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Laurel Sefton MacDowell

An Environmental History of Canada

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Contents

Acknowledgments / 1x

Introduction / 1

Part 1: Aboriginal Peoples and Settlers

1 Encountering a New Land / 11

2 Settling the Land and Transforming the “Wilderness” / 40

Part 2: Industrialism, Reform, and Infrastructure

3 Early Cities and Urban Reform / 75

4 The Conservation Movement / 96

5 Mining Resources / 120

6 Cars, Consumerism, and Suburbs / 140

Part 3: Harnessing Nature, Harming Nature

7 Changing Energy Regimes / 163

8 Water / 188

9 The Contested World of Food and Agriculture / 215

Part 4: The Environmental Era

10 The Environmental Movement and Public Policy / 243

11 Parks and Wildlife / 268

12 Coastal Fisheries / 286

13 The North and Climate Change / 305

Conclusion / 326

Index / 331 Sample Material © 2012 UBC Press

Sample Material © 2012 UBC Press

Acknowledgments

This book began in the early 1990s, when I started to rethink Canadian history from an environmental perspective. I developed an undergraduate course in Canadian environ- mental history and a graduate course in North American environmental history, and I organized a conference on the new field of environmental history. I then began to write this book.

Many people have influenced and as sisted me. A special thanks to Elizabeth Jewett for help with the photos. Ben Bradley, Colin Coates, Harriet Friedmann, Richard Hoffman, George Warecki, Alexander Murray, and the Toronto Environmental History group read and commented on earlier versions of several chapters. Thanks to Richard White for his advice about the photos and maps. Thanks to my daughter,

Jen MacDowell, who searched for and cop- ied many articles, saving me a lot of time.

I particularly want to thank Randy Schmidt, senior editor at UBC Press, for his patience and support through a lengthy review and revision process. More recently, I worked with copy editor Lesley Erickson, production editor Holly Keller, and cartog- rapher Eric Lein berger to bring the book to press. It has been a large task, but I appreci- ate their excellent work.

I am dedicating this book to Carl Berger – my friend, teacher, colleague, and husband. Carl studied the natural world long before there was a field of environmental history. Together, we have bird-watched, gardened, and walked in forests, fields, and deserts. These experiences have influenced me and inform this history.

Sample Material © 2012 UBC Press

Sample Material © 2012 UBC Press

An Environmental History of Canada

Sample Material © 2012 UBC Press

Sample Material © 2012 UBC Press

Introduction

history of global environmental degradation and the impact of capitalism and imperial- ism on world ecologies.” In North America, influenced in large part by the modern en- vironmental movement, historians began to examine the past to determine how and why the current state of environmental despolia- tion had occurred. To answer these ques- tions, they had to rethink US and Canadian history.

Environmental history began as an off- shoot of intellectual history and is associ- ated with the publication of Samuel Hays’ Con serv ation and the Gospel of Efficiency (1959) and Roderick Nash’s Wilderness and the Amer ican Mind (1967). Historians of the American West such as Walter Prescott Webb and James Malin recognized the physical environment’s effects on society. Donald Worster’s Nature’s Economy (1994), an intel- lectual history of thinkers’ ideas about nature and ecology, led to his work on the effect of human action on the environment in Dust Bowl (2004), a book about the American West in the 1930s. In Rivers of Empire (1992), Worster traced the manipulation of rivers to

North Americans have not yet learned the difference between yield and loot. – carl sauer, geographer, “theme of plant and animal

destruction in economic history,” 1938

What is environmental history? More specifically, what is Canadian environmental history? History, in general, is the study of the human past on the planet. But there are many branches of historical inquiry. Pol itical historians analyze policies and the actions of leaders; economic historians examine economic phenomena and institutions and how they have affected history; and so- cial historians use categories such as class, gender, race, and ethnicity to understand the lives of different groups of people. For environmental historians, nature is an agent in human development and social change. These historians focus on the interdependent relationship between people and the natural world, human beings and their environment, and human society and the planet.

Environmental history is a relatively new field that emerged in the 1970s and took on steam in the 1980s; by 2000 historians such as John McNeill were calling attention to the enormous pressure that humans were placing on the planet. Historian Richard Grove (2007, 76) observes that scholars were “increasingly concerned to look back at the Sample Material © 2012 UBC Press

irrigate western lands, pro duce wealth, and lay the basis of modern western American society. Historians interested in the roots of modern environmentalism, such as Robert Gottlieb and Adam Rome, examined early “pollution fighters” in the 1960s, the evolv- ing envi ronmental movement, and issues of environmental justice that related the variables of class, gender, and ethnicity to environmental history. Historian Carolyn Merchant, biographer Linda Lear, and others wrote women into environmental history. Shepard Krech III and Richard White ex- amined indigenous people’s attitudes to nature in contrast to those of Europeans.

By the 1980s, environmental history was a vibrant interdisciplinary field. Historians in Canada and the United States experimented by borrowing theories and methods from anthropology, archaeology, historical geog- raphy, Aboriginal studies, and various scien- tific fields. Some drew on science methods to “read” ecological footprints on the land – such as scorch marks in rocks, tree rings, or bones from excavation sites – to reinterpret the past. Others examined how perceptions of the wilderness or the environment had helped to shape, or construct, nature and the landscape. Still others studied the influence of war and government policy on the environment.

The fruit of these lines of inquiry proved original and provocative. For example, William Cronon’s classic study, Changes in the Land (1983), about colonial New England, recounted how settlers’ use of the land had differed from that of indigenous peoples, whom settlers marginalized as they transformed the environment. Ecological Imperialism (1986), Alfred Crosby’s work

on the Columbian exchange – the massive exchange of ideas, diseases, agricultural goods, and slave labour between the eastern and western hemispheres after 1492 – looked at the theme of indigenous-newcomer con- tact not from the perspective of imperialism or colonialism but through a lens focused on the environmental consequences of these exchanges. Stephen J. Pyne, in Fire in America: A Cultural History of Wildland and Rural Fire (1982), analyzed the relationship between culture and nature through the use of fire, whereas Thomas Dunlap, in Nature and the English Diaspora (1999), examined English settlers’ ideas about nature and later conceptions of conservation and ecology. Other environmental historians explored the relationship between the economy and the environment and the economy’s effect on environmental policy and politics. Finally, Martin Melosi and others insisted that environmental history should include the urban environment, and they broadened both environmental history and urban his- tory by examining consumer culture and urban waste and the changing infrastructure of cities and their spatial effect on local communities.

Canadian environmental history was perhaps sparked by Ramsay Cook’s comment in 1990 that early Canadian historians such as W.L. Morton and Arthur Lower had been sensitive to the environment but had not studied it explicitly as a theme (Cook 1990). Harold Innis, a political economist and pioneer in communications studies, for example, had developed the staples thesis to explain the history of Canadian resource development and exploitation, but he did not explore the effect of this development

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on the environment. Donald Creighton’s Laurentian hypothesis (that Canadian eco- nomic and national development derived from the gradual exploitation of key staples such as fur, timber, and wheat) and J.M.S. Careless’s metropolitan-hinterland thesis (that large urban communities dominate surrounding territory through economic means) likewise overlooked the effects of historical change on the Canadian land scape. Carl Berger’s intellectual history Science, God and Nature in Victorian Canada; Suzanne Zeller’s Land of Promise, Promised Land: The Culture of Victorian Science in Canada, which links landscape to science and tech- nology; and William Waiser’s biography of botanist John Macoun, The Field Naturalist, are examples of studies that explore the theme of nature but are not en vironmental histories. Likewise, Canadian historical geographers, influenced by R. Cole Harris, Conrad Heidenreich, and others, concen- trated on tracing Canada’s geographical evolution over time, as exemplified by the three-volume Historical Atlas of Canada. Environmental historian Graeme Wynn suggests that the discipline’s prominence perhaps delayed the inception of environ- mental history in Canada by drawing pro- spective scholars away from history.

In the 1990s, however, US envirometal history began to influence Canadian histor- ians. Several conferences held in Canada showcased existing work by US and Can- adian environmental historians and explored new directions for research. At McGill University in Montreal, the Arpents Environ- mental History Group started a network for environmental historians in 2003. The following year, the American Society for

Environmental History held its first meeting in Canada, in Victoria, British Columbia. These early developments led to financial support from universities and the first appointments in environmental history. The Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council, for instance, began to fund the Network in Canadian History and the Environment (NICHE). This explosion of interest in Canadian environmental history was reflected in scholarly journals. BC Studies published an entire issue on the environment in 2004, and in 2007 the American journal Environmental History devoted an issue to Canada.

Environmental historians from around the world met in Denmark in 2009 for the First Global Environmental History Conference. Throughout the decade, ecology – the branch of biology that deals with how organisms relate to one another and to their environments – emerged as a lens through which environmental historians could rethink the past. They began to use it as a metaphor and as a model to distinguish their approach from historical geography.

Canadian environmental historians quick- ly differentiated themselves from their US counterparts. Whereas American environ- mental history has been shaped by the work of Cronon, Webb, and Malin on the western frontier and by historical studies on con- servation, Canadian environmental history has been influenced by Innis’s staple thesis, Creighton’s Laurentian hypothesis, and Careless’s metropolitan-hinterland thesis. Armed with a different national history and historiographical tradition, Canadian environmental historians reassessed these early theories of and approaches to the past,

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offered new explanatory frameworks, and focused on Canada’s history as a northern nation.

The growing complexity of environmental issues at the end of the twentieth century, including environmental health and climate change, has opened historians’ eyes to new subjects and issues, and North American historians took note when European histor- ians urged them to apply more social theory to environmental history. These concerns are reflected in a range of new studies and approaches: from revisionist narratives of Canadian resources development that take into account environmental policy, to studies of the importance of provincial and national parks, to the ideas and backgrounds of lead- ers in environmental campaigns. The increas- ing prominence of global environmental issues suggests that Canadian environmental history will only become more important as the twenty-first century progresses.

In a rapidly globalizing world, environ- mental historians are also examining develop- ments within a comparative or transnational perspective. This research suggests that environmental history may work best on a regional or global scale rather than on a national one. In their introduction to Ecology and Empire: Environmental History of Settler Societies, Tom Griffiths and Libby Robin argue (1997, 12) that national histories are limited in that they “need continually to fragment or enlarge the national perspec- tive and to scrutinize and reflect upon the intersections of nature and nation.” This book acknowledges this limitation but also recognizes that all Canadians, from students to concerned citizens, need an environ- mental history of the northern half of North

America. It is true that Canadians are “the other North Americans.” But even though Canada’s economic and cultural history has become more intertwined with that of the United States, particularly in the second half of the twentieth century, Canada has a differ- ent climate, distinctive geographical features such as the Canadian Shield, its own history, a parliamentary system of government and politics, and unique elements such as Crown lands that have affected the exploitation of resources. More importantly, Canada is an immense country that has natural resources such as forests, fish, and water and diverse ecosystems that are increasingly essential to the world.

This book explores how Canada’s land- scape changed over thousands of years. When glaciers retreated, ending the Ice Age, they left behind a geography that influenced Canada and its history profoundly. This text re-examines well-known subjects in Canadian history – Aboriginal peoples and their first contacts with Europeans, the fur trade, settling the land, the creation of a transportation infrastructure, and the growth of cities – in ways that emphasize the interaction between people and their environment. Today, sustainable develop ment is a buzzword for policy makers, but it did not play a large part in Canadian history. Although Aboriginal people lived lives linked intimately to the environment – to plants, animals, and landscapes – they were relegat- ed to reserves after the arrival of European settlers, who sought to conquer the land, not only for survival but also for profit. In the nineteenth century, voters supported polit- icians and businesses intent on making the nation prosperous and powerful through the

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development of agriculture, industry, and resources. Sustained economic growth, not sustainable development, has been the driv- ing force in Canadian history. The growth of consumerism in the late twentieth century has only further desensitized Canadians to the natural world, even though we continue to depend upon it for our survival.

Sustained economic growth has been a driving force in history, yet in the past, as in the present, some people questioned whether Canada’s bountiful environment was as inexhaustible as the development ethos suggested. In the late nineteenth cen- tury, Canadian intellectuals, scientists, natur- alists, and civil servants were in the vanguard of the conservation movement. Their belief that exploitation must be balanced by conservation led Canada to adopt early legislation to regulate hunters and resource extractors and to preserve forests, watersheds, and wildlife. Policy makers, however, were motivated as much by commercial gain as they were by a concern for the environment. National parks not only protected nature, they also became sites for multiple activities, including logging, tourism, and recreation, by the late twentieth century.

The 1960s and early 1970s witnessed renewed protests against environmental degradation. In 1962, for instance, Rachel Carson, an American writer, published Silent Spring to raise an alarm about the effects of DDT and other chemical pollutants. She found a massive audience of readers in both the United States and Canada. A decade later, a small group of activists set sail from Vancouver, British Columbia, aboard the Phyllis Cormack to draw attention to US underground nuclear testing off the coast

of Alaska. These activists, the founders of Greenpeace, helped to foster “a new environ- mental way of thinking,” one that favours human stewardship rather than domination of nature (McNeill 2000, 337). Annual cele- brations such as Earth Day and growing awareness of climate change have trans- formed environmentalism into a mainstream movement. The perplexing issue of how to repair damage to what we now recognize is a fragile planet and forestall a turbulent and threatening future is a growing concern.

Debates about the Kyoto Accord and climate change suggest, however, that the Canadian government’s response to modern environmental issues and the enforcement of regulations continue to be lax. Part of the problem is our very disconnection from nature and our over-reliance on and confi- dence in technology as a solution to prob- lems. As this book shows, hubris is a recurring theme in Canadian history. The collapse of the Newfoundland cod fishery in 1992 is only the most recent example. Quick fixes designed to sustain economic growth rather than preserve nature are no solution. But prosperity, enjoyed far from the crushing poverty of developing countries, makes it difficult for Canadians to appreciate the urgent need to create a sustainable society. The message of conservation articulated early in the twentieth century remains unfulfilled.

Learning new ways to live that leave a lighter human imprint on the environment, developing new energy sources, and reusing resources rather than wasting them are chal- lenges that Canadians and people around the world must meet in the twenty-first century. Because the commercial drive remains

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strong, living sustainably will require re- education. This environmental history of Canada brings to light the grave conse- quences of the development ethos as it

played out throughout Canadian history, not to condemn, but so we can begin to develop strategies to create a liveable, sustainable environment in the future.

Works Cited Cook, Ramsay. 1990. “‘Cabbages Not Kings’: Towards an Eco-

logical Interpretation of Early Canadian History.” Journal of Canadian Studies 25, 4: 5-16.

Griffiths, Tom, and Libby Robin, eds. 1997. Ecology and Empire: Environmental History of Settler Societies. Edin burgh: Keele University Press.

Grove, Richard. 2007. “The Great El Nino of 1789-93 and Its Global Consequences.” Medieval History Journal 10, 1 and 2: 75-98.

McNeill, John R. 2000. Something New under the Sun: An Environmental History of the Twentieth-Century World. New York: W.W. Norton.

Sauer, Carl O. 1938. “Theme of Plant and Animal Destruction in Economic History.” In Land and Life, edited by John Leighly, 145-54. Berkeley: University of California Press.

For Further Reading Dunlap, Thomas. 1999. Nature and the English Diaspora:

Environ ment and History in the United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. New York: Cambridge University Press.

Hays, Samuel. 1959. Conservation and the Gospel of Efficiency: The Progressive Conservation Movement, 1890-1920. Cam bridge: Harvard University Press.

Malin, James. 1956. The Grasslands of North America: Prolegomena to Its History. Lawrence, KS: J.C. Malin.

Nash, Roderick. 1967. Wilderness and the American Mind. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

Webb, Walter Prescott. 1931. The Great Plains. Waltham, MA: Ginn and Company.

Canadian Environmental History Campbell, Claire Elizabeth. 2005. Shaped by the West Wind:

Nature and History in Georgian Bay. Vancouver: UBC Press.

Colpitts, George. 2002. Game in the Garden: A Human History of Wildlife in Western Canada. Vancouver: UBC Press.

Evenden, Matthew D. 2004. Fish versus Power: An Environ- mental History of the Fraser River. New York: Cambridge University Press.

Forkey, Neil S. 2003. Shaping the Upper Canadian Frontier: Environment, Society and Culture in the Trent Valley. Calgary: University of Calgary Press.

Hodgins, Bruce W., Jamie Benidickson, and Peter Gillis. 1982. “Ontario and Quebec Experiments in Forest Reserves, 1883- 1930.” Journal of Forest History 26, 1: 20-33.

Killan, Gerald. 1993. Protected Places: A History of Ontario’s Provincial Parks System. Toronto: Dundurn Press.

Loo, Tina. 2006. States of Nature: Conserving Canada’s Wilder- ness in the Twentieth Century. Vancouver: UBC Press.

MacEachern, Alan. 2001. Natural Selections: National Parks in Atlantic Canada, 1935-1970. Montreal and Kingston: McGill- Queen’s University Press, 2001.

Morse, Kathryn. 2003. The Nature of Gold: An Environmental History of the Klondike Gold Rush. Seattle: University of Washington Press.

Nelles, H.V. 1974. The Politics of Development: Forests, Mines and Hydro-Electric Power in Ontario, 1849-1941. Toronto: Macmillan of Canada.

Piper, Liza, and John Sandlos. 2007. “A Broken Frontier: Ecological Imperialism in the Canadian North.” Environ- mental History 12, 4: 759-95.

Sandwell, R.W. 2009. “History as Experiment: Micro history and Environmental History.” In Method and Meaning in Canadian Environmental History, edited by Alan MacEachern and William J. Turkel, 124-38. Toronto: Nelson Education.

Stelter, Gilbert A., and Allan F.J. Artibise, eds. 1984. The Can- adian City: Essays in Urban and Social History. Ottawa: Carleton University Press.

Stuart, Richard. 1994. “‘History Is Concerned with More Than Ecology, But It Is Concerned with Ecology Too’: Environmental History in Parks Canada.” Paper presented at the Canadian Historical Association annual meeting, Win nipeg, Manitoba, June.

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Warecki, George. 2000. Protecting Ontario’s Wilderness: A History of Changing Ideas and Preservation Politics, 1927-1973. New York: Peter Lang.

Wynn, Graeme. 2004. ‘“Shall We Linger Along Ambition less?’ Environmental Perspectives on British Columbia.” BC Studies 142-43: 5-67.

–. 2007. Canada and Arctic North America: An Environmental History. Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO.

International and Transnational Perspectives Evans, Sterling. 2006. Borderlands of the American and Can-

adian Wests: Essays on the Regional History of the 49th Parallel. Calgary: University of Calgary Press.

Griffiths, Tom, and Libby Robin, eds. 1997. Ecology and Empire: Environmental History of Settler Societies. Edin burgh: Keele University Press.

Grove, Richard. 2007. “The Great El Nino of 1789-93 and Its Global Consequences.” Medieval History Journal 10, 1 and 2: 75-98.

McNeill, John R. 2000. Something New under the Sun: An Environmental History of the Twentieth-Century World. New York: W.W. Norton.

Sorlin, Sverker, and Paul Warde. 2007. “The Problem of Envi- ronmental History: A Rereading of the Field.” Environ- mental History 12, 1: 107-30.

Weart, Spencer R. 2008. The Discovery of Global Warming. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

White, Richard. 1999. “The Nationalization of Nature.” Journal of American History 86, 3: 976-86.

US Environmental History Cronon, William. 1983. Changes in the Land: Indians, Col onists

and the Ecology of New England. New York: Hill and Wang. Crosby, Alfred. 1986. Ecological Imperialism: The Biological

Expansion of Europe, 900-1900. New York: Cambridge University Press.

–. 2003. The Columbian Exchange: Biological and Cultural Consequences of 1492. Santa Barbara: Praeger.

Gottlieb, Robert. 2005. Forcing the Spring: The Transformation of the American Environmental Movement. New York: Island Press.

Hurley, A., ed. 1997. Common Fields: An Environmental History of St. Louis. St. Louis: Missouri Historical Society.

Krech, Shepard, III. 1999. The Ecological Indian: Myth and History. New York: W.W. Norton.

Lear, Linda. 1997. Rachel Carson: Witness for Nature. New York: Henry Holt and Company.

Melosi, Martin. 2001. Effluent America: Cities, Industry, Energy, and the Environment. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press.

Merchant, Carolyn. 1990. The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology and the Scientific Revolution. San Francisco: Harper.

Opie, John. 1998. Nature’s Nation: An Environmental History of the United States. New York: Harcourt Brace College Publishers.

Pyne, Stephen J. 1982. Fire in America: A Cultural History of Wildland and Rural Fire. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Rome, Adam. 2003. “‘Give Earth a Chance’: The Environ- mental Movement and the Sixties.” Journal of American History 90, 2: 525-54.

White, Richard. 1985. “American Environmental History: The Development of a New Historical Field.” Pacific Historical Review 54, 3: 297-335.

Worster, Donald. 1992. Rivers of Empire: Water, Aridity and the Growth of the American West. New York: Oxford University Press.

–. 1994. Nature’s Economy: A History of Ecological Ideas. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

–. 2004. Dust Bowl: The Southern Plains in the 1930s. New York: Oxford University Press.

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part 1 Aboriginal Peoples and Settlers

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The land we now know as Canada evolved over millions of years, and humans have inhabited it for only a fraction of that time. During ice ages, vast sheets of ice and snow covered much of the northern hemisphere. A unique combination of natural forces came together to create land bridges that drew humans to the continent. Climate change influenced the movement and social development of peoples throughout North and South America. Aboriginal peoples, in turn, developed patterns of subsistence living that were finely adapted to local en- vironments and natural resources such as buffalo, elk, deer, and fish. A thousand years ago, European explorers began to encounter the so-called New World for the first time. Over the next eight hundred years, news of the region’s riches spread slowly through- out Europe. Speculators, in the form of fishermen, explorers, and fur traders, soon followed. This chapter explores how these long-term developments transformed the

environment and the way in which people – both Aboriginal and European – perceived it.

The Land before People

In the not-so-distant past, North America was a different place than it is today. But then, as now, a combination of geography, ecology, geology, climate change, and acci- dent shaped the continent’s turbulent history. During the Mesozoic era (245-65 million years ago), the environment evolved in the absence of humans, and dinosaurs roamed a land that we would not recognize today. The Rocky Mountains did not yet exist, a huge seaway divided the continent in half, and the climate was warm and lush. Small shrubs grew where today we find towering pines, and magnolia, Asian gingko, and palm trees dotted Alberta’s Badlands.

The Mesozoic era came to an end around 65 million years ago when an asteroid hit what is today known as the Yucatan Penin sula.

1 Encountering a New Land

Fossil records suggest that in the past 500 million years, there have been five waves of extinction when large numbers of species died out ... most recently, when the dinosaurs disappeared, 65 million years ago. Preeminent scientists believe that humans are currently causing the sixth great extinction in the history of life on Earth.

– david r. boyd, environmental lawyer, unnatural law, 2003

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Hot rock shot into the atmosphere and start- ed huge fires. The resulting smokescreen destroyed about 80 percent of all species in North America. Most of what remained was rock and clay, but tiny fern spores – “the species that won back the continent” – survived inside rocks (Flannery 2001) as did herbs and palms located in remote, sheltered areas that acted as refuges for them. The Arctic Circle, located far from the blast, was one protective region. There was no ice at the pole, and flora – conifers, small flowering plants, and deciduous trees – began to move slowly southward in a gradual greening process.

