they, when taken as
a whole, were predominantly thematic or episodic. A two-thirds rule was used to
determine the predominant focus of the story. If a story was judged to be two-thirds
or more thematic, it was coded as thematic. Relatedly, if a story was judged to be 2/3
or more episodic, it was coded as episodic. If a story was judged to be split between
thematic and episodic frames (less than two-thirds predominant focus), it was
coded as mixed. An example of a thematic story would be one predominantly fo-
cusing on how the environment is shaping up overall as an issue in the campaign or
background analysis on an environmental situation, policy or issue. An example of
an episodic story would be one that predominantly focuses on a candidate's indi-
vidual stance on a particular issue or an anecdotal, case history-type account.
Responsibility. Responsibility included both causal and treatment dimensions.
Causal responsibility referred to assignment of blame for a problem. Treatment re-
sponsibility referred to solutions for these problems. Within each of these two re-
sponsibility types, stories were coded for whether they made individual or societal
attributions for causes and solutions to these environmental problems. Categories
for individual attributions included Bush and Gore themselves, other candidates, and
government officials (Head of EPA, campaign advisers, Cabinet secretaries, gover-
nors, members of Congress, and other agency-department representatives). Societal
216 NITZ AND WEST
attributions (within both dimensions) included the business industry, environmen-
talists, and citizens. This last category of citizens referred to a general mention that
Americans as a group must accept more responsibility for causing environmental ills
and taking on the task of finding solutions. Once again, stories were coded as a whole
to determine the predominance of a certain attribution. If a certain attribution re-
ceived two-thirds or more of the focus within a story, the story was coded as predomi-
nantly focusing on that attribution. A mixed category was included for those stories
that would contain multiple attributions of responsibility, yet have no predominant,
two-thirds focus for any one attribution.
Tone. Stories were coded for their overall tone. Stories were coded as positive
if two-thirds or more of the story referred to candidates, policies, and the environ-
ment as an issue in predominantly positive tones. Relatedly, stories were coded as
negative if two-thirds or more of the story made predominantly negative refer-
ences. If it could not be judged whether a story was predominantly (two-thirds)
positive or negative, the story was coded as mixed. Finally, a neutral category was
included for those stories that were simply a reporting of an event, that is, Gore
spoke today in Iowa about the environment.
Sources. Stories were coded for their use of sources. Stories were read as a whole
to determine which type of source (using the two-thirds rule) was predominant. Cat-
egories included governmental, environmental, business industry, Gore, Bush, aver-
age citizens, and a general category (academics and others that did not fit the
previously mentioned categories).
Political Frames. Stories were coded to determine whether they predominantly
utilized image-based frames or issue-based frames. Image-based frames included
categories of horse race (how the environment can help a candidate win or lose) and
image (verbal or nonverbal portrayal of a candidate's character in regards to an envi-
ronmental issue). Issue-based frames included categories of policy (a candidate's
stance on an issue) and issue (the importance of an environmental issue to voters
within the presidential campaign, but not mentioning any specific candidate stance).
A general environmental category was added to incorporate those stories that fo-
cused on the environment, without specific reference to Bush or Gore or the presi-
dential campaign. An example would be the role of the environment in a state or
Congres- sional election or any other general environmental category not mention-
ing the presidential campaign and its candidates. Stories were read as a whole (using
the two-thirds rule) to determine which political frame was predominant. If it could
not be determined whether a story predominantly focused on a certain type of politi-
cal frame, it was coded as mixed.
Type of Environmental Issue. Stories were coded for the predominance of a va-
riety of environmental issues. This coding (see Table 11.1 for a complete list of coding
categories) included specific issues thought to be relevant such as global warming or
pollution, but also incorporated campaign-related issues (i.e., where the predomi-
nant focus of a story describes how the environment or environmental issue is mak-
ing a difference in the campaign). An example of such a story would be one focusing
on donations or statements from an environmental or political action group. An ad-
ditional category incorporated those stories containing general mention of the envi-
ronment without any reference to a specific issue listed in Table 11.1 or campaign.
Stories were read as a whole to determine (using the two-thirds rule) which issue was
predominant. If a predominant issue could not be determined, the story was coded as
mixed.
RESULTS
The present investigation attempted to ascertain the nature of framing in envi-
ronmental news stories during the Election 2000 presidential campaign cycle.
Overall, 110 environmental news stories were coded. To determine whether cod-
ers reliably identified the instances of environmental framing, two individuals
independently coded a random sample of approximately 10% of the total in-
stances. Intercoder agreement was 79% for the six coding categories, and Co-
hen' s kappa was acceptable (I=. 64) .
The first hypothesis predicted that news stories would have a predominantly
episodic focus. This hypothesis was not supported. There was more thematic cov-
erage (34%) than episodic (23%). An example of a thematic story occurred in The
New York Times on September 28, 2000. The article was great at providing a histor-
ical background of how supply versus demand ideas had separated Gore and Bush
on the environment through the course of their political careers. An episodic arti-
cle example appeared in Washington Post on September 3, 1999. Al Gore went to
Boston to entice local fishermen with a $5-million pledge of help. The article de-
scribed how Gore rode in a boat across Boston Harbor and spoke with fishermen.
Although the first hypothesis was not confirmed, an interesting outcome was
the fact that the majority of stories (43%) were classified as a mix between thematic
and episodic portrayals. Coders in these cases were unable to find a clear, predomi-
nant, two-thirds thematic or episodic focus to news stories. Stories in this mixed
category tended to meander. The story might begin with a report of an event (epi-
sodic), shift to a short, contextual description (thematic), shift back to another re-
port of an event (episodic), shift again to context (thematic), and then conclude in
a battle of dueling quotes.
An example illustrates this mix. The story, which appeared in Newsday on Oc-
tober 27, 2000, talked about the wooing of the green vote. The story began by not-
ing Gore's appearance at a rally in Davenport, Iowa. The next paragraph provided
some background analysis of Nader's role in this close presidential contest, espe-
cially in the Midwest states. Next, a United Nations report on greenhouse gases was
discussed. The report is then utilized by Gore to attack Bush. The next three para-
218 NITZ AND WEST
graphs offered short (one sentence each), isolated Gore criticisms of Bush on
Houston smog, the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, and the chemical industry.
The focus shifted back to Nader' s role in the campaign and whether a vote for him
is a wasted vote. Gore is quoted as dodging the question. The story went on to dis-
cuss some background context on the campaign strategy Nader and Gore are using
in this regard. The story concluded with two paragraphs about Gore on the Queen
Latifah Show where Gore noted that he prefers his women to wear lace rather than
leather. While this story contained both thematic and episodic elements, neither
was present in an amount prevalent enough to deserve a two-thirds predominant
focus assignment to the story as a whole. The oscillation between the two elements
in this story (and the others like it in this category) made it difficult to assign a pre-
dominant story focus.
In an attempt to understand why so many stories were mixed in focus, the the-
matic-episodic-mixed category was cross-tabulated with type of political frame
and environmental issue. The majority of political frames in thematic stories had
either a horse race (32%) or image (29%) focus. An example was a September 7,
2000 story in USA Today entitled "Gore, Bush wrangle over plans to handle sur-
plus." The story, however, had little focus on actual environmental issues, but con-
centrated rather on how Gore and Bush accused the other of wasteful spending.
Bush was accused of practicing "cross-your-finger economics," while Gore prac-
tices the "easy style" of campaign promises (p. A10) . This pattern of political
frames held true for episodic stories and mixed stories as well.
The majority of environmental issues in thematic stories were in the general
category (43%), as was the case with episodic stories (31%) . An example of such
stories was seen in The New York Times on November 3, 2000. The article went
through a litany of comparisons between Gore and Bush. The focus of this debate,
however, was how each has voiced for the environment in general, rather than any
specific environmental issue. However, within mixed stories, the majority of envi-
ronmental issues were campaign related (21%) . Stories focusing on endorse-
ments, speeches at campaign events, and electoral ramifications of candidates'
environmental stances fit into this category.
The second hypothesis predicted that when news stories discussed causal respon-
sibility, they would primarily focus on individual attributions. This hypothesis was
supported as 69% of news stories predominantly focused on individual attributions
such as government officials (54%), Bush (8%), Gore (5%), and other candidates (
2%). Government officials included economic advisers, agency heads, members of
Congress, and a plethora of other sorts of government officials at all levels. Societal
attributions only received a predominant focus seven percent of the time. A mix of
individual and societal attributions was assigned in 24% of the stories.
The third hypothesis predicted that when news stories discussed treatment
responsibility, they would primarily focus on individual attributions. This hy-
pothesis was supported as 61 % of news stories predominantly focused on indi-
vidual attributions such as government officials (44%) , Bush (5%) , Gore
(10%), and other candidates (2%) . Societal attributions only received a pre-
dominant focus 6% of the time. A mix of individual and societal attributions
was assigned in 33% of the stories.
Both types of responsibility were cross-tabulated with the thematic-epi-
sodic-mixed category to further probe the nature of these attributions. In all cases,
the individual attributions to government officials were the highest attributions
(ranging from 40% to 66% of total attributions within the thematic, episodic, and
mixed categories). This might be expected for episodic stories, but thematic stories
should have had more societal attributions. Another interesting finding emerging
from this combination of causal and treatment responsibility was the fact that
Bush (8%) received more blame than Gore (5%) for causes of environmental
problems, while Gore (10%) was seen as either receiving or taking more credit
than Bush (5%) for proposing environmental solutions.
The fourth hypothesis predicted that news stories would use a predominantly
negative tone. This hypothesis was partially supported. There were more stories
that had a predominantly negative tone (18%) than stories that had a predomi-
nantly positive tone (12%) . Yet most articles (44%) adopted a predominantly
mixed tone in their assessment of candidates and positions. An example was a
Boston Globe story from June 20, 1999 that cited Gore's passion for the environ-
ment, but then lamented that this passion has often not been matched by action.
Neutrality was the predominant focus in 24% of stories. These stories were simply
Associated Press reports of a bill being passed, or the simple listing or announce-
ment of stances on issue(s).
The fifth hypothesis predicted that news stories would predominantly use gov-
ernmental sources. This hypothesis was not supported. Environmental groups (Si-
erra Club, League of Conservation Voters, and other NGOs) were the most
prominent news sources in news stories (30%). Gore was the predominant source
in 20% of stories, while Bush was the predominant source in 15% of stories. Gov-
ernment sources were the predominant source in only 14% of news stories. Busi-
ness industry and average citizens were the predominant focus in an equal amount
(7%, respectively). Other, more general sources such as academics were the pre-
dominant focus in 7% of news stories.
The sixth hypothesis predicted that news stories would predominantly use im-
age-based political frames. This hypothesis was supported. Horse race was a pre-
dominant focus in 28% of news stories. Candidates' images regarding the
environment was a predominant focus in 28% of stories. Several stories illustrated
how the campaign often centered on character (trust, sincerity) rather than issue
discussion. In the New York Times (April 13, 2000), Gore asserted that Bush only
"pretends to care" about the environment (p. A26). In the Houston Chronicle (De-
cember 18, 1998) Bush, in reference to those who said he lacks intellect, stated, "I
may be an empty suit, but at least it is not an empty, earth-toned suit." (p. A9). In
terms of issue-based political frames, specific policy stances were mentioned as
predominant frame in 20% of news stories. Actual importance of the environment
220 NITZ AND WEST
to voters as an issue was the predominant frame in only 8% of news stories. Gen-
eral stories (i.e., an oil spill in Mexico) were the predominant focus in 9% of sto-
ries. In 7% of stories, a predominant focus could not be determined, and therefore,
these stories were coded as mixed.
The research question attempted to ascertain which types of environmental is-
sues were discussed in news stories. The heavy focus on horse race frames extended
into the specific environmental issues, with campaign-related frames being the
predominant focus in 14% of news stories. General environmental issues were
mentioned as a predominant frame in 14 percent of stories. Pollution was a pre-
dominant focus in 13.5% of news stories. In approximately 6% of the stories, sev-
eral specific issues were predominant. These stories were coded as mixed. The
predominance of various other specific environmental issues was spread among
approximately a dozen categories (see Table 11.1 for a complete listing).
DISCUSSION
Before further discussing the findings, several caveats must be tendered. First, this
chapter only looks at one aspect of framing, namely the content of media messages.
Framing is a multifaceted process, involving both media and audience frames. The life
cycle of a mass-mediated message includes the selection of issues by editors, creation
of messages by reporters, dissemination of messages through media systems, and re-
ception of messages by audiences (Greenberg & Salwen, 1996). Unfortunately, a com-
plete test of this life cycle was beyond the scope of this work. Future research on
environmental communication needs to examine the relationships among these steps
within an organized framing theory of media effects (Scheufele, 1999).
Second, there may have been something unique about the issue type. Framing
and its effects are highly contingent upon the issue chosen (lyengar, 1991). The envi-
ronment had been fading as an issue in the media headlines (Leyland, 1999). Conse-
quently, the results may have been affected by the issue of the environment,
combined with the larger context of the campaign, (i.e., Gore's early emergence as a
clear favorite on environmental issues that resulted in a media focus on other issues).
Third, the fact that newspapers were chosen as the medium could have affected
the results. Newspaper styles and content vary widely across the United States
(Neuman et al., 1992). This factor was reflected in the nature of newspapers that
appeared in the sample. For example, stories were clustered in a particular subset
of newspapers, with The New York Times accounting for 34% of all stories and a
wide assortment of other papers occupying the other 66% (See Table 11.2). This
mixture of different types of newspapers, with a potentially high dosage of the-
matic content from the Times, could have driven the findings and may inhibit the
ability to look at general patterns of newspaper coverage. Also, the nature of the in-
verted pyramid and the fact that many newspaper stories provide at least some his-
toric background or context may have contributed to the predominance of mixed
frames. Finally, the screening process winnowed out minor newspapers may in-
hibit the research's ability to generalize to all newspapers.
Fourth, the search process used may have made a difference in the results. The
LEXIS-NEXIS search may have been limited by the fact that the university at which
it was conducted only had access to LEXIS-NEXIS Academic Universe, a partial
application of the full bundle of LEXIS-NEXIS services (Neuendorf, 2002). This
fact, in combination with the possibility that the search screening process missed
some terms and stories, may have contributed to the overall small number of sto-
ries in the sample.
