Hum Ecol Research Articles

Adaptation and psychometric properties of the Italian version of the Pro-Environmental Behaviours Scale (PEBS)

Given that human behaviour is a major cause of environmental problems, psychology can play a crucial role in the efforts to deal with environmental issues. Environmentally significant behaviours (EBs) are defined as behaviours that harm the (natural) environment as little as possible or that contribute to its protection. However, psychologists often assess behaviours that are the target of interest without knowing their influence on the ecological system. The Pro-Environmental Behaviours Scale (PEBS; Markle in Hum Ecol 41:905–914, 2013) is, to our knowledge, the only scale based on empirical evidence from environmental scientific studies that covers the principal EBs categories proposed in the literature (private-sphere environmentalist, activism, and nonactivist behaviours in the public sphere). The aim of this paper is to adapt the original PEBS to the Italian context (qualitative phase) and to verify its psychometric properties (e.g. factor structure) (quantitative phase). The original scale was slightly modified following a suggestion obtained in a focus group (n = 17) and in a pilot study (n = 18). On a sample of 765 Italian adults [70% female, mean (SD) age = 41.7 (12.2), 2 missing] results revealed a 4-factor structure (conservation, environmental citizenship, food, and transportation) of the Italian PEBS, like the original version (Markle 2013), maintaining 15 of the 19 original items (CFI = .973; RMSEA = .037: WRMR = 1.047; χ(84)2 = 170.63, p < .001; explained variance = 42%). Other psychometrics properties were “good” or better. Results suggest that the Italian PEBS is a valid and reliable tool for assessing the principal EBs proposed by the literature as having a great impact on the environment.

A “solution-focused” comparative risk assessment of conventional and synthetic biology approaches to control mosquitoes carrying the dengue fever virus

Emerging technologies often pose various uncertain health risks that cause policymakers to hesitate to allow resultant products and processes to enter the market—but they also may offer large benefits, including the potential to greatly reduce some of the very risks currently most greatly affecting public health and the environment. Synthetic biology serves as one such emerging technology that, despite its potential benefits to various fields, gives policymakers pause until the human and environmental health risks posed by genetically engineered organisms are better characterized and assessed. Given various limitations of our current paradigm for making risk management decisions, some of which are caused by limitations of conventional methods of quantitative risk assessment (QRA), a modified approach to emerging technology characterization and assessment might be a needed step change. This paper demonstrates how one such approach—“solution-focused risk assessment” (Finkel, Hum Ecol Risk Assess 17(4):754–787, 2011)—can help evaluate synthetic biology products against conventional competitors. Specifically, this paper conducts a SFRA for Oxitec’s engineered Aedes aegypti mosquito, which serves as a synthetic biology option for dengue virus vector control.

Indoor inhalation dose estimates due to radon and thoron in some areas of South-Western Punjab, India

LR-115 (type II)-based radon-thoron discriminating twin-chamber dosemeters have been used for estimating radon ((222)Rn) and thoron ((220)Rn) concentrations in dwellings of south-western Punjab, India. The present study region has shown pronounced cases of cancer incidents in the public [Thakur, Rao, Rajwanshi, Parwana and Kumar (Epidemiological study of high cancer among rural agricultural community of Punjab in Northern India. Int J Environ Res Public Health 2008; 5(5):399-407) and Kumar et al. (Risk assessment for natural uranium in subsurface water of Punjab state, India. Hum Ecol Risk Assess 2011;17:381-93)]. Radon being a carcinogen has been monitored in some dwellings selected randomly in the study area. Results show that the values of radon ((222)Rn) varied from 21 to 79 Bq m(-3), with a geometric mean of 45 Bq m(-3) [geometric standard deviation (GSD 1.39)], and those of thoron ((220)Rn) from minimum detection level to 58 Bq m(-3) with a geometric mean of 19 Bq m(-3) (GSD 1.88). Bare card data are used for computing the progeny concentration by deriving the equilibrium factor (F) using a root finding method [Mayya, Eappen and Nambi (Methodology for mixed field inhalation dosimetry in monazite areas using a twin-cup dosemeter with three track detectors. Radiat Prot Dosim 1998;77(3):177-84)]. Inhalation doses have been calculated and compared using UNSCEAR equilibrium factors and by using the calculated F-values. The results show satisfactory comparison between the values.

Comment on “The Vital Importance of Epidemiology in Risk Assessment.” Hum Ecol Risk Assess 16:669–71

Comment on “The Vital Importance of Epidemiology in Risk Assessment.” Hum Ecol Risk Assess 16:669–71

Justin Nolan: Wild Harvest in the Heartland: Ethnobotany in Missouri’s Little Dixie