Those animal species that survived extinction included reptiles such as lizards and snakes that burrowed in the land and amphibians such as frogs and toads that could survive for a time on dead matter in aquatic ecosystems. The water itself protect- ed these creatures from the asteroid’s intense heat. But it was mammals that shaped the post-asteroid order. Follow ing the extinction of their most dangerous predators, the dino- saurs, the mammals that survived grew larger and more varied, and each new species filled a vacuum in the new ecosystem.

Over millions of years, climate change and continental drift – the gradual movement, formation, or re-formation of the continents relative to one another described by the theory of plate tectonics – influenced the

distribution of flora and fauna, resources such as fossil fuels and minerals, and the movement of animals. Sixty million years ago, the movement of the earth’s crust also joined the two North American continental halves together. Continental drift caused North America to join with Greenland and Asia at various times. New animal species such as huge flightless birds and amphibians arrived from both the east and the west. The mammals included primitive creatures that resembled hippos, elephants, lions, and horses. Fourteen million years after the dino- saurs disappeared, the continent was once again repopulated, this time with giant mammals that evolved quickly as they hunt- ed in tropical forests. When temperatures cooled, biodiversity decreased and species immigration slowed, despite the presence of land bridges. Cooling caused rainforests to give way to deciduous trees, and drier weath- er promoted the development of grasslands in open spaces. Most large mammal species disappeared or migrated to South America, which joined North America about 30 million years ago.

During the Pleistocene epoch (2.9 mil lion to 12,000 years ago), waves of glaciation shaped the North American environment. Scholars continue to debate the causes of the Ice Age, but causative variables included changes in ocean currents and the tilt of the planet, the movement of the earth’s crust,

GLOBAL WARMING IN HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE

In the distant past, as in the

present, the smallest shift in

ocean currents, the earths tilt,

the movement of the earths

crust, or gases in the atmos-

phere could cause massive

climate change. Climatologists

have identified what they call

the Medieval Warm Period (or

Little Climatic Optimum), which

stretched from 900 to 1300 CE,

and the Little Ice Age (1300-

1870), which was characterized

by wetter, cooler temperatures.

Over the past two centuries, a

number of scientists  Joseph

Fourier (in 1824), Svante

Arrhenius (in 1894), and Guy

Stewart Callendar (in 1938) 

have warned that increased

carbon dioxide emissions would

cause temperatures to rise.

Today, although we are due for

another cooling period, green-

house gases are instead heating

up the planet. The Keeling

Curve, a graph that shows

ongoing change in the concen-

tration of carbon dioxide in the

atmosphere as measured at

Mauna Loa Observatory, shows

that the global carbon dioxide

level was 315 parts per million

(ppm) in 1958, 365 ppm in 1997,

and 392 ppm in 2011.

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and volcanic activity. The last intense freeze occurred between approximately 35,000 and 12,000 years ago, a period known as the Wisconsin Glacial Episode. What is now Canada was covered in massive ice sheets (the Alaskan, the Laurentide in the northern interior, and the Cordilleran along the Pacific Coast) that were several kilometres deep. The pressure of advancing and retreating ice pushed enormous rocks hundreds of kilometres, gouged out holes for lakes, built up rock for mountains, and deposited huge quantities of sediment. It transformed the geology, landscape, vegetation, and water systems of North America.

During the Pleistocene epoch, a land bridge about 1,400 kilometres wide formed across the Bering Strait. Known as Beringia, the landmass stretched from present-day Yukon through Alaska to northeast Asia (see Figure 1.1). Beringia was a productive ecosystem that supported a diverse mosaic of plants, shrubs, and grasslands and large populations of grazing animals and their predators. The area experienced about twenty freezes and thaws during the Pleistocene era that periodically supported the movement of animals over the land bridge. Woolly mam- moths (see Figure 1.2), giant ground sloths, muskoxen, camels, broad-fronted moose, and giant beaver crossed into North America pursued by saber-toothed cats, giant short- faced bears, and wolves.

figure 1.1 A cold habitat with a diverse, productive ecosystem, Beringia supported large populations of many species, as well as the humans who hunted them.

figure 1.2 Woolly mammoths crossing Beringia into North America. Archaeologists discovered the bones of these ancient creatures, along with other animals, in Yukon. Courtesy of the SFU Museum of

Archaeology and Ethnology

The Arrival of Humans

Humans were late to reach the Americas, the last continents they inhabited. Ice sheets blocked movement into North America from Beringia until around 13000 bce (before the Common Era), when parts of the Northwest Pacific Coast began to deglaciate. Global warming encouraged the growth of vegeta- tion in what is now Canada. Meltwater channels formed, and lichens, mosses, and small shrubs began to sprout on moraines, masses of rocks and sediment carried down by glaciers. Over time, corridors running

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from north to south formed, large glacial lakes took shape, and boreal forest began to evolve. The process, however, was slow. North America was not fully deglaciated until around 5000 bce.

Most scientists believe modern humans (Homo sapiens), in pursuit of game, began entering North America via the Bering land bridge. Although no human bones have been found in Canada to support this hypothesis, it has been borne out by the 1993 discovery of a projectile point in Alaska. Carbon dating of archaeological evidence – fluted points, microblades, burins, and flakes – at the Bluefish Caves in northeastern Yukon also suggests that small hunting groups sporadic- ally occupied the area between 25,000 and 12,000 years ago. One theory is that the Clovis people, named for their fluted stone spear points, crossed Beringia and then spread southward. As warming temperatures melted the ice sheets, the sea eventually rose to cover the Bering land bridge around 11000 bce. It is possible that people continued to come to North America by navigating the narrow channel in boats or rafts and that the Bering land bridge was not the only entry point for early people.

When the Clovis hunters reached the Great Plains, they encountered vast numbers of enormous mammals, which they hunted for food and material resources. Their arrival coincided with the extinction of ancient animals, including the mammoth and masto- don. Although some scholars attribute these animals’ extinction to global warming, which disrupted plant and animal ecosystems and dried up watering places, others, such as geochronologist Paul Martin, liken the development to a blitzkrieg. According to

this theory, our first ancestors devised long Clovis points to slaughter large game effi- ciently. Following the mass killing and extinction of many mammal species, how- ever, the Clovis people disappeared within three hundred years. The recent discovery of nanodiamonds in the boundary sediment layer suggests, however, that a medium-sized comet might have hit Earth about 13,000 years ago, killing species and temporarily reversing the effects of global warming.

The Development of Cultural Areas

The Clovis people were of a single stock, but dental and genetic evidence reveals that they became more differentiated as they spread throughout North America and developed into three successor peoples – the Amerinds, the Na-Dené, and the Aleut-Inuit peoples – who used smaller spear points to hunt. Early peoples in North America had to adapt to a dramatically changing environ- ment. Plants disappeared or changed, and new migrant animals filled niches left by extinctions. Bison, elk, moose, and grizzly bear became fauna distinct to North America and the predecessors of contem porary wild- life. A warmer climate fostered the emer- gence of distinct regions: grasses in the interior; lichen woodland as far northwest as the Mackenzie River Valley; a vast boreal forest dominated by balsam, jack pine, birch, and white pine; and a forest of elm, hemlock, maple, and beech in the cool temperate area of the Great Lakes –St. Lawrence region. By 3000 bce, when climate change slowed, humans enjoyed a more stable en vironment. Vegetation existed farther north than today, but as temperatures cooled after 2000 bce,

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the treeline retreated south ward by as much as three hundred kilometres in places. By 500 bce, environmental conditions were similar to those experienced by Europeans when they first arrived in North America in 1000 ce.

The changing environment influenced the movement of generations of people across northern North America. Their adap- tations to new regions – the Arctic, tundra, woodlands, and coastal regions – created different societies and cultures that shared certain characteristics (see Figure 1.3). The climate remained cool, and the environment could not sustain many people. Although warmer areas such as the Pacific Interior and the St. Lawrence Valley supported farming, the majority of people were hunter-gatherers

who relied on relatively simple technology and dispersed, seasonal, and unpredictable food supplies. Despite a harsh environment, they were self-sufficient, relied on their in- tim ate knowledge of the land and resources, and developed patterns of subsistence living finely adapted to local environments. They also developed trade networks within and among tribes.

The peoples of the Pacific Coast and Interior were primarily fishers who relied on spears, hooks, nets, and weirs. Some followed the salmon along the Fraser, Thompson, and upper Columbia Rivers and lived in tempor- ary huts covered in rush mats. More seden- tary peoples spent most of the year in pit houses, made of logs and covered in sod, along riverbanks. They feasted, participated

figure 1.3 Indigenous peoples in northern North America spoke different languages and occupied approximately these areas at the time of European contact.

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in religious and healing ceremonies, and told stories featuring characters such as Coyote, the trickster.

Northwest Coast peoples consumed enor- mous amounts of fish but sustained healthy fisheries by holding ceremonies to delay fishing until the salmon spawned. Such rit- uals were a mark of respect for the “salmon people,” whom they believed were much like themselves but lived in houses and villages under the water. Animals and people were essentially the same and could transfer from one type of life form to another. When the salmon voluntarily left their villages and offered themselves to humans, all groups celebrated their coming. After the feast, they carefully returned the fish bones to the water so the salmon would return once again. Northwest Coast peoples likewise talked to and thanked the animals they hunted and the cedar trees they stripped of bark for clothing and baskets.

Although the peoples of the Pacific North- west were constantly on the move during their seasonal hunting and fishing activities, they developed more settled and hierarchical communities as their food supplies became more abundant. Because they enjoyed a moderate climate by Can adian standards, their art and construction techniques flour- ished, and their populations expanded. They used trees from old-growth forests to make large cedar houses, and their regionally dis- tinctive wooden carvings of ravens, thunder- birds, and other powerful creatures reflected their artistic and spiritual sensibilities.

Over the Rocky Mountains to the east, the Plains Indians likewise developed “increasingly effective subsistence strategies over the millennia” (Ray 1996, 13). Huge

herds of buffalo, or bison, which ranged across parkland or grasslands, depending on the position of vegetative communities, dominated these hunters’ lives. Plains Indians moved on a seasonal basis in pur suit of animals, and their dependency on the buffalo meant they had to manipulate the environment to enhance its ability to support herds. Early peoples followed the buffalo on foot and used dogs and travois to carry sup- plies and carcasses. The men used projectile points on spears, darts (atlatls), and then bows and arrows to hunt. As they became more familiar with the buffalos’ migration patterns, they began to lure them into en- closures in winter or to stampede them off cliffs in summer. They used the same kill sites, such as Head-Smashed-In-Buffalo- Jump in southern Alberta, for thousands of years.

The centrality of the buffalo to the lives of Plains Indians influenced their cosmology, customs, and spirituality. Plains Indians viewed the buffalo as the provider, as a link between the creator and humans. The Sun Dance, a ritual in preparation for the hunt, revolved around the central image of the buffalo. Plains Indians also constructed large medicine wheels on hilltops throughout the northern Prairies for easier communication with the spirits. Composed of circles with lines of stones radiating out like spokes, medicine wheels were used to attract rain and buffalo and, possibly, to mark burial sites. During hunts, Plains Indians made offerings to the buffalo spirits because they believed the boundaries between people and animals were blurred. Following the hunt, they often used every part of the animal: the meat for food, the bones for tools, the hides

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and fur for clothing, the skins for making mobile lodgings (teepees), buffalo chips for cooking fuel, bladders for receptacles, and sinews for bow strings and cordage.

In the Eastern Woodlands and Subarctic, Aboriginal peoples can be grouped into two language families: Algonkian or Iroquoian. The Algonkians hunted, fished, and gathered berries and nuts for sustenance. In this harsh climate, they roamed incessantly in search of animals for food and clothing. When Euro- peans first made contact with the Algonkians on the Atlantic coast at the end of the fif- teenth century, these nomadic forest peoples had occupied the same places for generations. From Yukon to Labrador, various groups hunted within territorial boundaries that remained fluid. They assumed that all phe- nomena, including the dead and animals, had spirit power. The hunt was a spiritual quest in which the hunter’s soul spirit would lead him to game that had agreed to be slain. The hunters’ sense of kinship with game animals suffused Algonkian culture. Their respect for nature and taboos controlled and moderated human behaviour. Hunters were occasionally wasteful, but their culture often inhibited them from overexploiting wildlife. Their mobile lifestyle also led them to adopt the canoe; light, portable housing; and a few easy-to-carry utensils. This way of life lim- ited their possessions and stores of food, and it probably helped keep their population levels low. Their patterns of living were well suited to their environment.

The Iroquoian “forest” peoples were like- wise diverse but “inhabited a single ecologic- al zone of deciduous forest with coniferous admixture.” Their material culture and soci- eties resulted from a noteworthy “correlation

between ecological, linguistic, and cultural boundaries” (Trigger 1969, 6, 14). The Wenro, Erie, Neutral, and Petun peoples lived north of the Great Lakes, where they grew and traded tobacco. The powerful Huron Confederacy (called Wendat, meaning “islanders” or “peninsula dwellers”) lived near Penetanguishene on Lake Huron. The confederacy consisted of four nations – People of the Bear, People of the Rocks, the Cord People, and the Deer People – names all drawn from the natural world.

The Huron were distinctive in that they lived on the northern limits of fertile land that could be cultivated, and they practised intensive agriculture. They used the slash- and-burn method to clear areas of forests and weeds. They then intercropped, or planted together, the “three sisters” – beans, corn, and squash – on large, well-spaced mounds. Archaeological evidence of ridged, furrowed, and raised fields suggests that they used various techniques to reduce frost hazards. They also kept gardens for emergency seed supplies in case crops failed. After ten to twelve years of cultivation, they abandoned

THE HORSE AND THE TRANSFORMATION OF PLAINS SOCIETIES

The Blackfoot Confederacy, or

Niitstapi, composed of tribes that

inhabit present-day Montana and

southern Alberta, first encountered

the horse around 1730. Spanish

explorers brought the horse to the

New World by ship in the sixteenth

century, and the animals eventually

spread north. The Blackfoot traded

some to their neighbours, the Cree

and Assiniboine, by 1750. The horse

transformed the buffalo hunt and,

with it, Plains Indians. As the kill

became more efficient, tribes became

wealthier and enjoyed a higher

standard of living. Wealth and power,

combined with increased mobility, led

to more intertribal warfare and the

development of warrior societies.

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exhausted fields to lie fallow. The Huron learned to make various tuberous plants edible, they tapped maple trees for sap to convert to sugar, they wove mats and baskets from reeds, and they turned clay into cooking pots. Because their more sedentary lifestyle and food crops sustained more people, the Huron were more numerous than the north- ern Algonkian hunter-gatherer societies with whom they traded. They numbered about thirty thousand people at the time of contact with Europeans.

In the Arctic, Aboriginal peoples moved through a harsh environment on a seasonal basis to hunt seal, caribou, muskox, and small birds and animals. The Dorset, a Paleo- Eskimo culture that lived along the coast of Labrador and Newfoundland, developed sturdy hide kayaks for water travel, sleds for snow travel, and made harpoons and small tools out of stone, bone, wood, and ivory. Their rectangular soapstone lamps burned oil from whale blubber for heat and light. The Dorset people’s precarious existence depended on hunting seal and walrus in the spring and summer and fishing for Arctic

char in the summer. Even with small num- bers, people sometimes starved during the scarce winter months. In the summer, they lived in tents made of seal or muskox skins. In the winter, they built sod and stone huts in the ground. When they hunted seals, they probably built igloos on sea ice. After living for about five centuries in the Arctic, some Dorset communities disappeared as a result of environmental distress, brought on by a cooling period between 550 bce and 400 ce. When temperatures rose again after 400 ce, they enjoyed a more predictable environ- ment and a surge of creativity in the arts.

Around 1000 ce, the Thule, ancestors of the modern Inuit, moved rapidly across the Arctic from the west and displaced or absorbed the Dorset. Warmer temperatures and changing ice conditions provided the Thule with an opportunity to move eastward through sea ice passages in pursuit of sea mammals, including whales, seals, and wal- rus. The Thule also had more advanced tech- nology and better weaponry than the Dorset, including projectile-point tools and spears. Thule hunters travelled on water in skin boats and used dog sleds and bows and ar- rows to hunt caribou on land. Their decora- tive art was functional and less spiritual than Dorset creations.

The Beothuk, who inhabited Newfound- land at the time of contact, likewise eked out a living in their inhospitable environ- ment. With ingenuity and inventiveness, they used available resources to build half- moon-shaped birch bark canoes, complex conical dwellings called mamateeks, and fences to hunt caribou. They covered the mamateeks with birch bark and, in winter, insulated them with dried moss and banked

DORSET ARTWORK: REFLECTIONS OF A HARSH ENVIRONMENT

The Dorset peoples artwork, like

Inuit art in general, reflects a culture

shaped by a harsh, cruel environment,

one in which animals were the main

source of survival. Their artwork

consisted of small sculptures of

humans, animals, and birds carved

in bone, antler, ivory, soapstone, and

wood. These figures had a magical or

religious significance, and the

Dorset possibly used them as amulets

to ward off evil spirits or in shamanic

rituals. Carvers often depicted the

largest predator in their world, the

polar bear. Their sculptures of bears

with slit throats filled with red ochre

and ivory slivers perhaps played a

key role in hunting rituals.

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them with soil. The Beothuk population was small but viable. The island’s limited resour- ces, however, could not accommodate other peoples, such as the Mi’kmaq. The situation led to competition and hostility between the two peoples.

Aboriginal Perceptions of and Approaches to the Land

Aboriginal peoples adapted to new environ- ments out of necessity. They also modified their environments to suit their needs. They marked the land with rocks, paths, and settlements. They used fire for multiple purposes: for heat and light; to clear fields and campsites; as a weapon; for communica- tion; to enhance the production of certain foods and medicinal plants; to attract, hunt, and drive wildlife; and to improve grazing for horses after they acquired them. By set- ting fire to prairie grasslands, for example, Aboriginal people created and maintained fire-succession ecosystems. They kept back forests and enhanced soils. In forested areas, they created edge habitats that attracted deer and combatted insect infestations. These practices, which sometimes escaped their control, nevertheless reflected their ecological knowledge of the land and their ability to manipulate it.

Aboriginal people’s integration with the environment and knowledge of the natural world led them to view their surroundings from both material and spiritual perspec- tives. Besides living off the land, Aboriginal peoples developed cultural customs, religious ideas, and myths and taboos to live safely and to better understand their place in the world. They inhabited a vast, dark, and silent

land occupied by other species. Spirits, they believed, inhabited these species and had varying degrees of power. Aboriginal people sought to live harmoniously with the spirits by making offerings to them, along with beseeching prayers and gifts. They prayed to ward off diseases caused by evil spirits and to ensure their own safety when crossing dangerous river passages.

Aboriginal peoples’ distinctive customs and art expressed their fear of the environ- ment and respect for its animate and in- animate inhabitants. Feasts, ceremonies, traditions, and stories, including creation narratives, were part of indigenous peoples’ spiritual lives and religious ideas. They re- flected their relationship with nature and helped to integrate their societies. Their animistic religions – religions in which all things, animate or inanimate, have souls or spirits – did not distinguish between human, plant, and animal. They respected and pla- cated them all. Although Aboriginal people hunted animals, they shared their environ- ment with them and developed rituals to show their respect. Within their worldview, human beings did not hold a special place

THE THULE: MOVERS OF BOULDERS

The Thule used rocks for many

purposes: to hold down tents and

boats, to identify winter villages, to

build cairns for their dead, to protect

meat supplies, and to build dams or

weirs to intercept runs of Arctic char.

They also built inuksuit (plural of

inukshuk), rocks piled to resemble

humans, to mark a featureless snow-

covered landscape or to channel

caribou toward waiting hunters. By

moving boulders, the Thule altered

the landscape and left numerous

traces of their presence for modern

archaeologists.

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in the cosmos – they were but one element among many in an integrated environment. This worldview meant accommodation with other species and with nature. Pre-contact farming and hunter-gatherer societies under- stood their environment. They had to if they hoped to maintain their culture, a food sup- ply, and a manageable population level. They were people who “adapted to their environ- ment and worked out a code of behaviour for living compatibly with their world” (Miller 1989, 13).

Early Explorers: The Norse

Unlike self-sufficient Aboriginal peoples, who lived in sync with their surroundings, the first Europeans to reach the North Amer- ican continent were traders who came to exploit the new land. Land hunger, trade, and the desire for wealth and fame – if necessary, through piracy and war – motivated the Norse to move overseas. A land shortage in Scandinavia placed limits on crops and animal husbandry. Their agriculture-based economy needed new pastures and grass for grazing animals, and global warming in the centuries between 800 and 1200 ce facilitated their explorations.

The Norse landed in what is today the Arctic and Newfoundland and Labrador in 1000 ce. They stayed a relatively short time, but they traded on return voyages. And although they had only a slight environ- mental impact on the land, their brief stay in the so-called New World resulted in the earliest meeting of Aboriginal peoples (called Skraelings by the Norse) and Europeans. Unlike European explorations of centuries later, which resulted in permanent settle-

ments, the incursion of the Norse ended when Aboriginal people drove them out. While in the New World, the Norse de- pended on their own technology – including their magnificent ships, weapons, and iron tools – to maintain themselves, acquire re- sources, and complete trading expeditions. But they were not self-sufficient, and they could not survive without Aborig inal allies to teach them the geography, assist them in acquiring trade goods, and instruct them in skills to live in such a harsh environment. Aboriginal peoples retained control of their environment.

Leif Eiriksson, son of Eirik the Red, is credited with the first landings in North America. He landed on and named three areas: Helluland, the “land of flat stones,” on the east coast of Baffin Island; Markland, the “land of forests and timber,” in central Labrador; and Vinland, “a warm and bounti- ful land,” most likely the northern tip of Newfoundland, the site of the Norse village L’Anse aux Meadows. Indigenous peoples had used the site around the village for hunt- ing and fishing for thousands of years. When Leif ’s brother Thorvald encountered indigen- ous people, probably Dorset or Thule, during the second expedition to Vinland in 1004, he provoked hostilities and died from an arrow wound. His crew retreated, wintered at Leifs- budir, a settlement founded by Leif, and sailed home in the spring.

Other Norse traders and explorers like- wise encountered Aboriginal peoples, such as the early Algonkians (Point Revenge and Beothuk peoples), as they sailed through icy waters along the windy eastern shores of Baffin Island, Newfoundland, and Labrador. Thorfinn Karlsefni, of Iceland, reached

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Helluland and Markland between 1003 and 1015 and explored other areas, which he named. He and his crew acquired trade items, such as polar bear pelts, walrus tusks, narwhal horns, and eider ducks. Later, on a trip to Europe, Karlsefni sold his ship’s figure head, carved of maple from Vinland, to a man from Bremen. It was possibly the first crafted import from North America to Europe. Karlsefni, too, tried to colonize Vinland, but he also encountered Aboriginal people, probably Beothuk. He bartered either milk or red cloth for furs. An outbreak of hostilities, however, caused the Norse to abandon their outpost after only a few years. They returned to their more established colonies in Greenland, settled by the Danes in 986, and made no further colonization efforts in North America. Brief trips (perhaps to Labrador or Baffin Island) for timber and furs ceased after cooler temperatures and ice killed expedition members from Iceland in 1347.