However, the small number of stories in the chapter still produced results con-
sistent with an existing body of work that finds the environment to have been a rel-
atively minor part of Election 2000 campaign coverage. Kern (2001) found that Al
Gore's environmental record was basically neutralized and ignored in Election
2000. Hansen and Benoit (2001) did not find, even in an analysis of significant pol-
icy issues across four media types during the primaries, one mention of the envi-
ronment. Tedesco (2001), in a content analysis of 21 issues across candidate press
releases and network news stories, discovered that while Gore mentioned the envi-
ronment 44 times in press releases (for a ranking of fifth) , the network news only
had 20 stories across all networks.
It is hard to make the environment stand out. As Neuman et al. (1992) noted,
the average American consumes 15,000 news stories over a 3-year period (the pe-
riod of this research). The majority of these stories are about routine matters such
as sports scores, weather, and stock reports. The remainder are divvied up among a
variety of issues, of which the environment is only one.
The main contribution of this work, however, is not merely that its findings
are consistent with research that media coverage of the environment in Elec-
tion 2000 was minimal, but rather that it builds upon this body of work by ex-
amining how the environmental coverage was framed when it did appear. The
cumulative results of this research provide support for the notion that media
coverage of the environment during the Election 2000 presidential campaign
cycle was superficial. Environmental news stories adopted frames that were
predominantly mixed, assigned responsibility to individuals rather than soci-
etal forces, utilized image-based rather than issue-based foci, and adopted a
generally negative or mixed tone. In sum, the cumulative results of this chapter
point to a predominantly episodic focus of individual actors and image-based
frames in news stories about the environment during the Election 2000 presi-
dential campaign cycle.
This chapter supports research that asserts the media in Election 2000 made
mistakes (from grasping at polls to aiding and abetting campaign rumor
whisperers) that diverted their attention from real issues (Schramm, 2000). Once
again, there was a heavy focus on the game of the horse race. Scholars are citing this
increasing use of emotionally intense narrative styles that emphasize images at the
expense of facts and issues (Jamieson, 2000).
222 NITZ AND WEST
Election 2000 was a very close election, conducted during a time of relative
prosperity (Wayne, 2001). In such races, image-based frames can become very im-
portant to voters in their political decision-making (Hollihan, 2001). Doyle and
McEachern (1998) argued that such a focus on individual personalities and leader-
ship qualities hinders the chances for environmental electoral success, even in situ-
ations with high environmental consciousness and favorable electoral systems.
The potential result of this type of coverage may have been most evident in the
case of Gore. Gore's record on his greatest selling points of procedural and envi-
ronmental issues was hardly articulated (Kern, 2001). When Gore's points were
articulated, the mixed framing predominant in this work' s findings coun-
ter-balanced them. Positives about or from Gore were neutralized by a mixed tone
in stories. Even the advantage of newspapers' thematic stories was neutralized as
such stories focused more on campaign strategy and images, rather than a discus-
sion of issues and their impact.
A surprising outcome is the fact that mixed coverage occurred in the medium of
newspapers. Newspapers have more space to devote to issues that might lead one to
believe that they could provide more background analysis typical of thematic fram-
ing. Yet others (Fallows, 1996; Patterson, 1994) have offered evidence that could
challenge this newspaper superiority hypothesis. Newspapers are having to work
harder in a more competitive news environment and are being forced to not only of-
fer up analysis, but also grab readers' attention in new and exciting ways. This trend
may be partially responsible for the high degree of mixed frames in this work and it
may also be particularly relevant with environmental coverage because the environ-
ment is an issue that is abstract, harder to visualize, harmful effects reside in the fu-
ture, is often is far away from the pocketbook, and inherently complex.
Therefore, public unders tanding of these issues is critical to enlightened
policymaking. The media become a critical societal institution delineating the
standards one uses to evaluate the degree of risk involved in an environmental
issue. The media are one of, if not the, primary sources of information about
environmental issues. The media distribute and disseminate this information,
while at the same time conveying the impression that certain issues are more
important than others. It makes a good deal of difference which events are em-
phasized. Hansen (1991) argued that some issues exhibit more cultural reso-
nance than others, which s ubs equently leads to corres ponding levels of
concern and focus in public debate.
lyengar (1991) noted that the electoral accountability inherent in such public
debate is critical to the concept of democratic governance. The public needs ac-
countability in order to assign responsibility for social problems, but is prevented
from accumulating evidence toward logical conclusions when the media present
episodic or mixed coverage. When the media exhibit this pattern that focuses less
on background analysis and more on sensational, image-based, anecdotal ac-
counts, the long term effect is a "trivialization of public discourse and the erosion
of this electoral accountability" (lyengar, 1991, p. 143). Citizens cannot be moti-
vated to support policy stances designed to manage environmental issues if news
media coverage paints a mixed picture.
CONCLUSION
Politicians and other political organizations who operate in the campaign com-
munication arena need to be aware of how the media frame environmental is-
sues so they can have an awareness of how they are being portrayed and how
they can respond to and perhaps help shape these frames in their own public
communication with various constituencies. It is critical to remember Bow-
man' s (1996) caution that policymaking on environmental problems is shaped
in response to a public that gets most of its environmental information at the
doorstep and in the living room.
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CHAPTER TWELVE
Nonverbal Ways of Communicating
With Nature: A Cross-Case Study
Michelle Scollo Sawyer
University of Massachusetts Amherst
We know more from nature than we can at will communicate.
Ralph WaIdo Emer s o n( 1836)
I wish to propose that across cultures there is a set of related, largely nonverbal
forms of communication that people use to connect with the natural world. Fur-
ther, that this connection to, or coparticipation with, the natural world ultimately
functions to reveal the sacredness within and connectedness between all living
things. Such experiences offer their human participants a way of knowing from na-
ture that is not possible in other contexts or through other forms of communica-
tion. As such, these practices constitute a very special category of communicative
forms, which are highly worthy of study in their own right, but also for their poten-
tial to broaden our notions of communication and to improve our quality of life.
In testing this claim, I take a small step by examining five cases that discuss par-
ticular peoples' practices of connecting with nature in a variety of places and times;
I by no means conduct a cross-cultural analysis, but rather a cross-case one. The
study is grounded in the ethnography of communication program,
1
which has ad-
vocated such comparative analysis (Carbaugh, 1988a, 1989, 1995; Carbaugh &
Hastings, 1995; Hymes, 1962, 1964, 1967, 1972; Philipsen & Carbaugh, 1986) and
the use of extant documents in doing so (Carbaugh, 1989; Philipsen, 1989;
Philipsen & Carbaugh, 1986), yet has not produced considerable work of this type
to date (however, see Braithwaite, 1990; Carbaugh, 1989
2
). Most notable in this re-
1
The ethnography of communication is a research program dedicated to the study of human
communication with its own philosophy, theory, and methodology (Carbaugh, 1995). See
Hymes (1962) for the initial call for the field and Hymes (1972) for an important theoretical ex-
tension of it. For book-length examples of ethnographic studies of this nature see Carbaugh
(1988b), Fitch (1998), Katriel (1986, 1997), and Philipsen (1992) .
See Carbaugh (1989, pp. 93-94) in particular for a review of comparative work in the ethnog-
raphy of communication.
227
228 SAWYER
gard are the comparative studies by Carbaugh (1989) and Braithwaite (1990), that
use extant ethnography of communication studies in pursuit of their analytical
goals. Carbaugh (1989) was interested in developing a theoretical framework that
could be used for future studies of cultural terms for talk. He used 11 ethnography
of communication studies, covering 11 different societies, to conduct his analysis,
which yielded a framework that can be used to study cultural terms for talk and
their enactment. Braithwaite (1990) used 18 ethnography of communication
studies, covering 13 different speech communities, to test Basso's (1970) poten-
tially universal hypothesis of silence behavior. Braithwaite found Basso's hypothe-
sis to be valid, with the addition of a second warrant that covered the ethnographic
cases that could not be explained by Basso's initial hypothesis. This study uses five
written pieces, from a variety of contexts, to preliminarily test the claim under
study and to compare and contrast the cultural features of five cases of similar
communicative forms.
In what follows, I briefly outline the criteria utilized to select the cases, explain
the methodology of the study, and then give a description of each case. After that, I
examine the similarities and differences between the cases to illustrate the particu-
lar and potentially universal features of the practices. Lastly, I present a refined the-
oretical framework and suggestions for future environmental communication
inquiry and practice based on the findings of the study.
METHOD
Several criteria were used to select the cases. First, I searched for existing written
pieces that identified and discussed ways that a person or group connects with na-
ture through a predominantly nonverbal form of communication. Second, I
looked for cases from a variety of times, places, and cultures and from a range of
professional fields. What resulted were five cases from a variety of professional
fields (academic, literary, environmental), times (present day, yesteryear), and
cultures (Blackfeet, American).
The first case is a study on a cultural form of communication known to and la-
beled by the Blackfeet, a Native American group of northern Montana, as "listen-
ing"
3
(Carbaugh, 1999). The second is one appropriated from hunting practices,
yet elaborated upon, which is referred to as "stalking" (Rezendes, 1998). The third
is a practice that was dear to one of America's most celebrated writers, Henry Da-
vid Thoreau, which he termed "sauntering" (Thoreau, 1937). The fourth stems
from a study of my own on a class of events, termed "getting out into nature, " that
are referred to and practiced by a married couple living in Maine, (Sawyer, 2001).
The fifth is from the popular press, in a recent article from Health magazine on a
practice called "walking" (Foltz-Gray, 2001).
Cultural terms for communication will be placed in quotes throughout the essay to denote
their place within particular cultural systems of communication.
12. NONVERBAL WAYS OF COMMUNICATING WITH NATURE 229
The theoretical framework used to analyze the cases was composed of Hymes'
(1972) descriptive theory, Carbaugh's (1989) cultural terms for communication
framework,
4
and a set of dimensions concerning the activity and verbal levels of
communication suggested by this study.
Hymes' (1972) descriptive theory was used to construct a detailed description
of each of the practices. The theory is comprised of a set of social units of analysis
(speech community, communicative situation, event, act, style, and way of
speaking) and their components (situation, participants, ends, acts, key, instru-
mentality, norms of interaction and interpretation, and genre) which together
can be utilized to describe and interpret any communicative phenomenon
(Carbaugh & Hastings, 1995). In particular, I used the components of setting,
participants, ends, acts, key, instrumentality, and norms of interaction to de-
scribe each of the practices.
Carbaugh' s (1989) cultural terms for communication framework was used
to analyze the practices and to compare and contrast their features. As noted
earlier, the framework was developed to study cultural terms for talk and the
enactment of talk so labeled. Early on, Hymes noted the importance of indige-
nous labels for speech, how they organized cultural systems of speaking and
therefore were highly worthy of study (Hymes, 1962). Carbaugh' s framework
goes a step beyond taxonomic classification of these indigenous labels with its
three-tiered structure enabling analysis of: (a) the social uses of cultural terms
for communication; (b) the levels of performance that cultural terms for com-
munication identify and which their enactment constitute; and (c) the mes-
sages and meanings expressed when a cultural term for communication is used
or a practice is enacted.
Social Uses
With the first tier, the question can be asked as to what social uses a particular cul-
tural term for communication is being put. For example, it could be used socially as a
way of identifying, instructing, evaluating, or accounting for a particular action.
5
4
Note that recent work has broadened Carbaugh's (1989) cultural terms for talk framework to
cultural terms for communication, such that terms for and enactments of nonlinguistic forms of
communication may also be studied. With this modification the analytical framework remains
the same; the difference is that cultural terms for any kind of communication, verbal or nonver-
bal, may be studied, rather than just cultural terms for talk. For recent examples of studies that
utilize the cultural terms for communication framework see Carbaugh (1999) and Carbaugh
and Poutiainen (2000). For examples that use the cultural terms for talk framework see Baxter
and Goldsmith (1990), Hall and Valde (1995), and Wilkins (1999).
5
This first tier of the framework on social uses of cultural terms for communication is a recent
addition not explicitly conceptualized in the 1989 piece. A personal communication with Donal
Carbaugh suggested its addition to the framework. Personal communications with Carbaugh
also inform the remainder of the explication of this framework.
230 SAWYER
Levels of Performance
With the second tier, one can inquire as to what level of performance the term refers
to and enactments of it constitute, of which there are four. The first is the act level
which includes terms that identify communication practices that are produced by
one participant. The second is the event level which includes terms that identify
communication practices that require more than one participant or co-participa-
tory production. The third is the style level which includes terms that identify a selec-
tion of a kind of communication amongst others that spans acts and events. The
fourth is the functional level, which points to the various functions of the communi-
cation as perceived by those who produce it and therefore is not so much a level of
performance as much as an outcome of it (Carbaugh, 1989, pp. 97-103).
Messages and Meanings
The third tier of the framework enables analysis of the messages that are radiated
when a communicative action is linguistically referred to, enacted, or both. These
messages concern the communication practice itself, sociality, and personhood.
As Carbaugh (1989) explained: "These messages may be conveyed more literally,
as are those about communication, or relatively metaphorically, as are those about
sociality and personhood" (p. 103). Messages about the communication practice
itself divide into four categories, each of which suggests some possible dimensions
upon which communication may vary. These are, respectively: (a) mode of action:
direct-indirect; (b) degree of structuring: fixed-flexible, restricted-elaborate; (c)
tone: formal-informal, serious-playful; and (d) efficaciousness of the practice:
substantial-insubstantial. Messages about sociality divide into three categories,
with the middle category containing some possible dimensions of variation. These
are: (a) social roles or identities; (b) social relations: solidarity-intimacy, competi-
tive-cooperative, close-distant, powerful-powerless; and (c) social institutions.
Messages about personhood divide into four categories, each of which suggests
some possible dimensions of variation. These are: (a) loci of motives: rela-
tional-intentional; (b) bases of sociation: organically enmeshed-contractually in-
terdependent; (c) styles of pers onhood: impers onal-pers onal, pos itional-
intimate; and (4) overall types of personhood: sociocentric organic model- ego-
centric contractual model (Carbaugh, 1989, pp. 103-112).