Wild Harvest in the Heartland: Ethnobotany in Missouri’s Little Dixie (an area running approximately from Kansas City through Jefferson City) by Justin Nolan is a very nice little book. At first blush, it seems like the perfect example for upper level undergraduate and beginning graduate students of well designedmethodology using ANTHROPAC and of basic descriptions of 30 most common useful plants. However, on reading further it is obvious that description and hypothesis testing of comparative knowledge of “experts” and “nonexperts” and other hypotheses is only the foundation of this study. There are many essential ideas introduced. Relating to the initial hypothesis, Nolan finds that plant experts have more extensive, detailed and esoteric knowledge about many more plants than non-experts. Specifically, they know many more medicinal uses of roots and herbs and they are aware of plants that do not grow locally. In a broader arena, Heartland expands the domain of ethnobotany. Ethnobotany, all too often, focuses on traditional, non-industrialized societies; this book draws our attention to natural resource knowledge in our own backyard. Here there is an emphasis on regional traditions, grounded in history and modified by culture. The dynamic process of modification and revision of ethnobotanical knowledge is a field of investigation woefully understudied. Here it is acknowledged and incorporated into the study. Cultural origins of Little Dixie knowledge are diverse, emanating from the British Isles and Southern Appalachia, as well as from Native Americans. Continual innovation and experimentation has allowed this hybrid knowledge to further evolve. Moreover, Nolan unequivocally finds that culture and ecology are inextricably linked. Nolan points out that plant knowledge is built on species that are readily available, undoubtedly perceived, and sensorially appealing. Plant families of particular use value are favored including the fruits and berries of the rose family, the beans of the legume family, and brightly colored flowers of the aster family. From these data, Nolan argues self-evidently that human recognition of plants is selective and systematic. If these are not transformative conclusions, they are certainly basic to a dynamic and theoretical view of ethnobotany. Under the sure and steady tutelage of Professor Deborah Pearsall, Nolan has produced a well researched vision of ethnobotany of Little Dixie—famous for its anti-bellum plantation history—in the Missouri heartland, which simultaneously addresses global issues. Hum Ecol (2009) 37:797 DOI 10.1007/s10745-009-9260-3

Of risks and regulations: how leading U.S. nanoscientists form policy stances about nanotechnology

Even though there is a high degree of scientific uncertainty about the risks of nanotechnology, many scholars have argued that policy-making cannot be placed on hold until risk assessments are complete (Faunce, Med J Aust 186(4):189–191, 2007; Kuzma, J Nanopart Res 9(1):165–182, 2007; O’Brien and Cummins, Hum Ecol Risk Assess 14(3):568–592, 2008; Powell et al., Environ Manag 42(3):426–443, 2008). In the absence of risk assessment data, decision makers often rely on scientists’ input about risks and regulation to make policy decisions. The research we present here goes beyond the earlier descriptive studies about nanotechnology regulation to explore the heuristics that the leading U.S. nanoscientists use when they make policy decisions about regulating nanotechnology. In particular, we explore the relationship between nanoscientists’ risk and benefit perceptions and their support for nanotech regulation. We conclude that nanoscientists are more supportive of regulating nanotechnology when they perceive higher levels of risks; yet, their perceived benefits about nanotechnology do not significantly impact their support for nanotech regulation. We also find some gender and disciplinary differences among the nanoscientists. Males are less supportive of nanotech regulation than their female peers and materials scientists are more supportive of nanotechnology regulation than scientists in other fields. Lastly, our findings illustrate that the leading U.S. nanoscientists see the areas of surveillance/privacy, human enhancement, medicine, and environment as the nanotech application areas that are most in need of new regulations.

I. G. Simmons: Global Environmental History

Both human ecology and environmental history excel at monographic treatments of limited time and place—an artifact, perhaps, of academia. So it remains to the senior scholars of broad reading and experience to take on the task of synthesizing the work of many. I. G. Simmons’ latest work, Global Environmental History, is the first singleauthored volume on a subject that has enjoyed considerable growth over the last 10 years. Writing synthetic histories of global scope across recent geological time must be as fulfilling as it is daunting. Much depends on the organizational schema of the historian. Simmons has chosen, appropriately enough, to use the agricultural and industrial revolutions as pivots, giving us chapters on gatherer-hunters, pre-industrial agriculture, the industrial world, and the post-industrial age. The structure seems to loosely follow Donald Worster’s now classic call for environmental historians to pursue an agro-ecological approach, but Simmons adds a nice touch by favoring a periodization determined by the means by which humans drew energy from the environment. The focus on energy and history dovetails with the recent explosion of histories of energy, and Simmons goes to great pains to merge this literature with older—but still valuable—ecological histories. Each chapter includes discussions of basic environmental relationships, demographics, the impact of humans on the natural environment (and vice versa), but Simmons also gives us a great deal of social history and cultural ecology. For example, he wonders how hunters and gatherers thought about nature and how their cosmogonies worked in and alongside the natural landscape. The culture/ nature debate, which has often preoccupied the work of environmental historians, comes to an easy reconciliation with Simmons. To be sure, he does not ignore the divide; instead, he uses it to structure his histories—always trying to join the mind with the body. If energy provides the chronology of the chapters, and the culture/nature dialectic structures his material, then it is the dramatic tension between fragmentation and coalescence that provides Simmons with his thesis. It is the same theme that is captured in Norton’s global history textbook, Worlds Together, Worlds Apart. As far as cross-cutting themes are concerned—and historians disagree about how valuable they are as analytic categories—fragmentation and coalescence works well enough. But Simmons’ contribution is to add the natural environment to this story. There are two socio-natural trends, Simmons tells us, that can be found across space and time. “The first is that societies may be prone to fragmentation, as when social classes emerge based on, for example, birth or wealth or on technologies of separation such as the mobile headset. The second is the opposite: a tendency to coalescence, as happens, for Hum Ecol (2009) 37:671–673 DOI 10.1007/s10745-009-9247-0

J-P Bocquet-Appel and O. Bar-Yosef (eds): The Neolithic Demographic Transition and Its Consequences