Throughout the period of Norse explora- tions, Aboriginal peoples and the Norse encountered each other only sporadically. The Thule’s encounters with the Norse in both Greenland and in what would become Canada suggest a relationship defined by occasional trade and conflict. Trade was mutually beneficial: the Thule wanted iron, and the Norse wanted animal hides and ivory. By the thirteenth century, the Thule had meteoric iron and had acquired smelted iron, which they valued for tools and tips on weapons. These most northern hunter- gatherers traded occasionally with the Norse but were not interested in lengthy connec- tions. They drove the Norse out of the con- tinent. Perhaps the contact was too brief.

Perhaps the climate, on the eve of the Little Ice Age, which would overtake Europe and North America from around 1300 to 1870, was too cool. It seems the Norse were not carriers of European pathogens. For whatever reason, Aboriginal people were not exposed to European diseases. Consequently, they did not suffer the destabilization and depopula- tion that followed the Columbian exchange.

European Expansionism

The early Norse period of exploration was largely forgotten in Europe. Although the Norse maintained settlements in Greenland until about the mid-fifteenth century, they abandoned their sailing route to North America when increasing ice in the Atlantic made sailing too dangerous. With the excep- tion of annual voyages across the Atlantic by European fishermen, European exploration did not begin in earnest until the late fif- teenth century, when Christopher Columbus’s voyage across the Atlantic Ocean in 1492 and John Cabot’s rediscovery of North America in 1497 led to general awareness of the American continents.

These so-called discoveries coincided in western Europe with the emergence of im- perialism, the policy of extending a nation’s authority by territorial acquisition or eco- nomic and political hegemony over other nations. The process of imperial expansion led European states with advanced technolo- gies to invade remote lands occupied by migratory farmers and hunter-gatherers, whom they displaced. These incursions were premised on notions of superiority, conquest, and environmental exploitation for com- mercial gain. Unlike Aboriginal peoples,

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Europeans believed, as both Greek philoso- phy and Christianity taught them, that their minds and spirit made them superior to nature, which was for human benefit, if only it could be mastered. Although Aboriginal people admired aspects of European tech- nology that could make their lives easier, Europeans held the myopic view that in- digenous people were inferior beings that lacked both society and culture. Upon hear- ing of the New World, Europeans instinct- ively looked for exploitable goods. They started with fish and then moved to furs. The history of Canada, consequently, is partly a story of resources exploitation.

The Early Fisheries

At about the same time that the Norse abandoned their settlements in Greenland, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, French, and English sailors entered the North Atlantic in search of fish. Although knowledge of west- ern lands, in general, had faded in Europe and had been consigned to saga texts, it had lived on in the stories and knowledge of ordinary fishermen. With the Norse settle-

ments, fishermen pursued whales, fished for cod, and traded European goods for falcons, polar bears, and ivory along the coast. Years after the Norse retreated, European fishers continued to arrive annually to harvest cod, seals, and whales. The Catholic Church had stimulated a burgeoning market for Atlantic cod (Gadus morhua) by declaring fish a suit- able food for meatless religious holy days. When the building of larger ships enabled travel for longer distances, the cod fishery expanded. Despite high casualty rates in the frigid northern seas, more European fishers sent out ships, which returned with enor- mous hauls. John Cabot’s successful voyage to Newfoundland in 1497 further publicized the immense marine resources of the north- west Atlantic.

The profitable Grand Banks fishery, located southeast of Newfoundland on the North American continental shelf, supplied cod to Europe and drove further exploration. The fishery was an open-access resource, and nations mingled fairly amicably, except in times of war. By the late sixteenth century, hundreds of fishing and whaling fleets with thousands of men set sail for the Grand

Basques were among the

earliest fishermen to arrive in

Newfound land. They hunted

whales and found the Grand

Banks bountiful with cod. They

enjoyed friendly relations with

some coastal peoples, such as

the Montagnais, but poor rela-

tions with the Inuit. The Basques

sometimes traded European

goods for seal skins, and they

developed a pidgin dialect to

communicate with indigenous

peoples. When explorer John

Cabot wrote about the abun-

dance of cod in the region, he

noted that Aboriginal peoples

called it baccalaos. This was not

an Aboriginal word but rather a

derivation of bakalaua,

a Euskara or Basque word. In

other words, Basque fishermen

had established a presence in

the New World long before

Cabots visit. In the sixteenth

century, Basque whalers

affected the environment by

contributing to the precipitous

decline in bowhead whales, the

extinction of right whales and

southern walrus, and the deple-

tion of seabird colonies. They

harvested enormous amounts of

cod. Given that both whales and

cod feed on crustacean zoo-

plankton, it is possible that

smaller whale populations

actually increased cod stocks

around the end of the sixteenth

century.

BASQUE FISHERMAN AND OVERFISHING IN THE GRAND BANKS

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Banks each year. In 1578, for example, English merchant Anthony Parkhurst esti- mated that there were nearly 400 ships in Newfoundland – 150 were French, 100 Spanish (Basque), 50 Portuguese, 30 to 50 English, and 20 to 30 Basque. They pro- cessed an estimated 75,000 tonnes of fish annually. The trade required unprecedented skills and large amounts of capital and labour. Europeans adapted their fishing practices to meet the harsh conditions of the new environment. Each country acquired favourite fishing spots and used various fishing tools and methods in their fisheries. Fishermen developed fish oil and wet cod for northern European markets and dried cod for markets in southern Europe and the West Indies. Merchants managed fishers, and governments, in turn, managed mer- chants. The fur trade began as part of the fishery but later developed into a separate industry.

Codfish stocks remained abundant in the Newfoundland fishery despite prolonged colder temperatures during the Little Ice Age and fluctuations in catches. It is difficult to estimate the size of catches, but they were greater than any catch made by the small Inuit population, and advances in gear tech- nology increased catch levels over time. The catch level remained sustainable throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, probably because of relatively low-tech fishing methods. Much like their modern counterparts, early fishermen reacted to reduced catches by either moving to new fishing areas or changing their methods. Biologists have recently suggested that con- tinued, intense, unregulated fishing depleted stocks and might have encouraged cod

migration. Because the capture of large fish influences the rate of reproduction among cod, even the early fisheries’ “moder- ate” catches would have altered the age, gender composition, and overall size of Atlantic cod.

Although the fishermen were only so- journers in the New World, they explored and made their mark on the coastal regions of Newfoundland. Fishing crews landed on Terra Nova to rest, to gather fresh water and wood, and to dry fish on the shores. Migratory fishers in the dry fisheries needed cabins, wharves, flakes to dry fish, washing cages, and sometimes oil vats. They stripped trees from old-growth boreal forests, took more wood than they needed, left much to rot, and sometimes started forest fires, which destroyed flora and fauna. The environment- al damage was limited, however, because they did not move too far inland. But by 1620 the forests were noticeably less dense.

European fishers had a more permanent effect on those Aboriginal people who had to compete with them for summer fishing sites. Some made special trading or raiding trips to obtain goods from fishermen. Fishermen traded iron, cloth, and arms for furs, which returned to Europe with the large cod catch- es. By the late sixteenth century, European traders were meeting the Mi’kmaq regularly at summer rendezvous sites to barter, and the Mi’kmaq were changing their hunting pat- terns to engage in this trade. The Beothuk, in contrast, lost their summer fishing sites to the Europeans and came to depend more and more on the interior for resources. Meagre resources, infectious diseases, and violent encounters with Europeans drove them to extinction.

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European Explorers Chart a New Environment

The impact of European expansion was limited to a small geographical area during the era of the early fisheries, a situation that changed once European rulers turned their sights on the New World. Competitive expansionary politics in Europe, scientific curiosity, technological developments in navigation (compasses, quadrants, and astro- labes), and larger ships spurred explorers west ward. Cartographers recorded new discoveries on maps as the European world became more connected by trade and com- merce. From the beginning, Europeans viewed the New World as a bountiful land. In particular, they sought a shorter sea pas- sage to Asia – the famed Northwest Passage – and new resources to exploit. Their acquisi- tiveness extended to scientific inquiries that facilitated imperial aims.

The Age of Exploration began in northern North America in 1497, when Britain spon- sored Genovese merchant John Cabot’s (Giovanni Caboto) search for the Northwest Passage to Asia. The exact place of Cabot’s landing is unknown, but the possibilities range from the Strait of Belle Isle to Cape Breton. This first recorded European landing since the Norse led to a better cartographic understanding of what Europeans soon realized was a large continent.

Perhaps because early explorers such as Cabot and Jacques Cartier did not venture far beyond coastlines, their early impressions were of an unending, abundant “wilderness,” an earthly paradise or pristine environment inhabited by only a few people. This notion of abundance persisted and set the stage for

wasteful behaviour by fur traders, loggers, and settlers. While sailing near the Grand Banks in 1497, for example, Cabot noted that the fish were so abundant they slowed the boat. In 1501, Gaspar Corte-Real, the Portuguese explorer, recorded that he saw plentiful game – caribou, foxes, sables, otters, wolves, and tigers (probably black leopards) – in Newfound land. In 1534, when Cartier, exploring for France, approached what he called the Isle of Birds (Funk Island) off the coast of New foundland, he described a land where bears swam out to feed on birds and where gannets, murres, and puffins nested. The great auk, the original “penguin,” now extinct, he observed, was as large as a goose, “being black and white with a beak like a crow’s.” Its small wings rendered it incapable of flying (Cook 1993, xvii). The crew killed over a thousand murres and great auks. Sir Humphrey Gilbert, an English explorer who landed in Newfoundland in 1583, wrote that nature made up for the terrible cold weather “with incredible quantity and no less variety of all kinds of fish in the sea and fresh waters, as trouts, salmons and other fish to us un- known; also cod which alone draweth many nations thither.” He observed that the many creatures “may induce us to glorify the mag- nificent God, who hath superabundantly replenished the earth with creatures serving for the use of man, though man hath not used the fifth part of same” (Payne 1900, 30).

Despite their initial fear of the unknown and wild animals, explorers evaluated the new environment for exploitable commodities. When Italian explorer Giovanni da Verrazano explored the East Coast from Newfoundland to the Carolinas for the French Crown in 1524, he searched the forests for suitable wood

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and examined rocks for minerals. Both Cabot and Corte-Real commented that the region’s tall trees would be ideal for ships’ masts. Old- growth forests, now almost beyond our com- prehension, were a new, valuable source of wood because timber in Europe was becom- ing a scarce commodity. When Cartier aban- doned his settlement on the St. Lawrence and returned to France in 1542, he took with him pyrites and quartz that he thought were gold and diamonds. As Martin Frobisher sailed through the eastern Arctic in 1576 in search of the Northwest Passage, he col- lected 203 tonnes of mineral samples, which later proved worthless. Although members of several expeditions met Aboriginal people who wanted to trade furs, the trade did not begin in earnest until fashion trends in Europe increased demand for fur.

Although the New World in general was viewed as bountiful, explorers described northern regions in less flattering terms. Although Verrazano, reminded of Vergil’s Arcady, referred to southern regions as Arcadia, Cartier described Labrador’s barren coast as the “land God gave to Cain.” A member of Frobisher’s expedition remarked, “In place of odiferous and fragrant smells of sweet gums and pleasant notes of musical birds, which other countries in more temperate zones do yield, we tasted the most boisterous Boreal blasts mixed with snow and hail in the months of June and July, nothing inferior to our intemperate winter” (Honour 1975, 16). The comment is one of the earliest recorded complaints about Canada’s weather. Because imports from the north – cod, pelts, and wood – were not as enticing as gold from Spanish conquests or spices from the East Indies, the French and British Crowns did

not encourage permanent settlements until changing markets made Canada a valuable source of raw materials.

First Contacts

Europeans’ entry into the New World over- turned thousands of years of Aboriginal predominance in only a few hundred years. First contact, the first meeting of two cultures, was a long process in Canada that took centuries as explorers and fur traders charted the new environment. These first encounters, described by Europeans as “discoveries,” began in 1498, when Cabot bartered a pair of Venetian earrings and a sword with Labrador Algonkians and gave netting needles to Inuit. The first recorded encounter on the Pacific Coast occurred nearly three hundred years later, in 1774, when the Spanish navigator Juan Perez exchanged clothes, beads, and knives for sea otter skins from the Haida. Four years later, James Cook spotted the West Coast from aboard the Resolution and discovered that Russian fur-trading compan- ies had hunted sea otter and walrus in the region for years. He sailed past the Strait of Juan de Fuca to Nootka Sound, where men in huge canoes greeted him and traded fine sea otter skins for a few nails. His crew then headed north to the limits of the North American coast in the Arctic in search of an opening into the continent. First contacts ended in 1910 when the Copper Inuit met explorer Vilhjalmur Stefansson near Victoria Island in the Arctic.

Explorers’ accounts of first contacts reflect their cultural bias, which influenced how they viewed the landscape and the people who inhabited it. Explorers proclaimed their

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The idea that Europeans had

discovered or found an empty

new continent justified their

desire to conquer it. Until re-

cently, historians upheld this

myth of discovery by estimating,

incorrectly, that the Aboriginal

population at first contact had

been low. New, scientific meth-

ods have raised estimates

substantially. It is now estimated

that 60 to 100 million lived in

North and South America com-

bined and that 4 to 11 million

people lived in North America

alone. The indigenous popula-

tion of northern North America

was relatively sparse, about

500,000 people, and lacked

cities, as Europeans understood

them, but Canada was, neverthe-

less, a land inhabited by diverse

peoples who had complex

material cultures and spiritual

beliefs, people who manipulated

their en vironment with fire and

by hunting, cultivating, har-

vesting, and gathering food.

This misconception about popu-

lation numbers made contact a

momentous process because it

justified Europeans aggressive

intrusion into the new environ-

ment. Environmental historians

continue to view contact as

important, but they examine it

from the perspective of how

imperialism and colonialism

affected the peoples and land-

scape of the New World.

THE MYTH OF DISCOVERY, HISTORY, AND ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY

figure 1.4 Cartier Plants a Cross at Gaspe 1534: Symbols of pos session, such as Cartiers fifty-foot wooden cross, justified European expansion but made Aboriginal people hostile or sus- picious of European encroachments on their environment. Charles W. Jefferys, illustrator,

The Picture Gallery of Canadian

History (Toronto: Ryerson, 1950),

1:73

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“discoveries” with symbols of possession – such as Cabot’s English flags and Cartier’s fifty-foot wooden cross with a French coat of arms – and claimed territory on behalf of their sovereigns without regard for Aboriginal peoples (see Figure 1.4). Cartier saw no reason to ask permission to explore or establish settle- ments. He, like most Europeans, believed that Aboriginal people had wasted the land by not rendering it productive. In another kind of possession, he and other explorers gave European names to flora, fauna, and places, without a care that they already had Aboriginal names.

Contact, however, was a momentous two- way process of discovery and acculturation. Both cultures had only a rudimentary under- standing of the world’s geography, were vul- nerable to food scarcity, and were fearful of their uncertain environments. Europeans had more advanced technology, but unlike indigenous peoples, they had poor personal hygiene and a poor understanding of medi- cine. Many Europeans had grown up in crowded, filthy cities and showed signs of ill health and poor physical development. By comparison, Aboriginal people were physic- ally strong and healthy.

Whereas written European accounts of first contacts predominated in traditional historical narratives, oral accounts passed from generation to generation among Ab- original people. In 1633, a young Montagnais who lived along the St. Lawrence related his grand mother’s story of seeing French ships for the first time. The Montagnais thought the “floating islands” were inhabited by super- natural spirits and mistook the sails for clouds and the cannon discharges for thunder. During other first contacts, Aboriginal

people likewise treated Europeans who appeared at the “edge of the water, woods, plains, or desert” as powerful spirits or shamans (Axtell 1992, 26, 35-37). And they interpreted European technology as having extraordinary spiritual power. They exam- ined cloth, metal goods, compasses, and books with fascination. At first, they re- sponded most positively to trinkets such as glass beads, which they buried with their dead because they associated them with natural materials that brought physical, spiritual, and social well-being.

Aboriginal peoples welcomed the new- comers by giving their boats the best anchor- ages. They carried Cartier ashore so he would not get wet, seated guests on skins or mats, and entertained them with speeches, dancing, singing, and games. Aboriginal people recog- nized that these encounters with Europeans might have serious consequences and tried to assimilate the “aliens” into their society to ensure peace. In the east, they smoked the calumet pipe with their visitors because tobacco was sacred and lifted their prayers to heaven. Across the land, they offered mar- riages and the adoption of children, perhaps because they sensed that the newcomers’ power could be a double-edged sword. Euro- peans at first depended on Aboriginal people for information about the environment. They engaged them as guides, translators, and provisioners and were careful not to offend for fear of being abandoned in the woods or attacked. Aboriginal people had the upper hand in the relationship, as indicated by European efforts to learn their languages. But as Europeans learned more, they became more dominant, and unlike the Norse, they kept coming.

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The Columbian Exchange

Environmental transformation and cultural change began as soon as the peoples from the two hemispheres met. As historian William Cronon notes, two human communities confronted each other for the first time, and two sets of ecological relationships came to inhabit one world. The massive exchange of ideas, diseases, and agricultural goods and the intermingling of North American and European biota – animal and plant life – that followed first contacts quickly shattered the relationship between Aboriginal peoples and their environment.

The Columbian exchange was an uneven exchange. Europeans affected the New World more than Aboriginal peoples influenced the Old. Cartier made notes on edible fruits and nuts and took slips of trees and seeds to France for the king’s garden at Fontainebleu. Most expeditions had naturalists. In 1792, for example, Archibald Menzies, a surgeon- botanist, arrived on the West Coast with British explorer George Vancouver. He was the first European to describe, catalogue, and collect West Coast trees, plants, and seeds, which he took to England for his mentor,

Joseph Banks, the director of the Royal Gardens at Kew, who had been on Cook’s first voyage. In the 1820s, James Douglas, an explorer and naturalist, sent plants, in- cluding the Sitka spruce, to Britain. Euro- peans gained corn, potatoes, and tobacco from the New World and absorbed indigen- ous peoples’ knowledge about plants into European botany and medicine.

The exchange of knowledge and new plants and crops went both ways. Samuel de Champlain, who founded New France and Quebec City in 1608, encouraged the growth of French crops such as wheat and barley in his colony along the St. Lawrence. They did well in the fertile, previously untilled soil. When settlers and missionaries migrated, they carried seeds and brought domesticated animals, such as cattle and pigs, previously unknown to Aboriginal people. Ships not only carried explorers and settlers, they also carried weeds, insects, and diseases that ran rampant and transformed the ecological systems of the New World and the health of Aboriginal people.

European diseases caused drastic de- clines in indigenous populations – in some communities, only 10 percent of people

figure 1.5 Hudsons Bay Company canoe manned by voyageurs passing a waterfall Frances Anne Hopkins, artist, 1869,

Library and Archives Canada,

Frances Anne Hopkins fonds,

C-002771

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survived – and assisted European occupation and conquest. Pre-contact Aboriginal soci- eties had by no means been disease-free, but because Aboriginal people lived in small mobile groups and in a cool climate free of domesticated animals, they were relatively safe. Archaeological findings indicate that some undernourished peoples suffered from endemic pathologies – diseases restricted to certain areas or populations – but the effects of such diseases were insignificant compared to Old World pathogens, against which indigenous peoples lacked antibodies. When Jesuit priests brought measles to the Huron in 1636 and smallpox in 1640, the epidemics cut the Huron population in half within a few years. Drastic population declines un- hinged and destabilized Aboriginal societies. They caused starvation, conflict, and the merger of different groups when survivors adopted refugees and orphans. Territories were cleared of people, cleared land reverted to woods, and wildlife increased. Newcomers moved in, only to start the process all over again.

Historians tend to view the Columbian exchange negatively, as a form of biological imperialism. In the 1930s, geographer Carl Sauer lamented the extensive biological changes brought on by contact between what he called the ecological islands of Asia, Africa, Europe, and the Americas. More recently, historian William H. McNeill has argued that the unification of the planet inaugurated by Columbus either damaged or destroyed local forms of life, human and nonhuman, and made possible political conquest and settlement (McNeill 1976). Alfred Crosby, who coined the term Colum- bian exchange, writes of the “cataclysmic loss

of Native life from imported diseases” and “the extinction of more species of life forms in the last 400 years than the usual processes of evolution might kill off in a million” years. The result? “A more impoverished genetic pool” (Crosby 1994, 180). Such pessimism is understandable, given the plight of indigen- ous peoples and the downward trajectory of the planet’s environmental health to the present. But the interaction between ecology and empire is a complex historical process that defies simplistic interpretations. The results of the Columbian exchange were not simply destructive. The New World’s eco- systems proved to be resilient and dynamic. Pre-contact Aboriginal societies were viable and sustainable, but so too were postcontact European settler societies. In some cases, Europeans’ drive for wealth and expansion led to the productive management of resour- ces, improved living standards, and increased population numbers.

The Competition for Furs

When Europeans encountered the New World, they not only brought new diseases

The spread of diseases  including

smallpox, cholera, measles, influenza,

and tuberculosis  from Europeans to

Aboriginal peoples was an ongoing

process that accompanied, if not

preceded, European expansion

throughout the continent. Between

1760 and 1820, for example, fur

traders introduced diseases to the

Plains Indians. The smallpox epidemic

of 1781 killed at least a third of almost

every band. Between 1819 and 1839,

measles reduced the Cree from 3,000

to 1,600 people, and smallpox spread

among the Assiniboine. A smallpox

epidemic in 1862-63 reduced the

population of the Queen Charlotte

Islands by almost 90 percent.

DISEASES IN THE NEW WORLD

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and flora and fauna, they also “thrust com- mercialized human predation across the North Atlantic Ocean. Commercial hunting proved to be the most lucrative way to exploit the northernmost regions of the Americas” (Richards 2005, 463). The trade in furs – sea otter, beaver, buffalo – depended on long- term, shifting alliances between French and English traders and Aboriginal peoples that transformed the environment by depleting wildlife, hastening the spread of disease, disrupting ecosystems, and marginalizing indigenous peoples. The fur trade began casually on the Atlantic Coast around 1580, when European fishers and whalers traded goods for furs. It quickly developed into an enormous separate industry fuelled by European fashions, particularly an insatiable demand for hats made from felted beaver fur. Hunters depleted beaver populations in Europe and Russia and turned to North America as an opportune new source for the fur. By 1750, beaver pelts amounted to about 40 percent of all skins sent abroad from North America.

Competition for furs and the exhaustion of beaver fields heightened imperial rivalries between France and England and sparked further exploration of the continent. The territorial reach of the trade quickly exceeded the limits of settlement. Encouraged by traders, Aboriginal hunters pursued beaver in the Maritimes, up the St. Lawrence, along eastern interior rivers such as the Saguenay, St. Maurice, and Ottawa, through the Great Lakes, and beyond the forested areas of the Canadian Shield onto the Great Plains. The fur trade eventually extended over the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific Coast and north into the Athabasca region (see Figure 1.6).

