Methods
Part 1 of this book explores various methodological approaches to the problem of the “Anthropocene” and, in so doing, challenges any simplified notion of what Anthropocene scholarship might look like. The concern here is first and foremost the implications of global anthropogenic environmental change, but it is also the ways that scholars, policy makers, NGOs, and communities might work together to respond to these challenges.
In different ways, the authors implicitly engage with methodological problems associated with scale. They are interested in how to take the abstract concept of the Anthropocene—the idea that it is an anthropogenic, historical, global phe-nomenon that has permanently altered the earth’s systems (water cycles, climate, etc.) and has left a defined geological mark across the entire planet—and adapt it to regional and local conditions. They recognize the fact that scientific agen-das, frameworks of governance, and even individuals’ imaginations rarely operate at the global scale. Except for global modeling and high-level governance, such as the Paris Accords, most people’s engagement with and understanding of the environment is much more localized. Even the Paris Agreement (United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change), which was framed according to global principles, emerged out of localized interests and will be implemented dif-ferently throughout the world.
This disconnect between the abstraction of the Anthropocene and its lived realities is a challenge to researchers. For example, those working at the interface between science and governance recognize that biophysical systems rarely align with geopolitical boundaries. This is especially the case with rivers, which often flow across numerous geopolitical divides. Take the Colorado River. Reflecting on a visit to its delta in 1922, Aldo Leopold wrote of a vibrant ecosystem:
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The still waters were of a deep emerald hue, colored by algae, I suppose, but no less green for all that. A verdant wall of mesquite and willow separated the channel from the thorny desert beyond. At each bend we saw egrets standing in the pools ahead, each white statue matched by its white reflection. Fleets of cormorants drove their black prows in quest of skittering mullets; avocets, wallets, and yellow-legs dozed one-legged on the bars; mallards, widgeons, and teal strand skyward in alarm. As the birds tool the air, they accumulated in a small cloud ahead, there to settle, or to break back to our rear. When a troop of egrets settled on a far green willow, they looked like a premature snowstorm. (Leopold 1968, 142)
That same year, individuals from states that intersected with the river signed the Colorado River Compact, a plan that set in process the decades-long siphoning of water from the river. The following years saw the construction of Lake Powell and Lake Mead. By the 1970s, coupled with the increased consumption of water upstream, the Colorado delta had shrunk until water no longer flowed to the sea, destroying a once healthy ecosystem and undermining the livelihoods of those who relied on its flow, including the Cucapá, who used the river for agriculture and fishing. A map of the Colorado River Basin published by the U.S. Department of the Interior, Bureau of Reclamation, in 2012 provides a metaphor for the challenges of working with transboundary river systems. In its summary map,
“Colorado River Basin Water Supply and Demand,” the basin itself stops at the U.S. border with Mexico (U.S. Department of the Interior, Bureau of Reclamation 2012). In effect, there is a historical mismatch between the geographical scales of river systems and the geopolitical scales of states.
Even when they do not cross international boundaries—even at the local level—sociopolitical frameworks shape how we respond to rivers. River gover-nance is often a hodgepodge of overlapping public agencies, nonprofits, and private interests. One small stretch of a river in the eastern United States might be governed by federal agencies, such as the Army Corps of Engineers, the Environmental Protection Agency, or the United States Geological Survey; state departments of environmental management and natural resources; municipal authorities; local utilities; and citizens’ groups. Conceptualizing the global nature of the Anthropocene in the context of regional or local affairs reveals the difficulty of scaling the concept. What does the Anthropocene mean to a local council or municipal government? How might it transform the decision-making process? In a democratic society, what are the implications for a disconnect between local con-ditions and global challenges in the minds of voters?
In chapter 2, Large, Gilvear, and Starkey ponder the problem of shifting base-lines. Across large distances and swaths of time, capturing micro-level data to establish both site-specific and systemwide change is difficult. Their solution is to merge the framework of ecosystems services with open data and citizen sci-ence as a new method for capturing information. In chapter 3, Marx turns to issues of scale and power. In her words, humankind is “not a single global agent.”
Methods 21 Both the causes and the consequences of environmental change are experienced unevenly. Looking at the Koga water projects in Ethiopia, she shows that even narratives about how to respond to environmental change operate differently at different scales. Drummond continues the theme of narrative by focusing on the story of the Anthropocene itself. She argues that all narratives—especially his-torical ones—embed ethical constructions. Her essay emphasizes the power of exploring these stories. In chapter 4, Lubinski and Thoms explore the relationship between scholars and society. Whereas Large, Galvear, and Starkey consider how to develop a methodology that involves citizens in the research endeavor, Lubinski and Thomas ask how scholars can keep issues relevant to the public and high on the priority list of policy makers. Their answer is that a key element of scholarly methodology is public engagement.
In sum, these chapters suggest that the Anthropocene—as both an intellec-tual concept and a lived experience—might encourage scholars to rethink the practices and assumptions built into their research practices and institutions. The geophysical-sociocultural shifts of the Anthropocene, new baselines and accelerated change, may require new modes of scholarship better suited to these new contexts.
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