The transition from hunter-gatherer to agricultural lifestyle marks a global turning point in human prehistory. We now know that this transition not only varied in its timing and magnitude across regions but also in its demographic, social, economic and symbolic characteristics. It is also evident from archaeological studies that the tempo, duration and intensity of the transition were not uniform and that in “core regions”, such as the Levant, the transition was a lengthy and complex process which took over two millennia to complete (Bar-Yosef and Meadow 1995; Kuijt and Goring-Morris 2002). A central question which comes to mind is whether it is possible to detect and define any universal characteristics which are shared by all societies which adopted agriculture. This volume (edited by J-P Bocquet-Appel and O. Bar-Yosef), is set to examine such a universal process: the Neolithic Demographic Transition (NDT). The NDT involved an abrupt and drastic increase in the proportions of subadults aged between 5 and 19 years and an increase in fertility attributed to the narrowing of birth spacing following the transition to a sedentary lifestyle. The volume contains 19 contributions from leading researchers in the field of physical anthropology (paleodemography, paleopathology), and archaeology (including archaeozoology and evolutionary archaeology). The main strength of this volume is its clear focus on the NDT and related processes. The readers should be aware that the volume’s starting assumption is that the NDT was indeed a pivotal universal process. Consequently, much less emphasis is placed on addressing alternative models and critical assessment of the models’ underlying presuppositions. However, many chapters center on the study of nondemographic aspects and by doing so provide readers with very useful perspectives on some of the role of social and cultural change in shaping Neolithic societies. The volume is divided into four parts. Part 1 focuses on the demographic and economic aspects of the NDT (eight chapters). Part II focuses on settlement patterns and village practices (three chapters). Part III addresses changes in community size and social organization (four chapters). Part IV focuses on population growth and health (three chapters). Readers who are not familiar with the NDT should begin with reading Boquest –Appel’s article (2002) and chapter 3 (this volume). The allocation of chapters according to these topical headings is somewhat confusing especially since the contributions predominantly differ in their overall approach: demographic, archaeological and anthropological. However, the Neolithic transition was a complex multifaceted process and consequently it is inevitable that many of the contributions fit into more than one of these categories. Four of the contributions in the first section focus on the demographic dimensions of the NDT in several world regions: East and Southeast Asia (Bellwood and Oxenham), the Levant (Guerrero et al.), the North American Southwest (Kohler & Glaude), and Mesoamerica (Lesure). The chapters by Ozdogan, Vigne, (Section I), Goring-Morris, and Kuijt (Section II) are of great interest to scholars who wish to gain more insight about the social, economic and architectural developments associated with the transition to agriculture in the Levant and Anatolia. The importance of these contributions is in providing readers not with general reviews but rather with in-depth syntheses on the complex diachronic processes underlying the transition in these regions. Section III contains two contributions which address the demographic aspects of the NDT on the basis of archaeologically derived parameters such as settlement size and Hum Ecol DOI 10.1007/s10745-009-9246-1

Swidden Change in Southeast Asia: Understanding Causes and Consequences

More than 50 years ago the FAO Staff through its forestry journal Unasylva issued an “appeal...to governments, research centers, associations and private persons who are in a position to help”. The plea was for information that would help the world overcome “...the greatest obstacle not only to the immediate increase of agricultural production, but also to the conservation of the production potential for the future, in the form of soils and forests... [N]ot only a backward type of agricultural practice...[but] also a backward stage of culture in general” (FAO Staff 1957). That impediment was shifting cultivation, or as we prefer to call it in this special issue, swidden cultivation. For centuries, swidden cultivation has been one of the most important land use systems in the tropics, including Southeast Asia. Numerous studies, including those of Conklin (1957, 1963), showed that in many situations it is in fact a rational economic and environmental choice for farmers in the humid tropical uplands (Fox 2000; Ickowitz 2006; Mertz 2002). While FAO did not succeed in its proposed research-driven “attack” on swidden cultivation, change in areas formerly dominated by swidden cultivation is now occurring at a rapid pace and, in much of Southeast Asia (and elsewhere), the system is being replaced by or transformed into other land uses. Change from swidden cultivation to other land uses may indeed be desirable for some farmers, but in other cases such factors as prohibitive legislation, land reform, logging, large-scale land development, exclusionary conservation zoning, and resettlement are driving change towards new land use systems with consequences that are still poorly understood. Do they, in all cases, represent an improvement, or is there a continuing rationale for swidden cultivation in the twenty-first century? Hum Ecol (2009) 37:259–264 DOI 10.1007/s10745-009-9245-2

Peter Sercombe and Bernard Sellato (eds): Beyond the Green Myth—Borneo’s Hunter-Gatherers in the Twenty-First Century