When furs brought to France by fisher- men began to turn a reliable profit, the Crown set its sights on establishing an over- seas empire and a large-scale fur trade, which would operate from a base in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Champlain, following Cartier’s route, surveyed the area between 1603 and 1635 and chose the location for permanent settlements. Meanwhile, the British were busy founding the populous and prosperous Thirteen Colonies on the Atlantic seaboard to the south and searching for the North- west Passage in the North. In 1610, explorer Henry Hudson discovered a passage into the interior – Hudson Bay – to rival the St. Lawrence River. Growing imperial rivalry led the British to establish the Hudson’s Bay Company (HBC) in 1670 and fur-trading posts on both Hudson and James Bays. Over the next century, the French competed ef- fectively with the British by expanding the trade westward along the continent’s north- ern rivers to the Great Lakes and beyond. Wars between France and England and their Aboriginal allies resulted in the Iroquois’ destruction of Huronia in 1648; the British expulsion of the French Acadians from present-day Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island; and the Conquest of New France in 1763.

After the Conquest, French traders found- ed the North West Company (NWC) in Montreal and resumed the spatial expansion of the trade. Between 1774 and 1821, when the HBC gained a monopoly over the trade, French traders built 351 posts, the HBC 250. When the United States gained independ- ence from Britain in 1776, the British lost trade in the American West and, in re- sponse, expanded the fur trade north into

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the Sub arctic and west to the Pacific Coast. Peter Pond, American fur trader and a founder of the North West Company, reached the Athabasca country by land in 1778. The following decade, Aboriginal guides led Scottish fur trader Alexander Mackenzie through the interior, north to Great Slave Lake, and up what would be named the Mackenzie River to the Beaufort Sea. On behalf of the North West Company, Mackenzie evaluated the river systems for use as fur trade routes to the Pacific. In 1793, Aboriginal guides led him to the Pacific Ocean, completing the European penetration of northern North America. Simon Fraser built the first fur trade post west of the Rockies in 1805.

The expansion of the trade had an en- vironmental impact that extended far beyond the exhaustion of beaver populations. The expanding trade required infrastructure such as forts and trading posts, ports for York boats on Hudson Bay, and roads that reshaped the landscape. By the late 1700s, the St. Lawrence fur trade’s long supply lines included roads built around portages on the Ottawa River, a canal at Sault Ste. Marie, ships on Lake Superior, and supply bases farther west. Fur trade expansion intensified conflict among Aboriginal hunters and between the French and British, which meant more fortified posts and garrisons. Various Aboriginal groups competed for middleman status. European traders depended on middlemen to retrieve

figure 1.6 Major fur trade routes. Competi- tion between the British and French led fur traders to develop different routes through the inter- ior. Settlements both preceded and emerged to service the trade.

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furs from interior tribes in exchange for Euro pean goods. Middlemen then delivered the pelts to the posts in exchange for more European goods. The trading companies took sides to secure fur trade routes and to main- tain cooperation from Aboriginal people, who guided traders, hunted, trapped, and prepared furs. Conflict among Aborig inal groups resulted in more aggressive hunting and more efficient depletion of resources. Wars between Aboriginal groups became more deadly after traders introduced firearms.

Spatial expansion, imperial rivalry, and war marked the fur trade as it opened up the interior and revealed its main waterways and major geographical regions. The notion of abundance promulgated by explorers persisted. The partners of trading companies maintained a rapacious view of the natural world and a sense of entitlement in relation to their Aboriginal partners, whom they pressured to overharvest wildlife. Many voyageurs, the ordinary men who trans- ported furs, did not want to control the landscape, but they served those who did. The voyageurs were mobile people who believed in nonaccumulation. In this sense, they were similar to Aboriginal hunter- gatherers, but they worked on contract for European commercial companies intent on profit through plunder.

The Fur Trades Impact on Aboriginal People

Because the fur trade turned fur-bearing animals into commodities, Aboriginal people’s approach to the natural world changed radically as they participated in it.

As they moved toward commercial hunting, power shifted in favour of Europeans, just as the physical location of Aboriginal groups themselves shifted. Tribes and nations adapt- ed to their role in the trade by changing their spatial distribution. Declining game resour- ces in forested areas and lethal diseases forced Aboriginal people away from Hudson Bay. The Assiniboine and Cree, who once occu- pied the Eastern Woodlands, pushed west onto the Great Plains. They became buffalo hunters who acquired horses from the Blackfoot and guns from traders.

The fur trade was “perhaps the single most important conduit for contact” and changed Aboriginal peoples’ behaviour, hunting prac- tices, and relationship to the environment (Richards 2005, 474). European markets and imperial rivalries drove the trade, but Aboriginal peoples’ desire for European goods was persistent, cumulative, and in the case of guns and alcohol, devastating. In the early years, when furs could be obtained without difficulty, trade goods made Aborig- inal peoples’ lives easier. They could exploit the French-English rivalry to receive gifts and better-quality goods suitable to the northern climate and conditions. As Aborig- inal people became dependent on European goods, however, some forgot the old ways. The Montagnais were among the first nations to stop making pottery or cooking in bark containers. It was easier to acquire European goods “in exchange for skins which cost them almost nothing” (Denys 1908 [1672], 442). The Upland Assiniboine and Cree came to value guns so highly and became “so accus- tomed to using them that they had forgotten how to use bows and arrows as early as 1716” (Ray 1974, 72).

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The purpose of hunting changed, and new patterns of living replaced self-sufficient subsistence lifestyles. For example, before 1760, Aboriginal people in the West lived in three distinct habitats – the woodlands, parkland borders, and the grasslands. They followed animals into the parkland in the winter and onto the grasslands in the sum- mer. Their ability to exploit all three zones gave them “a great deal of ecological flex- ibility,” which allowed them to adjust to changing conditions (Ray 1996, 46). This flexibility was important because the avail- ability of resources fluctuated with periodic outbreaks of disease and short-term changes in climate or rainfall. Hunters lost this ability when they ceased their seasonal food quests at traditional sites and adopted the rhythms of the fur trade, which were shaped by mar- ket demand for specific furs.

The fur trade companies did not, as a rule, encourage Aboriginal people to practise con- servation of wildlife. They simply moved when animals had been depleted in a region. The Hudson’s Bay Company even had hunt- ers decimate all wildlife in areas where there might be competition for furs. In the North- west, when wildlife populations declined, the company did attempt to introduce conserva- tion measures for economic reasons. The policy failed, however, partly because prestige and pensions depended on the numbers of furs officials brought in. Traders therefore judged their short-term interests to be more important than conservation. These measures also came too late for Aboriginal trappers. Some expressed concern about killing meth- ods and the scope of the hunt, but they were dependent on the company for food and wages and often in debt to the companies.

Increased commercial hunting and more efficient weapons such as repeating rifles acquired from Europeans changed the cul- ture of hunting among Aboriginal people and probably affected the traditional spiritual relationship between Aboriginal people and wildlife. Whether Aboriginal people were conservationists or wasteful before contact is a matter of debate. Historian Shepard Krech III believes Aboriginal North Amer- icans had ecological knowledge of the en- vironment, which helped them manipulate it. They expressed their kinship with other species through “narratives, songs, poems, parables, performances, rituals, and material objects” (Krech 1999, 211). But such know- ledge was cultural rather than ecological in a modern sense. Aboriginal peoples’ behaviour varied depending on the circumstances and could be either conservationist or wasteful. Before contact, for instance, Plains Indians were known to use only parts of the buffalo, rather than the whole animal, if it was under- nourished or if its flesh was dry. And buffalo jumps, the pre-contact practice of running buffalo over cliffs, killed hundreds of animals at a time. The fur trade, by making Aborig- inal people dependent on the trade, funda- mentally altered their circumstances.

Wildlife Depletion

The fur trade depleted North American wild life. Modern biologists, using historical records, estimate that traders and middlemen slaughtered millions of animals. The trade put the greatest pressure on the North Amer- ican beaver, which became “prey to one of the longest sustained hunts for a single spe- cies in world history” (Richards 2005, 467).

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Beaver live in deciduous forests, and Canada’s forests were extensive. Estimates of the pre- contact beaver population in North America range from 10 to 100 million. Although beaver are prolific – reproducing two to five kits each year and taking two and a half years to reach maturity – they are vulnerable to hunters because they tend to stay in one place and do not hibernate. Hunters killed approximately 286,000 per year, and diseases (such as an epidemic in 1800 among western beaver) killed off the remainder nearly to extinction.

As the fur trade moved from east to west, it left behind ecosystems altered beyond recognition. Beavers, nature’s hydraulic en- gineers, create dams, ponds, meadows, and useful ecosystems for other wildlife. Beaver dams shape environments by ensuring water supplies and stabilizing stream flows. When beaver populations declined, their dams broke, changing surrounding landscapes and destroying the habitat of other wildlife species. Beaver numbers did not begin to rise until after the 1840s, when Europeans switched from felt to silk hats and when market demand shifted to other furs, such as marten, fox, and muskrat.

Provisioning the fur trade also led to the depletion of other fur-bearing animals. The

HBC hired Homeguard Cree to provision its posts. These contract hunters provided traders with moose, caribou, deer, rabbits, and geese. Traders themselves hunted and fished for wildlife to supply their posts and sustain them on journeys. The HBC’s policy of self-sufficiency helped reduce its overhead costs, but it depleted species that fell outside of commercial trade. For instance, it is esti- mated that traders and provisioners at one post could kill up to two hundred partridges a day. In 1709-10, eighty company men at one post, over one winter, consumed ninety thousand partridges, twenty-five thousand hares, thousands of geese, and fish and deer. These numbers seem high, but traders were engaged in heavy work. A single man could consume between six and twelve pounds of meat per day, and posts often fed guests and Aboriginal visitors.

The extermination and disappearance of the buffalo in the United States and Canada remains a grim narrative in the history of wildlife. A number of factors contributed to overhunting. Plains Indians cultures centred on the buffalo hunt, and the introduction of the horse and firearms only made the hunt more efficient. A market for buffalo robes began to develop in the 1830s when other fur-bearing animals had been depleted.

THE SWAN TRADE

The Hudsons Bay Company

did not restrict its business to

fur-bearing animals. It marketed

swan skins to the European gar-

ment industry and sold swan

and goose feathers for the

production of quill pens.

Over hunting contributed to the

decline of trum peter and tundra

swans in North America. Bet-

ween three thousand and five

thousand swans were shot

annually, to the point where the

swan flight into James Bay had

almost disappeared by 1783-85

and swans became scarce in the

interior (Houston, Houston, and

Reeves 2003, 189-98).

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Buffalo hides were used for robes and as a source of leather for industrial belts. To acquire trade goods such as guns, Plains Indians hunted more buffalo. The Hudson’s Bay Company, which realized robes were being traded south of the border, raised their prices and actively encouraged the buffalo robe trade to keep American traders south of the forty-ninth parallel. Once Plains Indians became enmeshed in trade, it is estimated that they began to harvest buffalo at about twice the rate they would have for subsistence.

The Metis, people of mixed European- Aboriginal descent and the offspring of the trade, were searching for a way to support themselves as the fur trade dwindled. Buffalo hunts became an important aspect of Metis social organization, identity, and lifestyle. The Metis also began to take on a middle- man position, buying robes and meat for pemmican from Plains Indians and selling them to the HBC or American companies. In 1840 alone, they drove 1,210 Red River carts, each loaded with a nine-hundred- pound load, to Minneapolis.

Overhunting by American hunters and sportsmen and by Aboriginal and Metis hunters, combined with the US army’s policy of exterminating buffalo to starve Plains Indians into submission, pushed buffalo to the brink of extinction by the late 1870s. Prior to contact, it is estimated that 60 mil- lion buffalo roamed North America in two vast herds, one northern, one southern. By 1890, there were fewer than one hundred.

With the buffalo gone, many realized that the land could no longer support the Plains Indians’ traditional way of life. In 1871, Plains

Cree chiefs asked the HBC’s chief factor, W. J. Christie, about the Canadian gov- ernment’s intentions. The chiefs wanted to know what the transfer of the HBC lands to the new nation of Canada in 1870 meant for them. The numbered treaties, which were negotiated between 1871 and 1876, extin- guished Aboriginal claims to the grasslands, parklands, and woodlands of the Canadian Prairies. Marginalized on reserves with poor diets, many Plains Indians died. About one- sixth of the Blackfoot in Canada perished between 1879 and 1881. Others suffered the effects of disease, displacement, and dispos- session. These developments were the direct result of the spatial expansion of the fur trade and the depletion of animals.

The period of European exploration, Aboriginal-European contact, and the Columbian exchange initiated a process of enormous environmental and cultural change that was as significant as the movement of plants, wildlife, and people before the Ice Age and after its conclusion, when people started residing in North America. The en- vironment was transformed as people’s perceptions of it changed. The fur trade slaughtered millions of animals and de- stroyed ecosystems to line the pockets of merchants and provide Europeans with warm, durable, and fashionable clothing. Although western European consumers benefitted, Aboriginal peoples were left with little to sustain them when the trade con- tracted and when political and economic developments ushered in a new wave of settlers.

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Works Cited Axtell, James. 1992. Beyond 1492: Encounters in Colonial North

America. New York: Oxford University Press. Boyd, David R. 2003. Unnatural Law: Rethinking Canadian

Environmental Law and Policy. Vancouver: UBC Press. Cook, Ramsay. 1993. The Voyages of Jacques Cartier. Toronto:

University of Toronto Press. Crosby, Alfred W. 1994. Germs, Seeds, and Animals: Studies in

Ecological History. Armonk, NY: ME Sharpe. Denys, Nicholas. 1908 [1672]. The Description and Natural

History of the Coasts of North America (Arcadia). Translated and edited by William F. Ganong. Toronto: Champlain Society.

Flannery, Tim. 2001. The Eternal Frontier: An Ecological History of North America and Its Peoples. London: William Heinemann.

Honour, Hugh. 1975. The New Golden Land: European Images of America from the Discoveries to the Present Time. New York: Pantheon Books.

Houston, C. Stuart, Mary Houston, and Henry M. Reeves. 2003. “Appendix E: The Nineteenth-Century Trade in Swan Skins and Quills.” In Stuart Houston, Tim Ball, and Mary Houston, Eighteenth-Century Naturalists of Hudson Bay, 188- 99. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

Krech, Shepard, III. 1999. The Ecological Indian: Myth and History. New York: W.W. Norton McMillan.

McNeill, William Hardy. 1976. Plagues and People. Garden City, NY: Anchor.

Miller, J.R. 1989. Skyscrapers Hide the Heavens: A History of Indian-White Relations in Canada. Rev. ed. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Payne, Edward John, ed. 1900. Voyages of the Elizabethan Seamen to America: Select Narratives from the “Principal Navigations” of Hakluyt. London: Clarendon Press.

Ray, Arthur. 1974. Indians in the Fur Trade: Their Role as Trappers, Hunters, and Middlemen in the Lands Southwest of Hudson’s Bay, 1660-1870. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

–. 1996. I Have Lived Here since the World Began: An Illustrated History of Canada’s Native Peoples. Toronto: Key Porter Books.

Richards, John F. 2005. The Unending Frontier: An Environmental History of the Early Modern World. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Trigger, Bruce. 1969. The Huron Farmers of the North. Toronto: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.

For Further Reading

The Land before People Christianson, Gale E. 1999. Greenhouse: The 200-Year Story of

Global Warming. New York: Walker and Company. Flannery, Tim. 2001. The Eternal Frontier: An Ecological History

of North America and Its Peoples. London: William Heinemann.

Hoffecker, John F., and Scott A. Elias. 2003. “Environment and Archeology in Beringia.” Evolutionary Anthropology 12, 1: 34-49.

Steinberg, Ted. 2002. Down to Earth: Nature’s Role in American History. New York: Oxford University Press.

Weart, Spencer R. 2008. The Discovery of Global Warming. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

The Arrival of Humans Cinq-Mars, Jacques. N.d. “The Bluefish Caves.” Canadian

Encyclo pedia. http://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/. Dixon, E. James. 2001. “Human Colonization of the Americas:

Timing, Technology and Process.” Quaternary Science Reviews 20, 1-3: 277-99.

Fladmark, K.R. 1979. “Routes: Alternate Migration Corridors for Early Man in North America.” American Antiquity 44, 1: 55-69.

Haynes, C. Vance. 1980. “The Clovis Culture.” Canadian Journal of Anthropology 1, 1: 115-21.

Kennett, D.J., et al. 2009. “Nanodiamonds in the Younger Dryas Boundary Sediment Layer.” Science 323, 5910: 94.

McNeill, William Hardy. 1976. Plagues and People. Garden City, NY: Anchor.

Wynn, Graeme. 2007. Canada and Arctic North America: An Environmental History. Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO.

The Development of Cultural Areas Binnema, Theodore. 2004. Common and Contested Ground:

A Human and Environmental History of the Northwestern Plains. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Dick, Lyle. 2009. “People and Animals in the Arctic: Mediating between Indigenous and Western Knowledge.” In Method and Meaning in Canadian Environmental History, edited by Alan MacEachern and William J. Turkel, 76-101. Toronto: Nelson.

Evenden, Matthew. 2004. Fish versus Power: An Environmental History of the Fraser River. New York: Cambridge University Press.

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Fagan, Brian. 2008. The Great Warming: Climate Change and the Rise and Fall of Civilizations. New York: Bloomsbury Press.

Fossett, Renee. 1997. In Order to Live Untroubled: Inuit in the Central Arctic, 1550-1940. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press.

Greenberg, Joseph H., C.G. Turner II, and S. Zegura. 1986. “The Settlement of the Americas: A Comparison of the Linguistic, Dental and Genetic Evidence.” Current Anthropology 37, 5: 477-97.

Haines, Francis. 1938. “The Northwest Spread of Horses among the Plains Indians.” American Anthropologist 40, 3: 429-37.

Harris, R. Cole, and Geoffrey Matthews, eds. 1987. Historical Atlas of Canada. Vol. 1, From the Beginning to 1800. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Heidenreich, Conrad. 1990. “The Natural Environment of Huronia and Huron Seasonal Activities.” In People, Places, Patterns, Processes: Geographical Perspectives on the Canadian Past, edited by Graeme Wynn, 42-55. Toronto: Copp Clark Pitman.

Marshall, Ingeborg. 1996. A History of Ethnology of the Beothuk. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

McMillan, Alan D. 1995. Native Peoples and Cultures of Canada. Vancouver: Douglas and McIntyre.

Morgan, R. Grace. 1980. “Bison Movement Patterns on the Canadian Plains: An Ecological Analysis.” Plains Anthro- pologist 25, 88: 143-60.

Ray, Arthur. 1996. I Have Lived Here since the World Began: An Illustrated History of Canada’s Native Peoples. Toronto: Key Porter Books.

Richards, John F. 2005. The Unending Frontier: An Environ- mental History of the Early Modern World. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Spry, Irene M. 1995. “Aboriginal Resource Use in the Nineteenth Century in the Great Plains of Modern Canada.” In Con- suming Canada: Readings in Environmental History, edited by Chad Gaffield and Pam Gaffield, 81-92. Mississauga, ON: Copp Clark.

Taylor, Joseph E., III. 1999. Making Salmon: An Environmental History of the North West Fisheries Crisis. Seattle: University of Washington Press.

Trigger, Bruce. 1969. The Huron Farmers of the North. Toronto: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.

Aboriginal Perceptions of and Approaches to the Land Barrett, Stephen W., and Stephen F. Arno. 1982. “Indian Fires as

an Ecological Influence in the Northern Rockies.” Journal of Forestry 80, 10: 647-51.

Brody, Hugh. 2000. The Other Side of Eden: Hunters, Farmers and the Shaping of the World. Vancouver: Douglas and McIntyre.

Crowe, Keith J. 1991. A History of the Original Peoples of Northern Canada. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

Dickasen, Olive. 1997. Canada’s First Nations: A History of the Founding Peoples from Earliest Times. Toronto: Oxford University Press.

Kuhnlen, Harriet V., and Nancy J. Turner. 1991. Traditional Plant Foods of Canadian Indigenous Peoples. Philadelphia: Gordon and Breach.

Miller, J.R. 1989. Skyscrapers Hide the Heavens: A History of Indian-White Relations in Canada. Rev. ed. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Early Explorers: The Norse Fagan, Brian. 2000. The Little Ice Age: How Climate Made

History, 1300-1850. New York: Basic Books. Jones, Gwyn. 1984. A History of the Vikings. Oxford: Oxford

University Press. McGhee, Robert. 1984. “Contact between Native North

Americans and the Medieval Norse: A Review of the Evidence.” American Antiquity 49, 1: 4-26.

Quinn, David B. 1975. North America from Earliest Discovery to First Settlements: The Norse Voyages to 1612. New York: Harper and Row.

Seaver, Kirsten A. 1996. The Frozen Echo: Greenland and the Exploration of North America, ca. AD 1000-1500. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press.

The Early Fisheries Bakker, Peter. 1989. “‘The Language of the Coastal Tribes Is

Half Basque’: A Basque-American Indian Pidgin in Use between Europeans and Native Americans in North America ca. 1540–ca. 1640.” Anthropological Linguistics 31, 3-4: 117-47.

Hutchings, Jeffrey A., and Ransom A. Myers. 1995. “The Biological Collapse of Atlantic Cod off Newfoundland and Labrador: An Exploration of Historical Changes in Exploit- ation, Harvesting Technology, and Management.” In The

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North Atlantic Fisheries: Successes, Failures, and Challenges, edited by Ragnar Arnason and Lawrence Felt, 37-93. Charlottetown: Institute of Island Studies.

Innis, H.A. 1931. “The Rise and Fall of the Spanish Fishery in Newfoundland.” Transactions of the Royal Society, 3rd ser., 25, sec. 2: 51-70.

Pope, Peter E. 2009. “Historical Archaeology and the Maritime Cultural Landscape of the Atlantic Fishery.” In Method and Meaning, edited by Alan MacEachern and William J. Turkel, 36-54. Toronto: Nelson.

Rastogi, Toolika, Moira W. Brown, Brenna A. McLeod, Timothy R. Frasier, Robert Grenier, Stephen L. Cumbaa, Jeya Nadarajah, and Bradley N. White. 2004. “Genetic Analysis of 16th-Century Whale Bones Prompts a Revision of the Impact of Basque Whaling on Right and Bowhead Whales in the Western North Atlantic.” Canadian Journal of Zoology 82, 10: 1647-54.

Turgeon, Laurier. 1998. “French Fishers, Fur Traders and Amerindians during the 16th Century: History and Archaeology.” William and Mary Quarterly, 3rd ser., 55, 4: 585-610.

European Explorers Chart a New Environment Axtell, James. 1992. Beyond 1492: Encounters in Colonial North

America. New York: Oxford University Press. Biggar, Henry Percival. 1923. The Voyages of the Cabots and the

Corte-Reals to North America and Greenland, 1497-1503. London: n.p.

Crosby, Alfred W. 1994. Germs, Seeds, and Animals: Studies in Ecological History. Armonk, NY: ME Sharpe.

Denevan, William. 1992. “The Pristine Myth: The Landscape of the Americas in 1492.” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 82, 3: 369-85.

Honour, Hugh. 1975. The New Golden Land: European Images of America from the Discoveries to the Present Time. New York: Pantheon Books.

Payne, Edward John, ed. 1900. Voyages of the Elizabethan Seamen to America: Select Narratives from the “Principal Navigations” of Hakluyt. London: Clarendon Press.