Through my analysis of each case I found a set of additional dimensions regard-
ing the activity and verbal levels of the communication practice itself that varied.
These are: (a) level of activity: stillness-movement; (b) pace: slow-fast; (c) sound
level: silence-noise; (d) verbal activity: nonverbal-verbal; and (e) quantity of ver-
bal activity: small-great. The three aspects of the theoretical framework of the
studythe dimensions just covered, the cultural terms for communication
framework, and the descriptive theoryform the undercarriage of my total analy-
sis of the cases and the description of each to follow.
CASES
"Listening"
If you have a problem, or can't find an answer for something,
our belief is that you can come out here, or to the mountains,
or just about anywhere, sit down and listen.
If you sit and listen patiently, you' ll find an answer.
Two Bears (Blackfoot)
as quoted in Carbaugh (1999)
In the summer 1999 special issue of Western Journal of Communication on
"Spaces" Carbaugh presented a study on a special form of communication
among the Blackfeet, which they call "listening." The term is used socially
among the Blackfeet to identify the action and as a directive to engage in it.
"Listening" identifies and constitutes a communicative event in that it requires
more than one participant for its efficacious production. Participants here are
not restricted to human beings but rather include all living things, which are
believed by the Blackfeet to all contain spiritual matter. Thus trees, rocks, ani-
mals, and humans are all part and parcel of the event. A person could not en-
gage in the activity alone for the event to be what it is, but rather must be
perceived as a spirited coparticipant among an interconnected, natural realm
of all living things. One person or a small group may engage in "listening, " but
this does not preclude it from being treated as an event since it requires
coproduction between living, spirited things, human or non.
Carbaugh (1999) identified three qualities that make a place ideal for "listen-
ing": (a) "a visual scene of natural beauty"; (b) "an aural tone of tranquility"; and
(c) "a history of valued cultural activity," although, as one informant noted, "just
about anywhere" might do (pp. 257-258). What is important is that the place af-
fords some sort of silence and beauty such that a person "listening" may be unen-
cumbered by outside noise and thus able to listen to and observe that which is
beautiful around them. "Listening" in places where important, sacred events
have occurred in the past is particularly good for they offer ways of connecting
with the past and thus traditional Blackfeet ways. As noted, "listening" may oc-
cur in scenes not of historical precedence. In these cases a person "listening" may
find something spiritual by, for example, "marveling at the intricate patterns in a
stone" or while "watching a spider in the corner of the living room" (Carbaugh,
1999, p. 258). As Carbaugh (1999) noted, "' Listening,' then, can be doubly
placed as a cultural attentiveness to a known sacred place, and to the sacredness
in just about any place" (p. 259).
The event of "listening" may involve several actions. These include sitting,
watching, "feeling-the-place, through all the senses" and, of course, listening
232 SAWYER
to all that s urrounds one (Carbaugh, 1999, p. 259) . Being relatively still and si-
lent is of utmost importance, although if movement is to occur, for example,
walking, it should proceed at a slow pace. Verbal activity is generally not per-
mitted, although a bit may occur in small quantities . When done is this way,
"listening" may activate direct communication with "ravens," "trees," and
"mountain lions," in short, "all of the animals, plants, rocks, water, trees,
breeze, and so on" that are present (Carbaugh, 1999, p. 257). All of these "can
' speak,' if one jus t ' listens' " (Carbaugh, 1999, p. 259) . As Carbaugh (1999)
noted, "Each thus can be consulted and listened to as a source of imp ortant, in-
spirational, and powerful messages" (p. 259). As one informant explained,
"You might hear a raven and realize the raven is saying s omething to you" or
"you might talk to a tree" (Carbaugh, 1999, p. 259). Thus important messages
may be gleaned from the natural, s piritfull world if one listens in a proper man-
ner. And for any of those in doubt, this is not a fanciful communication at
work, but rather a Blackfeet realist belief in the communicative abilities of all,
even those not human (Carbaugh, 1999, p. 259) . For them, aspects of the natu-
ral universe really do speak, if one listens.
All of this points to "listening" as a rather substantial, important, and meaning-
ful form of communication for the Blackfeet. It is a rather serious, formal to infor-
mal, flexibly structured event that Blackfeet engage in for its many positive
rewards. These are living in a proper way (e.g., by being attuned to the natural, in-
terconnected spiritual realm), finding answers to problems, and finding solace
from the modern day world. The ultimate function of "listening," however, is to
reveal the sacred in all living things (Carbaugh, 1999, p. 259).
Thus when Blackfeet identify or enact the communicative form of "listening"
messages about the interconnected solidarity, or "symmetrical we-ness," between
all living things are expressed (Carbaugh, 1989, p. 109). A close and cooperative re-
lation is created between all living things. Indeed, here people are perceived not so
much as separate from nature, but rather as one small part of it. As such, Blackfeet
are relationally motivated and organically enmeshed in this interconnected, spiri-
tually-infused system of all living things. A sociocentric organic model of
personhood is therefore, at least partly, activated through references to and enact-
ments of "listening".
"Stalking"
It is the thought process that in large part is responsible for
keeping us from connecting with nature, the outer landscape,
and our own naturethe wild within.
Paul Rezendes (1998)
In the 1998 book, The Wild Within: Adventures in Nature and Animal Teachings,
Paul Rezendes presented a chapter titled "Stalking Silence" on a special form of
communication that he practices and teaches to others, which he calls "stalking."
He used the term to identify the action and, in the context of the chapter and the
"stalking" classes he taught, to explain the practice so that others may be aware of it
and engage in it if they so desire.
"Stalking" identifies and constitutes a communicative event in that it requires
more than one participant for its efficacious production. Muck like "listening,"
participants are not limited to humans but rather include all living things within
the natural world, in particular wildlife, for example, animals such as deer, though
such natural forces as wind and snow may also be key participants and conveyors
of important messages. Thus the natural world and all its elements are part and
parcel of the event. One person or a small group may engage in "stalking." As
Rezendes (1998) noted, "when you' re stalking animals you can't have a big crowd"
(p. 73). This is because one must be very quiet when "stalking."
The best place for "stalking" is the forest for one of its primary goals is "to see
wildlife" (Rezendes, 1998, p. 80). To do this, however, one cannot go to any forest
at any time. Certain kinds of forests and weather conditions facilitate seeing wild-
life, whereas others prohibit it. Good forest kinds and conditions for "stalking" in-
clude "pine or conifer" forests since "The needle carpet makes less noise than
crinkly leaves" (Rezendes, 1998, p. 80). The best conditions include waiting "until
the leaves get sopping wet after a heavy rain or fog" so that one may remain very
quiet (Rezendes, 1998, p. 80). Likewise, "a deciduous forest with lots of leaves on
the ground," which may be dry and have "lots of twigs underfoot, " makes for poor
"stalking" since "walking in this type of woods will make a racket" (Rezendes,
1998, p. 80). In short, the best place for "stalking" is a forest, presumably contain-
ing wildlife, in which its type and conditions make for quiet "stalking."
When "stalking," hopefully in such optimal conditions and places, several ac-
tions should be involved. These include intensely and actively watching, smelling,
feeling, and listening to the forest and all its wildlife. One involves all these senses
to be maximally aware of and attentive to everything within the forest so that one
may "see wildlife before it sees you" (Rezendes, 1998, p. 71). This is, of course, no
easy task. "Stalking involves inching your way through the forest, spending more
time stopped than moving, all the while being incredibly attentive to and aware of
everything around you" (Rezendes, 1998, p. 71). "Stalking" is thus a multisensory
activity in which a special "quality of attention" must be operative so that wildlife
may be seen (Rezendes, 1998, p. 71). This is the quality of attention and awareness
that animals use as they navigate the forest. Humans may and indeed should use
these skills toomodern technology and life having dulled themsince doing so
may improve our quality of life by teaching us to be present in the moment as ani-
mals are (Rezendes, 1998, p. 91).
Being still and silent is therefore of the utmost importance while "stalking." If
movement is to occur, for example, by walking through the forest or lifting up
one's binoculars, this should be done at a very slow pace. Any flicker of move-
ment, any hint of sound, may alert animals of human presence and thus preclude
234 SAWYER
opportunities of seeing them. Verbal activity is generally not permitted, as such
sound can put animals on alert or worse cause them to leave, but if it must occur
it can be done at a decreased volume so as to not disrupt the environment. All
these qualities of "stalking"its generally still, silent, slow, and nonverbal di-
mensionsenable one to "melt into the forest," to "become the forest," which
not only facilitates the possibility of seeing wildlife but moreover connects one
with all that is animalthat is, "the wild within" (Rezendes, 1998, pp. 71-72).
"Stalking" thus enables direct communication with wildlife and the forest, re-
vealing a state and form of communication that all animals share. This "wild
within" is a state in which one is "present, alive, awake in the moment, " in tune
with the natural world in a way that all animals are (Rezendes, 1998, p. 91). This
enables animals to pick up important messages that may be life-impacting, for
example, the scent of an animal that may hurt them. These messages are in turn
used to change behavior, for example, to freeze so that one may not be detected
or to flee the scene all together, thus enabling one to live. Thus "stalking" is all
"about being aware," of messages sent and their receipt. Rezendes (1998) ex-
plained that: "This quality of awareness can bring clarity to our lives" by connect-
ing us experientially to all that forests and wildlife share and thus to "our own
naturethe wild within" (p. 91).
All of this points to "stalking" as a rather substantial, important, and meaning-
ful form of communication. It is rather serious and formal in tone while following
a relatively fixed structure, in that several rules and conventions guide its proper
practice. Ultimately, "stalking" functions to connect all animals, including hu-
mans, to that which they share, "the wild within. " This brings humans into com-
munion with the natural world, a feeling or experience that Rezendes (1998)
argued many of us find lacking in our own lives (Rezendes, 1998, p. 93).
Thus, much like "listening," when "stalking" is identified or enacted, messages
about the interconnected solidarity, or symmetrical we-ness, between all animals
are expressed. A close and cooperative relation is created between them through an
activation and use of their common perceptual senses. Again, similar to "listen-
ing," with "stalking" people are perceived not so much as separate from nature,
but rather as part of it. As such, those who practice "stalking" are relationally moti-
vated and organically enmeshed with forests and their wildlife. A sociocentric or-
ganic model of personhood therefore is activated through references to and
enactments of "stalking."
"Sauntering"
Life consists with wildness.
The most alive is the wildest...
In short, all good things are wild and free.
Tho reau (1937)
In a 1937 essay titled "Walking" Henry David Thoreau wrote of a practice that
he daily participates in and which he variously referred to as "walking" or "saun-
tering." Yet "sauntering" is no ordinary kind of walking. It has a special quality to
it, which Thoreau claimed is rather difficult to attain. He wrote, "I have met with
but one or two persons in the course of my lifetime who understand the art of
walking, that is of taking walks,who had a genius, so to speak, for sauntering"
(1937, p. 597). It is the etymology of the word "saunterer" (i.e., "holy-lander")
that Thoreau used to express what he meant by the particular brand of walking he
espoused. A "saunterer," he explained, is a person on a crusade to reach "the
Holy Land" (Thoreau, 1937, p. 597). This Holy Land being not necessarily
reached by literally walking to some holy city such as Jerusalem or the like, but
rather by reaching a holy or sacred space in mind or spirit through "walking."
Thoreau used the terms "walking" and "sauntering" interchangeably to identify,
explain, and possibly instruct readers how to "saunter"; I will use the terms
"saunter" or "sauntering" from here on for I think they conjure the special, sa-
cred nature that Thoreau had in mind.
Much like "stalking" and "listening," "sauntering" is a communicative event
for it requires coproduction with all aspects of the natural world that one is in
contact with for its proper enactment. A person may saunter alone or with a
companionas Thoreau sometimes did. The best place for "sauntering" is wil-
derness that is relatively untouched by human hands. For Thoreau this was right
outside his back door, where he could "easily walk ten, fifteen, any number of
miles. . .without going by any house, without crossing a road" (Throeau, 1937, p.
603). These conditions are important for the removal of oneself from civilized
society and into the world of nature.
Such places and conditions enable the constituent actions of "sauntering" to be
done in an efficacious manner. These are of course walking in its more standard
sense, viewing the natural world, and sensing all of the wilderness that surrounds
one. To get into the proper state to do this one must: (a) leave all of one's thoughts
and cares from the civilized world behind, so that (b) one may be thoroughly im-
mersed in and sensitized to nature. To do this, walking is conducted at a rather
slow, methodical pace in which human noises, such as talking, are disprefered.
One should not have a prescribed amount of time set aside for "sauntering," have
an exact place in mind where one will go, nor be "sauntering" for fitness purposes.
As Thoreau (1937) wrote: "But the walking of which I speak has nothing in it akin
to taking exercise, as the sick take medicine at stated hours,as the swinging of
dumb-bells or chairs; but is itself the enterprise and activity of the day" (p. 601). All
of these qualities of "sauntering"its slowly paced walking that is generally silent
and nonverbal, conducted in non-pre-established amounts and placesenable
one to saunter efficaciously.
When this is done, the saunterer is afforded many rewards. First, a rather indi-
rect communication with nature or wilderness is established which connects
one, "part and parcel," to the natural world (Thoreau, 1937, p. 597). Nature
236 SAWYER
communicates all its "wildness," "freedom," "independence, " and "leisure" to
humans if they are present and in the moment (Thoreau, 1937, p. 598, p. 630).
Such a s tatecultivated throug h slow, s ens ory-full "s auntering" excur-
sionscan heal the soul and preserve the spiritsparticularly in a world that is
so civilized and technology-driven. As Thoreau (1937) wrote, "I think I cannot
preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least, and it is
commonly more than that, sauntering through the woods and over the hills and
fields, free from all worldly engagements" (p. 599). As Thoreau explained,
"sauntering" can function to preserve and feed our health and spirits, inspire our
intellect through daily connections with nature, thus bringing us back into com-
munion with what we naturally are: "wild," "free," and "independent. " We grasp
this by "sauntering" in nature, moving within and with it, almost an osmosis or
infusion of its way of life into our own.