This book is a compilation of papers on hunter-gatherers. It will be of interest to students of hunter-gatherer societies and their post-colonial and post-independence development as well as to a broader academic and general public interested in the tropical rainforest and its management since time immemorial. It should also be read by anyone, particularly NGOs and development banks, concerned about a very uncertain future for very small indigenous groups in Borneo, whose cultures and languages, remarkably, remain largely intact. The book, despite its sub-title, is more a projection of the past into the 21st century, setting a socio-political context to the position of small groups of hunter-gatherers under the quite different jurisdictions of Brunei, the state government of Sarawak in Malaysia and the provincial governments of Kalimantan in Indonesia. There are, sensibly, no prognostications about the future though the prospects in the Kalimantans appear very much better than in Sarawak. The green myth, essentially, is that of an anthropological Garden of Eden which the noble savage manages and conserves for his heirs and for posterity. It has been constructed by outsiders and serves as a charter for conservationist NGOs seeking funds from international donors to promote community based forest conservation. The reality, however, is somewhat different. Sellato, in an excellent history of a number of hunter-gatherer groups exploiting three remote areas largely in East Kalimantan, shows that a number of NGOs have done a power of good in persuading governments (particularly Indonesia) that hunter-gatherers should have their rights to territories and resources recognized. He and a number of other authors in the book describe the traditional hunting and gathering strategies of a range of groups across the Borneo landscape. It is clear from these descriptions that hunter-gatherers did conserve sago groves, practice horticulture and kill only what they eat. Sedentization has not changed their economies greatly as they are, at best, occasional agriculturalists. Chan provides an excellent account of how subsistence activities among the Punan Vuhang have changed with sedentization and gives a useful calendar showing how the group traditionally moved from food scarcity and hunger to food glut and excess. Everything was shared. A number of authors remarked on the better health profile of hunter-gatherers than swidden agriculturalists. That might partly be an attribute of food being shared equally among all members of a group. With swidden agriculturalists, the households of unsuccessful farmers are more prone to ill health as they are chronically undernourished. With no outside influences, the ‘green myth’ did have a basis in reality. The myth was ushered in only when the ‘global market’ reached the hunter-gatherers. A number of chapters show that the economist’s view of a market system having important self-stabilizing features is an even greater myth. Once certain scarce resources had a sufficiently high market value and hunter-gatherers found they had uses for what they could earn from exploiting those resources, the economist’s equilibrium market model went into a tail spin. The most extreme example concerns the Sumatran rhinoceros. The horn had value; so the carcass could be left to rot Hum Ecol (2009) 37:391–392 DOI 10.1007/s10745-009-9244-3

Introduction to special issue on “Trade‐Offs in Female Life Histories: Integrating Evolutionary Frameworks”

Introduction to special issue on “Trade‐Offs in Female Life Histories: Integrating Evolutionary Frameworks”

Judith A. Layzer (Ed): Natural Experiments: Ecosystem-Based Management and the Environment

Ecosystem-based approaches (EBM) to natural resource management are at the forefront of progressive science and policy discussions. This holistic approach is inherently multi-dimensional. Managers and decision-makers must orient their view to all components of an ecosystem, including human interests. Three key underlying principles of EBM include landscape-scale planning that is intentionally collaborative (trans-jurisdiction/trans-sector) with an experimental, adaptive nature. The common single sector approach attends to human activities each in isolation from one another. This approach fails to address, much less maintain, the integrity of the interactions between the management sectors. This leads to a loss of valued ecosystem goods and services and ignorance about fundamental ecological and socio-economic linkages. Through a systematic empirical analysis, this book investigates the ways, and extent to which, seven cases throughout the US employ the three principles above with a goal of understanding whether the promise of EBM theory is effective in practice. Specifically, the author seeks to understand the circumstances that facilitate innovative management practices whose policies “conserve and restore ecosystem health.” Through a “focused comparison method,” evidence of environmental improvements, such as habitat restoration and species conservation, is assessed. Informed judgments are made to determine the ways in which the three principles of EBM affect each case’s outcomes. The first two chapters are contextual in that they place the author’s research aims among scholars’ arguments for and against an EBM approach. This results in both an optimistic and pessimistic model of EBM. These models serve as a baseline from which the author systematically assesses the evidence from each case. The optimistic approach praises EBM aspirations of bringing together otherwise disparate interests to create place-based plans and policies. The intended adaptive and flexible nature of these types of collaborations are hailed as one that promotes individual and institutional learning leading to improved management systems. The pessimistic approach cautions that the inertia infiltrating existing management is stronger than the willingness to create change. In addition, this model holds that stakeholder collaboration will not necessarily lead to consensus and shared goals. Rather, representatives will unknowingly uphold the status quo, act independently, and use power struggles to maintain sectorbased interests. The next seven chapters are each devoted to a case study, all of which have been acknowledged as initiatives experimenting with implementation of EBM principles. Cases include internationally-recognized initiatives and are grouped by terrestrial examples (Austin’s Balcones Canyonlands Conservation Program, San Diego Multiple Species Program) and aquatic examples (Comprehensive Everglades Restoration Plan, California Bay Delta Program), or are studied for comparison (Arizona Sonoran Desert Conservation Plan, Florida’s Kissimmee River, California Mono Basin). Some follow a more optimistic model of EBM with unintended benefits such as the development of innovative models that provoke thinking about the social and natural interrelationships of a system. Some cases are more in-line with the pessimistic model and have unintended consequences such as the disappointing Hum Ecol (2009) 37:251–252 DOI 10.1007/s10745-009-9229-2

Malcolm Cairns (ed): Voices from the Forest: Integrating Indigenous Knowledge into Sustainable Upland Farming