Pope, Peter E. 1997. The Many Landfalls of John Cabot. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Sauer, Carl. 1971. Sixteenth-Century North America: The Land and the People as Seen by the Europeans. Berkeley: University of California Press.

First Contacts Axtell, James. 1992. Beyond 1492: Encounters in Colonial North

America. New York: Oxford University Press. Coates, Colin M. 1993. “Like ‘The Thames towards Putney’:

The Appropriation of Landscape in Lower Canada.” Canadian Historical Review 54, 3: 317-43.

Cook, Ramsay, ed. 1993. The Voyages of Jacques Cartier. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Fisher, Robin. 1977. Contact and Conflict: Indian-European Relations in British Columbia. Vancouver: UBC Press.

Hough, Richard. 1995. Captain James Cook: A Biography. London: Coronet.

Pastore, Ralph. 1994. “The Sixteenth Century: Aboriginal Peoples and European Contact.” In The Atlantic Region to Confederation: A History, edited by Philip A. Buckner and John G. Reid, 22-39. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Reid, John G. 1994. “1686-1720: Imperial Intrusions.” In The Atlantic Region to Confederation: A History, edited by Philip A. Buckner and John G. Reid, 78-103. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

The Columbian Exchange Cronon, William. 1983. Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists

and the Ecology of New England. New York: Hill and Wang.

Crosby, Alfred W. 1994. Germs, Seeds, and Animals: Studies in Ecological History. Armonk, NY: ME Sharpe.

–. 2000. “Ecological Imperialism: The Overseas Migration of Western Europeans as a Biological Phenomenon.” In American Encounters: Natives and Newcomers from Euro- pean Contact to Indian Removal, 1500-1850, edited by Peter C. Mancall and James H. Merrell, 55-67. New York: Routledge.

Griffiths, Tom, and Libby Robin, eds. 1997. Ecology and Empire: Environmental History of Settler Societies. Edinburgh: Keele University Press.

Grove, Richard. 1995. Green Imperialism: Colonial Expansion, Tropical Island Edens and the Origins of Environmentalism, 1600-1860. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Houston, Stuart, Tim Ball, and Mary Houston. 2003. Eighteenth-Century Naturalists of Hudson Bay. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

McNeill, William Hardy. 1976. Plagues and People. Garden City, NY: Anchor.

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Sauer, Carl O. 1938. “Theme of Plant and Animal Destruction in Economic History.” In Land and Life, edited by John Leighly, 145-54. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Saunders, Richard. 1935. “The First Introduction of European Plants and Animals into Canada.” Canadian Historical Review 16, 4: 388-406.

The Competition for Furs Creighton, Donald. 1937. The Empire of the St. Lawrence: A

Study in Commerce and Politics. Toronto: Ryerson Press. Innis, Harold. 1970. The Fur Trade in Canada. Toronto:

University of Toronto Press. Podruchny, Carolyn. 2006. Making the Voyageur World: Travelers

and Traders in the North American Fur Trade. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Richards, John F. 2005. The Unending Frontier: An Environmental History of the Early Modern World. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Trigger, Bruce. 1960. “The Destruction of Huronia: A Study in Economic and Cultural Change, 1609-1650.” Transactions of the Royal Canadian Institute 33, 1: 14-45.

Trudel, Marcel. 1973. The Beginnings of New France. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart.

The Fur Trade’s Impact on Aboriginal People Krech, Shepard, III. 1999. The Ecological Indian: Myth and

History. New York: W.W. Norton McMillan. Martin, Calvin. 1974. “The European Impact on the Culture

of a Northeastern Algonquian Tribe: An Ecological Interpretation.” William and Mary Quarterly 3, 31: 3-26.

Ray, Arthur. 1974. Indians in the Fur Trade: Their Role as Trappers, Hunters, and Middlemen in the Lands Southwest of Hudson’s Bay, 1660-1870. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Richards, John F. 2005. The Unending Frontier: An Environmental History of the Early Modern World. Berkeley: University of California Press.

White, Richard. 1991. The Middle Ground: Indians, Empires, and Republics in the Great Lakes Region, 1650-1815. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press.

Wildlife Depletion Colpitts, George. 2002. Game in the Garden: A History of

Wildlife in Western Canada to 1940. Vancouver: UBC Press. Dobak, William A. 1996. “Killing the Canadian Buffalo, 1821-

1881.” Western Historical Quarterly 27, 1: 33-52. Hammond, Lorne. 1993. “Marketing Wildlife: The Hudson’s

Bay Company and the Pacific Northwest, 1821-1849.” Forest and Conservation History 37, 1: 14-25.

Houston, C. Stuart, Mary Houston, and Henry M. Reeves. 2003. “Appendix E: The Nineteenth-Century Trade in Swan Skins and Quills.” In Stuart Houston, Tim Ball, and Mary Houston, Eighteenth Century Naturalists of Hudson Bay, 188-99. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

Morgan, R. Grace. 1980. “Bison Movement Patterns on the Canadian Plains: An Ecological Analysis.” Plains Anthropol- ogist 25: 143-60.

Richards, John F. 2005. The Unending Frontier: An Environ- mental History of the Early Modern World. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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© UBC Press 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

MacDowell, Laurel Sefton An environmental history of Canada [electronic resource] / Laurel Sefton MacDowell.

Includes bibliographical references and index. Electronic monograph issued in multiple formats. Also issued in print format. ISBN 978-0-7748-2103-2 (PDF). – ISBN 978-0-7748-2104-9 (EPUB)

1. Human ecology – Canada – History. 2. Natural resources – Canada – History. 3. Canada – Environmental conditions – History. 4. Environmental policy – Canada. I. Title.

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docs/APA_Aug2015.pdf

APA Citation Style

Guide to Bibliographic Citation



Please Note:

This handout is based on the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association,

6th edition, 2010.

Your professor may prefer a different edition.

While Library staff have made every effort to avoid errors in this document, we strongly encourage students to verify this information with the

publication manual itself or with your professor.

The Library, Durham College & UOIT Revised August 2015

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

1

Avoiding Plagiarism When writing a research paper, lab report or any other type of academic assignment, you will likely use resources such as books, articles and websites written by other people to support your argument. However, when using someone else’s information, you must indicate where that information came from (credit must be given where credit is due). If you fail to acknowledge your sources, you are guilty of plagiarism. Plagiarism is a serious offence which may lead to lost marks or a failing grade. There are many different formats for providing credit (also known as bibliographic citation) to other sources within your research paper. This handout provides a brief summary of the APA style guidelines as outlined in the sixth edition of the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association (2010). The examples presented illustrate the more common types of bibliographic citation. Please note that this handout should only be used as a guide. For complete information and additional examples consult the Library’s copy of the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association. PLEASE CHECK WITH YOUR INSTRUCTOR FOR ANY ADDITIONAL REQUIREMENTS THAT MAY DIFFER FROM THOSE OUTLINED BY THE APA GUIDELINES, 2010 EDITION. YOUR PROFESSOR MAY PREFER TO USE A DIFFERENT EDITION OF THE APA GUIDELINES.

When to cite Before examining the specific formats of the APA citation style (which are explained in detail in the following pages), it is important to understand when to cite to prevent plagiarism. A source must be cited or acknowledged when you:

 quote material verbatim (word for word)

 reword or paraphrase materials

 include statistics or findings from a survey or study

 incorporate facts, ideas or opinions that are not common knowledge When you summarize a concept that is not common knowledge, you must cite your source. It is not necessary to cite information that is widely known by your audience – such as: “milk is a good source of calcium” or “good oral care prevents tooth decay”. Listed below are a few examples to illustrate when citations are required. Assume that you have been given an assignment on the impact of working part-time on high school students and you decide to use an article written by Gisele Carriere entitled “Weekly work hours and health-related behaviours in full-time students” from Health Reports, June 2005, volume 16, number 4, pages 11 to 22. Here is a passage taken directly from page 13 of the above-mentioned article:

In 2003, an estimated 63% of full-time high-school students aged 15 to 17 had worked

for pay in part- or full-time jobs in the past 12 months (Table 1). The older teens in

this group were more likely to work, as were those from households with higher incomes

or in rural areas.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

2

Example 1 Citation is required if you use a direct quote from a source in your paper. Note that a page number is required when using quotes.

Many high schools students to have part-time jobs, particularly those from

“households with higher incomes or in rural areas” (Carriere, 2005, p. 13).

If your quotation is 40 words or more, use a freestanding block of text without the quotation marks. The block quotation should start on a new line and be double-spaced and indented from the left margin. For an example, see the “Quotations” section toward the end of this document. Example 2 Paraphrasing or rewording the passage does not make it your own. Look at the following change; citing is still required. As this is not a direct, verbatim quote a page number is not necessary, but is encouraged as is would help your reader locate the relevant passage in the source. Note: the example below does provide the relevant page number; the majority of examples used through this handout do not.

While the majority of high schools students do have part or full-time

employment, 37% do not engage in paid work (Carriere, 2005, p. 13).

Example 3 Statistics must always be cited. The cited statistics are from a chart within Carriere’s article.

In 2003, seventy-eight percent of female high school students worked weekends,

compared to seventy-three percent of male students (Carriere, 2005, p. 13).

What to cite The previous examples were taken from journal articles but proper citation applies to all types of formats including books, journals, newspapers, works by associations or corporations, encyclopedias, dictionaries, technical reports, videocassettes, websites, electronic journal articles, etc. Due to concerns regarding plagiarism, students often complain that their essays are a string of cited lines and paragraphs. However, it is how you interpret the information from various sources and bring it together, that is uniquely yours. No other individual will come up with quite the same combination. If you are in doubt if a citation is required, it is better to cite than not cite.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

3

In Text Citations and Reference List Citations Information that you take from other sources must be acknowledged within the body of the text (in text citations) and at the end of the paper (in the reference list). It is important that all material cited within the text must appear in the reference list, and vice versa. The only exceptions to this, according to APA, are classical works that have standardized sections across editions and personal communications.

In Text Citations Citations within the text are brief and include the author’s name, the year of publication, and the page numbers where appropriate. These short references provide enough information for the reader to locate the full citation in the reference list at the end of the paper. Note: Page numbers are not absolutely necessary when paraphrasing an author’s ideas, but are encouraged. Although most of the examples shown here do not include the page number, the format would be (Wilson, 2001, p. 47) or (Wilson, 2001, pp. 111-112) for multiple pages. The surname of the author and the year of publication are inserted in the text at the appropriate point (e.g. before a comma, after a quotation or at the end of the sentence).

In an earlier patient survey (Wilson, 2001), it was found If the name of the author appears in the sentence, only the year is required in the citation. Wilson (2001) surveyed patients and discovered

A study by Kirton et al. (2001) found that

In the majority of the examples listed in the following sections, the in text citations are given as if the author’s name was not used in the sentence. However, it is generally advisable to use the author’s name in the sentence with only the year in brackets, as it makes the text easier to read (less fragmented).

Reference List Citations

The reference list should start on a new page and the word References should be centered at the top of the page (see the sample reference list at the end of this document). All reference entries should be double-spaced (the examples used throughout this handout are single spaced due to space limitations). APA uses a hanging-indent format – the first line of each entry is flush left and subsequent lines are indented. Alphabetizing: Entries should be arranged alphabetically by author’s surname or name of a corporate body. If the author is unknown, alphabetize the entry in the list by its title. If two authors have the same last name, alphabetize by the first initial (e.g. Smith, A. would appear in the list before Smith, R.). If there are two works by the same author, list them in order of publication with the oldest item listed first (e.g. an item written in 1998 would appear before an item written in 2008). If there are two items written by the same author in the same year, identify them by the suffixes a, b, c, d, etc. after the year. For more examples, see the Library’s copy of the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association, 6th edition, 2010, p. 181. The following are some common APA style examples illustrating how to provide in text and reference citations. A sample Reference list is included at the end of this document. For complete information and an exhaustive list of examples please consult the Library’s copy of the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association, 6th edition, 2010.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

4

Examples of Print Materials:

Book (general reference format)

Author, A. A. (Year of publication). Title of work: Subtitle. Place of

publication: Publisher.

Elements that must be included in reference list citations are: author name (use only initials for first name), title, date of publication and publisher information. The title of the book should be italicised. Note: for electronic books, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

Book (no author)

In Text: The spinal column (Dorland’s Illustrated, 2000) has

If referring to a book, brochure or report, the first few words of the title in the in text citation should be in italics. If referring to an article or chapter, the first few words should be in double quotes and capitalized.

Reference: Dorland’s illustrated medical dictionary (29th ed.). (2000). Philadelphia: Saunders.

Note: for electronic books, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

Book (one author)

In Text: Plagiarism is quite often unintentional (Ballenger, 2007) as

Reference: Ballenger, B. (2007). The curious researcher: A guide to writing research papers. Toronto: Pearson Longman.

Note: for electronic books, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

Book (two authors)

In Text: In the United States, the occupation of registered nurse is expected to see the largest growth in the next decade (Cherry & Jacob, 2005).

Reference: Cherry, B., & Jacob, S. R. (2005). Contemporary nursing: Issues, trends, & management (3rd ed.). St. Louis, MO: Elsevier Mosby.

Note: for electronic books, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

5

Book (three to five authors)

In Text, first citation: The study (Kirton, Talotta, & Zwolski, 2001) concluded

In Text, subsequent citations: (Kirton et al., 2001)

Reference: Kirton, C. A., Talotta, D., & Zwolski, K. (2001). Handbook of HIV/AIDS nursing. St. Louis, MO: Mosby.

All of the authors are cited in the text the first time the reference appears. For subsequent citations, use the first surname followed by et al. (not italicized and with a period after “al”), a term meaning “and others”. The only exception is when two distinct references shorten to the same first author. In this case list enough subsequent authors to establish a distinction between the two references. Note: for electronic books, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

Book (six or more authors)

In text citation – for items with six or more authors, the in text citation requires only the first author’s name, followed by et al. (not italicised and with a period after al.)

In Text: The study (Wolchik et al., 2000) found

For the reference citation – if an item has six or seven authors, cite all of the authors’ names as in the first example below. If there are eight or more authors, include the first six authors’ names, then insert three ellipses and add the last author’s name as in the second example below.

Reference: Wolchik, S. A., West, S. G., Sandler, I. N., Tein, J., Coatsworth, D., Lengua, L. (2000). Neuroscience. Philadelphia: Saunders.

Author, A. A., Author, B. B., Author, C. C., Author, D. D., Author, E.

E., Author, F. F.,...Author, J. J. (Year). Title of book. Place

of publication: Publisher.

Note: for electronic books, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

Edited Book

In Text: The relationship between crime and schizophrenia (Raine, 2006)

Reference: Raine, A. (Ed.). (2006). Crime and schizophrenia: Causes and cures. New York: Nova Science.

Greenspan, E. L., & Rosenberg, M. (Eds.). (2009). Martin’s annual

criminal code: Student edition 2010. Aurora, ON: Canada Law Book.

Note: for electronic books, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

6

Chapter in an Edited Book

In Text: There are a several key learning theories (Young & Wasserman, 2005).

Reference – general form:

Chapter author. (publication year). Title of chapter. In editor’s name

(Ed.), Title of book (chapter pages). Place of publication:

Publisher.

Young, M. E., & Wasserman, E. A. (2005). Theories of learning. In K.

Lamberts & R. L. Goldstone (Eds.), Handbook of cognition (pp.

161-182). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

Note: for electronic books, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

Government Document

Government documents may have individual authors (as in the example below) or may have an entire department as an author (see the section below entitled ‘Group as Author’). The government department may be the publisher and the place of publication may be the city of the department’s head office.

In Text: Crime is a growing concern (Fitzgerald, 2008)

Reference: Fitzgerald, R. (2008). Fear of crime and the neighbourhood context in Canadian cities. Ottawa: Statistics Canada.

Note: for electronic resources, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

Group as Author, including Government Documents (government agency, associations, corporations, etc.)

In Text, first citation: The use of biased language should be avoided when possible (American Psychological Association [APA], 2005)

Subsequent citations: (APA, 2005)

If the organization has a well-known abbreviation, as in the example above, include it in brackets the first time the sources are cited and then use only the abbreviation in later citations.

Reference: American Psychological Association. (2005). Concise rules of APA style. Washington: Author.

Canada Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples. (1995). Choosing

life: Special report on suicide among Aboriginal people. Ottawa,

ON: Ministry of Supply and Services Canada.

Statistics Canada. (1998). Family expenditure in Canada, 1996 (No. 62-

555-XPB). Ottawa, Ontario: Author.

Publications with a group author (e.g. annual reports or government documents) are often published by

the group itself. In these cases the publisher is listed as Author and the place of publication is often the city of the corporation’s head office. Note: for electronic resources, see the example in the Electronic Sources section.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

7

Encyclopedia Entry

In Text: Chemical elements are the building blocks of all materials (Usselman, 2006).

Reference – general form:

Section author. (publication year). Title of section. In Title of

encyclopedia (volume number, pages). Place of publication:

Publisher.

Usselman, M. (2006). Chemistry. In The world book encyclopedia (Vol.

3, pp. 398-407). Chicago: World Book.

If there is no author, use the following format:

Title of entry. (2006). In Title of encyclopedia (Vol. xx, pp. xx-xx).

Place of publication: Publisher.

Note: for electronic resources, see the general examples in the Electronic Sources section.

Conference Papers or Proceedings Conference papers or proceedings may also be published in book or periodical form. Use the appropriate book or periodical (journal) citation format, as found elsewhere in this document. Contributor, A. A., & Contributor, B. B. (year). Title of paper or proceeding. In A. Editor (Ed.), Title of symposium or conference

(pp. x-x). Place of publication: Publisher.

Presenter, A. A. (Year, Month). Title of paper. Paper presented at the

meeting of Organization Name, Location.

For more examples, see page 206 of the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association.

Periodicals (Journals, Magazines, Newspapers) (general reference form)

Author, A. A. (Year). Title of article. Title of Periodical, volume(issue), page-

range.

Journal article references include the author of the article, date, title of the article, title of the journal (in italics), volume and issue information (volume number should also be in italics) and the page range of the article.

NEW: the 6th edition of the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association recommends including a DOI number (Digital Object Identifier) for paper or online journal articles if one has been assigned to the article. The DOI number is an identification system used for intellectual property found in the digital environment. The DOI number acts as a persistent link to the online form of the item (if the Library subscribes to it). If the document has been assigned a DOI number, it is usually listed on the first page of the article.

Author, A. A. (Year). Title of article. Title of Periodical, volume(issue),

page- range. doi: xx.xxxxxxxxxx

Note: for electronic resources, see the examples in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

8

Journal Article (one author)

In Text: Clinical trials (Thorne, 2001) indicate

Reference: Thorne, S. E. (2001). Complementary and alternative medicine: Critical issues of nursing practice and policy. Canadian Nurse, 97(4), 27-

30.

The 6th edition of the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association recommends including a DOI number for print or electronic articles if one is provided (see next example) – the DOI is usually indicated on the first page of the article. Note: for electronic resources, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

Journal Article (two authors)

In Text: An individual’s marital status is a factor (Herbst-Damm & Kulik, 2005)

Reference: Herbst-Damm, K. L., & Kulik, J. A. (2005). Volunteer support, marital status, and the survival times of terminally ill patients.

Health Psychology, 24, 225-229. doi:10.1037/0278-6133.24.2.225

The 6th edition of the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association recommends including a DOI number for print or electronic articles if one is provided – the DOI is usually indicated on the first page of the article. Note: for electronic resources, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

Journal Article (three to five authors)

In Text, first citation: Palliative care focuses on geriatric syndromes (Kapo, Morrison, & Liao, 2007)

In Text, subsequent citations: (Kapo et al., 2007)

Reference: Kapo, J., Morrison, L. J., & Liao, S. (2007). Palliative care for the older adult. Journal of Palliative Medicine, 10(1), 185-209.

The 6th edition of the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association recommends including a DOI number for print or electronic articles if one is provided (see example for two authors) – the DOI is usually indicated on the first page of the article. Note: for electronic resources, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

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Journal Articles (six or more authors)

In text citation - for items with six or more authors, the in text citation requires only the first author’s name, followed by et al. (not italicised and with a period after al).

In Text: The study of recent newborns (Davies et al., 2002) concluded that

For the reference citation - if an article has six or seven authors, cite all of the authors’ names in the reference citation, as in the first example below. If there are eight or more authors, include the first six authors’ names, then insert three ellipses and add the last author’s name as in the second example.

Reference: Davies, B., Hodnett, E., Hannah, M., O'Brien-Pallas, L., Pringle, D., Wells, G. (2002). Fetal health surveillance: A community-wide

approach versus a tailored intervention for the implementation of

clinical practice guidelines. CMAJ: Canadian Medical Association

Journal, 167(5), 469-474.

Gilbert, D. G., McClernon, J. F., Rabinovich, N. E., Sugai, C., Plath,

L. C., Asgaard, G.,...Botros, N. (2004). Effects of quitting

smoking on EEG activation and attention last for more than 31

days and are more severe with stress, dependence, DRD2 A1 allele,

and depressive traits. Nicotine and Tobacco Research, 6, 249-267.

doi: 10.1080/1462220410001676305

The 6th edition of the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association recommends including a DOI number if one is provided – the DOI is usually indicated on the first page of the article.

Note: for electronic resources, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

Newspaper Article

(with author)

In Text: A nursing shortage will occur over the next decade (Robinson, 2002).

Reference: Robinson, L. (2002, September 10). Simple solutions to address nursing labour shortage. The Hamilton Spectator, p. B4.

References for titles that are published daily (e.g. newspapers) include the year, month and day of the issue. Newspaper references also require a p. (for single page articles) or pp. (if multiple pages) to indicate page number(s). If the article continues on more than one page in non-sequential order, give all page numbers and separate the numbers with a comma (e.g., pp. B1, B3). Note: for electronic resources, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

Newspaper Article (no author)

In Text: Medication may be delivered in various formats (“Medicated Gum,” 2002)

Reference: Medicated gum helpful to seniors. (2002, September 19). The Kitchener- Waterloo Record, pp. C2, C4.

Alphabetise by the first significant word in the title. For example, if the title was “The new health-care

system”, list it under new.

Note: for electronic resources, see the example in the Electronic Sources section for general formatting.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

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Examples of Electronic Sources

The 6th edition of the APA style guide has new guidelines for citing electronic references. However, your instructor may prefer a different format. PLEASE CHECK WITH YOUR INSTRUCTOR FOR ANY ADDITIONAL REQUIREMENTS.

Journal Article - Online

Many journal articles have an assigned DOI number (Digital Object Identifier), which is an identification system used for intellectual property found in the digital environment that acts as a persistent link to the item. The DOI number is usually listed on the first or last pages of the article. If there is a DOI, APA does not require a URL or retrieval date. If there is no DOI given, provide the URL. APA no longer requires you to indicate if you found the article in a library database (such as one provided by EBSCO or Proquest). The exceptions to this are items found through online archival databases, such as JSTOR or ERIC, which may be difficult or impossible to find elsewhere. If the items are not easily located (e.g. are from ERIC or JSTOR), include the URL for the database’s search page or a persistent link to the article. Follow the general formatting rules in the Print Materials section for multiple authors.

