Humanitarianism

By Lisa Ann Richey

Book Review of Saving Endangered Species: Lessons in Wildlife Conservation from Indianapolis Prize Winners.

This book review has first been published by Conservation and Society.

According to the press website, Saving Endangered Species has wide and diverse aims: ‘to win new recruits, inspire biologists and conservationists already in the field, and illustrate the profession’s fundamental scientific tenets through wildlife champions’ own exciting narratives.’ Overall the purpose of the book is to present a moral imperative for a conservationist approach to saving nature and to do this through a collection of personal experiences from great conservationists about their love of nature and experiences from the day-to-day workings of conservation. Seven of the book’s contributors are winners of the Indianapolis Prize ‘the world’s leading award for animal conservation’ (p. 12) and one that prioritizes the inclusion of people as a ‘primary factor in the equation’ of conservation, and high levels of exposure in celebration of these ‘heroes and role models’ (p. 13). The book is stunning. It is an aesthetically beautiful edited volume from its entrancing animal photographs, skilled illustrations and colloquial snapshots of its famous contributors.

And yet, for all its beauty, this book could have been titled, ‘White People and the Animals they Love.’ I start with my fundamental critique because for some readers, this will be all they need to hear to check this book off their ‘must read’ list. These readers, however, will be hard pressed to find other works of conservation biography that aren’t also easily critiqued for their class, racial, gender, and geographical elitism.

Also, a disclaimer, I am a social scientist who works in some of the policy spaces, ‘partnership’ imaginaries of business and helping, and geographical areas covered in this book. Thus, I am among the ‘to be inspired’ of the intended audience for this book. Additionally, the introduction, written by Dr. Robert W. Shumaker (evolutionary biologist, president and CEO of the Indianapolis Zoo) calls for ‘a more integrative approach in which the centrality of humans is recognized in the conservation agenda’ (p. 6). Thus, a review by a scholar of humans might be reasonably appropriate.

In spite of the fact that the index does not include the term ‘celebrity,’ the book epitomizes what has come to be called ‘celebrity environmentalism’ (see Abidin, et.al 2020). The practice of scientists, film stars and social media influencers among others, who ‘enjoy public recognition, publicly support environmental causes, and benefits from their sustained public appearances’ as celebrity environmentalism may be a way of bringing new resources to conservation.

The celebritized approach to conservation is clear from the Introduction’s start. While the reader might expect the star of this chapter to be the American Bison, named the official mammal of the United States in 2016, and depicted as a steadfast and grandiose being in the illustration that precedes the text, it is not. The star is the celebrity conservationist William T. Hornaday who initiated the first-ever zoo-based conservation effort as a result of his initial desire to provide a live bison model for better taxidermy (p.2). Thus, the scientific model for which the book collects a series of testimonies, is linked to the efforts of Hornaday. He was the director of the Bronx Zoo in 1906 when Ota Benga, a Mbuti man from Congo, was displayed in a cage in the monkey house. Hornaday wrote to the New York city mayor that ’When the history of the Zoological Park is written, this incident will form its most amusing passage.’ Many people at that time, such as the Black clergyman Rev. James H. Gordon, were not amused. Many readers today will question the unambiguous celebration of these violent and dehumanizing roots of a movement intended to provide a moral approach to saving nature.

Distinctions are signaled between the scientific authors and the celebrity environmentalists through engraving the masthead of every other page with a ‘Dr.’ before the scientists, with other names presented title-less. Yet, these contributors are all performing the limited scripts of celebrity environmentalism: notably contributions enact specific tropes outlined by Abidin and her colleagues. We see contributions from the ‘Ambassador’ trope of high-profile performers who are patrons of NGOs and foundations, but whose personal commitment varies between superficial co-branding and long-term engagement. Quite prevalent is the ‘White Savior’ trope in which ‘wild places’ need to be saved from ‘locals’ through the actions of white people. The book also highlights the ‘Activist Intellectual’ trope promoting cerebral and scientific reasons to support conservation, that then become celebritized through a focus on funding, media and elite networking. Finally, the book’s promotional writing enacts the trope of the environmental ‘Entrepreneur’ where conservation is meant to provide a good investment for business-minded people.