All this points to "sauntering" as a rather s ubs tantial, important, and mean-
ingful form of communication that is largely nonlinguis tic. It is a rather serious
yet informal and flexibly s tructured event. It is contemplative yet loosely struc-
tured and of a leisurely pace and tone. Its ultimate function is to s aunter to the
Holy Land, to connect with nature and thus reveal the sacred that all living
things share.
Much like the others, when Thoreau identified or enacted the communicative
form of "sauntering," messages about the interconnected solidarity, or symmetri-
cal we-ness, between all living things are expressed. A close and cooperative rela-
tion is forged between all living things. Like "stalking" and "listening" people are
perceived not as separate from nature, but rather as part and parcel of it. As
Thoreau (1937) wrote: "I wish to speak a word for Nature, for absolute freedom
and wildness, as contrasted with a freedom and culture merely civil,to regard
man as an inhabitant, or a part and parcel of Nature, rather than a member of soci-
ety" (p. 597). As such, the practice of "sauntering" cultivates a person who is
relationally motivated and organically enmeshed with all of nature, human and
non. A sociocentric organic model of personhood is therefore activated through
references to and enactments of "sauntering."
"Getting out into Nature"
It is a very good feeling to be quiet in the environment.
Steve Sawyer (2001)
Just looking at that [nature] makes me feel good.
I guess that' s the only way I can explain it ...
Going out and sitting at Two Lights on the rocks
I can sit there and watch the ocean for hours.
It jus t, you know,
it smells good,
it looks good,
it feels good.
Nanc y Sawyer (2001)
In the spring of 2001, I conducted a study of Nancy and Steve Sawyer's ways of
connecting with nature. Nancy and Steve are a married couple who currently live
in Maine and are also my in-laws. For the past 7 years I have observed, at times have
participated in, and on several occasions have heard them talk about their prac-
tices that connect them with nature. Also, for the purposes of this study, I con-
ducted two 40-minute interviews with each of them on these ways. What I found
was a folk system of terms, phrases, and events that they used to identify, explain,
and enact their ways of connecting with the natural world. An umbrella term for
this system was "getting out into nature" which contained eight events: (a) "walk-
ing in the woods"; (b) "walking along the beach and ocean"; (c) "sitting on the
porch"; (d) "watching the birds"; (e) "being out in the woods"; (f) taking car
"rides"; (g) going "out on the sailboat"; and (h) "cross-country" skiing. Nancy and
Steve used this system of terms and phrases to identify and explain the events that
connected them to nature to me during our interviews, but I have also heard them
used during telephone and face-to-face conversations to explain what they did re-
cently or were going to do.
All of the above cited events enable Nancy and Steve to connect with nature by
being in it. As such, all are communicative events in that they require a
coparticipation with nature for their proper enactment. Nancy and Steve may "get
out into" nature alone, together, or with a small group of people such as my hus-
band and me. The best place for "getting out into nature" is anywhere the natural
world is sensible, though Nancy and Steve do have a few favorite places to do this in
Maine. These include the beach, rock-bound coast, woods, and areas with light-
houses such as "Two Lights on the rocks." Even more humanized places such as
their living room or porch where trees and birds are easily viewable or a parking lot
when a sea breeze scents the air. Thus any place where nature' s presence can be
sensed is ideal for "getting out into nature, " though some are more prized for their
natural beauty and generally quiet surroundings.
"Getting out into nature" may involve several actions not all of which may oc-
cur at the same time or in any one event. These are: walking, watching, smelling,
listening, and feeling, as well as cross-country skiing, sailing, even taking car
ridesall conducted in the name of seeing, sensing, and being with nature. Thus
"getting out into nature" events constitute a multisensory and multiactional activ-
ity. During these events the level of activity may vary from movement, for example,
"walking on the beach," to stillness, for example, "sitting on the porch". The pace
of these activities may vary too, from relatively fast, brisk walks on the beach, to
238 SAWYER
slower, more methodical walks in the woods, to even slower acts of "watching the
birds." The sound level during these events is relatively silent, though the sounds of
nature such as birds and ocean waves are much appreciated. Nancy and Steve try to
remain silent, though they do permit some talking between them at times. All of
these somewhat varied qualities of "getting out into nature"its movement yet
stillness, slowness yet fastness, nonhuman but nature' s noises, nonverbal yet occa-
sionally verbal dimensionscombine in various permutations, enabling Nancy
and Steve to connect to nature in ways that offer positive rewards for them.
These rewards are s piritually "connecting with all that is around us" in the
natural world, which gives them "a chance to think" through things such as
troubling times or situations in their lives. Doing this, in naturally beautiful
and quiet places, may enable them to "feel closer to God" or the "Divine" and to
have a potentially "religious moment. " This "restores your soul" and may "re-
generate your juices. " "Nature helps . . . to do that. " "Getting out into nature"
affords an opportunity for indirect communication with aspects of the natural
world such as ocean waves, trees, birds, sea breeze, wind, and the woods. What
Nancy and Steve learn, feel, or gain from these experiences with nature is a
sense that life will go on, much like nature does. For example, ocean waves that
"keep coming" and evergreen trees that "keep their leaves" throug hout the sea-
sons. As Nancy explained:
One of the things I can remember, after my mother died, ... I went walking by my-
self. And I found it to be a very healing process. It was on the beach ... It was jus t this
overwhelming feeling of peace, of sort of coming to terms with things. And I suppose
it's because the waves keep coming, it's a repetition, they're not exactly alive, but
they' re there, day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, that same sort of
thing happens so that it sort of connects you with the feeling, you know, "things are
gonna go on." There's some symmetry, there' s some solution, there' s some peace in
it. That kind of sort of oneness with everything. (Sawyer, 2001, p. 8)
Thus being in nature produces a sense of "peace" by recognizing the "oneness
with everything" in the natural world; since humans are part of nature, and nature
goes on, so too will they.
All of this points to "getting out into nature" as a rather substantial, important,
and meaningful form of communication for Nancy and Steve. It is a rather serious
yet informal and flexibly structured event that they engage in for its many positive
rewards. These range from physical to spiritual health, to finding answers to prob-
lems and solace from everyday life. The ultimate function of "getting out into na-
ture," however, is to find "peace" for self through recognition of the oneness and
repetition of everything in the natural world.
Thus when Nancy and Steve get out into nature or refer to such events, mes-
sages about the interconnected solidarity, or symmetrical we-ness, between all liv-
ing things are expressed. A close and cooperative relation is created between all
living things in the natural world. Indeed, here people are perceived not so much as
separate from nature, but rather as part of its neverending cycles. As such, Nancy
and Steve are relationally motivated and organically enmeshed with the natural
world when engaging in this activity. This is the "oneness with everything" that
Nancy described as experientially active and possible when "getting out into na-
ture." Thus, a sociocentric organic model of personhood is activated through ref-
erences to and enactments of it.
"Walking"
After our walk, we're in the suspended reprieve that exercise creates.
We're mellow, we're fluid.
Maybe we stop to pick up a loaf of bread.
Maybe we decide we'll just have salad for dinner.
Maybe we go home and read the paper before we fuss in the kitchen.
Whatever we settle on we share the day's rhythms, our rhythms.
Foltz-Gray (2001)
In the May 2001 issue o f Health magazine, Dorothy Foltz-Gray presented an
article in a column on "Fitness" titled "Exercise in Romance" on a practice she
and her husband Dan engage in and call "walking." Foltz-Gray used the term to
identify, explain, and instruct readers as to how to engage in the activity. Yet,
much like "sauntering" this is no ordinary walking. Although it does include as-
pects that Thoreau' s version excludesnamely a faster pace, in the name of fit-
ness, and verbal activity, in the name of a marital therapy of sortsboth reveal a
similar outcome: a revelation of the sacred through walking in nature
(Foltz-Gray, 2001, p. 52).
"Walking," like the others, is an event in that it requires more than one partici-
pant for its production. In Foltz-Gray's version participants included her, her hus-
band Dan, and all the parts of nature and the humanized world that they
experience while "walking." Indeed the activity would not be what it is if they were
"walking" inside on a treadmill.
Ideal places for "walking" are city and town streets, parks and trails, in short,
any place where one may walk at length and in which nature or other beautiful
places may be viewed. This broad range of places is due to the various ends
"walking" may serve. For example, walking for the sake of walking or walking
to get to various places one needs to go. When "walking" the action of walking
must occur, talking with your partner should occurthough you may be quiet
at timesand viewing nature and the world around you should occur if and
when possible. The movement of walking is key here and it generally moves at a
very fast pace, since fitness is a key goal. A high level of noise is permissible since
240 SAWYER
a couple may find themselves in city streets and also a couple should be talking,
discussing anything that is on one's mind. Foltz-Gray (2001) suggests that
"walking" may provide an opportunity for couples to talk, which they might
not have time for otherwise, and thus may in turn lead to "a resumed court-
ship" with each other.
All of these qualities of "walking"its generally fast-paced movement accom-
panied by talkcome together in such a way that the activity offers positive out-
comes to its participants. This is done by getting in tune with the "rhythms" of
nature, which may, in turn, become you and your spouse's rhythms. This rhyth-
mic attunement helped Foltz-Gray and her husband to unwind, mellow out and
relax, to leave the hectic pace and problems of everyday life behind and "have each
other' s full attention" (2001, p. 50). In this state Foltz-Gray and her husband find it
easier and possible to talk with each other and to work out relational problems
when they crop up.
6
This is due to the coalescing of natural rhythms that may "re-
veal the sacred" that all living things sharethat is, the natural rhythm of life. In-
deed, it is the "footsteps" that do the talking here. As Foltz-Gray (2001) wrote:
The more we walked, the more we found answers in the footsteps. We were unwind-
ing to each other the way the city unwound itself to us: path by path. At the end of the
day, we often discovered we'd covered five or six miles, more than we could have
mustered if we were in it just for the exercise, (p. 48)
Thus their footsteps while walking communicate a shared rhythm between hu-
mans and nature: "we share the day's rhythms, our rhythms" (Foltz-Gray, 2001, p.
52). This is why, although there are verbal aspects to the practice, I treat it as largely
nonverbal since it is the footstepsthe getting into the rhythm of naturethat is
so deeply communicative and powerful.
All this points to "walking" as a rather substantial, important and meaningful
activity for Foltz-gray and her husband. It is a rather serious yet playful, informal,
flexibly structured event that they engage in for its many positive rewards. These
are physical, relational, and spiritual fitness. However, all these ultimately seem to
be accomplished through "walking" as a way of getting in tune with the sacred
rhythms of nature (Foltz-Gray, 2001).
Thus when Foltz-Gray identified or engaged in "walking," messages about the
interconnected solidarity, or "symmetrical we-ness," between all living things are
expressed. An intimate relation is created between her and Dan and a close and co-
operative one with the natural world. Indeed, here people are perceived not so
6Cf. Katriel &Philipsen (1981) for their finding of a metaphor of "work" active in an Ameri-
can discourse on relationships, that is, that relationships need to be "worked" on. Foltz-Gray' s
"walking" may provide an opportunity to do so, perhaps in a new context (out-of-doors) and
with other benefits such as physical fitness, hence the practice' s potential attractivenes s for those
who participate in an American discourse of physical fitness as well.
much as separate from nature, but rather as part of its natural rhythms. As such,
Foltz-Gray and her husband are relationally motivated and organically enmeshed
within the natural world when "walking."
However, it is not a full enmeshment; the two are also individually motivated,
concentrating on their own problems while "walking." It is almost as if the practice
hovers between two cultural systems, one "popular American" (Carbaugh, 1988b;
Katriel & Philipsen, 1981) the other environmental. It appears that through the
practice they have realized that by tapping into a more environmentally conscious
perspective, by feeling and becoming one with nature' s sacred rhythms, they feel
calmer and are able to focus better on fixing their interpersonal problems. So, a
sociocentric organic model of personhood between humans and nature is acti-
vated through the practice, but an egocentric contractual model still pervades
ithumans are better able to fix their problems and be physically fit when in tune
with nature. However it still appears that a sociocentric organic model of
personhood is the crux of the practice, since it is the rhythmic attunement of hu-
mans with nature that enables humans to fix their problems and to exercise longer.
CROSS-CASE COMPARISON
The cases now described, we are in a position to ask: What do the practices have in
common? How are they different? Do their commonalities point to any potentially
universal features of the category under study? Or are the practices just too dispa-
rate? Turning to these questions, I begin by discussing the commonalities of the
practices, their differences, and then address the possibility of any universal features.
Commonalities
There are a range of commonalities across the cases on all levels of the cultural
terms for communication framework. First, linguistic references to the practices
in all the cases were used socially to identify and explain the given communica-
tive actions. Only one case, the "getting out into nature" events of Nancy and
Steve Sawyer, did not also serve to instruct its hearers as to how, or when to en-
gage in the practice.
7
This could be due to the context in which their talk on "get-
ting out into nature" was solicited: an interview. I was interested in their ways of
connecting with nature, not so much how, when, and if I should do it. Instruc-
tion for the other four however was a key social use since the practices were so
highly valued participants wanted to teach, how others to engage in them, direct
them when to do so, or both.
Note that Carbaugh (1999) is not instructing readers as to how and when to "listen," but his
analysis suggested that Blackfeet use the term to instruct Blackfeet or cultural others on these
matters on some occasions.
242 SAWYER
Second, all cases presented a practice whose level of performance was a commu-
nicative event. All were found to include humans and nonhumanssuch as ani-
mals, plants, trees, waves, and windas coparticipants. Indeed, it is this co-
participation between humans and nature that make these activities what they are.