A central theme in academic literature about swidden agriculture is that rhetoric against this type of farming is rhetoric against the cultures that practice it. Swidden agriculturalists are not only blamed by many environmentalists and politicians for widespread ecological destruction and wasteful use of land; they are also portrayed as socially backward, unscientific, unaware of changing environmental conditions, and resistant to change. The academic backlash against these accusations and negative portrayals has often focused on how this rhetoric serves the purposes of governments, who want swidden agriculturalists to settle so that they can be more easily controlled, enticing them with infrastructure development in the form of schools, roads, medical clinics, electricity, etc., without mentioning what they will lose: power, autonomy, resources, and the freedom to continue refining farming techniques specifically adapted to their own land. Research about swidden agriculture has shown that the majority of traditional swidden systems have been sustainable for many generations. But systems that were once sustainable may not be now, as a result of several key factors: endogenous population growth and inmigration of outsiders, logging, large-scale conversion of land to monocrop plantations, commodification of forest products, and gazettement of indigenous lands as protected areas. These land pressures, which show no sign of decreasing in the uplands of the Asia-Pacific region, require increased productivity of existing farming systems. Indigenous farmers have displayed a vast array of innovations in farming techniques to increase productivity in response to these pressures, both for subsistence purposes and for income generation. The comprehensive volume Voices from the forest: Integrating indigenous knowledge into sustainable upland farming, which describes these indigenous responses, “shatters any illusions that shifting cultivators are static or incapable of change” (xiv). The book focuses on the dynamism inherent in swidden agroecological systems, and particularly on adaptations in an oft-neglected stage in the swidden cycle: the fallow period. Closer examination of indigenous fallow management (IMF) techniques reveals that many localized productivity-boosting innovations might be replicable in other places. In response to a need for cross-cultural exchange of ideas, this book is primarily intended to benefit indigenous farmers, by providing “a rich menu of farmer-tested innovations that we believe need to be shared with the wider community of shifting cultivators still searching for ways to cope with rising land use pressures and market economies” (xiv).This book collates 69 articles, demonstrating the range of systems classified as shifting cultivation. With contributions by over 100 scholars, many of them local to the 22 countries in the Asia-Pacific region where the studies were conducted, and covering a diverse range of academic disciplines (ecology, agronomy, anthropology, agricultural economics, etc.), it will also be a useful resource for development planners, rural resource managers, students, researchers, and practitioners. As stated by the editor, these articles represent the first generation of scholastic investigation into IMF and particularly indigenous responses to changing social, economic, and environmental conditions, and some are therefore “unavoidably preliminary and descriptive in nature” (xiv). A sequel volume, with more analysis, will be needed in a few years. Perhaps this next volume will address some of the shortcomings of the present volume as well as some of Hum Ecol (2009) 37:129–130 DOI 10.1007/s10745-008-9210-5

The Relation of Childhood Mortality to Mobility in Contemporary Foragers

In her stimulating paper Waguespack (2002) argued that the initial migration of foraging tribes from North to South America in the Late Paleolithic could not have been impeded or slowed by a disease barrier because infections did not seem likely to have impacted their mobility. Indeed, the data Waguespack used about the mobility and the infant mortality observed in nine contemporary foraging societies appeared to show no relationship between childhood mortality and either number of residential moves per year or total distances of yearly residential moves [incorrectly labeled in Table 4 and Fig. 3 as “Distance per move”]. Waguespack concluded that “based on modern hunter-gather societies the degree of group mobility between residential camps is unlikely to be affected by disease” (p. 238). Even though Waguespack provided data on the habitat occupied by the different groups, this element was not factored in the analysis. There was a single Arctic tribe, the Greenland Inuit, which was different from the others for both its high childhood mortality and mobility. There were otherwise four tropical forest groups, two from the Philippines (Agta, Batak) and two from Central Africa (Aka and Mbuti), and four tropical/subtropical desert groups, one from Australia (Anbarra) and three from the Kalahari desert (Dobe, G/wi and ≠Kade G/wi). With one exception (childhood mortality of the Agta from Philippines), I have been able to find the source of all the data in Tables 4-1 and 6-9 (pp. 112 and 252) of Kelly (1995). Waguespack’s Fig. 3A is reproduced in Fig. 1a, with an added linear regression slope. I have reanalyzed these data. In order to control for habitat (desert vs. forest), I left the Inuit out as they were the only Arctic population. Figure 1b shows that, overall, when mixing forest and desert people, there is no association between childhood mortality and number of residential moves (slope=0.004, p=0.98). However, among tropical desert people, the association is negative (Fig. 1c, slope=−0.175, p=0.49). The same is true for forest people (Fig. 1d, slope=−0.190, p=0.76). The slope for the whole sample after adjustment for habitat is −0.177 (p=0.17, Fig. 1b). None of the slopes is statistically significant, as can be expected given the small sample size. Nevertheless, the consistency of the negative association and its magnitude among desert and forest people suggests that the lack of association between moves and childhood mortality reported by Waguespack is indeed confounded by habitat: forest people move more often than desert people, but in both groups there seems to be one less residential move for every 5% to 6% increase in mortality. The results are equivalent when using the total distance of residential moves in a year (slopes, crude=−1.44, p=0.78; adjusted=−1.78, p= 0.44), but the variable is only available for three tropical forest groups, which makes the demonstration less neat. The appropriate interpretation of these data is therefore that residential moves are inversely proportional to childhood mortality: Populations with greater childhood mortality move less, or vice versa, less mobile populations have greater childhood mortality. These findings are consistent with Bailey’s report that Efe Pygmies of North-Eastern Africa are less mobile when sick than when not (Bailey 1991). This relationship between mobility and childhood mortality does not fully support the interpretation given by Waguespack (Waguespack 2002). Hum Ecol DOI 10.1007/s10745-008-9209-y

Thomas K. Rudel: Tropical Forests: Regional Paths of Destruction and Regeneration in the Late Twentieth Century