In Text: Palliative care focuses on geriatric syndromes (Kapo, Morrison, & Liao, 2007), while

Reference – with DOI: Kapo, J., Morrison, L. J., & Liao, S. (2007). Palliative care for the

older adult. Journal of Palliative Medicine, 10(1), 185-209. doi:

10.1089/jpm.2006.9989

Reference – with URL, no DOI: Sillick, T. J., & Schutte, N. S. (2006). Emotional intelligence and self-esteem mediate between perceived early parental love and

adult happiness. E-Journal of Applied Psychology, 2(2), 38-48.

Retrieved from http://ojs.lib.swin.edu.au/index.php/ejap

Newspaper Article - Online (with author)

In Text: Your brain needs to be exercised (Brody, 2007).

Reference: Brody, J. E. (2007, December 11). Mental reserves keep brain agile. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com

Newspaper Article - Online (no author)

In Text: Medication may be delivered in a number of formats (“Medicated Gum,” 2002), including a chewable gum format.

Reference: Medicated gum helpful to seniors. (2002, September 19). The Kitchener- Waterloo Record. Retrieved from http://www.xxxxx

Alphabetise by the first significant word in the title. For example, if the title was “The new health-care

system”, list it under new.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

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Electronic Books Electronic book references are very similar to print book references. Include either the URL or DOI in the reference.

In Text: Taking patient histories (Nettina, 2001) requires

Reference: Nettina, S. M. (Ed.). (2001). Lippincott manual of nursing practice. Philadelphia: Williams & Wilkins. Retrieved from

http://ovidsp.tx.ovid.com.uproxy.library.dc-uoit.ca/spa

/ovidweb.cgi

Online Encyclopedias and Dictionaries

Encyclopedia and dictionary entries may not have author information for the individual entry. For the in text citation, if there is no author available, use the title of the entry (shortened if it is a long title). In the second reference example, there is no date, author or editor information provided. If the online version refers to a print edition, include the edition number after the title.

In Text: B. F. Skinner was very influential in the field of psychological behavioralism (Graham, 2007).

Global warming is an increase in temperature due to pollution (“Global

Warming”, n.d.).

Reference: Graham, G. (2007). Behaviorism. In E. N. Zalta (Ed), The Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy (Fall 2007 ed.). Retrieved from

http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/behaviorism

Global warming. (n.d.). In Merriam-Webster online dictionary (11th

ed.). Retrieved from http://www.m-w.com/dictionary

/global%20warming

Online Documents (such as Government documents)

Group as author (no individual author):

In Text: Small businesses are increasing (Statistics Canada, 2003).

Reference: Statistics Canada. (2003). Business dynamics in Canada, 2003 (No. 61- 534-XIE). Ottawa, Ontario: Author. Retrieved from

http://www.statcan.ca/english/freepub/61-534-XIE/61-534-

XIE2007001.htm

Individual author:

In Text: Crime is a growing concern (Fitzgerald, 2008)

Reference: Fitzgerald, R. (2008). Fear of crime and the neighbourhood context in Canadian cities. Ottawa: Statistics Canada. Retrieved from

http://www.statcan.gc.ca/pub/85-561-m/85-561-m2008013-eng.htm

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

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Websites

When citing an entire website in passing, it is sufficient to give the address of the site in just the text (information taken from the APA Style website at http://www.apastyle.org/learn/faqs/cite-website.aspx). Please check with your instructor in case he/she would prefer different formatting.

In text: Kidspsych is a wonderful interactive website for children (http://www.kidspsych.org).

However, when you are citing a particular document or page from a website, you need to determine what kind of content the page has. If it is a journal article, newspaper article, ebook, blog post, etc, then you would cite it following the format for that type of material and include both a reference list entry and an in- text citation. The key to creating the reference list entry is to determine the type of content on the web page (this information is taken from the APA Style Blog, http://blog.apastyle.org/apastyle/2010/11/how-to- cite-something-you-found-on-a-website-in-apa-style.html).

The content may not fall into an easily defined area: information on a page – some kind of article, but not really a magazine or journal article or other defined type of resource. In that instance, follow the In Text and Reference examples listed below.

If there is no author, then in the text citation use the title of the document or website page (shorten if necessary), as in the second example below.

In Text: The profession of nursing is a challenging one (Author, 2003).

The profession of nursing is a challenging one (“Title of webpage or

work,” 2003).

Reference: Author, A. A. (Year). Title of webpage or work [Format description]. Retrieved from http://www.xxxxx

Title of webpage or work. (n.d.). Retrieved from http://www.xxxxx

Do not include a retrieval date unless the material may change over time (e.g. Wikis). Include a format description only when the format is something out of the ordinary, like a blog post.

If no date is available, use n.d. in brackets, as in the example above. If no author is identified (individual

or corporate), begin the reference with the title of the document, as in the example above. For more information on citing other types of online material, see the APA Style website (www.apastyle.org) and blog (blog.apastyle.org).

Online Images

Reference: Author, Initial. (Year of publication). Title of image, [Type of image]. Retrieved from database or website url

APA provides very little information on citing images; the citation example above has been created in a form consistent with their guidelines for citing similar materials.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

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Citing Electronic Statistical Information and Data Disclaimer: APA provides very little description of how these types of items should be treated for citation. These examples of reference citations have been created based on similar types of materials; for examples of in-text citation, please see the other examples throughout this handout. Always check with your professor to determine his/her preferred format. Remember to double-space! Statistics Canada’s Guide to Citing Statistics (http://www.statcan.ca/english/freepub/12-591-XIE/2006001 /build.htm) can help you determine the details related to your table, chart, etc.

Data Sets When citing a data set (raw data) from an aggregator such as DLI, ICPSR, Equinox or <odesi>, use the following convention. First provide the name of the author, then the year of the dataset release in parentheses. Then, give the full name of the dataset in italics followed by the descriptor e.g. [Data file and code book]. Include the following statement at the end of the citation to indicate the URL where you found the data set: “Retrieved from http://xxxxxx”.

Statistics Canada. (2003). General social survey (GSS), 2001, cycle 15: Family

history (child file) [Data file and code book]. Retrieved from

http://search1.odesi.ca.uproxy.library.dc-uoit.ca/

Pew Research Center (2007). Global unease with major world powers [Data file].

Retrieved from http://pewglobal.org/datasets/

Statistical Information Note: Documents from Statistics Canada that are electronic versions of print publications (generally produced in PDF format on the website) should be cited as e-books accessed on the Internet. When citing a statistical table, graph, figure or chart, use the following convention. Cite the author and year of publication as below. Cite the full name of the table, graph, figure or chart (in italics), followed by the appropriate descriptor e.g. [Table], [Chart], [Figure], [Graph]. Finally, cite the URL where you retrieved the information as below. Following are some common examples using this convention:

2001 Census table extracted using E-STAT:

Statistics Canada. (2004). 2001 school attendance, education, field of study,

highest level of schooling and earnings, 2001, Manitoba census subdivisions

[Table]. Retrieved from http://estat.statcan.ca/cgi-win

/CNSMCGI.EXE?ESTATFILE=EStat\English\E-Main.htm

CANSIM data table extracted using E-STAT:

Statistics Canada. (2004). Table 326-0001 consumer price index (CPI), 2001 basket

content, monthly [Table]. Retrieved from http://estat.statcan.ca/cgi-win

/CNSMCGI.EXE?CANSIMFILE=EStat\English\CII_1_E.htm

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

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Tables, graphs, figures or charts from the Statistics Canada website in HTML or PDF:

Statistics Canada. (2005, May 31). Gross domestic product, income-based [Table].

Retrieved from http://www.statcan.ca/english/Pgdb/econ03.htm

Beyond 20/20 Table from DLI (e.g. Justice Data):

Statistics Canada. 2006. Table 251-0007 – adult correctional services, operating

expenditures for provincial, territorial and federal programs, annual

[Table]. Retrieved from http://www.statcan.ca/english/Dli/Data/Ftp

/justice.htm

Blogs, Electronic Mailing Lists, etc In Text – follow the ‘author, date’ format as shown in other resource examples. General Reference: Author, A. A. (Year, Month Day). Title of post [Description of form]. Retrieved from http://www.xxxx

If only a screen name is available, use it, as in the second blog example below. Note that there are no italics used in these reference entries. Blog post: PZ Myers. (2007, January 22). The unfortunate prerequisites and consequences of partitioning your mind [Web log post]. Retrieved from

http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/2007/01/the_unfortunate_

prerequesite.php

MiddleKid. (2007, January 22). Re: The unfortunate prerequisites and

consequences of partitioning your mind [Web log comment]. Retrieved

from http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/2007/01/the_unfortunate_

prerequisites.php

Electronic mailing lists (listservs): Smith, S. (2006, January 5). Re: Disputed estimates of IQ [Electronic mailing list message]. Retrieved from http://tech.groups.yahoo.com

/group/ForensicNetwork/message/670

Message posted to a newsgroup, online forum or discussion group: Rampersad, T. (2005, June 8). Re: Traditional knowledge and traditional

cultural expressions [Online forum comment]. Retrieved from

http://www.wipo.int/roller/comments/ipisforum/Weblog

/theme_eitht_how_can_cultural#coments

Video blog post (e.g. YouTube): Norton, R. (2006, November 4). How to train a cat to operate a light switch [Video file]. Retrieved from http://www.youtube.com

/watch?v=Vja83KLQXZs

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

15

Personal Communications Personal communications can include letters, memos, emails, personal interviews or telephone conversations. Unlike published sources, personal communications are cited within the text but generally not in the reference list at the end of the paper as they are irrecoverable data. In the in-text citation, the initials and surname of the communicator should be included as well as an exact a date as possible. The APA guidelines do not require that you specify the type of personal communication (email, interview, etc.). PLEASE CHECK WITH YOUR INSTRUCTOR IF PERSONAL COMMUNICATIONS ARE ACCEPTABLE SOURCES FOR YOUR PAPER OR IF HE/SHE HAS ANY ADDITIONAL REQUIREMENTS IN ADDITION TO THOSE OUTLINED BY THE APA.

In Text: (P. K. Smith, personal communication, October 23, 2003)

Lecture Notes (class notes, WebCT and PowerPoint) According to formal APA guidelines, course lecture notes taken by the student are considered a form of personal communications (unpublished, ‘non-recoverable data’). As such, they would only be listed in an in-text citation and not in the reference list.

In Text: In a lecture on January 15, 2008, to a COMM 1000 class, Professor Smith said…

…(A. B. Smith, COMM 1000 lecture, January 15, 2008).

However, some professors may require a reference entry. If that is the case, you could use an entry similar to the one below. Use your own judgement, but remember: when in doubt, ask for your professor’s opinion. There are NO formal APA guidelines for this type of material.

Reference (if used):

Smith, A. B. (2008, January 15). COMM 1000 Course Lecture.

Information taken from WebCT lecture notes or PowerPoint slides could also be documented in a number of ways. They could be treated as ‘personal communication’ (see the example for personal lecture notes above) or they may be treated more formally as in the example below. In the example below, you would provide the professor’s name, date of the lecture, the title of the slide/lecture (in italics), the format and retrieval information. The format (PowerPoint or course notes) is given in square brackets after the title. Again, there are NO formal APA guidelines for this type of material – please check with your professor for his/her preferred format. In Text: (Cloe, 2007)

Reference: Cloe, J. (2007, November 6). The normal distribution [PowerPoint slides]. Retrieved from Okanagan College WebCT site: http://olc-

new.okanagan.bc.ca/webct

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

16

Examples of Audio-visual Material

Television Broadcast

In Text: As reported on The National (Mansbridge, 2006), the hurricane

Reference: Mansbridge, P. (Chief Correspondent). (2006, March 30). The National [Television broadcast]. Toronto: Canadian Broadcasting

Corporation.

Egan, D. (Writer), & Alexander, J. (Director). (2005). Failure to

communicate [Television series episode]. In D. Shore (Executive

producer), House. New York, NY: Fox Broadcasting.

Provide the name(s) of the originator or the primary contributors and their function (e.g. director, producer). Also provide the date of broadcast, title, medium, place of production and the name of the production company.

Motion Picture

In Text: Domestic violence is often not revealed to outsiders (Belson, 1995)

Reference: Producer, A. (Producer). (year). Title of motion picture [Motion picture]. Country of Origin: Studio.

Belson, J. (Producer). (1995). Domestic violence: Identification,

treatment and referral for the healthcare professional [Motion

picture]. Glendale, CA: Belson/Harwright.

Video

In Text: Therapists must be conscious of their patients’ feelings at all times (American Psychological Association, 2000).

Reference: American Psychological Association. (Producer). (2000). Responding therapeutically to patient expressions of sexual attraction

[DVD]. Available from http://www.apa.org/videos

Works Discussed in a Secondary Source (or Quoting a Quote) When using a secondary source in your paper, you must remember that you didn’t read the secondary work yourself. For example, a study done by Miller and Grey is cited in an article by Greenberg. You did not actually read Miller and Grey’s study yourself, so you would not include it in your reference list. You would have a reference entry for Greenberg’s article only. Within the text of your paper, you would refer to Miller and Grey’s work as you found it in Greenberg’s paper. Miller and Grey’s study (as cited in Greenberg, 1997) found that

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

17

Quotations

Whenever possible, acknowledge your source with the author’s surname (or document title if there is no author), year of publication and page numbers. (Roberts & Smith, 1988, p. 52)

(Roberts & Smith, 1988, pp.52-53)

In the case of electronic sources, such as web pages or electronic journal articles that do not provide

page numbers, the paragraph number, if available, is used instead. Use the abbreviation para. before

the paragraph number.

(Smith, 2002, para. 6)

If neither paragraph nor page numbers are visible, cite the heading and the number of the paragraph following it to direct the reader to the location of the material. For ease of reading, use the author’s name in the sentence, rather than include it in the brackets, as in the example below.

In their study, Verblunt, Pernot, and Smeets (2008), found that “the level of

perceived disability in patients with fibromyalgia seemed best explained by their

mental health condition and less by their physical condition” (Discussion

section, para. 1).

If your quote is short - fewer than forty words - it should be incorporated into the text and enclosed by double quotation marks, as in the example below.

Especially if you are pressed for time, it is so easy to fall into the trap of

passing off another’s work as your own. Plagiarism is a moral issue, which

requires you to acknowledge the use of other researchers’ works. It is a “gesture

of gratitude” to the researchers that came before you (Ballenger, 2007, p. 123).

Longer quotations of forty words or more are offset from the main body of the essay by indenting five to seven spaces from the left margin. If the quotation is more than one paragraph in length, indent the first line of the second and subsequent paragraphs five to seven spaces from the new margin. Do not use double quotation marks. The quotation should be double-spaced. e.g.:

Kapo, Morrison, and Liao (2007) found the following:

The U.S. population is aging at increasing rates. By 2030, one in five

Americans will be age 65 or older. The fastest growing demographic

segment…persons age 85 and older, expected to more than double in size

from 3.5 million to 8.5 million within the next 30 years. (p. 185)

If you wish to omit material in the quotation use ellipsis points (…) to indicate the location of the absent material. Use three spaced ellipsis points for omissions within a sentence and use four points for omissions between two sentences. Take care to ensure that the material omitted does not change the original meaning of the quoted passage.

APA, 6th edition. Your professor may prefer different formatting – please follow his/her guidelines.

18

References

American Psychological Association. (2005). Concise rules of APA style. Washington:

Author.

Baheti, J. R. (2001). Control is key. New York, Macmillan.

Baheti, J. R. (2002). Roles of women in academia. Chicago: University of Chicago

Press.

Dorland’s illustrated medical dictionary (29th ed.). (2000). Philadelphia: Saunders.

Egan, D. (Writer), & Alexander, J. (Director). (2005). Failure to communicate

[Television series episode]. In D. Shore (Executive producer), House. New York,

NY: Fox Broadcasting.

Gilbert, D. G., McClernon, J. F., Rabinovich, N. E., Sugai, C., Plath, L. C., Asgaard,

G.,...Botros, N. (2004). Effects of quitting smoking on EEG activation and

attention last for more than 31 days and are more severe with stress, dependence,

DRD2 A1 allele, and depressive traits. Nicotine and Tobacco Research, 6, 249-267.

doi: 10.1080/1462220410001676305

Kapo, J., Morrison, L. J., & Liao, S. (2007). Palliative care for the older adult.

Journal of Palliative Medicine, 10(1), 185-209. doi: 10.1089/jpm.2006.9989

Nettina, S. M. (Ed.). (2001). Lippincott manual of nursing practice. Philadelphia:

Williams & Wilkins. Retrieved from http://ovidsp.tx.ovid.com.uproxy.library.dc-

uoit.ca/spa/ovidweb.cgi

Norton, R. (2006, November 4). How to train a cat to operate a light switch [Video

file]. Retrieved from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vja83KLQXZs

Pew Research Center (2007). Global unease with major world powers [Data file].

Retrieved from http://pewglobal.org/datasets/

Sillick, T. J., & Schutte, N. S. (2006). Emotional intelligence and self-esteem

mediate between perceived early parental love and adult happiness. E-Journal of

Applied Psychology, 2(2), 38-48. Retrieved from http://ojs.lib.swin.edu.au

/index.php/ejap

Young, M. E., & Wasserman, E. A. (2005). Theories of learning. In K. Lamberts, & R. L.

Goldstone (Eds.), Handbook of cognition (pp. 161-182). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

docs/Constructing_Paradise_The_Impacts_of_Big_Tourism_mexico.pdf

Coastal Management, 35:339–355, 2007 Copyright © Taylor & Francis Group, LLC ISSN: 0892-0753 print / 1521-0421 online DOI: 10.1080/08920750601169600

Constructing Paradise: The Impacts of Big Tourism in the Mexican Coastal Zone

GRANT MURRAY

Institute for Coastal Research Malaspina University-College Nanaimo, British Columbia, Canada

Although coastal tourism is often looked to as a way of generating foreign revenue, it can also engender a range of social and environmental impacts. From an historical perspective, this article examines the growth of Cancún in the Mexican state of Quintana Roo since the late 1960s. The article documents a range of socioeconomic and environmental impacts associated with the rise of coastal tourism, and suggests that centralized planning and the provision of physical and financial infrastructure does not prevent those impacts. The principal causes of these impacts are also described, including changes in land-usage, population, tourism markets, foreign market penetration and control, an emphasis on short-term economic gain, weak regulatory enforcement, and an overall lack of integration of coastal zone management.

Keywords Cancún, environmental impacts of tourism, integrated coastal management, Mexico, social impacts of tourism, tourism life cycle

Introduction

Despite growing concern about the social and environmental impacts of large-scale tourism, many developing nations continue to look to tourism as a means of generating foreign revenue (Mowforth & Munt, 2003). Much of this growth is concentrated in coastal areas. Indeed, marine and coastal tourism has become one of the fastest growing areas within one of the world’s largest industries (Hall, 2001). For example, tourism now ranks as the second or third most important industry in Mexico (Rivera Arriaga & Villalobos, 2001) and the state of Quintana Roo (see Figure 1) now contributes fully 1/3 of all tourism revenue in a country where 90% of tourism is on the coasts (Juarez, 2002). Despite this growth, the news has not all been good, however, and the state has seen significant social and environmental impacts. This article adopts an historical perspective to examine the rise of Cancún in the Mexican state of Quintan Roo as means of illustrating the complex challenges that managers face with respect to large-scale coastal tourism development.

The social and environmental impacts of tourism have been widely documented in various places throughout the world for the last several decades (Mathieson & Wall, 1982; Miller & Auyong, J., 1991, Salazar Vallejo & Gonzalez, 1993; Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998; Hall, 2001). Indeed, a central tenet of Butler’s (1980; 2006) widely cited,

Address correspondence to Dr. Grant Murray, Institute for Coastal Research, Malaspina University-College, 900 5th Street, Nanaimo, British Columbia, V9R 5S5, Canada. E-mail: murrayg@ mala.bc.ca

339

340 G. Murray

Figure 1. Quintana Roo, showing Cancún Hotel Zone.

and much debated (Hall, 2006) destination life cycle model is that increasing social and environmental problems associated with development will eventually lead to the stagnation and decline of a tourism destination. Cancún provides an important case study in this sense in that it was developed from nearly nothing—built on an isolated spit of sand in a then pristine part of the Caribbean. In this sense, it was less “discovered” than created. Cancún was also a “planned utopia,” a development featuring a high degree of government planning and control that nevertheless over-spilled its boundaries and engendered a range of impacts. Nevertheless, Mexico’s tourism planners continue to adopt this model, as suggested by the continued emphasis of the government supported, mass-tourism model in such places as Ixtapa, Los Cabos, Loreto, and the Bays of Huatulco. Moreover, the case study provides an important example for those areas in other countries considering a similar tourism development model.

This article draws on extensive archival research, literature review and nearly two years living and researching in Quintana Roo to examine the multi-scale (local to international)

Social and Environmental Impacts of Coastal Tourism 341

factors that have influenced the development of Cancún and the outlying areas, and to describe the major social and environmental changes that have resulted. This includes examining changes in population size, heterogeneity, and distribution; per capita income and economic options; construction; rapid, largely uncontrolled development; the degree of foreign market penetration and control; an emphasis on short-term economic gains; the preferences of tourists themselves and weak regulatory control by all three levels of Mexican government. The article begins by tracing the development of Cancún and tourism in the rest of Quintana Roo before moving on to describing the breadth of the social and environmental impacts of that development. Finally, the article discusses management challenges, suggesting that the tourism “commodity” demands the integration of coastal zone management across several sectors.

The Creation of Cancún

There is a creation story that circulates throughout Quintana Roo that describes the birth of Cancún as the brainchild of a group of bankers in far away Mexico City. The choice was based on a computer’s analysis, or so the story goes, as the best place in all of Mexico to put this new playground—a planned utopia in an uninhabited wilderness that would help to launch Mexico’s growth on the strength of a rapidly developing international tourism industry. The process, of course, involved more than a simple computer printout, yet the basics of the story remain true. Indeed, at the time Cancún was selected as the site of a major federal tourism project in the late 1960s the then Federal Territory of Quintana Roo had few roads, was sparsely populated (with less than 80000 residents), had inadequate communications, and did not have an international airport.1 But what the Territory did have was nearly 200 kilometers of beautiful, undeveloped coastline. Amazingly, this one time “political prison and tropical hell” (Torres Maldonado, 2001), a forest enclave on the wild far side of Mexico, would become a modern tourism destination in the space of just 30 years.

Despite abundant natural and cultural attractions, tourism did not begin in earnest in Quintana Roo until the mid twentieth century. In the post–World War II period, however, things began to change rapidly as a result of several factors. At that time international tourism had begun to grow explosively, as expanding populations from industrialized nations looked for outlets for growing disposable income on the wings of increasingly available commercial air travel. This period saw the rise of the first large-scale organizations and promotion efforts in Mexico by the private sphere, efforts that were supported and complemented by the government, though initially on a relatively small scale (Haydt de Almeida, 1994). As part of a more general push towards modernization Mexico began looking to international tourism, and opened its first tourism office abroad by the end of the 1950s, created the National Council for Tourism in 1961, and developed its first National Tourism Development Plan by 1962 (Hiernaux-Nicolas, 1999).