Moreover, these aspects of nature were also found to be agents of communica-
tion. For example, animals such as "ravens" and "mountain lions" directly com-
municate to humans in "listening." Animals and their effects (e.g., scent, sound) ,
as well as elements of nature (e.g., wind, crinkly leaves) become direct messages
that other animals may pick up, integral messages sometimes for the protection of
their lives, in "stalking." Nature, more indirectly, communicates all of its inde-
pendence, wildness, and freedom to the person while "sauntering." In "getting out
into nature" aspects of nature such as ocean waves and evergreen trees communi-
cate a sense of peace to humans by revealing the repetition of all in the natural
world, rendering a sense that life will go on as nature does. With "walking" getting
into the rhythm of nature by walking in it communicates a shared rhythm between
humans and nature. So, although there are ontological differences between hu-
mans and nature, each practice enables communication between the two. By treat-
ing humans and nature as coparticipants in the practices, by conceiving of both as
made of the same sacred stuff, and by deeply sensing and connecting to nature,
each practice sets the stage for this possibility.
This notion of nature as coparticipant and agent of communication in each
of the p ractices leads directly into cultural p remis es of s ociality and
personhood that are active in each. All treat the person as organically enmeshed
with the natural world and all of its participants , for example, plants , animals ,
trees, birds, breezes, and so on. Indeed social relations and personhood blend
together here, making it hard to distinguish the person from society. Thus a
sociocentric organic model of personhood pervades all the practices. While en-
gaged in them human participants are relationally motivated, hoping to create
a close and cooperative relation with the natural world. As such, all participants
are perceived as on an equal level, a symmetrical we-ness or s olidarity is created
among all living things.
I cannot help but point out here the connection of these beliefs about persons and
sociality to the performance level of the practices as communicative events. Had
their been a focus on humans, as separate from nature, the practices probably would
have been communicative acts insteadactions that one person could engage in.
Yet note that it is the necessary coparticipation with all that is the natural world that
makes these events what they arecreating a "oneness" with the natural world, be-
ing "a part and parcel" of it. Notice too the link here to the functional level. This
"oneness," connection to, or coparticipation with the natural world enables human
participants to learn and know things from nature, nonverbally, that they could not
otherwise: the repetition of all that is natural, the shared rhythms, spirits, nature and
organic stuff of all living things. This reveals the sacred in all living things, something
which they share, making them part and parcel of the natural, living universe. This is
what makes these practices such substantial, important and meaningful forms of
communication for those who participate in them.
Differences
The differences in the practices across cases are hinted at in the second tier of
the cultural terms for communication framework, concerning the functional
level of the practices, yet mostly on the third tier, concerning messages that are
expressed about the communication practice itself when they are linguistically
referred to or enacted.
Beginning with the former, some of the practices differ on their immediate or
surface functions. For example, "listening" helps to find answers to problems and
to live in a traditional way. "Stalking" enables one to see wildlife and to find "the
wild within." "Sauntering" preserves health and spirits while "getting out into na-
ture" similarly helps one to find peace and restore the soul. "Walking" facilitates
physical, relational, and spiritual fitness. However, the ultimate or deeper function
of all the practices remains the same: a revelation of the sacredness within and
connectedness between all living things. This is done by getting in tune with the sa-
credness, "wild within," wildness, repetition, or natural rhythms, respectively, that
all living things share. It is this natural, spiritual, sacred essence that all living
things share and thus that which connects all that each practice taps into, each in its
own way. All of the practices also functioned to remove their human participants
from the everyday, fast-paced, technology-driven world and into the, for the most
part, slower-paced, calm, and serene natural world. So although there is some vari-
ance on the surface concerning the functions of the practices, they all ultimately
reach the same end.
The true variance, however, seems to be with the constituent features of the
practices. These come in two categories: (a) messages about the communication
practice itself and their dimensions, as presented in the cultural terms for commu-
nication framework; and (b) an additional set concerning the activity and verbal
levels of communication suggested by this study.
For the former, the practices vary on their mode of action, degree of structur-
ing, and tone. Both "listening" and "stalking" are direct in mode, while "saunter-
ing," "getting out into nature," and "walking" are rather indirect.
8
"Stalking" is the
most fixed in terms of its structuring, with "listening" less so, and "sauntering,"
"getting out into nature," and "walking" as relatively flexible. "Stalking" is formal
in tone, "listening" varies from formal to informal, while the other three are rather
informal. All five are serious in tone, yet "sauntering," "getting out into nature,"
and "walking" have their playful moments. Taken together, if the practices were
8
Note that I am distinguishing the communication that occurs between humans and nature in
the practices as direct or indirect. In all the practices humans directly apprehend nature, so they
may all be thought of as direct in that sense.
244 SAWYER
placed on a continuum, we would move from the formal, serious, fixed, and direct
form of "stalking" to the formal-informal, serious, flexible, direct "listening" to
the informal, serious-playful, flexible, and indirect forms of "sauntering," "getting
out into nature," and "walking."
The practices also varied on a second set of messages and dimensions, suggested
by this study, concerning their level of activity, pace, sound level, verbal activity,
and quantity of verbal activity. "Listening" and "stalking" were relatively still in
terms of their level of activity, while "sauntering" and "walking" both contained
movement; "getting out into nature" contained both stillness and movement. The
pace of "listening," "stalking" and "sauntering" were slow, the pace of "walking"
fast, while "getting out into nature" contained both. All of the practices but "walk-
ing" were rather silent activities, while "walking" did permit noise. All but "walk-
ing" were predominantly nonverbal. "Walking" contained a verbal dimension
with a great amount of talking permissible. "Listening," "stalking," and "getting
out into nature" permitted a small amount of talk, mostly to and from the activity;
Thoreau did not address this issue explicitly when discussing "sauntering." Thus if
we were to similarly place the practices on a continuum we would move from the
relatively still, slow, silent, and nonverbal activities of "listening" and "stalking" to
the slowly moving, silent, nonverbal "sauntering" to the somewhat still yet some-
times fast, silent, and largely nonverbal "getting out into nature" to the much
faster-moving, noisy, and verbal "walking."
Indeed, the addition of these dimensions illustrates that the practices vary a
great bit in terms of their verbal and activity levels; coupled with the dimensions
from the cultural terms for communication framework just discussed these prac-
tices seem to vary a great deal in terms of their constituent features. Which makes it
all the more remarkable that they ultimately function to reach similar ends. It
might be that each practice plays into a particular cultural context, which shapes
the actual practice itselfits meanings, functions, and featuresbut of course I
can only suggest that at this point. Despite the variation, however, the practices still
seem able to be tentatively placed into a general category of nonverbal ways of
communicating with nature.
Universal Features
Yet what of this tentative category? We have discussed the commonalities and dif-
ferences between the practices across cases, but is there anything that can be said
that definitively ties these practices together and which might be characteristics to
judge if and what other practices may fit the category?
First, all of the practices remove one from the technology-driven modern day
world and into the world of nature.
9
All are multiactional, multisensory activities
9
Note that "walking" may occur in nature or city streets, but being outdoors and getting in
tune with the rhythm of nature are key elements of the practice.
that deeply sensitize and connect one to nature. This connection to nature is real-
ized nonverbally and once connected nature can communicate to humans in deep
and powerful ways. All ultimately function to reveal the sacredness within and
connectedness between all living things. These seem to be the key elements or
characteristics that connect the practices.
We cannot say that the practices are all ways of walking in nature, for some in-
volve little to no movement at all, and I am hesitant to say that they are ways of' be-
ing in' nature. Anyone can be in nature, but to 'be with' nature is a much different
thing. It is to conceive of all living things as on an equal level, intermeshed and con-
nected, not a view of humans above or over nature. 'Being with' is a very full activ-
ity and with these practices it seems to be what is so revelatory and spiritual for
their human participants.
It is this connecting with nature, almost a leaving behind of the person in fa-
vor of an equality between all living things, that seems to be so revelatory and
spiritual. Thus the knowledge gained through communicating with nature in
these practices in large part has to do with how persons are conceiving of them-
selves and society during the practices. It is a system of sorts between the action,
how to conduct the action, how to feel, how to conceive of society and the person,
and how to dwell-in-place that come together in various permutations and mo-
ments to make these practices what they are (Carbaugh, Gibson, & Milburn,
1997). Indeed, all the practices seem to bring one into communion with the spirit
of nature, a sense that all are connected and made of the same spirited stuff.
Knowledge of this, gleaned through participating in these practices, reveals a
better life, one that is in tune with the natural world.
Likewise, what seems to enable human communication with nature in these
practices is being in communion with it. Such a model of communication is not
new; in fact it is quite old. Carey (1975), following the work of Dewey, called
this the ritual view of communication as opposed to a transmission one.
10
The
transmission view, the more popular definition of communication in Western
thought, treats communication as the transmission or imparting of informa-
tion. The ritual viewolder, less populartreats communication more as a
sacred event in which one shares in common and fellowship with others. It is
clear that the ritual view is more in line with the forms of communication pre-
sented in this essay. Participants in these practices do not so much shoot mes-
sages back and forth at each other as much as deeply share in common in a
sacred event. Proponents or adherents of the transmission view may not see
Carey is discussing human communication with these models. In the 1975 article he also
presents his own definition and view of communication, a constitutive one that does not include
nature. Rogers (1998) argues that constitutive theories of communication have traditionally ig-
nored and objectified nature and Carey's is no exception. I include Carey' s ritual and transmis-
sion models purely as a way to bring into view what the practices covered in this study are doing
for those who engage in themthat is, creating a particular view of the world.
246 SAWYER
this, the ritual view, as communication. After all, how can sharing in common
or being together in fellowship be communication? Yet for Dewey (1925) and
Carey (1975) it is. An example from Carey's article might clarify. In an example
of how each view would examine a newspaper he explained that the ritual view
would, ". . . view reading a newspaper less as sending or gaining information
and more like attending a mass: a situation in which nothing new is learned but
in which a particular view of the world is portrayed and confirmed" (Carey,
1975, p. 8). This is what the practices covered in this study uniquely enable: a
particular view of the world being portrayed and confirmed. In the cases re-
viewed here, it is a view in which humans and elements of the natural world are
in communion, sharing a sacred essence.
In Dewey's (1925) seminal essay on communication, "Nature, Communica-
tion and Meaning, " he treated communication as participation, specifically par-
ticipation in the intentions of others. Although he makes sharp distinctions
between human and "subhuman animals"for example, humans are capable of
communication, while subhuman animals only interactionhis notion of com-
munication could have profound implications for the environmental commu-
nity. This is because treating communication as participation in others'
intentions is to care about others, their livelihood, their goals and needs. If such a
view were extended to all living things we can perhaps see how drastically human
action toward the environment could change. Environmental work such as that
by Devall and Sessions' (1985) on deep ecology is already heading in this direc-
tion. By exploring the ritual view of communication and its connection to the
practices examined here we can also see how particular forms of communication
not only invite certain kinds of actions, feelings, and relations, for example, but
also entire worldviews.
CONCLUSION
The analysis presented here reveals a category of communicative practices that
spiritually connect humans to nature. Though the practices were found to have
much in common they also had some differences. Future studies on s imilar
practices in a broader range of cultures will be needed to determine if the un-
derlying claim of the study is valid. That is, that across cultures there is a set of
largely nonverbal forms of communication that people use to connect with the
natural world, this connection ultimately functioning to reveal the sacredness
within and connectedness between all living things . Certainly the cases exam-
ined in this study support this claim.
The major variance found between the practices concerned the activity and ver-
bal levels of communication. This finding suggested a second set of messages and
dimensions concerning the communication practice itself that could be added to
the cultural terms for communication framework, namely: (a) level of activity:
stillness-movement; (b) pace: slow-fast
11
; (c) sound level: silence-noise; (d) verbal
activity: nonverbal-verbal; and (e) quantity of verbal activity: small-great. Future
inquiry will be needed to determine if these dimensions are useful for future stud-
ies of practices similar to those examined here. The dimensions may also be of use
in studying other ways of communicating, for example verbal ones, as these too
can vary in their level of activity, pacing, sound and verbal levels. Whether or not
they may be of use to the cultural terms for communication framework on either
account awaits future inquiry.
The study also suggests that theories of communication that include hu-
mans and nature as participants or agents of communication may be formu-
lated by studying various peoples' ways of communing with nature, listening to
and interacting with it. Rogers (1998) made a persuasive call for a "materialist,
trans human, dialogic theory of communication, " arguing that constitutive
theories of communication have persistently ignored and objectified nature.
While Rogers (1998) presented criteria for, ideas about, and models close to
such a theory, he left the creation of such a theory or theories for future work.
By studying such practices as those presented here or similar ones, such a the-
ory or theories may come into view. Such practices may become models or in-
sights for what a materialist, trans human, dialogic theory of communication
would and could look like.
This chapter therefore also points to the potential utility in studying everyday
peoples' ways of talking about and interacting with nature. Nancy and Steve Saw-
yer's case highlights how people who may not consider themselves environmental
activists per se still think about nature, how they can take better care of the world,
and how they can participate with nature and enrich their lives. The article by
Foltz-Gray in Health magazine also illustrates another in-road for environmental-
ists wishing to advance their position. "Walking" is perhaps the most deviant of the
cases, straddling as it does between two cultural worlds. Yet note how this is an arti-
cle in a health magazine in a column on fitness. The author is basically saying,
'Look, you want to find a way to exercise everyday with the added boon of spiritual
and relational fitness, come look what I've found. ' Her main goal, and purportedly
that of her readers, is fitness. Yet she has found that by getting in tune with nature
she reaches not only her fitness goal, but relational and spiritual ones too. In addi-
tion, note that she found this way of connecting to and feeling with nature all on
her own. Thus contexts traditionally not thought of as environmental in-roads
may be potential opportunities for gaining more adherents.
1
' See Carbaugh & Poutiainen (2000) for a comparison of pacing between Finnish and Ameri-
can introductory events. See also Carbaugh (1989, p. 117, footnote 8) for the suggestion that "el-
ements of pacing" could be included in the "messages about structuring" aspect of the cultural
terms for talk framework. His analysis produced three instances of the cultural feature of pacing,
but the feature was not included in the framework due to its limited occurrence in the total num-
ber of cultural features recorded (3 out of 211) (Carbaugh, 1989, p. 117).