This book contains an insightful, poignant discussion of deforestation dynamics in the tropics during the last few decades of the twentieth century. It is based mainly on a literature review of some 270 case studies of tropical land use and land cover change from the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s that sought to isolate the factors that explain the temporal and spatial patterns of forest destruction or regeneration that have unfolded. However, the book surely benefits as well from Thomas K. Rudel’s own extensive field work, primarily in the Ecuadorian Amazon. The author makes a solid case for his view, shared by others (e.g. Meyer and Turner 1992), that deforestation issues are best understood and addressed by using a regional, meso-scale approach, simply because the conditions and dynamics that affect the world’s forests feature considerable inter-regional variation. Interestingly, the utility and wisdom of such middle-scale analyses also were extolled, he points out, by an array of earlier and distinguished thinkers, such as Plato, John Stuart Mill, Bacon, and George Lewis. Rudel thus presents his findings in relation to seven tropical regions wherein conditions and influences on land use lead to “identifiable regional trajectories” of forest change (p. 13), distinct enough to warrant the classification he proposes. The regions include: Central America and the Caribbean; the Amazon Basin; West Africa; Central Africa; East Africa; South Asia; and Southeast Asia. Each one is covered, respectively, in Chaps. 3 through 9. Chapter 1 contains the introduction to the book while Chap. 2 provides a brief but illuminating overview of key definitions and concepts (e.g. afforestation vs. reforestation), existing theory on deforestation, and the main methodological and analytical approaches that have been used in studying deforestation. Here Rudel offers valid insights on the limitations of some approaches that dominate the studies presented in the literature. He notes, for example, that the variable-oriented statistical analyses, which tend to focus primarily or exclusively on either economic, political, or demographic variables, seek to generalize about the importance of particular factors but often with little or no regard for variations in circumstance and scale. As well, they commonly are weak with regard to synthesis, that is, in identifying patterns of “conjoint causation.” Hence, such analyses can be overwhelming, with the effect of provoking “a search for simplicity, usually by refocusing on actoror situation-specific analyses” (p.20). But with regard to actoror agent-based models, such as, I presume, linear programming and decision-tree modeling in relation to a “prototypical” farmer in a community, Rudel correctly asserts that although they offer certain advantages, the “simplifications required...can come at a high empirical price.” Given these limitations, the author instead chooses to explore the conditions and contexts that lead to forest cover declines or expansions and to consider where and when particular explanations of deforestation are valid. The regional situations he describes clearly reveal the multitude of factors at various scales that can come together to influence land use and land cover over time. These factors include national and international economic policies; policies on agriculture, forestry, and other natural resources; land tenure security or the lack thereof; availability and cost Hum Ecol (2008) 36:613–615 DOI 10.1007/s10745-008-9182-5

Luis A. Vivanco: Green Encounters: Shaping and Contesting Environmentalism in Rural Costa Rica

Because my first visit to the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve (MCFR) in Costa Rica took place before the ecotourist boom of the late 1980s, and because I return frequently, I like to pretend that I am not a Northern elitist bent on importing her vision of nature. I’ve had enough encounters with scorpions not to romanticize the tropics, although I continue to appreciate every sighting of a toucan or quetzal. My familiarity gives me license to lament every “improvement” to the MCFR facilities, including the everexpanding visitor center with its cheap tourist souvenirs and the cement-block tiles over trails that were once deep in foot-sucking mud. Catering to foreign ecotourists does have its comical side. One day, walking in my characteristically reverential mode along a misty trail, I paused to listen to a howler monkey whooping nearby. A minute later, the thundering primate was revealed to be a local (and very human) guide performing an impressive imitation. It was funny but sad, a vulgar encroachment on the pristine tropical cloud forest I felt privileged to have known. My introductory anecdotes would fit perfectly in Luis A. Vivanco’s critical and thought-provoking monograph, Green Encounters. Vivanco examines the paradoxical and contradictory effects of environmental activism, biodiversity conservation, and the movement to “save the rainforest” in a well-known Central American ecotourist community. He is particularly interested in how environmental movements shape people’s lives, identities and relationships in the region he calls “Monte Verde” (the two words referring to the wider zone beyond the region settled by North American expatriates over 50 years ago). In exemplifying the tensions inherent in how environmentalism has unfolded in this now-famous cloud forest, Vivanco argues that there is nothing essential about Costa Rican “nature” (in spite of the tag line for a tourist ad campaign that reads, “No artificial ingredients”). Nor is there anything inevitable about Costa Rican conservationism, he says, despite a publicity campaign that would have ecotourists think otherwise (p. 12). He argues, rather, that environmentalism and conservation are shaped by encounters between people who hold conflicting assumptions and expectations about their relationships to each other and to the environment in which they live. Vivanco might nod knowingly to see how I begin this review, because he is keenly aware of how people invoke “nature,” and their relationship to the MCFR specifically, to position themselves. To his credit, Vivanco conducted much of his ethnographic research among rural Costa Ricans rather than in the English-speaking North American segment of Monte Verde. This allowed him access to stories not often told in triumphalist media accounts of the Costa Rican cloud forest. He focuses on several frictional “encounters” over environmentalism (p. 17), paying special attention to dynamic processes of change and trying (sometimes with difficulty) to avoid making essentialist assumptions about environmentalists, rural farmers, Quakers, biologists, and others. Indeed, Vivanco’s attention to the tension generated when scientists, advocates of tourism and development, and members of rural communities encounter one another might have served as inspiration for Anna Tsing, whose recent book, Frictions, takes a similarly processual approach to analyzing the dynamic co-constitution of environmentalism and development. Green Encounters is organized into three parts, each of which examines a specific feature of environmentalism in the Monte Verde region: formal efforts to protect land Hum Ecol (2008) 36:611–612 DOI 10.1007/s10745-008-9181-6

William Balée and Clark Erickson (Editors): Time and Complexity in Historical Ecology: Studies in the Neotropical Lowlands