The book opens with a long vignette from Harrison Ford at the 2018 Gala celebration referring to his co-contributors and others like them: ‘You can call them researchers or scientists or conservationists. But let’s call them what they really are: These are heroes. Real heroes.’ (p. 17). However, as this book shows, the heroic narrative structure makes forging alliances and political solidarity across lines of class, race, cultures and politics quite challenging. Heroes stand above others, they are exceptional. And, as such, conservation through heroism is unsatisfactory, if not oxymoronic. Conservation and the environmental politics that can sustain life on our planet call for less singularity, fewer stories of individuals excelling over other people and nature, and more connectedness, cooperation and coexistence.

The introduction tells us that ‘these are the voices of the greatest conservationists of our time’ (p. 17). I have no reason to doubt that these are their voices and that they are great conservationists, whatever criteria make up ‘greatness’. The stories are full of passion and genuine concern for conservation, so there is no doubt that these heroes are acting from noble intentions. However, the heroic hubris prevents the reflection over either why chickens when pushed off a roof don’t ‘progress well in flight’ (p. 21) or why ‘with no prior thought’ wildlife conservation should be best achieved through ‘a big cash award’ and an ‘exciting and glamourous event’ (p. 305). With some notable exceptions, this book presents the same old stories of great men who just happen to have no reproductive obligations (with the predictable exception of the female scientist), so they can go singularly or with the support of a doting wife into long-term relationships with animals. These men also have friends with lots of money and political clout, and the documentation of elite networking practices that comes through in the chapters actually works counter to a singular hero at the helm of conservation. Finally, these conservation heroes rely heavily on a competent staff of Black and Brown people who can put lofty ideals into practice, while not usurping the limelight from celebrity environmentalists.

Some of the more ‘Activist Intellectual’ celebrity environmentalists present compelling arguments in lively texts around global warming and the contentious politics of saving the polar bears. Many of them take the reader through a combination of wildlife daily habits, international fundraising, and management of research and training projects. These are narrated as a partial life-history of a single ‘hero,’ and while there are nods to ‘local supporters,’ ‘scouts’ and collaborations between ‘enthusiastic’ local staff and international volunteers, this book tells a dangerous single story. It’s time to remind ourselves and our peers that the heroic narrative of celebrity conservation may be useful for raising funds from businesses and for garnering the attention of bored bureaucrats, but it has dangerous political consequences. A close reading of the text finds examples such as four ‘community game scouts,’ the ‘local African supporters’ in Kabara, and the ‘young Samburu warrior’ who was ‘walking in the bush’ with David Quammen, a writer from National Geographic (p.80). Samburu people have proper names, no less notable than people from Cincinnati, and the young man was not working as a warrior when assisting on a conservation project. These people are being rendered mundane through the repetitive text of the white savior narrative. They are being de-humanized as they remain in the background of the African or Asian ‘habitat’ for animals. The heroic narrative is based on an ongoing history of inequality between races, classes, genders and cultures.

The afterword, written by the CEO of the Indianapolis Zoological Society (2002-2019) reads like advertising copy for ‘Western Civilization’ complete with God, Guns and Gold. It is a colonial vision of men like Paul Erlich in which the ‘dangers of unchecked human population’ are called out as problems while fossil fuel addiction, or all those flights to the Galas celebrating conservation heroes, are left unmentioned. The ‘Danger of a Single Story’ by Chimamanda Adichie taught an important lesson in 2009: ’The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete.’ This is a beautiful book in its intentions and its aesthetics; the stories are often compelling and transport us into the lives of cranes and elephants and into some of the world’s most notable conservation initiatives. Yet, despite its intentions, the people are missing from this heroic script of celebrity environmentalism.