248 SAWYER
It is no surprise that the Blackfeet "listening" displays a magnificent respect for
and connection to nature; Native Americans have long been touted and admired
for their environmentally conscious views of the world (Deloria, 1991). The dis-
cussions of "stalking" and "sauntering" come from two people who deeply love
nature, its wildness and simplicity. Each of the practices comes from its own place,
offering rich rewards to its human participants. Each offers hope for a life more
connected to nature and the glimmer of a more sustainable Earth.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
An earlier version of this paper was presented at the National Communication As-
sociation (NCA) Convention, New Orleans, 2002. The author wishes to thank
Donal Carbaugh for his teachings on communication and nature, which were the
inspiration for the study and for his guidance with it. The author would also like to
thank the respondent, panelists and attendants of the NCA panel at which this pa-
per was presented for their comments, Nancy and Steve Sawyer for sharing their
ways of connecting with nature, and three anonymous reviewers for their helpful
comments.
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Author Index
Abelson, R. P., 101, 133
Abramson, P., 205, 223
Adams, C., 58, 74
Adler, P. S., 138-139, 139, 151
Agnew. J. A. , 157, 167
Ajzen, I., 189, 190, 201
Albrecht, D. E., 163, 167, 192, 201
Albright, J. S., 158, 169
Acott, T. G., 192,
Aldrich, J., 205, 223
Alger, D., 211, 223
Allen, C, 48, 50, 51, 54
Allen, L. R., 165, 167
Althusser, L., 103, 128
Altman, L., 157, 167
Alvarez, R. C., 148, 151
Anderson, P. A., 191, 203
Antonetta, S., 79, 96
Arcury, T. A., 192, 201
Armitage, C. J., 190, 191, 197, 201
Artbuckle, J. L., 196, 201
Aust, C. F., 108, 132
Austin, J. L., 18, 31
Azzoni, G., 58, 73
B
Babcock, W., 100, 128
Babrow, A. S., 190, 201
Bailey, R., 68, 73
Banerjee, N, 29, 31
Barber, B., 141, 151
Barber, S., 101, 107, 128
Bargh, J. A., 159, 167
Barkin, S. M., 107, 128
Barnett, G., 108, 128
Baron,}., 191, 202
Barton, M. A., 192, 204
Bartuska, A. M., 153, 168
Basso, K., 157, 167, 228, 248
Baumgartner, F. R., 17, 18, 31
Baxter, L, 229, 248
Beck, U., 16, 31, 105, 128
Becker, L, 208, 211, 225
Beeson, J. E., 158, 167
Bell, A., 106, 128
Belleville, B., 184, 186
Benenson, B., 40, 54
Benford, R., 38
Bengston, D. H., 161, 163, 167
Bennet, S. E., 165, 167
Benoit, W., 62, 63, 73, 221, 224
Benson, T. W., 79, 80, 94, 96
Berger, P. L., 102, 128
Bergstrom, J. C, 165, 168
Birkhoff, J. E., 138-139, 151
Bird, S. E., 100, 101, 107, 121, 126, 128, 129
Bishop, G. F., 165, 167
Bixler, R. D., 159, 167
Black, D. R., 190, 201
Blair, C., 16, 31
Blatner, K. A., 149, 150, 151
Bohm, D., 140, 151
Bohrer, B., 54, 54
Boldero, J., 197, 201
Bond, M., 45, 46, 54
Boormann, B. T., 160, 162, 167
Borowski, J., 48, 54
Bosso, C. J., 125, 128
Boster, F. J., 193, 203
251
A
252 AUTHOR INDEX
Boster, J., 37, 42, 43
Bowers, J., 33, 34 35 36 37, 51, 53, 54
Bowman, C, 207, 223, 223
Bowman, J. S., 99, 101, 105, 125, 729
Bowman, 104
Boyle, R., 207, 223
Bragg, E. A., 157, 158, 167
Braithwaite, C. H., 227, 228, 248
Brandenberg, A. M., 159, 168
Bremner, F., 194, 207
Bright, A. D., 190, 207
Brookes, M. H., 160, 162, 767
Brophy, M., 58
Brown, J. H., 153, 168
Brown, P. 104, 105, 124, 128
Brownlie, M., 58, 74
Brownley, M. W., 81, 96
Bruggers, J., 185, 186
Bruner, M. 82, 96
Bryson, M., 90, 96
Bultena, G., 163, 767, 192, 207
Burgess, G., 148, 757
Burgess, H., 148, 757
Burke, K., 18, 20, 25, 30, 37, 107, 729, 156,
168
Burns, S., 146, 752
Burns, W. J., 103, 104, 732
Burton, L, 154, 155, 769
Busch, A., 205, 223
Caldicott, H., 79, 96
Campbell, K. K., 81, 83, 96, 210, 224
Campbell, N. A., 190, 202
Campbell, R., 107, 729
Cantor, N., 158, 768, 769
Cantrill, J. G., 157, 158, 159, 163, 166, 168,
207, 210, 223
Carbaugh, D., 158, 768, 227, 228, 229, 230,
231, 232, 241, 245, 247, 248, 249
Carey, J. W., 102, 729, 245, 246, 248
Carmen, C., 207, 223
Carmody, K., 175, 786
Caron, J. A., 192, 207
Carpenter, S., 153, 768
Carrighan, S., 79, 96
Carroll, M. S., 149, 150, 757, 159, 163, 768,
170
Carson, R., 125, 729
Casey, M. K., 191, 207
Catton, W. J., 101, 729
Ceaser, J., 205, 223
Cegala, D. J., 191, 207
Chaffee, S. H., 191, 207
Chaiken, S., 189, 193, 202
Chavez, D., 145, 752
Cheek, K. A., 160, 772
Cheng, A. S., 149, 752
Chew, B. R., 158, 769
Chimovitz, D. S., 163, 768
Choe, S. Y., 191, 207
Christensen, N. L., 153, 768
Christiano, T., 141, 757
Church, J. A., 165, 772
Cialdini, R. B., 191, 207
Clark, T. W., 135, 136, 757
Clarke, A. L, 135, 136, 757
Clinton, H. R., 84, 96
Clinton, W., 40, 54
Cloud, D., 70, 74
Cohn, V., 181, 786
Cole, L. A., 105, 106, 123, 729
Coleman, M. T., 191, 207
Collopy, M. W., 160, 162, 767
Combs, J . E. , 122
Conner, M., 190, 191, 197, 207
Contracter, N. S., 190, 203
Cooley, C. H., 158, 168
Corbett, J., 54, 54
Corbett, M., 206, 223
Corbin, J., 166, 772
Cordell, H. K., 165, 168
Coulson, D. C., 182, 186
Cowe, R., 71, 74
Cox, J., 16, 17, 37, 34, 54
Cozzens, M. D., 190, 203
Crigler, A., 208, 211, 220, 221
Crocker, J., 158, 172
Cronon, W., 156, 168
Crowther, D., 58, 60, 66, 71, 72, 74
Cuba, L., 158, 168
Cunningham, P. G., 160, 162, 767
Cvetkovick, G., 106, 729
C
AUTHOR INDEX 253
D
Dale,V. H., 162, 168
D'Antonio, C, 153, 168
Daniels, S. E., 136, 137, 138, 140, 141, 142,
144, 145, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152,
161, 166, 168, 170
Darnton, R., 107, 129
Dardenne, R. W., 107, 129
Davis, A. Y., 79, 96
Davis, J., 210, 223
Dean, D. J., 164, 168
deHaven Smith, L., 162, 163, 168
Delamont, S., 166, 168
Delli Carpini, M., 207, 223
Deloria, Jr., V., 248, 248
DeLuca, K. M., 84, 96
de Saussure, F., 101, 129
Detjen, F., 177, 186
Devall, B., 246, 248
Dewey, J., 246, 248
Diagne, A., 190, 203
Diamond, I., 79, 82, 96
Dickson, D., 124, 129
Diemer, J. A., 148, 151
Dietz, T., 192, 202, 204
Dobos, J., 190, 202
Donaldson, K., 46, 54
Domenici, K., 151, 152
Douglas, F., 79, 96
Douglas, M. S., 79, 96
Douglas, W., 191, 202
Downey, C., 124, 129
Downs, A., 99, 104, 123, 124, 126, 129
Doyle, T., 222, 223
Dozier, D. M., 191, 203
Draper, J., 46, 54
Drew, D., 191, 202, 204
Dukes, E. F., 150, 152
Duncan, O. D., 127, 129
Dunlap, R. E., 101, 129, 192, 202, 206, 224
Dunwoody, S., 102, 105, 106, 121, 129, 131,
186, 190, 202, 207, 223
Durbin, K., 40, 41, 42, 54, 55
Eagly, A. H., 189, 193, 202
Earle, T. C., 106, 129
Ebreo.A., 163, 172
Eder, K., 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 43, 51, 53, 55
Edger, T., 191, 202
Edgell, M. C. R., 192, 202
Egolf, B. P., 104, 181, 186
Eiders, C. 212, 223
Eiser, R., 109, 127, 133
Einsiedel, E., 122, 129
Elliot, E., 19, 31
Elliot, N., 42
Elliott, W. R., 100, 131
Elkington, J., 58, 74
Emerson, 227, 248
English, M. R., 162, 768
Entman, R. M., 99, 101, 103, 129, 208, 211,
223
Escalada, M. M., 190, 202
Esrock, S. L., 58, 74
Factor, D., 140, 151
Fagin, D., 125, 129
Fairley, 60
Fallows, J. 222, 224
Ferns, C., 63, 66, 67, 74
Fico, F., 177, 186
Finegan, J. E., 190, 203
Fishbein, M., 189, 190, 201, 202
Fishman, M., 106, 107, 130
Fitch, K. L., 227, 248
Floyd, M. F., 159, 167
Foltz-Gray, D., 228, 239, 240, 248
Force, I. E. , 163, 170
Forester, J., 162, 169
Foster, R., 48, 55
Fournier, S., 157, 169
Fowler, R., 101, 102, 130
Francis, R., 153, 168
Franklin, J. F., 153, 168
Franz, R., 156, 169
Freeh, M., 163, 169
Freeman-Toole, T. L., 79, 96
Freimuth, V. S., 191, 202
Fried, R., 64, 74
Friedman, S. M., 104, 105, 106, 130, 175,
177, 181, 186, 206, 207, 224
F
F
2 54 AUTHOR INDEX
Frye, N., 68, 74
Fuchs, T., 104, 125
Funkhouser, G. R., 105, 130
Funtowicz, S. O., 105, 130
Galtung, J., 102, 123, 730
Gamson, W. A., 38, 55, 101, 104, 123, 130
Gandy, O. H. Jr. , 102, 130, 191, 202
Gannet, H., 39, 55
Cans, H., 102, 104, 125, 130
Gare, A. E., 101, 104, 130
Garkovich, L, 166, 169
Garrett, P., 140, 757
Gaus, G. F., 141, 152
Gebotys, R. J., 190, 203
Gehr, W., 50, 55
GellerJ. M., 192, 202
George, M., 190, 203
Gergen, J., 158, 769
Gergen, K., 158, 769
Gibbs, L. M., 77, 78, 79, 82, 85, 86, 87, 88,
89, 94, 96
Gibbins, 245
Giddens, A., 16, 37
Gilbertz, S. J., 166, 777
Gitlin, J., 156, 168
Gitlin, T., 102, 730
Glamser, D., 121, 130
Glanz, A., 190, 196, 204
Glynn, K., 100, 106, 730, 205, 224
Godin, G., 190, 191, 202, 203
Goffman, E., 101, 102, 730
Golding, D., 104, 130, 131
Goldsmith, D., 229, 248
Gorden, W. I., 191, 203
Gorney, 104
Gochfield, M., 105, 109, 733, 181, 787
Goodfield, J., 105, 730
Goodwin, B., 57, 74
Gould, P., 155, 769
Graber, D., 101, 102, 730, 208, 224
Gramsci, A., 103, 130
Grant, W. E., 16, 21, 24, 25, 26, 37
Graf, J., 159, 170
Grav, R., 58, 74
Gray, B., 145, 150, 152
Greenberg, B., 220, 224
Greenberg, M. R., 104, 105, 106, 109, 730,
732, 733, 181, 787
Greene, K., 190, 202
Greer, J., 183, 186
Greider,!., 166, 769
Griffin, C. J. G., 79, 82, 96
Griffin, R. J., 102, 104, 106, 729, 137, 133,
175, 786, 190, 202
Griffin, S., 78, 96
Grob, A. , 192, 202
Grogan, S., 190, 207
Grossberg, L., 157, 169
Grumbine, R. E., 161, 169
Grunig, J. E., 162, 166, 169, 172
Guagnano, G. A., 192, 202
Gunter, R., 211, 224
H
Habermas, J., 18, 19, 31
Hager, G., 40, 55
Hale, J. L, 190, 202
Hall, B.}., 229, 249
Hall, D., 190, 203
Hall,}., 177, 186
Hall, S., 102, 103, 124, 737
Halliday, M. A. K., 101, 137
Hammond, S. L, 191, 202
Hamsher, P., 49, 55
Hanaford, K., 99, 101, 105, 129
Hannigan, J., 101, 105, 124, 126, 737
Hannon, B., 164, 169, 171
Hansen, A., 105, 122, 137, 222, 224
Hansen, G. , 210, 221, 224
Hanson, J., 29, 37
Harden, G., 26, 31
Hartley, J., 37, 42, 43, 123, 137
Harvey, D., 155, 164, 769
Hastings, 227, 229
Heath, R. L., 58, 60, 68, 74
Hendry, J., 210, 224
Heong, K. L., 190, 202
Herbst, S., 206, 224
Hester, R., 159, 163, 169
Hidy, R., 39, 55
Hill, F., 39, 55
Hill, J. B., 79, 96
G
AUTHOR INDEX 255
Hinkle, G., 100, 131
Hoch, D., 156, 169
Honadle, G., 156, 162, 163, 169
Hoiberg, E., 163, 167, 192, 207
Hollihan, T., 211, 212, 222, 224
Rolling, C. S., 160, 169, 172
Honnold, J., 101, 131
Hoogstraten, 197
Hope, D. S., 81, 83, 96
Hornig, S., 104, 133
Hummon, D. M., 157, 158, 168, 169
Hunter, A., 157, 169
Hymes, D., 227, 229, 249
Hynds, E. C., 35, 55
I