The larger economic picture within Mexico in the 1960s had also begun to shift. Previous, more protectionist economic models had left native industry overprotected and dependent, and the government began to look to alternatives, including international tourism. Social unrest throughout Central America was exploding uncomfortably close to lingering discontent in Quintana Roo at the same time that the Cuban Revolution, taking place less than 100 miles away, had redefined not only the strategic balance of the area, but also the vacation options for millions of Americans. Acapulco (which began

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in the 1930s as a small-scale resort originally targeted at Mexicans) had proven that Mexican destinations could be big players—and big revenue earners—in international tourism markets (Hiernaux-Nicolas, 1999). At the local (Territory) level, unemployment was extremely high among what little population there was, and the region was deficient in even basic social services. Indeed, the explicit goals of the 1974 Federal Law for the Development of Tourism included addressing regional inequalities and marginalized communities, as well as attracting greater number of foreign tourists (Haydt de Almeida, 1994). (Re)settlement, occupation, economic development, and social relief, in other words, must be seen as having been at least supplementary goals of the project. But the generation of (foreign) revenue should be seen as the primary objective.

In the late 1960s the Bank of Mexico assumed control of large-scale tourism and created INFRATUR (for its Spanish initials, which in English represent the Tourism Infrastructure Fund), to spearhead the development of five large-scale projects. The star of these projects was to become Cancún. At that time, tourism in Quintana Roo was still small-scale, and centered on the islands of Cozumel and Isla Mujeres, where the industry had become the economic mainstay (Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998; Torres Maldonado, 2001; Murray, 2003). Cancún was an isolated spit of sand shaped like the number 7, arcing into the Caribbean at the north end of the state and inhabited by no more than a few fishermen.

One of the first tasks of INFRATUR was to conduct an extensive, ‘scientific’ analysis of both the tourism market (e. g., tourists’ provenance, preferences, and potential expenditures) and potential destinations. By 1966 these studies were underway, and a heavy emphasis was on the established combination of Sun, Sand and Sex. “We concentrated on the coasts, because previously conducted surveys showed that the beach was the principal attraction the foreign tourist was looking for” stated an initial planner (Martı́, 1985). Cancún fit this physical requirement to a tee. Quintana Roo is blessed with approximately 860 km of coastline, a beautiful stretch encompassing a wide variety of scenic features, including bays, inlets, freshwater springs, lagoons, mangroves, sand dunes, rocky areas and—the backbone of the tourism industry—beautiful white sand beaches. These calcareous beaches have been marketed as “air-conditioned,” and remain cool and pleasant to walk on, even under the most blazing of tropical suns. An additional attraction was the Mesoamerican Caribbean Reef (MACR), the second largest barrier reef system in the world. The MACR begins near Cancún, and continues southward in a more or less unbroken formation past the coasts of Belize and Guatemala to the Bay Islands of Honduras.

In the face of the almost total lack of social and physical infrastructure prior to the selection of the site, extra-local funding (from both the Inter-American Development Bank and the federal government) provided the foundation upon which future private investment would build enormous fortunes (Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998). FONATUR (the successor organization to INFRATUR) controlled not only the sale and distribution of land, but also the type of development that took place. Martı́ (1985) suggests that the previously existing tourism organizations at the time (the Department of Tourism and the National Board of Tourism) were not only not in control, they were completely ignored. Development was primarily guided through the development of the Master Plan for Comprehensive Development, a document that planned for the scientific, capitalistic, rationalized, largely state-run development of a city over the next quarter century (Torres Maldonado, 2001). Indeed, this control and influence extended to the President’s office, and at least one Mexican President likely owned property and invested directly in the project (Martı́, 1985). The Cancún project was clearly an economic one from the beginning, a money-making machine created by bankers at the highest levels of Mexico’s central bank with the fundamental goal of attracting foreign tourists and the revenue they would bring with them. Other goals

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were subordinate to the economic logic of the project. “Certainly,” writes the journalist Fernando Martı́ of the very early stages of the project, “the proposed scheme would permit the concentration of riches in few hands, but from the point of view of the bankers the primary business was how to generate riches, not how to share them” (Martı́, 1985).

Through the Bank of Mexico, FONATUR quickly bought the required property, purchasing ejido and privately owned land quietly (for low prices) to add to existing government lands. After a slow start, FONATUR created it own construction company to jump-start the development, developed six hotels directly, and provided highly attractive financing options for other developers (Martı́, 1985; Hiernaux Nicolas, 1999). Success followed quickly. During the period from 1971–1976 the rate of economic growth in Quintana Roo tripled the national average and the state was one of only three in Mexico that saw an increase in gross internal product over the period from 1971–1982 (Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998). By 1981 there were over 5,200 hotel rooms in Cancún (already surpassing the plan of 3,250) after just the first stage (Torres Maldonado, 2001).

The city of Cancún was, from the very beginning, designed as an ensconced First-World playground for the wealthy in an exotic, yet comfortable, Third-World locale. The physical layout of the city reflects that fact. The luxurious hotels are concentrated in what is known as the hotel zone, stretched along the narrow crescent shaped strip of sand that runs parallel to the mainland, separated by the Nichupté lagoon. The mainland near one end of the crescent was the site of the actual city of Cancún, where the workers, waiters and other immigrants were to be housed, out of sight of the efficient, gleaming, luxury hotels. In this initial formulation the natural environment was simply an attractive backdrop against which tourism was to take place. The beach was a crucial attractant, a beautiful place where tourists could come to lie in the sun. Cancún, in other words, was designed to deliver a very specific product, centered on the established Sun-Sand-Sex combination at a time when there seemed to be unlimited demand for this among international, high-income guests (Hiernaux Nicolas, 1999). The original plans called for a significant amount of open space, easy shoreline access, and initially imposed height restrictions on the buildings in an effort to make Cancún appear to be “free of the urban blight and third-world chaos that was already scaring the tourists away from Acapulco” (Simon, 1997). And, for a while, the designers largely succeeded.

The construction of these hotels required a substantial pool of labor, and the depressed region around Cancún (as well as the rest of Mexico) provided a seemingly ever-increasing spring of willing workers. By 1970, already nearly a quarter of the inhabitants of the state were immigrants (Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998). Where before it had seemed almost impossible to attract migrants to the region, now they arrived in rivers, attracted to construction jobs around Cancún. And, almost immediately, the project was unable to handle the flood of migrants—many, for example, settled “irregularly” in the areas outside of INFRATUR control. By 1975, just four years after construction began, there were as many as 30,000 squatters in Puerto Juarez, a slum like area also known as the Colonia outside of Cancún itself (Macrae, 1999). Martı́ (1985) attributes at least part to inherent problems in the original, utopian INFRATUR plan, and an inability to account for the poor in Mexico: “Then,” he writes, “part of the problem had been caused by the rigidity of INFRATUR’s rules and of the project itself. That basically foresaw the creation of a perfect conglomerate, basically middle-class, where the regular inhabitants of Cancún would live. But there was no place for the poor and Mexico, simply, is a country of the poor.” Yet these first immigrants were but a trickle in comparison to the demographic deluge that was to come.

The 1980s would highlight the difficulty of addressing social concerns while maintaining a healthy business, and would further emphasize a departure of reality from

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the utopian rhetoric associated with the early, planned development of Cancún. The desire to capture even more foreign revenue led to a relaxing of zoning restrictions, and the loss of control over the pace and style of development, even within the hotel zone itself. It was then that Joel Simon has charged “. . . the utopian city succumbed to mediocrity” (Simon, 1997). Yet not all would characterize Cancún as mediocre, despite a change in flavor. Pedro Joaquı́n Coldwell, during his time as Governor, called it “. . . one of the great successes of the government of the Revolution” (as quoted in Martı́, 1985). While the eighties were “the lost decade” for much of Latin America, in Cancún growth was exceeding expectations, and the state government was firmly committed to it.

And tourists continued to come in droves. The reputation of Cancún had been established, and a devaluation of the peso made it a destination suddenly accessible to a much larger spectrum of (mostly American) tourists. The character of Cancún began to shift as well, moving towards a mass-tourism model where large travel companies (the large majority of which were, and are, American) dominated travel by offering cheap charter/package deals to the city (GQR, 1993). By 1994 charter flights accounted for nearly half of the arrivals by air (Hiernaux Nicolas, 1999). What had once been an exclusive resort catering to wealthy foreigners became a favorite spring break destination for tens of thousands of college students, and the winter time dream of hundreds of thousands of middle and even lower income Americans. Hotel owners responded to this increase in demand which, coupled with the easing of building restrictions, led to a rate of growth that was unforeseen.

Torres Maldonado (2001) suggests several other factors that may have contributed to the boom in the eighties, including: continuing affluence of many investors, the continued availability of international credit (especially that from the IABD), uninterrupted support from the three levels of Mexican government, and the rise of SWAPS (for the Spanish acronym)—the substitution of public debt for investment. He also, in a footnote, points to the importance of the black market—especially drug trafficking—and the funds that represents. The amount of such “investment” is, of course, impossible to quantify. The increasing availability of cheap package deals has led to what some local businessmen lament as the “cheapening” of the market. Coupled with the money-retaining quality of the increasingly popular “all-inclusive” option, the “cheapening” of the market has led to what appear to be (they are difficult to quantify) declines in both per-capita expenditures and the amount of money per tourist that remains in the country.

Despite these changes, the absolute growth of tourism was astounding. The plan for the second stage had called for 15,700 rooms, which once again was surpassed, and by 1990 there were a total of 17,470 in Cancún alone, and nearly another 5,000 elsewhere in Quintana Roo. The planned densities per hectare were also surpassed, as the relaxation of zoning restrictions allowed for bigger and taller hotels (Torres Maldonado, 2001). In later phases, the original master plan called for 22,325 rooms in Cancún, for 2,259,290 visitors, a city-wide population of 2,81,875, and the generation of 64,600 jobs (both direct and indirect).2 By the turn of the millennium, however, the population was likely over 400,000 or even higher, 2,987,841 visited Cancún alone, and an incredible 5,294,519 tourists visited the state overall, bringing with them over $3.3 billion US dollars (http://sedetur.qroo.gob. mx/; INEGI, 2000). Even as the industry in Cancún itself clearly continued to grow, it also began to spill over the geographic boundaries envisioned in the original plan.

By the late 1980s the federal government had begun a gradual withdrawal from the tourism industry in Quintana Roo, at least when compared to the direct control of INFRATUR/FONATUR at the outset of the project (Hiernaux Nicolas, 1999; GQR, 1993). This, in turn, has led to increased relative control by the market and the state government.

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By the early to mid-1990s the area that would become known as the Riviera Maya had also begun to explode, from quiet beginnings in the mid-1980s. The move to the Riviera Maya (a marketing name for the 120 kilometer beachfront strip between Cancún and the Mayan ruins at Tulum) was also clearly a response to the “cheapening” of the market, the decline of per capita visitor expenditure precipitated by the move towards a mass tourism model in the late 1980s, and a shifting market demand. The State Development Plan for 1993–1999, for example, stated that “the development of the Cancún-Tulum corridor will have success guaranteed if it establishes a hotel offering different from that of Cancún, closer to nature and more exclusive.”

In this sense, the more recent and more chaotic growth can be seen as an unplanned extension of the original plan. It can also be seen in terms of a ‘transference’ of control from FONATUR to market forces and a somewhat uneasy combination of regulation by the three levels of Mexican government. In any event, the next tourism gold rush was on, one that would come to exceed even the fantastic growth rates of Cancún itself. By 1993 the Riviera Maya (which was not yet called that) had already received almost half a million tourists. The Wall Street Journal (8/30/99) claims that the stage for “one of the biggest hotel-construction booms in history” was set in 1993 when then governor Mario Villanueva arranged for the federal government to cede to the state government control of more than 1000 acres of prime Riviera Maya land. According to the Wall Street Journal, “developers have perfected a formula of allying themselves with well-connected politicians, buying up beachfront on the cheap and building their hotels and condominiums as quickly as possible—even if it means bypassing time-consuming bureaucratic approvals.” Allegations of political corruption have also been rampant. Proceso, a liberal Mexico City newspaper, further suggested that some of the real estate deals along this stretch of land may have been less than savory, and reported in 1998 that “(a)mong the select group of owners of residences, ranches and lands in the area are leading political figures, prominent businessmen, major hotel chains, and drug traffickers. The deceased Colombian Pablo Escobar Gaviria and other drug kingpins bought properties in the region.”

The rate of growth on the Riviera Maya is almost unbelievable—greater even than the surge that created Cancún. According to internal documents received from the Trust for Tourism Promotion on the Riviera Maya, the number of hotel rooms has increased from a relatively modest 4,918 in January of 1998 to over 19,400 by January of 2002. Despite this explosive growth, the hotels of the Riviera Maya have so far managed to maintain an extremely high occupancy rate—in 2000 it was 82%, the highest in Mexico. At the same time, the city of Cancún itself has continued to prosper and grow, as have other areas of the state. Cancún, Cozumel, and Chetumal, for example ranked 3rd, 4th, and 10th in national growth rates in the early nineties (GQR, 1993).3

Socioeconomic Impacts

There is no question that the tourism industry has had profound effects on the economy of Quintana Roo. Fully 75% of the gross internal production in the state is now directly dependent on tourism—a dramatic shift from the forest products enclave economy that had dominated Quintana Roo in previous decades. These trends, however, are more dramatic in the tourism areas, and the central and southern areas remain much more heavily dependent on the primary sector (see, for example, Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998). By 1992, a FONATUR representative estimated that the government had invested $3 billion dollars in Cancún, and that each dollar invested had attracted ten times that in private investment

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(Simon, 1997), though estimates of this ratio (public vs. private investment) range considerably (Torres-Maldonado, 2001). Despite rapid growth and massive in-migration, unemployment in Quintana Roo remains low, at least by Mexican standards. In February of 2003 the unemployment rate in Cancún itself was 1.7%, considerably less than the national average (for urban areas) of 2.8% (INEGI, 2000). Salaries are also higher in Quintana Roo (again mostly in tourism areas) and the state ranks among the five highest paying states in the country (Torres Maldonado, 2001).

Yet there is an uneasy relationship between the jobs and money that tourism brings, and the negative consequences that it brings with it. For there is clearly a downside: environmentally, socially, and even economically. The state, for example, has the highest rates of inflation and cost of living for tourism areas in the country and high wages should accordingly be taken in context. Employment, furthermore, remains dependent on the vicissitudes of the tourism industry, as more than 65% of the economically active population is dependent on it (Torres Maldonado, 2001). Statewide economic indicators also mask inequalities and a fundamental, and problematic, polarization within the state (GQR, 1993). The tourist zone has dominated the economy since the inception of Cancún: by 1990 the north represented 75% of gross internal product, the south 21% and the central region just 4% (Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998).

In a place where attractive coastal lands are the key ingredient in the recipe for success, concentrated ownership has led to concentrated benefits. The “few” that get the benefits from tourism (or ecotourism) are often foreign firms, or multi-national tourism conglomerates. By 1993 the government of Quintana Roo had noticed this problem and noted a decrease in the “hoped for spillover of economic benefits” (GQR, 1993). It is difficult to exactly measure the percentage of foreign vs. national vs. local investment, particularly given the prevalence of multinational companies, nested corporations, and the added difficulty of obtaining information of this sort in Mexico, though Torres Maldonado (2001) does provide a breakdown, based on over 200 interviews he conducted from 1992–1995. He claims that it is possible that as little as 15% investment of investment stems from the local level. These figures are particularly important when we consider that much of the revenue generated by extra-local investment leaves the immediate area, or even the country. Joel Simon (1997), for example, claims that “Much of the profit earned by the international hotels—between seventy and ninety cents on each dollar by some estimates—is sent out of the country.” Simon also specifically highlights the political economic effects, and the close relationship between the tourism industry and the political sphere in Quintana Roo: “But while mega projects like Cancún may have made money for the federal government, they have also spawned a large-scale, capital intensive style of development geared towards quick returns. They have institutionalized land speculation and fomented a tourist economy in which capital is highly concentrated, developers are used to thinking big, and power is concentrated in the hands of the federal bureaucracy” (Simon, 1997; see also Friedland, 1999; Clancy, 1998). In 2001 a representative of the federal environmental Secretariat in the state was asked who in Quintana Roo benefited from tourism. With apparent seriousness, he answered by claiming that the benefits ultimately wound up in the pockets of just four individuals (Murray, 2003).

But perhaps the defining characteristic of society in Quintana Roo over the last 30 years has been continuing rapid growth. Poor migrants have flooded in from other areas of Mexico, especially from economically depressed Yucatán. By 1990, for example, there were 493,277 inhabitants, and by 2000 there were 873,804. In fact, these numbers most likely under-estimate the actual figures, particularly in hard-to-census areas like the slums of Cancún and the chaotic development near Playa del Carmen, a major center of the

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Riviera Maya. Cesar Dechary and Arnaiz Burne estimate that the actual figure for 1990 should be approximately 100,000 more than the official figure (Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998). This meteoric growth appears all the more stunning when seen in comparison to the rest of Mexico where the rate of population increase has actually declined. Although the rate of increase within Quintana Roo has decreased recently, it is still nearly three times higher than the national average.

This population growth has not been uniform within the state, and the population now varies dramatically between north and south, between urban and rural areas, and between coastal and inland areas. The northern tourism zone jumped from 28 percent of the total population in 1980 to 36 percent by 1990. By the year 2000 the percentage living in the northern tourist area was over 60%.4 Moreover, most people live less than just a few kilometers from the sea. By the early 1990s, already more than two-thirds of the population lived near the coast (GQR, 1993). The interior is composed primarily of milpas, small agricultural plots, and scattered villages—a throwback to the Quintana Roo of a few decades before. Another aspect of this spatial reshuffling involves increasing urbanization towards the principal cities of Cancún, Cozumel, Chetumal and, more recently, Playa del Carmen.5 Indeed, the rural to urban migration has been one of the defining characteristics of the last 30 years, and by the year 2000 sixty percent of the population was in cities of greater than 100,000 (INEGI, 2000). The cities have not been prepared to deal with this sort of growth. The Colonias that lie outside of tourism areas often lack in even basic social services and physical infrastructure.

The social impacts of big tourism in Quintana Roo have been particularly negative for its original inhabitants. The Maya region (loosely defined as the center of the state) has experienced profound changes during this period, including a massive outflow of youth seeking work in the north. In a sense, the Mayan area has become a marginalized periphery of the north, a source of cheap labor and raw materials. Some villages, for example, have experienced the loss of over 90% of their economically active young (Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998). But the promise of jobs is often a false one. Many of the jobs in Quintana Roo, particularly those in unskilled labor, tend to be lower paid and are subject to the inherent seasonality of the tourism industry. Although they serve to at least partially address the chronic poverty of the area, they are by no means constant or secure. Many of the non-skilled wage labor jobs of the tourism industry—construction, cleaning, gardening, and so on—are filled by young Mayans. Out-migration has meant a disassociation of the young from the traditional rites, festivals, and religious practices of the community, as well as a disruption in the cultivation of maize, the social fabric of the community. Furthermore, when these young DO return, they often bring with them ideas, customs, clothing styles, values and attitudes unfamiliar to previously insular prior generations.

Nor are the Maya the only ones to have suffered. Many other social problems cut across ethnic boundaries. Interviews of health and social workers in Xcalak, Chetumal, Puerto Morelos, and Cancún suggest evidence of a rise in various social problems, which they attributed to recent rapid growth. Though no health workers provided exact statistics about health problems associated with the tourism industry the most prominently mentioned concerns included drug-trafficking and other black market profiteering, illegal immigration, higher crime rates, increases in prostitution, a rise in alcoholism and forms of drug-abuse, spousal abuse and more generalized violence, and a rise in sexually transmitted diseases (Murray, 2003; GQR, 1993). In this light, statistics like those provided by Juárez (2002) seem less confusing: despite being one of Mexico’s most prosperous states, Quintana Roo has the fourth highest rate of malnutrition.

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The social impacts of tourism have not all been negative. The northern zone has seen some increase in, or “thickening” of, civil society, and the number of NGOs and business organizations has grown dramatically. Furthermore, a small, but growing, local entrepreneurial class has emerged. The state also now boasts several academic institutions, including the University of Quintana Roo and El Colegio de la Frontera Sur (ECOSUR) in Chetumal. In Cancún, Chetumal and, to a lesser extent, other areas, health and social support centers have been established, housing loans for low-income families have become increasingly available, and dozens of new schools have been built. Again, however, the availability of these services differs sharply among areas of the state (areas that are composed of different social groups) and many locations remain without adequate education infrastructure (GQR, 1993; Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998). The quality of shelter has also increased, though again the improvement has been unequal. By 1990, for example, 60% of homes in the tourist zone had concrete walls, versus 35 percent in the Mayan zone and 53% in the south.

Furthermore, the percentage of homes with water, sewer and/or electricity is above the national average, although again these figures vary within the state. In 2000, 97% of homes in the northern municipio of Benito Juarez had sewage, for example, whereas closer to 30% had it in the central municipio of José Maria Morelos (INEGI, 2000). It should also be noted that even within the tourism zone, there remains large areas without these basic services, especially in areas outside of the original FONATUR areas. The municipio of Solidaridad (which includes Playa del Carmen and much of the Riviera Maya), for example, has running water for 2/3 of homes, versus nearly 98% in Benito Juarez (Cancún). Given the high growth rates in areas like Solidaridad, and the difficulty of doing a proper census in marginalized areas like the extensive Colonias, it seems likely that the actual number of homes without these services is even higher (Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998).6

Quintana Roo also has become a place of extreme physical-social stratification, where high-value coastal areas are the domains of (foreign) tourists, and the support communities (which are often slums) are physically separated, usually by a strip of mangrove or jungle. The “ugly” side of tourism is thus hidden from view. On the other side of the highway is what has come to be known as the Colonia. In Playa del Carmen, this is a huge, sprawling place that tourists almost never see, and is entirely a different scene than the glittering row of resorts on the other side. This physico-spatial stratification clearly has economic roots, and serves to compound social marginalization. In the Colonia, many of the houses are no more than huts, on bare patches of earth literally hacked out of the jungle. These huts house the workers who either hike or are bussed across to the other side. Many residents lack land tenure, many have no sewage or septic systems, and electricity is irregularly available. This problem has been recognized by the State government, which blames several factors, including a lack of available lands and that nearly three-quarters of the economically active population makes less than three times the minimum salary which, in Mexico, limits access to certain loans (GQR, 1993).

Many in coastal areas have been forced into ever more concentrated areas. In a study of Mayan families, Juarez claims that whereas formerly in Tulum there were one or two families per solar (or family plot), now there are nine or ten (Juarez, 2002). And it is not only the Maya nearly anyone who is not wealthy is spatially marginalized. Fishermen who once settled or made seasonal camps in coastal areas along both the Riviera Maya and the Costa Maya have been displaced when the land they had occupied suddenly became valuable. This spatial stratification even extends to areas that are legally public, such as the beaches (Martı́, 1985; Juarez, 2002; Stevenson, 1998). The contrast is striking. There

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is a Colonia outside of Puerto Morelos, one that rings Cancún, another in Tulum, and one outside of Akumal . . . indeed, it safe to say that a Colonia exists near to any area that provides jobs, and the possibility of living the tourism dream.