Perhaps these people are left-out by design. Dr. George B. Schaller writes clearly: ’My account here demonstrates that conservation is not part of development’ (p. 78). But, conservation is part of development. It is impossible to define conservation otherwise (Adams 2004). Both conservation and development are part of the holistic process of living sustainably on our planet. This book is intended to celebrate ’people as a primary factor in conservation.’ We do learn a lot about a particular sub-group of privileged people, their psychology and insecurities, their dreams and aspirations, about networks of elites across the globe who happen to have farms, foundations or PhD scholarships to spare. But we learn far less about the non-celebrity people in the lives of animals. Surely a global conservation movement that manifests the holistic visions and ’the connectedness of all living things’ (p. 119) that many of these contributions also embrace, needs less heroism and single stories and more solidarity, comradery and complexity.

References

Abidin, C., Brockington, D., Goodman, M. K., Mostafanezhad, M. and Richey, L. A. (2020) “The tropes of celebrity environmentalism.” Annual Review of Environment and Resources, 45 (1): 1-24

Adichie, C. (2009) “The Danger of a Single Story” TED Talk https://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_ngozi_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story

Adams, W.M. (2004) Against Extinction. The Story of Conservation. Earthscan, London.

By Maha Rafi Atal, Lisa Ann Richey & Dan Brockington

George Clooney is sad. What might an Oscar winning multi-millionaire have to be sad about, you ask? He’s “surprised and saddened” he says, to learn that Nespresso, the coffee brand for whom he has been a public spokesman since 2006, uses child labor at its plantations in Guatemala. That is particularly embarrassing for Clooney, whose brand endorsement has included advocating for Nespresso’s sustainability policies and sitting on its sustainability board. Clooney assures the reporters who uncovered these violations that he welcomes the investigative scrutiny, and that the offending plantations will be immediately removed from the Nespresso supply chain until the problem can be solved. This is not Clooney’s first brush with global humanitarian problems, nor the first time the projects he takes on have fallen short of their professed ideals. In the mid-2000s, he became the leading celebrity face of Save Darfur, the Enough Project, and other campaigns aimed at raising awareness first about atrocities committed by the Omar al-Bashir government in Sudan’s civil war, and later about similar atrocities in other African countries. These information-gathering and dissemination ventures have raised significant funds, paired Clooney with many celebrity friends from Matt Damon to Don Cheadle, and faced sustained criticism from regional experts for simplistic solutions that brushed aside the actual politics and history of African countries.

This type of advocacy, we argue in a recent research article, is typical of Aid Celebrities, a particular type of famous humanitarian for whom difficult problems are the result of a lack of resources and expertise. Sudanese generals and Guatemalan plantation owners, this view holds, can be made to change their ways if better technology, paid for by extensive fundraising, is used to expose what is going wrong. This approach, which is equally apparent in the work of aid “experts” like Jeffrey Sachs and Muhammad Yunus, draws attention away from the political problems that are the real roots of humanitarian crisis.

Aid Celebrities, we argue, are just one of six common types of celebrity humanitarians, each with their own way of thinking about what the “problem” is and how they can be the solution. The others include:

• Global Mothers, like Angelina Jolie and Audrey Hepburn, for whom the solution is “love.” These white women embody hope by foregrounding their own beauty and their feelings and taking up causes that emphasize support for children.
• Strong Men Doing Good, like Sean Penn and Ben Affleck, for whom the solution is power, as an extensive of their own masculine identities blazing through problems with little concern for listening, stock-taking or collaboration, which are cast as feminine.
• Diplomats, like Pu Cuxin and Danny Kaye, for whom the solution is institutions. The most common, but often least radical, form of celebrity humanitarian, these figures work as representatives inside formal political institutions.
• Entrepreneurs, like Sophie Ndaba, for whom the solution is money, promoting their own business successes as justification for giving back to the community.
• Afropolitians, like Hella Joof or Teju Cole, for whom the solution is awareness. These celebrities walk a difficult tightrope raising awareness about racial injustice without drawing attention to their own “raced” status as members of oppressed minorities.