lyengar, S., 206, 207, 208, 210, 211, 215,
222, 224
J
Jackson, E. L, 192, 202
Jacobs, H., 79, 96
Jaehne, D., 207, 224
Jamieson, K., 207, 210, 211, 212, 215, 221,
224
Japp, P. M. E., 156, 170
Jarvis, S., 207, 225
Jeffres, L. W., 190, 202
Jelinek, E., 81, 96
Jensen, R., 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 54
Jhally, S., 57, 58, 74
Johnson, J. D., 191, 202
Johnson, J. R., 191, 207
Johnson, R. J., 154, 169
Jones, B. D., 17, 18, 31
Jones, J., 194, 202
Jones, R. E., 192, 202, 206, 224
Just, M., 208, 211, 220, 221
K
Kasperson, J. X., 101, 103, 104, 137, 732
Kasperson, R. E., 99, 101, 103, 104, 131,
732
Kates, R. W., 154, 155, 769
Katriel, T. , 227, 240, 241, 249
Katz, B. M., 190, 204
Keil, L.D., 19, 31
Keller, E. F., 83, 96
Kellerman, K., 191, 202
Kellogg, R., 39, 55
Kelly, E. F., 121, 132
Kempton, W., 37, 42, 43, 55
Kennedy, E. L, 81, 97
Kenny, S. Y., 58, 62, 74
Kenski, H., 207, 225
Kern, M., 221, 222, 224
Kietz, 192
Kihlstrom, J. F., 158, 169
Killingsworth, J. M., 34, 55, 58, 74, 84, 91,
97, 106, 737, 162, 769
Kim, S., 207, 224
Kimmich, A. B., 81, 96
Kingdon, J.W., 17, 31
Klein, S. B., 158, 169
Klopfenstein, E., 50, 55
Kloz, M. L, 105, 133
Knighton, J., 156, 169
Koberstein, P., 40, 55
Kohn, A. , 121, 131
Kok, G., 190, 202
Kolodny, A., 82, 97
Korpela, K., 158, 169
Kovarik,W., 211, 212, 225
Kosicki, G. M., 191, 203
Krause, D., 159, 163, 170
Kreander, N., 58, 74
Krimsky, S., 104, 125, 131
Krut, R., 58, 62, 74
Kuhn, R. G., 192, 202
Kuhn, T. S., 101, 131
Kurtz, H., 100, 131
Kallgren, C. A., 191, 207
Kalof, L., 192, 204
Kantola, S. J., 190, 202
Karp, D. G., 192, 202
Lacey, C., 99, 104, 106, 108, 125, 737, 210,
224
Lacy, S. R., 108, 732m 182, 786
Lacis, A., 29, 37
L
256 AUTHOR INDEX
Lagerroos, D., 159, 170
Lang, R., 161, 170
Lange, J., 37, 55, 166, 170
Lasch, K. E., 101, 730
Lasley, P., 192, 202
LaTrobe, H. L, 192, 203
Lauzen, M. M., 191, 203
Lavelle, M., 125, 129
Lawrence, R. L, 161, 166, 170
Layne, L., 83, 97
Lee, B, J., 159, 170
Lee, K. N., 136, 138, 151, 752, 770
Lee, M., 116, 137
Lee, R. G., 139, 752
Leichty, G. B., 58, 74
Leong, S. M., 190, 204
Lerner, G., 80, 97
Lesourd, J-B., 72, 74
Lester, M., 104, 106, 123, 126, 131
Levine, M., 85
Leyland, A., 220, 224
Li, X. , 177, 186
Liggett, C, 148, 150, 752
Lindholdt, P., 165, 170
Linn, J., 49, 55
Littlejohn, S., W., 151, 152
Loftis, 182
Lomax, R. G., 196, 203
Lomborg, B., 68, 74
Longman, D., 99, 104, 106, 108, 125, 737,
210,224
Lorence, D. P., 165, 172
Low, S., M., 157, 167
Lowden, N. B., 191, 203
Lowe, P., 103, 104, 737
Luckmann, T., 102, 728
Luhmann, N., 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23,
24, 26, 37, 32
Lutwack, L, 157, 170
Luzar, E. J., 190, 203
M
Mackinder, H. J., 154, 170
MacMahon, J. A., 153, 168
MacPherson, XX, 60
Major, A. M., 58, 74
Malcolm X, 79, 97
Mandler, J. M., 158, 170
Manfredo, M. J., 190, 201
Manning, J., 124, 131
Manning, V. W., 160, 162, 167
Manring, K., 43, 44, 55
Manstead, A. S. R., 190, 203
Markee, N. L., 195, 204
Martin, E., 190, 207
Maruyama, G. M., 196, 203
Masluk, M. D., 157, 159, 168
Massey, D., 157, 164, 170
Mazmanian, D. A., 164, 170
Mazur, A., 105, 123, 137
McComas, K., 101, 105, 733, 206, 207, 224,
225
McConnell, G., 104, 131
McDonald, D., 191, 203
McEachern, D., 222, 223
McGee, M., 52, 55
McKibben, B., 156, 170
Mclaughlin, W. J., 163, 170
McLeod, J. M., 191,203
McNeely, J. A., 153, 170
McVey, D., 190, 196, 204
Meier, R. F., 104, 133
Meischke, H., 191,202
Meister, M., 156, 170
Menig, D. W., 155, 170
Mertig, A., 192, 202
Merton, R. K., 101, 131
Meyer, G., 193, 203
Meyers, O. E., 158, 170
Michael, D. N., 161, 170
Mignerey, J. T., 191,203
Milbrath, L, 101, 104, 125, 126, 131
Milburn, 245
Miles, G., 155, 164, 768, 770
Miller, A., 158, 170
Miller, M. M., 99, 732
Miller, S., 178
Miller, V. D., 191, 207, 203
Minsky, M., 101, 131
Mischel, W., 158, 168
Mitchell, M. Y., 163, 170
Modigliani, A., 101, 104, 123, 130
Molotch, H., 104, 106, 123, 126, 737
AUTHOR INDEX 257
Monahan, J. L, 191, 202
Monge, P. R., 190, 203
Moore, L. F., 192, 204
Moore, M, 39, 40, 41, 55
Morell, D., 164, 170
Moretz, A., 58, 62, 74
Morgan, G. W., 165, 172
Morhardt, J. E., 58, 61, 65, 71, 74
Morrison, D., 103, 104, 131
Morson, G. S., 63, 64, 65, 66, 74
Mouffe, C., 20, 32
Moy, P., 210, 224
Mugerauer, R., 155, 156, 170
Mughan, A., 211, 224
Muir, S. A., 156, 171
Mullin, 60
Murphy, J., 53, 55
Myers, S. A., 191, 203
N
Neburka, ]. , 166, 172
Neidenthal, P. M., 158, 169
Nelkin, D., 104, 105, 106, 126, 132, 175,
186
Neuendorf, K., 212, 221, 224
Neuman, W., 208, 211, 220, 221, 224
Neuwirth, K., 105, 129, 190, 202, 207, 223
Neuzil, M., 211, 212, 225
Nevins, A., 39, 55
Newman, R., 89, 97
Nichols, B., 121, 132
Nicholson, N., 162, 171
Nimmo, 122
Nitz, M. E., 58, 74, 207, 208, 215, 225
Noci, G., 58
Noe, F. P., 192, 203
Nord, D. P., 107
Norton, B., 164, 171
Noss, R. F., 153, 168
Novic, K., 105, 132
Nowak, P., 163, 167, 192, 201
Nowell, D. E., 192, 202
o
Ochs, D., 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 51, *53, 54
Oeschlaeger, M., 82, 96
Ogilvie, D. M., 121, 132
Oinas, V., 29, 31
O'Keefe, G., 190, 195, 204, 206, 224
Oldendick, R. W., 165, 167
Opie, J., 42, 56
Oravec, C. L, 156, 171, 210, 223
O'Rourke, P. J., 57, 74
Ostrom, E., 162, 171
Owens, D., 58, 74
Paehlke, R., 161, 171
Palmer, J. S., 34, 55, 58, 74, 84, 91, 97, 106,
131, 162, 169
Pancer, S. M., 190, 203
Park, E., 195, 204
Park, R., 107, 132
Parker, D., 190, 203
Parlour, J. W., 125, 132
Parsons, D. J., 153, 168
Patterson, P., 105, 106, 122, 132, 133, 134,
210, 225
Patterson, T., 222, 225
Payne, M., 47, 56
Pedersen, D., 100, 107, 132
Perloff, R., 211, 225
Peterson, C. H., 153, 168
Peterson, M. J., 15, 16, 17, 21, 23, 24, 25,
26, 30, 31, 31, 32, 161, 171
Peterson, T. R., 15, 16, 17, 20, 21, 23, 24,
25, 26, 30, 31, 31, 32, 161, 166,
171
Pezullo, P. C., 16, 32, 58, 74
Pfau, M. , 210, 224
Philipsen, G., 227, 240, 241, 249
Piasecki, B. W., 59, 62, 74
Pike, A., 71, 74
Pinegan, 190
Pitt, D., 153, 170
Plough, A., 126, 131
Plummer, L., 59, 74
Popkin, S. L, 162, 171
Potter,!. G., 159, 171
Poutianen, 229, 247
Power, T. M., 156, 171
Priest, S., 206, 207, 225
Preister, K., 159, 171
P
2 58 AUTHOR INDEX
Propper, S., 58, 74
Q
Quinn, M. S., 159, 171
R
Rachlin,A., 101, 103, 132
Radliff, D., 49, 56
Rahim, S. A., 191, 203
Rampton, S., 125, 133
Randazzo, R., 183, 186
Rapport, D. J., 160, 770
Ravetz, J. R., 105, 130
Rayner, S., 105, 732
Razee, A., 153, 154, 171
Reading, R. P., 135, 136, 757
Regier, H. A. , 160, 170
Reich, R. B., 142, 752
Reno, R. R., 191, 207
Rise, 190
Relph, E., 154, 155, 157, 171
Rendahl, S., 208, 225
Renn, O., 103, 104, 132
Revkin, A., 28, 32
Reynolds, R., 191,202
Rezendes, P., 228, 232-233, 234, 249
Richard, T., 146, 752
Richert, B. P., 99, 132
Ricoeur, P., 57, 74
Riffe, D., 108, 132
Rise, J., 190, 203
Rivlin, A. M., 139, 152
Roach, K. D., 190, 204
Robbins, W., 39, 56
Roberto, A. J., 193, 203
Roberto, H., 193, 203
Roberts, C., 142, 152, 207
Rogers, C. L, 106, 175, 786, 207, 224
Rogers, R. A., 247, 249
Rohde, D., 205, 223
Ropeik, D., 178, 186
Rosch, E., 101, 132
Rose, E., 58, 74
Roser, C, 191,203
Ross, R., 142, 152
Rosser, S. V., 83, 97
Roszak, T., 158, 171
Ruben, B., 207, 225
Rubin, C. T.,125, 132
Rubin, D. L, 190,202
Rubin, D. M., 105, 132
Rubin, R. B., 191, 203
Ruedy, S., 29, 37
Ruge, M. , 102, 123, 130
Rumelhart, D. E., 101, 132
Russell, C., 162, 171
Ryan, M., 106, 121, 729
Sachs, D. P., 105, 732
Sachsman, D. B., 104, 105, 106, 109, 130,
732, 733, 175, 181, 182, 183, 787
Salomone, K. L, 104, 105 106, 730, 732
Salwen, M., 220, 224
Sanders, R., 50, 51,56
Sandman, P. M., 104, 105, 106, 109, 123,
130, 132, 133, 181, 187
Sapir, E., 101, 733
Sapolsky, H. M., 123, 133
Sato, M., 29, 37
Sawyer, M. S., 228, 249
Sawyer, N., 236, 237, 238
Sawyer, S., 236
Scanlon, E., 207, 225
Schama, S., 83, 97
Schank, R. C, 101, 133
Schatzow, S., 125, 132
Schaumann, S., 83, 97
Scheufele, D., 207, 220, 224, 225
Schilizzi, S. G. M., 72, 74
Schleuder, J., 191, 207
Schmidtheiny, S., 163, 777
Schmidt, D. A., 158, 171
Schneider, K., 121, 133
Schoenbach, K., 208, 211, 225
Schoenfeld, A. C, 104, 133
Schramm, M., 215, 221, 225
Schroeder, H. W., 164, 171
Schudson, M., 100, 133
Schultz, P. W., 192,203
Schumacker, R. E., 196, 203
S
AUTHOR INDEX 259
Schutz,A., 101, 133
Scott, D., 192, 203
Searle, J. R., 18, 32
Seelye, K.Q., 22, 23, 32
Seligman, C., 190, 203
Selin, S., 145, 152
Selzer, J., 16, 32
Senecah, S. L, 159, 161, 162, 168, 171, 172
Senge, P., 140, 142, 143, 152
Sessions, G., 246, 248
Shabecoff, P., 124, 133
Shakespeare, W., 11, 12, 14
Shanahan, J., 101, 105, 133, 206, 207, 224,
225
Shands, W. E., 148, 150, 152, 161, 172
Shapiro, R., 206, 224
Sherman, R. C., 158, 171
Shetzer, L., 192, 204
Shiffered, P., 159, 170
Shindler, B., 160, 161, 162, 166, 172
Short, B., 36, 56
Showers, D. E., 190, 204
Shrigley, R. L., 190, 204
Shumaker, S. A., 157, 172
Sigal, L. V., 106, 122, 123, 133
Silverdale, N., 190, 201
Simpson, J., 58, 74
Simon, H. A., 155, 172
Simons, I. G., 159, 172
Simon, J., 175, 181, 182, 183, 187
Singer, E., 104, 133
Singh, K., 190, 204
Sirmon, J., 148, 150, 152
Skinner, L, 58, 61, 74
Sieger, F., 49, 56
Slovic, P., 103, 104, 105, 132, 133
Smith, E., 206, 211, 212, 225
Snow, D., 38, 56
Snow, R., 192
Solomon, M., 79, 97
Spears, R., 109, 127, 133
Sproule, J. M., 58, 60, 66, 74
Stackman, R. W., 192, 204
Stagliano, A. J., 62, 74
Stallings, R., 210, 225
Stamm, K. R., 162, 172
Stankey, G. H., 160, 161, 162, 172
Stauber, J. C., 125, 133
Stavins, R., 207, 225
Stearn, P. C., 192, 202, 204
Steele, F., 157, 172
Steingraber, S., 77, 78, 79, 89, 90, 91, 92,
93, 95, 97
Stewart, R. A., 190, 204
Stewart, W. P., 157, 158, 159, 164, 167
Stibbard, H., 58, 74
Stimson, J., 206, 225
Stokes, K., 48, 56
Stokols, D., 157, 163, 172
Stowkowski, P. A., 158, 167
Stone, D. A., 17, 32
Stone, A. E., 79, 97
Stone, P. J., 121, 132, 133
Stone, W. F., 192, 203
Storey, J., 122, 133
Strader, M. K., 190, 204
Stradling, S. G., 190, 203
Strauss, A., 166, 172
Sutton, 190
Syme, G. J., 190, 202
Sunano, R., 181, 186
Sutton, S., 196, 204
Sweeney, M., 190, 202
Tan, C. T., 190, 204
Taylor, D. E., 83, 97
Taylor, K., 57, 74
Taylor, R., 182, 187
Taylor, S. E., 158, 172, 197, 204