This book is the product of a symposium on neotropical historical ecology, hosted by the Neotropical Ecology Institute of Tulane University in the fall of 2002. Divided into two parts and 12 chapters, the book constitutes an important addition to the anthropological literature on historical ecology. The map of Latin America included in the first chapter gives an idea of the breadth and scope of William Balee and Clark Erickson’s editorship, as it accounts for fourteen archaeological sites and twenty-one case study locations—from Guatemala and Belize in the north to various locations in the Amazon basin and Andean South America. The first chapter, by the editors, thoroughly reviews concepts and key issues in the field. For the newcomer in historical ecology, it serves as an excellent introduction to the field, mapping its precursors as well as contemporary lines of research. Why and how does the environment change and what are people’s motives to beget changes constitute background questions that follow through all chapters, requiring different disciplinary lenses. Balee and Erickson maintain that historical ecology is an effective approach to bring new light to the understanding of past and present human societies in the Neotropics. The following four chapters in Part 1 address important theoretical and methodological issues in historical ecology. These include forest management in Yucatan (D. Campbell et al.), soil formation (dark earths) and transformation under continual cultivation in Belize (E. Graham), plant domestication and early horticulture in coastal Peru (C. Harstorf), and zooarchaeology and prehistoric deforestation in western Ecuador (P. Stahl). Independently from their different starting points, the authors of these chapters converge in their attempts to sift convincing evidence from various sources of pre-Columbian human environmental interventions that have led to profound and long-lasting landscape transformation(s). Part 2 includes eight chapters that encompass contributions covering various geographic and anthropological contexts, stemming from ethnographic case studies to archaeological research. This Part is nicely introduced by a short review by W. Denevan that address pre-European cultivation in Amazonia, emphasizing the importance of considering temporal changes in societal organization and technology when examining people–environment interactions. The following chapter by C. Clements’ looks at the changing role of fruit trees in subsistence in Amazonia during transition from foraging to horticulture, especially during the mid-Holocene. The author draws data from various sources, including tropical botany, archaeology, and ethnobiology, in attempting to answer why, despite high species diversity and relative abundance, fruits tended to become less central to food ecology in the Amazon. Two case studies derive from archaeological research in Bolivia. The first paper (Erickson and Balee) focuses on anthropogenic forests in the Beni River and present a model for the reconstruction of cultural landscapes of preColumbian earthworks that include mounds and canals situated in present day Siriono territory. The starting point of the second paper (Erickson) is a critique of adaptationist frameworks that permeate the literature about the human ecology of the South American lowlands. The author argues, instead, that the concept of landscape domestication is a useful alternative that holds greater potential to shed light in Hum Ecol (2008) 36:307–308 DOI 10.1007/s10745-007-9148-z

Edgar N. Anderson with A. Dzib Xihum de Chen, Felix Medina True and Pastor Valdez Chale: Political Ecology in a Yucatec Maya Community

The use of the term ‘political ecology’ in a title is often problematic because rarely does such a work actually use political ecology effectively. This is unfortunately just such a work. Edgar Anderson’s latest book is richly detailed and interesting but not a compelling story of the changing nature of livelihood among the Yucatec Maya of a community in Quintana Roo, Mexico. In reality it is more of a cultural ecology, albeit a contextualixed one, with ethnographic details that demonstrate extensive fieldwork and careful observation. But it does not fully engage and theorize the political reality in which these livelihoods are taking place. The book has a preface, eight chapters, an afterword, and several appendices. In the preface the author lays out the basic purpose of the book, how the research was done, and acknowledges whom he worked with. It also includes a helpful guide to Yucatec Maya geographic placement and a spelling and pronunciation guide to the language. Chapter 1, The Land of Not Much, describes the theoretical underpinnings of the book, which, as noted, are more cultural ecology than political ecology. The author highlights the tensions that surround research in ethnoecology—that is, do native peoples work in ‘harmony with nature’ as noble savages or do they do to land and resources whatever it takes to make a living. Anderson lands somewhere in the middle of the argument, although his tone is of a romantic (almost) pining for a lost past that was better than today. Anderson also discusses the development context, with a hint of antidevelopment sentiment, in which his study is situated. Lastly the chapter provides the reader with a solid and useful background in Maya history and prehistory. Chapter 2, Chunhuhub: The Environment, is dedicated to descriptions of the physical environment that are richly illustrated with Spanish and Maya names for landscape features. Chapter 3, Agriculture, builds on the reader’s understanding of the physical environment to painstakingly detail the agricultural repertoire found in Chunhuhub and surrounding area. This chapter is filled with the type of detail found in early cultural ecology, useful to some perhaps, but too much for a more general reader. It is clear that the Maya of this region have a very complex system of agriculture that has had to adapt to changing times for millennia, and Anderson leaves us with the message that agriculture as traditionally practiced is on the wane as interests and opportunities have changed. There are members of the population who are still very active in preserving the strategies of the past, but they are in decline. Chapter 4, Logging, is another descriptive chapter detailing a relatively new activity for the Yucatec Maya, the commercial use of their forest resources. Here we do see a hint of political ecology, an active engagement with the institutions and processes, local, regional, national, and global, that impact logging in Quintana Roo. Anderson leaves us cautiously optimistic about the future of this livelihood strategy as it could be productive in the long run but vulnerable to forces beyond the control of Chunhuhub. Chapter 5, The Lords of the Forest: Ideology and Biotic Resource Management, moves on to a description of the ideologic sphere. If Anderson had used Victor Toledo’s ethoecologic framework (Toledo, 2002), this would have Hum Ecol (2007) 35:509–510 DOI 10.1007/s10745-006-9079-0

Bray, D.B., L. Merino-Perez, and D. Barry 2005 (eds.): The Community Forests of Mexico, Managing for Sustainable Landscapes