What value is there in breaking down these different celebrity types? In our research, we find that the different types of advocacy they undertake and the way they frame the “problem” and “solution” have much more to do with the audiences these celebrities hope to reach in the Global North than with the communities in the Global South who are supposed to benefit from humanitarian aid.

Celebrities, after all, are performers, and the audiences for their performances are ultimately global elites. These audiences want to see celebrity humanitarians as authentic, taking advantage of their identity as mothers or macho men or entrepreneurs, to increase their credibility with donors and fans. This is common in humanitarianism, which is rarely downwardly accountable to the people receiving support, and more normally upwardly accountable to investors and donors.

Our point is not that celebrity humanitarianism is somehow inauthentic, or that more authentic celebrity humanitarianism should be more powerful. Rather, problems arise from the lack of accountability, or the mechanisms by which accountability is diverted and distorted. Celebrities are oligarchs in the attention economy. Whether they are from the North or South, celebrity humanitarians usurp the power of voice—of who gets to call out a problem and who should solve it. They all draw attention away from the structural causes of inequalities and the outrage and obscenity of crises.

The result, we argue, is that celebrity humanitarianism, rather than “helping” communities in the Global South, tends to reproduce the same hierarchies and inequalities between the Global North and South that are themselves drivers of humanitarian harm. Celebrity humanitarianism is a way of doing ‘politics as usual’ which prioritizes rich special interests, corporate lobbyists and elite networks. It can be convenient, it can ‘work’ in its own terms. But the limited range of celebrity humanitarian tropes can offer audiences comfortable lies when what humanitarianism needs is local knowledge, inconvenient facts and diverse effective responses.

Celebrities require critical attention to how they reflect and distort social relations, lines of accountability and political priorities. From Ebola to landmines and from accountability to racism, you can learn more about celebrity humanitarianism, advocacy and development and how to teach about these topics in the classroom using the resources on this website.

An interview by AidEx with Dr. Lisa Ann Richey who has examined the relationships between global values and local practices of humanitarianism extensively, all about the commodification of compassion and how we should be engaging in causes if we want to make a real difference.

How do you suggest companies could support good causes and meaningful change without exploiting good consumer intentions for their own corporate interests?

Ethical business is a good cause. Companies could take seriously compliance with international standards for labour, the environment, sustainability and non-discrimination, for example. And then they could communicate these practices transparently to consumers. Engaging in their core businesses ethically would attract consumers. States and civil society organisations like cause NGOS and consumer groups could work to raise awareness of around core issues and build up expectations of ethical practice. Imagine a world where companies are trying to outperform each other ethically as a way of distinguishing their brand through adopting the highest standards and implementing them in their core business practices. There is also the rather fundamental issue of paying their fair share of taxes.

Do you think corporations should even be in the business of charitable campaigning at all?

Sure. Corporations could offer paid time-off for their employees to work pro-bono for the charities of their choice—without reporting these to the company or using them for promotional campaigns. Imagine how well-resourced small NGOs might become with the marketers from Coca-Cola working directly for them to achieve the NGO’s own goals.

What measures do you think could prevent ‘brand aid’ and the ‘commodification of compassion’?

I don’t really see these are ‘preventable ills’ but more as a conflation of societal values and shifts in who we hold responsible for helping Others. If foreign aid were considered a worthwhile investment for global development and peace and an ethical obligation for countries whose economies were built through the exploitation of others, then there would be no need for brand aid. Businesses would be responsible for making profit for shareholders, celebrities for entertainment and causes would be supported by engaged civil society organisations and individuals. But our current global disconnections between individuals, civil society, states and global organisations leaves many people and causes without any safety net—whether they are combatting poverty, illness or natural disaster.

How effective are celebrity advocates in helping good causes? Or are they merely pushing corporate agendas?