Teboul, J. C. B., 191, 204
Tedesco,J., 221, 225
Thogersen, J., 192, 204
Thomas, P. B., 58, 62, 74
Thomashow, M., 165, 172
Thompson, M., 191, 203
Thompson, P. B., 26, 31
Thompson, S. C. G., 192, 204
Thoreau, H. D., 228, 234, 235, 236, 249
Tichenor, P. J., 158, 172
Tiemann, A. R., 104, 133
Tiffany, S. T., 190, 201
Todd, P., 197, 204
T
260 AUTHOR INDEX
Torgenson, D., 161, 777
Tourney, C., 106, 133
Trumbo, C. W., 190, 195, 204, 206, 210,
225
Tuchman, G., 101, 102, 733
Turner, M. G., 153, 768
Turner, J. W., 191, 201
Tuan, Y. F., 157, 172
Tuchfarber, A. J., 165, 167
Twigger-Ross, C. L, 158, 172
Tybout, A. M., 158, 172
Tyndall, A., 178
Tyler, L., 58, 74
U
Uzzell, D. L, 158, 172
Valde, K., 229, 249
Valenti, J., 175, 181, 182, 183, 187
van den Putte, 197, 204
van der Pligt, J., 109, 127, 733
vanDijk, T., 101, 107, 133
vanEs, J. C., 165, 172
Van Liere, K. D., 192, 202
Varner, G. E., 166, 177
Villamil, K., 181, 186
Vining, J., 163, 172
Vogel, D., 165, 172
Vogt, M., 46, 56
Voyles, S., 194, 204
Vomocil, A., 47, 56
W
Wade, N., 68, 74
Wahl-Jorgensen, K., 34, 44, 45, 56
Walden, W. D., 62, 74
Walker, G., 136, 137, 138, 140, 141, 142,
144, 145, 148, 149, 150, 757, 752,
166, 768
Walters, C. J., 160, 163, 772
Walters, L. M., 104, 133
Ward, B., 177, 787
Warren, K., 82, 97
Watson, A. E., 165, 168
Watson, M., 81, 97
Wayne, S., 205, 215, 222, 225
Weaver, D., 191, 202, 204
Weaver, R., 64, 74
Weber, R., 108, 133
Weigert, A. J., 164, 172
Weinberg, G. M., 25, 30, 32
Weinstein, N. D., 105, 106, 123, 133
Wellman, J. D., 162, 173
West, B., 106, 133
Westley, F., 162, 173
Wheeless, L. R., 191,204
White, G. F., 155, 173
White, Jr., L., 42, 56
White, R., 155, 769
Whitelegg, E., 207, 225
Whorf, B. L., 101, 134
Wiebe, G. D., 105, 134
Wilhelmsen, 190, 203
Wilkins, L., 105, 106, 134, 175, 187, 210,
212, 225
Wilkins, R. J., 229, 249
Wilkinson, C. F., 135, 152, 156, 173
Williams, B., 207, 223
Williams, D. R., 157, 159, 164, 173
Williams, R., 103, 134
Williams, T. T., 79, 97
Williamson, A. M., 191, 204
Willits, F. K., 192, 203
Wilson, N., 83, 97
Witt, W., 106, 134
Woelfel, J. K., 108, 109, 134
Wondolleck, J. M., 150, 152, 162, 173
Wong, K. C., 190, 204
V
AUTHOR INDEX 261
Woodmans , R. G., 153, 168 Yalch, R. F., 158, 172
Wynne, B., 122, 134 Yates, S., 207, 225
Yearley, S., 104, 126, 134
X
Xu, Z., 161, 163, 167
Y
Yaffee, S. L, 150, 152
Zimmerman, L. K., 165, 173
Zonn, L, 157, 173
Z
Subject Index
Activism, social, 78
feminist, 78
women, 85
Adjustment, 36
Avoidance, 36
Autopoiesis, 19
B
Behavior, 194
Biophysical Processes, 15, 16
policy making, 30
Blackfeet, see Nonverbal communication
Bryce Canyon, 1, 2
Bush, Jr., President George W., 178
Bureau of Land Management, 8, 9, 22-23,
33, 40, 43
Campaigns, 166
presidential, 205
Capitulation, 36
Carson, Rachel, 7, 90-91, 93, 95, 154
Cedar Breaks National Monument, 1-14
Center for Health, Environment, and
Justice, 83, 89
Chernobyl, 105-106
Civic Science, 139, 142, 144, 148, 150-151
conditions for effectiveness, 151
practice of, 145-150
scientific knowledge, 135-136, 138
traditional knowledge, 135-136, 138
Clinton, President Bill, 33, 40, 78
See also timber
Cognitive devices, 38, 42
Collaborative Learning, 140-142,
actions, 145-148
communication competence, 144-145
deliberation, 141-142
dialogue, 140-141, 142
Commons, 26
Communication Effects
augmented theory of reasoned action,
191-193
theory of reasoned action, 189-191, 198
truckee river watershed, 193-194
Conflict, 20, 27, 35, 103, 125, 135, 166,
see also Civic science
see also Collaborative learning
see also Rhetoric, protest
see also Wildfire, Ranching, Global
Warming, Old Growth
Conflict assessment, 162
Consciousness raising, see Rhetoric,
autobiography
Cooptation, 34, 37
Corporate Citizenship, 71
Corporate Reports, see Rhetoric, corporate
Cultural terms for communication
framework, 229-230
D
Deep ecology, 89
Descriptive theory, 229
263
A
C
264 SUBJECT INDEX
Dialogue, 68
Earth Day, 42, 43, 105, 124
Earth First!, 41
Ecofeminism, 82, 83
Economics, 23, 28
Eco-pornography, 156
Education, 23
Endangered Species Act, 33, 40-41, 50
Environment
as political issue, 205
Environmental communication, 3, 16, 38,
41
environmental conflict, 8, 9, 20
oppression, disempowering, 8
public opinion, 8
Environmental justice, 82, 83, 85, 95
Environmental performance, 60-62, 70
Coalition for Environmentally Respon-
sible Economies, 61
Public Environmental Reporting Initia-
tive, 61
see Rhetoric, corporate
Environmental risk, 107
advocacy groups, 104
aversion, 104
framing, 99, 103-106. see also Framing
messages, 105, 116
see also Policy
see also Reporting, environmental
Social Amplification, 103-104
Environmentalism, 36
Significance of, 207
see also Environmental risk
see also Reporting, environmental
see also Rhetoric, autobiographical
Functional systems, see also Systems, 16,
17, 18
Geography, 153
adaptive management and construction
of place, 160-162, 165
communicative impulse, 156
environmental self, 158
gendered division, 83
human, 154
perception, 155
sense of place, 153, 157-158, 164
sense of self-in-place, 92, 158-160, 165,
165
social dimensions of place, 154, 156
Global Environmental Management
Initiative, 58-59
Global warming, 27-29, 30
Gore, Al, 222
Grazing, 8, 26-27, see also Ranching
Greenwashing, 37, 53,
H
Hegemony, 103, 107, 113, 127
Hill, Julia Butterfly, 83
Hysterical housewife, 81, 84, 85
Fire management, 6-8
see also Policy
see also Wenatchee National Forest
Forest planning, 137
Forest Service, U.S., 40
Framing, 34, 38-39, 51-52, 99, 102, 103,
118-119,220
Devices, aesthetic, 43
Devices, cognitive, 38, 42-45, 47, 51
Identification, 3, 85
Information
active, 23, 24
inactive, 23, 24
seeking, 199
total, 23
Interior, Department of, 8, 9
Interpretation, 1, 46, 29
Dualisms, 5, 21
Epistemological approaches, 5, 13
E
G
F
I
SUBJECT INDEX 265
J
Journalism, see Reporting
K
Knowing, ways of, 139
traditional, see Collaborative learning
Knowledge
scientific/technical, 135-136, 160-162
traditional/local 135-136, 162
O
Old Growth
arguments, 43-49
see also Framing
Salvage-Timber Rider, 33, 39-41
TobeWest, 33, 41
Olympic National Forest, 41
see also Timber
see also Tobe West
Law, 23, 27
Locus of the irreparable, 34
Logging, see Timber
Love Canal, 77, 78, 81, 85, 89. 95
M
Mass media, see Reporting, environmental
Materiality, 25, 30
Metaphors, visual, 91
N
Naming, 1, 2
Narratives, 62, 77, 79, 90, 165, 221
Sustainability, 64
Utopian, 58, 63-73
see Reporting, environmental
see Rhetoric, autobiographical
see Rhetoric, corporate
New Environmental Paradigm, 192
Newspaper Reporting, see Reporting,
Environmental
Nonverbal Communication, 227
getting out into nature, 228, 236-239
listening, 228, 231-232
nature as agent, 242-243
stalking, 228, 232-234
sauntering, 228, 234-236
walking, 228, 239-241
Nonviolent resistance, 35-36
Perception, 18-19,
Petition, 35. 51
Poetry 1-2, 9
Shakespeare, 10-13
Polarization, 35
Policy, 1,6, 17-18, 100-101,
adaptive management, 160-164
effectiveness Factors, 136-138
see also Wildfire, Ranching, Global
Warming, Old Growth, Envi-
ronmental Risk
Policy making, 18, 222
Politics, 23, 28
Power, 8
Presidential campaign 2000, 205
Promulgation, 35, 51
Public involvement, 136-150, 162-164, 166
see also Civic science
Public opinion, 8
R
Ranching, 7, 27.
see also Grazing
Reporting, environmental, 207
corporate, 59-63,
see also Rhetoric, corporate
see also Framing
see also Narrative
Media Attention, 1990s to 2002, 176-178
challenges in future, 185-186
complexity of content, 179-180
L
P
266 SUBJECT INDEX
criticisms of, 181
electronic impacts, 183-184
impacts of 9/11 terrorist attacks, 178
narrative content, 179-183
news hole, 176, 178, 179, 185
newspapers, 176-177, 178
television, 178
Newspapers and risk, see also Environ-
mental risk.
framing, 102-106, 111-118, 122-
implications, 122, 127-128
patterns and themes, 125-127
quality of news, 106
selection of news, 101, 105
sources, 106, 109, 121-124, 127
storytelling, 106-107
Presidential campaign 2000
environment as political issue, 206,
217 .
framing, dimensions, 209-211
framing, episodic, 207-209, 215-217
framing, thematic 207-209, 215-217
roles of the media, 206-207
Society of Environmental Journalists,
184-185
Rhetoric, autobiographical, 78, 81, 94-95
consciousness-raising, 80-82
constraints, 82-84, 94-95
enlargement as agency, 79-80. 85-89,
90-95
role in social change, 79
Rhetoric, corporate, 58, 59, 60, 66-73
emplications, 70-73
see Reporting, environmental
Omissions, 67-70
themes, 64-67
Utopian narratives, 58, 63-64
Rhetoric, eulogistic, 41, 51-52
see also Tobe West
Rhetoric, managerial, 58, 60, 66
Rhetoric, protest, 33-34, 45, 51
agitation, 34-39, 51
control, 34-39
influencing factors, 37-39
cooptation, 34, 37, 51
Rhetoric, Women' s Voice
see Rhetoric, autobiographical
Right-to-know laws, 90
Science, scientific knowledge, 23, 90, 135,
136,
Sense of place, see Geography
Sense of self in place, see Geography
Shakespeare festival, 9
Sinclair, Upton 7
Social construction of meaning, 3, 5, 16,
102-103, 106-107, 127, 139, 154,
157,160, 207-208
Social theory, 16
Solidification, 35
Spotted owl, 40
Staircase-Escalate National Monument, 1,
8
Storytelling, see Narratives
Superfund, 77
Suppression, 36
Sustainabilty, 165
Symbol use, 25
Systems, also see Social construction of
meaning
chaos theory, 19
functional relations, 17, 26
influence on policy making, 30
resonance, 18, 20, 22, 23, 25-30, see also
Autopoiesis
social function systems, 16, 18, 20-21,
23, 25, 27
binary code, 21, 22
grammar, 21
stability, 19
tension, 29
structural differentiation, 22
subsystems, 23-24
Tabloids, 107, 118
Timber,
forest conference, 40
forest plan, 33
sales, 33
Salvage Timber Rider, 33, 40-41, 50
Thoreau, Henry David, 135
Tobe West, 33, 34, 39, 41
s
T
SUBJECT INDEX 267
see also Clinton, President Bill
see also Timber
Truckee River Watershed, 193-194
U
Utopian, 58, 59,
see Rhetoric
Y
Yellowstone National Park, 8
W
Wenatchee National Forest, 148-150
see also Public involvement
Wildfire, 6, 8
Women' s rights, see Rhetoric,
autobiographical
Z
National Park, 6
z
Zion National Park, 6

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