Mexico has advanced farther than any other country when it comes to commercially-oriented community forestry. Communities have owned a large share of the country’s forests for over half a century and since 1986 they have been able to manage those forests directly. Mexico’s government has devoted large sums to help community enterprises prepare forest management plans, get independently certified, and finance investments. As a result, hundreds of communities are now able to harvest timber and other products from their forests legally, and a significant number operate their own processing facilities. Many community enterprises seem financially viable and to manage their forests well. Nonetheless, recent international debates about community natural resource management have paid surprisingly little attention to the Mexican example. It is hard to say exactly why that is, but one reason has probably been the lack of any serious studies that provide a good overview of Mexico’s community forestry enterprises. This new volume edited by David Bray, Leticia Merino, and Deborah Barry does an admirable job of filling that gap. The volume brings together research from various disciplines by 21 of the most knowledgeable academics and practitioners from Mexico and the United States. The authors provide the clearest picture to-date of how community forestry has evolved in Mexico, its present characteristics and the impact it has had on rural livelihoods and landscapes; and they compare Mexico’s experience with other countries. The material is mostly well-written and goes directly to the point without too much repetition. Chapters by Leticia Merino, and Gerardo Segura and Christopher Boyer ably track the history of Mexican forestry policy, showing how well-intentioned but misguided technocrats and powerful private interests kept communities from truly controlling their forests between 1940 and 1985. However, beginning in the 1970s procommunity reformists within government, social movements demanding community control of forests, and the broad trend towards less government intervention came together to change that. In the mid-1980s, President Miguel de la Madrid stopped giving concessions to private companies to harvest timber on community-owned lands. The two following Presidents were not particularly supportive of community forestry, but that changed during the administration of President Vicente Fox (2000–2006). Despite Fox’s conservative origins, community forestry progressed greatly during the first few years of his presidency. Several chapters highlight community forestry’s successes. Antinori presents survey data from 42 communities in Oaxaca which shows their forestry enterprises have been relatively profitable. Remote sensing data from parts of Guerrero and Quintana Roo presented by Duran, Mas, and Velazquez demonstrate that community forests have been just as effective at maintaining forest cover in those regions as protected areas. Other chapters document some of Mexico’s better known success stories, such as El Balcon in Guerrero, the forestry ejidos of Southern Quintana Roo, and the Union de Comunidades Zapoteco–Chinanteca (UZACHI) in Oaxaca. Still, the book certainly doesn’t downplay community forestry’s weaknesses or the difficulties going forward. Corrupt leaders, conflicts among villagers, poorly planned initiatives, resistance by outside vested interests, overexploitation of timber resources, and on-going clandestine harvesting all get significant attention, with several case Hum Ecol (2007) 35:511–512 DOI 10.1007/s10745-006-9073-6

Farmers’ Bounty. Locating Crop Diversity in the Contemporary World

Conventional wisdom suggests that globalization and the modernization of agriculture are equivalent to crop and agricultural homogenization, but the validity of these beliefs has not been seriously tested. Farmers’ Bounty joins the issue. It provides a timely introduction to and analysis of crop diversity, linked to agricultural and cultural diversity. The good news is that crop diversity is more resilient and persistent than generally thought; the bad news is that the future remains uncertain. Farmers’ Bounty is far-ranging in its scope. Not unexpectedly, Brush demonstrates awareness of relevant agricultural and anthropological literature in presenting thoughts on crop origins, ecology, evolution, diversity, management, rights of ownership, erosion, conservation, and the future. But what gives the book its flavor is less the unexpected than the long-term intimacy the author has shared with farmers and their crops and fields. Drawing on his experiences in three of the world’s principal regions of crop evolution and diversity (Andean Peru, Mexico, and Turkey), which are often referred to as Vavilov centers, and three dominant crops indigenous to those regions (potatoes, maize, and wheat, respectively), Brush explores and seeks to explain the essence of crop diversity and, implicitly and explicitly, much that is cultural diversity. Crop diversity inevitably links to human behaviors, culture, and technology. Hence, understanding crop diversity and its management is less a biological challenge than one of understanding humanness. This point comes through strongly in his discussion of the ethnoecology of crop diversity in Andean potato agriculture and the contrasting social and infrastructure situations found in the Paucartambo and Tulumayo valleys. Among other things, the example demonstrates that loss of crop diversity does not necessarily follow introduction of improved varieties—farmers continue to plant traditional varieties in small plots and/or integrate them in various rotations and mixes. Two questions about crop diversity are recurrent chapter themes: why there is so much crop variation, and why variation within a crop species is unevenly distributed? One must dig a bit for clues, for they appear in different places and contexts, but answers to the first question include: microclimatic and land form heterogeneity, yield, risk aversion or mitigation, resistance to insects and other pathogens, hardiness, access to markets or lack of it, culinary and storage characteristics, and whimsy or serendipity. In other words, anything that is seen to have selective value provides grist for diversity. Since selective values compete to meet different ends through time and space, diversity follows. In response to the second question, there is no single answer save selection. Different circumstances will lead to different diversity patterns. However, for many ancient crops, such as potatoes, maize, and wheat, magnified diversity persists in areas of origin and may be attributed to indigeneity of the crop and its wild relatives and coevolution with the cultures that nurtured them through millennia. Under these circumstances crop diversity and cultures are one and each depends on the other for survival. Understanding the basic causes of diversity does not necessarily answer the question, why so much? Is having thousands of potato variants more significant than having half that number or less? Can each type be accorded some unique selective advantage, or does the larger number imply rampant duplication or genetic noise? Is it really Hum Ecol (2007) 35:643–644 DOI 10.1007/s10745-006-9058-5