In a forthcoming article I wrote with Dan Brockington, we identified a mere 6 tropes of celebrity humanitarianism that covers the spectrum of what celebrity do-gooding in the international realm looks like—aid celebrities, global mothers, strong men doing good, diplomats, entrepreneurs and Afropolitans, In all these tropes, celebrity humanitarianism offers a politics that is based on authenticity not accountability. Celebrity humanitarianism exemplifies an underlying tension as it relies on the popularisation of a crisis to enlist more ‘caring,’ yet more caring may not result in better practical care.

We conclude that: ‘In a humanitarian context dominated by technicians who stop suffering in the most efficient way possible, celebrity humanitarians manifest the affective desire for humanitarianism to work. Celebrity humanitarians act as emotional sovereigns by performing solutions— technology, love, power, institutions, money and awareness— for solving what might otherwise be considered (and may in fact remain) intractable global political problems.’

Celebrity humanitarianism is a way of doing humanitarian politics as usual. Celebrity humanitarianism privileges special interests and corporate lobbyists in ways that characterize Colin Crouch’s description of post-democracy.

How should consumers respond to products attached to good causes – “just say no”? Surely if we want to buy these company’s products anyway, then the percentage of money donated to a good cause is just a harmless bonus? What should they do instead and how can consumers become more aware of cost-benefits?

Each and every consumption choice should give the most pleasure—a typical utilitarian approach—the greatest good to the greatest number. Consumers should consider each and every purchase within the context of a crisis of global over-consumption for the carry-capacity of our planet. Fine if you are going to buy an iphone anyway that you buy the Product RED iphone that gives a small percentage of the profits to support The Global Fund. But do not get sucked into the marketing that this choice makes you a hero, that you are saving Africans or that your purchase is actually ethical activism. It is a luxury consumption purchase that is being marketed to you in a way that threatens to distract you from thinking about other important factors like do I really need a new iphone now? What are the labor conditions at FoxConn in China where they are assembled? And if you don’t want to be bothered by all this ethical detail work then support political agendas and policies that would guarantee that your products are sufficiently ethical just like they now guarantee that products sold as food won’t make you sick.

Is there not an argument to say a win-for-all approach is the most sustainable? i.e. consumers donate to good causes, companies make a profit and charities in turn raise money for the people in need? Or are corporates the only real winners?

There are costs and benefits to all participants in the commodification of compassion. The consumers could donate to good causes without the corporate curation. (I am certain that I know best where to put my charity contributions—better than Walmart or Whole Foods). Charities are now forced to compete for corporate attention in a veritable beauty pageant where they must have the most photogenic beneficiaries, span local and global causes and produce impact reports at the professional level of a Harvard economist but graphics done by Pixar.

Outside of perhaps raising awareness, is CSR a failure for good causes?

No, CSR, done properly could be good for good causes, good companies and good citizens. As a superficial smokescreen for exploitation, it is useless for everyone except for the profiting corporate elites.

If so, why don’t charities know better or care more? Are they aware or naïve for the sake of achieving fundraising goals?

Charities are caught between Scylla and Charybdis—they are expected to take on roles of professional humanitarian actors, states and business support while at the same time they receive less core-funding than ever before. So I think they are engaging celebrities and other businesses to raise the funding they need to work for their cause.

Who is responsible for the lack of supply chain transparency when it comes to delivering of good intended campaigns? Governments?

I live in a social welfare state. Yes, I think that governments, democratically elected and accountable, are tasked with the responsibility of insuring the protection of its citizens whether they are producers, consumers or charity beneficiaries—or all of the above.

Is philanthropy bad?

Bad for what? It is good for lots of things, particularly for philanthropists. It is bad for promoting collective action in response to global and local problems. White saviour narratives do not correspond with a reality of systematic oppression of people on the basis of intersections between race, class and gender.

Dr. Lisa Ann Richey is a Professor in the Department of Management, Society and Communication at the Copenhagen Business School. You can read more about her research into Commodifying Compassion here

Click here to get to the original interview published by AidEx.