Environmental/Physical Impacts

In an overview of environmental problems in the state, Zarate Lomeli et al. list the main sources of pollution and environmental impact in the coastal zone of Quintana Roo, and describe these various impacts in terms of their importance (Zarate Lomeli et al., 1999). They include the following: overexploitation of fishing resources (listed as an important impact); conversion of soils, degradation of vegetation and ecosystems for the construction of urban and touristic infrastructure (listed as very important); pollution of water, air, soil and biota due to solid, liquid, and gaseous residue (important impact); water consumption (important impact); and conversion of soils, vegetation and ecosystems to agricultural and grazing areas (important).

From the beginning the tourism industry has involved direct and massive alteration of the coastal environment—in fact, on a very narrow strip of the coastal zone running from the barrier reef inland no more than a few hundred meters away from the water. Fourteen of the 18 holes on the de rigeur championship golf course, for example, were built on fill over the Nichupté lagoon and mangroves and resorts now line the beach along nearly the length of the Riviera Maya. A hotel too far inland simply will not attract many clients. General changes in land-use from the construction of hotels on fragile coastal lands have resulted in increased sediment run-off, to which coral reefs are particularly sensitive (Salazar Vallejo & Gonzalez, 1994). There has also been extensive deforestation, and mangroves have been filled in, despite enjoying legal protection under Mexican law. Some of this destruction is illicit, and clandestine, and therefore difficult to measure (personal observation).

Another major problem is untreated sewage. Salazar Vallejo and Gonzalez (1994) point to the lack of effective wastewater treatment facilities along the Caribbean coast of Quintana Roo, and the close proximity of the reef system. Or as Zarate Lomeli et al. (1999), put it, “Sewage in the main urban zones of the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean has produced serious problems of micro-biological pollution in the coastal zone, because they are dumped without treatment.” The sewage problem is compounded by run-off from streets and other paved areas, landscaping fertilizer, and other non-point sources. In the five largest settlements in the state only 20% of discharged water is connected to treatment facilities, and 80% dispose of their waste in “badly constructed” septic fields, absorption wells, or no facilities at all. In rural areas these percentages are even higher, and by the early 1990s many water supplies were already contaminated (GQR, 1993). Even in the hotel zone of Cancún, where sewage systems are the best, there is still extensive contamination. Given the porous nature of the substrate, and untreated residual water discharge, it is not surprising that there has already been some bacteriological contamination of the aquifer in Quintana Roo (UQROO, 1999). By 1996, Cesar Dechary and Arnaiz Burne described the Bojórquez lagoon as “lost” and the Nichupté lagoon system (both are near Cancún) as in crisis (Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1996). These bodies of water were also specifically mentioned in the State Development Plan for 1993. By the early 1990s, things had already deteriorated so badly that FONATUR was forced to run several algae collecting barges in the lagoon. Local sources of hydrocarbons also contribute to the contamination of near-shore waters. Levels of hydrocarbons in sediments in the Nichupté Lagoon, for example, have been found as high as 93 ppm, exceeding the recommended maximum

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of 70 ppm set by UNESCO in 1976. Waters in the Mexican Caribbean have been found to contain as much as 15 ppb, exceeding UNESCO’s recommended level of 10 ppb (Zarate Lomeli et al., 1999).

There are also several direct effects on the reef system. These include damage from anchoring on the reef itself, physical damage from boats in shallower areas, shading out of certain reef areas by floating platforms, and contamination by the literally millions of sun-block coated tourists who visit areas of the reef. More indirectly, extraction from the coral reef system associated with the tourism industry has also increased. Fishing levels have intensified and commercially valuable stocks have declined, sometimes dramatically. One fisher (in his late 1960s) in Xcalak, for example, recounted stories about the former abundance of lobster in the area. When he was a young man, he claimed it was possible to simply walk out on the beach, and bend over and pick up lobsters of a kilogram or more. Now, weeklong fishing trips, miles offshore do not result in a single lobster that large. Official fishing data is unreliable in Quintana Roo, though SEMARNAT (the federal environmental ministry) has acknowledged a decline in both lobster and conch stocks. Indeed, there has been a ban on conch fishing in most areas for several years.

Other species are also affected by the tourism industry, and associated population growth. Sea turtles and their eggs are used as food sources for example, despite the fact that by 1990 Mexico had declared a permanent ban on harvesting these animals in the Pacific, Caribbean, and Gulf of Mexico. Today, the turtles face a new threat—continued construction of tourism facilities in sensitive egg laying coastal areas. In addition to turtles, at least eight or so species of birds are still hunted, along with four species of mammal (raccoon, agouti, tejon, and sereque). Juarez (2002) points to a decline in several species of game animals (as well as a continued decrease in crop yield per acre) for many Mayan communities.

These impacts have also involved protected areas within the state. As early as 1993, for example, Salazar-Vallejo et al. had noted that coastal protected areas in northern Quintana Roo had been affected by organic pollution, deforestation, the filling of wetlands, and direct damage from divers and dive boats (Salazar Vallejo et al., 1993). Indeed, certain environmental impacts—like direct stresses from divers and dive boats—are concentrated in protected areas as many tourists are drawn to the idea of visiting a national park. The Parque Nacional Isla Mujeres, Cancún y Nizuc (a small park off of Cancún), for example, received a million tourists in 1995. The Park in Cozumel received 700,000 (Ruiz Sandoval, 1997). Not surprisingly, Salazar Vallejo et al. (1993) noted the shoreline of Isla Mujeres and the area off of Punta Cancún had a “minimal state of conservation” by the early 1990s, despite having been declared a Refuge for marine flora and fauna in 1973 (it has since been re-categorized as a National Park). Other protected areas are in better condition—including the Sian Ka’an Biosphere Reserve and the Sian Ka’an Reef Biosphere Reserve.

Many of these impacts were noted by the early 1990s by the government of Quintana Roo, as well as several more, including the a scarcity of green and recreation areas in Cancún, general deterioration of the countryside (landscape), and the elimination of native species (GQR, 1993). The government of Quintana Roo is, in other words, not oblivious to these impacts, and explicitly recognized the need to address environmental issues by the early 90s: as with the adverse economic and social impacts outlined earlier, the need to improve environmental quality was explicitly recognized as a statewide goal in the State Development Plan for 1993–1999 (GQR, 1993). For example, with respect to specific areas like Playa del Carmen the government wrote, “The urban image is one of

Social and Environmental Impacts of Coastal Tourism 351

accelerated anarchic growth; over-densification exists in commercial areas, visual disorder and degradation of the environment” (GQR, 1993).

Discussion

By some measures big tourism in Quintana Roo is clearly a big success. A great deal of money has been made and the primary original goal (if we take it to be revenue generation) has been met—and exceeded. Among some, there has been a clear sense of pride associated with this success. Antonio Enrı́quez Savignac, an important intellectual force behind the development of Cancún (and later the Mexican Secretary of Tourism and the Director of the World Tourism Organization) was quoted as saying “Cancún is a Mexican project, completely thought of, planned, constructed, and administered by Mexicans. And this is important, because until then there had been no precedent in the world of a tourism center developed from the beginning from nothing. After Cancún, many countries have wanted to follow the route traced by Mexico. But no project has had as much success as ours. Cancún is a triumph of Mexico” (as quoted in Martı́, 1985). Martı́ (1985) reminds us that despite the fact that lamentable social conditions do in fact exist in Cancún (and did when he wrote in 1985), these conditions are not unique to that city, and in at least some ways the marginalized in Cancún are better off than the marginalized in other areas. “. . .(T)oday Cancún continues as a lost city, but is the least lost of all the marginalized cities of the country. . . .” It is also true that some benefit a great deal—large-scale economic interests, those in control of coastal lands, government officials interested in revenue generation, those that do manage to find jobs, and so on.

Yet today there is a deep sense of ambivalence about Cancún, and even about tourism in general, throughout Quintana Roo. In addition to the generation of revenue there has also clearly been negative social, environmental and even economic impacts associated with the growth of this planned utopia. What is perhaps most critical to appreciate is the uneven distribution of the costs and benefits associated with this growth. Many Maya, displaced fishermen, and environmentalists, for example, cite a litany of complaints. Indeed, this sense of ambivalence extends to the tourists themselves. The executive editor of Frommers On-Line, for example, was recently quoted as saying, “Cancún provokes either love or hate—nothing in the middle . . . those (people) fond of the beach, of being pampered, of turquoise waters and white sand, of cold beers and soothing margaritas, of really getting away from daily life, love the place and can’t wait to experience it a second or third time . . . critics love to hate it because it was manufactured from nothing—it was the world’s first resort to be engineered from scratch after a talent search by the Mexican government” (as quoted in Zurowski, 2002).

In Cancún the consumption of an experience clearly requires much of the land and the local social fabric. The tourism commodity has been seen as fundamentally different than others—specifically as more environmentally friendly. However, tourists demand a beautiful backdrop, and enjoying that backdrop also demands comfortable hotels, bars and restaurants, transportation and waste disposal infrastructure—and these have environmental impacts. The provision of an experience that tourists are willing to pay for requires substantial modification of the land, and engenders social changes that have been far from universally favorable.

The material presented above suggests that a high-degree of centralized planning does not lead to an “escape” from Butler’s (1980; 2006) tourism destination life cycle. Although the efficient provision of physical and infrastructure through INFRATUR/FONATUR

352 G. Murray

certainly facilitated the initial development of Cancún, centralized management of this sort has not proven adequate in addressing the myriad environmental and social impacts that development has precipitated.

Indeed, Mexico really has no overall integrated strategy for managing the coastal zone (Bezaury-Creel, 2005), representing perhaps the fundamental challenge for the tourism industry in Quintana Roo. For example, it is critical that management be integrated across the levels of goverment. Riviera-Arriaga and Villalobos (2001) suggest that currently the management of the coastal zone in Mexico can best be described as a three-pronged approach: protected areas, agency leadership, and the use of OETs (Ordenamiento Ecológico Territoriales—translated here as ecological land-use plans). This multi-pronged approach further points to the need to integrate management beyond the reach of FONATUR, and across the three levels of Mexican government (a point that the Mexican government has itself acknowledged—see SEMARNAP, 2000). Although the Federal government has control over marine areas and a narrow strip of coastal land, the state (Quintana Roo) remains highly influential and has control over the land more than twenty meters from the sea, and is a principal actor in developing and enforcing the OETs that regulate land usages on both the Riviera Maya and the Costa Maya. The state, in other words, can and does play a powerful role in determining how coastal conservation is actually carried out. Moreover, as the material presented above suggests, the impacts of tourism are both environmental and social, and span across the responsibilities of various traditional sectors and government agencies.

It is important to recognize that the government and even development interests are not unaware of the problems of large-scale tourism. As evidenced in the text of the State Development Plan for the early 1990s, the government of Quintana Roo clearly recognizes the need to address several aspects of the tourism industry: environmental degradation, social inequality, and economic fragility principal among them (GQR, 1993). Moreover, at least some of the legal structure for the adequate management of the coastal zone, and the functioning of marine protected areas already exists. Salazar-Vallejo et al. (1993), however, conclude that “The content of the law is appropriate. What is lacking is that it be put completely in practice”. Rivera-Arriaga and Villalobos (2001) echoed this sentiment nearly a decade later, and generalize it for the coastal states of the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean: “Most state institutions are weak, and struggle to fulfill their responsibilities in the coastal zone. This is mostly due to limited budgets, lack of interest for coastal issues, and lack of experience or trained personnel in environmental management.” Enforcement, and the political will for it, has been lacking, and movement from government control towards state and market control has not led to a significant change in the environmental and social impacts (though it is arguable how much control the government ever really had). In addition, there are several other inter-related problems that lead to the larger problem of enforcement (or lack thereof) of the legal structure for the coastal zone including the overly general nature of much of the legislation, a lack of resources, corruption, and a weak judiciary (Murray, 2003). Ortiz-Luzano et al. (2005) further suggest that Mexico has so far not been able to organize the data-gathering and research necessary for the management of the coastal zone.

So what does the future hold for Cancún? Developers and officials alike have begun to acknowledge that the vertiginous growth and success of the tourism industry carries within it the seeds of its own destruction. Those in the industry are keenly aware of this, and the specter of Acapulco haunts developers, conservationists and government officials alike. Perhaps most importantly, however, the tastes of tourists themselves have begun to shift towards demanding more natural or authentic experiences. Since the inception of Cancún,

Social and Environmental Impacts of Coastal Tourism 353

the industry has always responded to the demands of their clients. So far, however, the shift toward “eco”-tourism has largely been a cosmetic one, and it is unclear whether this truly represents a change in direction, or merely a marketing ploy of a stagnating/declining destination. For example, many operations utilize the rhetoric and symbolism of nature- oriented tourism, yet cause substantial environmental damage and are not benefiting local populations in any substantial way (Simon, 1997; Murray, 2003). What remains to be seen is whether the will exists to enforce and obey legislation—and to develop and truly follow new directions—that ensure that the goose that lays the golden egg is not killed by its own success.

Notes

1. Quintana Roo became a state in 1974. For a more detailed description of environmental and social conditions prior to the 1970s see Murray, (2003).

2. Macrae (1999) reports that in 1988 the original Master Plan was changed, and the total number of rooms was changed to 35,000, a move that may have been more about accommodating projected reality than true planning.

3. The most recent phase of growth in the tourism industry in Quintana Roo has been into eco- tourism centered on the Costa Maya, the marketing name given to the southern, largely undeveloped end of the state (see Healy, 1997 for the national policy context). Nature or culturally oriented tourism has become the next thing in consumer demand and the Costa Maya project must be understood—at least in part—as an attempt to tap into the market potential represented by those interested in a more ‘natural’ or ‘authentic’ experience. While the move towards this new market is an important one from the point of view of Butler’s destination life cycle model, it is not explored in detail here (see Murray, 2003 for additional detail).

4. Cesary Dechary and Arnaiz Burne (1998) estimate that the actual figure might be closer to 42% in 1990, again due to difficulties in accurately assessing urban populations. See also INEGI, 2000.

5. Yet, somewhat paradoxically, there has actually been a concurrent atomization of rural areas, particularly in the southern zone (though also in non-coastal areas of the north). Improved communications and supply mechanisms, and the emergence of more intensive agriculture (versus the shifting milpa) have precipitated significant increases in the number of agriculturally oriented settlements (supported by some government programs) of less than 100 persons (Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998). There are large cities and very small settlements, in other words, but very few intermediately sized villages.

6. Other social indicators have shifted as well, though it is difficult to assign negative or positive connotations to them. As the urbanization pattern has shifted, for example, so have such things as marriage patterns. There has been an increase in the number of civil ceremonies versus religious ones, and divorce rates (in urban areas particularly) have increased. Catholicism has declined, from nearly 90% in the 70s to under 80% in the 80s (versus 90% country-wide). Birth rates have dropped, from 3.4 in 1970 to 2.3 in 1990, though again there is a difference between the Mayan zone and urbanized tourist areas. The birth rates in José Maria Morelos, for example, in 1990 remained at 3.2 while in Benito Juarez they dropped to 1.9 (Cesar Dechary & Arnaiz Burne, 1998). The age structure in Quintana Roo, however, is also quite young: 2/3 of the population is under the age of 30 (INEGI, 2000), despite the fact that the birth rate in the early 90s rate per woman is the lowest in the nation—again highlighting the importance of migration to the area (GQR, 1993).

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docs/ContentServer.pdf

LIANNE C. LEDDY

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada

Abstract: The relationship between environmental and Indigenous history is complex and still evolving. As the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada reminds us, land dispossession is not simply an historical phenomenon, but one that continues to affect Indigenous communities and Indigenous-settler relations in the present day. This article takes an historiographical approach to examining issues related to decolonizing research practices that privilege Indigenous perspectives, differing cultural views of resources and the environment, and the colonizing impacts of industrial and extractive practices on Indigenous communities. It argues that more scholars should incorporate gendered perspectives, and that they analyze Indigenous history in ways that respect our own national boundaries on Turtle Island.

Keywords: historical analysis, Native North Americans, Indigenous

epistemologies, natural resources

Résumé : Il existe une relation complexe entre l’histoire de l’environnement et celle des Autochtones, relation qui continue d’évoluer. Comme le rappelle la Commission de vérité et de réconciliation, la dépossession du territoire n’est pas simplement un phénomène historique; c’est aussi un phénomène qui continue, aujourd’hui encore, d’influer sur les communautés autochtones ainsi que sur les relations entre Autochtones et colonisateurs. Le présent article adopte une perspective historiographique pour analyser des questions touchant la décolonisation de pratiques de recherche qui privilégient à la fois les perspec- tives autochtones, des points de vue culturels divergents sur les ressources et l’environne- ment, et les effets colonisateurs de l’industrie et de l’extraction sur les communautés autochtones. L’auteure soutient que plus de chercheurs devraient intégrer des perspectives genrées et analyser l’histoire autochtone de manière à respecter nos propres frontières nationales sur l’ı̂le Turtle.

Mots clés : analyse historique, Autochtones nord-américains, épistémologies

autochtones, ressources naturelles

In 1971, Iron Eyes Cody paddled a canoe past industrial sites and shed a famous tear for the environment in a Keep America Beautiful

The Canadian Historical Review 98, 1, March 2017 6 University of Toronto Press

doi: 10.3138/chr.98.1.Leddy

public service announcement.1 This image of a crying ‘‘Indian,’’2 a man who seemed to be one with nature, untouched by modernity, and wearing what appeared to be traditional dress, was deconstructed in Shepard Krech III’s 1999 monograph The Ecological Indian: Myth and History.3 Many scholars praised his work as a long overdue revi- sionist rebuttal to an old trope that characterized Indigenous peoples as one with nature, simple, and without agency, an image Robert K. Berkhofer had examined two decades before in his study of settler con- structions of Indigenous peoples.4 In it, Berkhofer outlined Enlighten- ment thinkers’ characterization of Indigenous peoples as the noble savage, the ‘‘possibility of progress by civilized man if left free and untrammeled by outworn institutions.’’5 This image of the ‘‘noble savage’’ had been constructed by settlers to critique their own ways of life at different periods in history, and, as the ‘‘crying Indian’’ advertise- ment demonstrated, this image was refined as the ‘‘ecological Indian’’

1 Iron Eyes Cody (or Espera Oscar de Corti), was an actor who claimed Indigenous ancestry but was of Sicilian heritage. For more about this commercial, see Shepard Krech, III, Ecological Indian: Myth and History (New York: W.W. Norton, 1999); Finis Dunaway, ‘‘Gas Masks, Pogo, and the Ecological Indian: Earth Day and the Visual Politics of American Environmentalism,’’ American Quarterly 60, no. 1 (2008): 67–99. The commercial can be seen in its entirety at https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7OHG7tHrNM (accessed 30 December 2015).

2 I use the term ‘‘Indian’’ only when directly quoting a work, referring to con- structed images of Indigenous peoples or using the legal term ‘‘status Indian.’’ Otherwise, I use ‘‘Indigenous peoples’’ or the specific name of the Indigenous nation I am referring to.

3 Krech, Ecological Indian. See also Andrew C. Isenberg, The Destruction of the Bison (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000) for a work that argues that Indigenous peoples, along with Euro-Americans and environmental changes, were to blame for the bison crisis.

4 See, for example, Alfred W. Crosby, ‘‘Review of Shepard Krech III’s Ecological Indian: Myth and History,’’ Ethnohistory 49, no. 3 (2002): 715–17; Peter A. Coates, ‘‘Review of Shepard Krech III’s Ecological Indian: Myth and History,’’ Journal of American Studies 37, no. 2 (2003): 340–3; Ted Binnema, ‘‘Review of Shepard Krech III’s Ecological Indian: Myth and History,’’ bc Studies 130 (2001): 113–14. Kimberly Tallbear (Sisseton-Wahpeton Oyate) wrote an overview of the backlash in ‘‘Shepard Krech’s The Ecological Indian: One Indian’s Perspective,’’ International Institute for Indigenous Resource Management (2000): 1–5, http:// www.iiirm.org/publications/Book%20Reviews/Reviews/Krech001.pdf (accessed 20 December 2015).

5 Robert K. Berkhofer, The White Man’s Indian: Images of the American Indian from Columbus to the Present (New York: Vintage, 1979), x. For a work that defines the ‘‘ecological Indian’’ and seeks to examine environmental activism in a way that moves beyond such stereotypes, see Gregory D. Smithers, ‘‘Beyond the ‘Ecological Indian’’’: Environmental Politics and Traditional Ecological Knowledge in Modern North America,’’ Environmental History 20 (2015): 83–111.

84 The Canadian Historical Review

during the 1970s when environmentalism and counterculture gained widespread popularity.

While many scholars welcomed Krech’s revisionist work, the anthro- pologist faced significant backlash after his book’s publication because it opened the door to criticism of Indigenous ways of life and dis- counted Indigenous worldviews in ways that were rooted not only in historical case studies but also in present-day political realities.6 So, how do we understand the nuance of the ‘‘ecological Indian’’ argu- ment while still respecting Indigenous epistemologies and, indeed, Indigenous peoples who still see their cultures as being land-based? Despite the passage of time, the image of the ‘‘ecological Indian’’ is as pervasive as it is constructed. But, at the same time, those that take Krech’s argument to its furthest reach can undermine land claims, Indigenous protests against devastating industrial practices, and Indig- enous rights at their very core.7 In fact, this was one of Adrian Tanner’s concerns about Krech’s arguments in his 2001 review of the book, when he wrote that Krech’s ‘‘failure to adequately take account of the political context of Indian environmental discourse means his book may play into the hands of reactionary and racist interests and pre- judices opposed to aboriginal rights.’’8 Moreover, how do we account for the fact that colonial policies, industrial practices, and settler inva- sion have threatened these practices and understandings?

6 An article in the New York Times featured the works of scholars including Krech and Isenberg, among others, in which the latter not only spoke against roman- ticizing Indigenous peoples but also made the point that ‘‘[n]one of us have an animus toward Indians.’’ See Jim Robbins, ‘‘Historians Revisit Slaughter on the Plains,’’ New York Times, http://www.nytimes.com/1999/11/16/science/ historians-revisit-slaughter-on-the-plains.html?pagewanted=all (accessed 28 June 2016). Krech revisited this controversy in ‘‘Beyond the Ecological Indian,’’ in Native Americans and the Environment: Perspectives on the Ecological Indian, edited by Michael E. Harkin and David Rich Lewis, 3–31 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007). The edited collection came in part out of a conference, ‘‘Re-configuring the Ecological Indian’’ at the University of Wyoming, for which Vine Deloria, Jr., originally ‘‘issued a call via H-Amerindian and other internet discussion groups to attend the conference in protest.’’ See ‘‘Introduction,’’ in Native Americans and the Environment, xxii–xxiii. Tallbear, ‘‘Shepard Krech’s The Ecological Indian.’’

7 Frances Widdowson and Albert Howard, Disrobing the Aboriginal Industry: The Deception behind Indigenous Cultural Preservation (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2008).

8 Adrian Tanner, ‘‘Review of Shepard Krech’s The Ecological Indian: Myth and History,’’ H-AmIndian (April 2001), https://www.h-net.org/reviews/showrev. php?id=5068, (accessed 20 December 2015).

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 85

As the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples reminded Cana- dians twenty years ago,9 and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission has more recently echoed,10 Indigenous history is not separate from the contemporary issues that our communities face. Indeed, ‘‘history plays an important role in reconciliation; to build for the future, Cana- dians must look to, and learn from, the past.’’11 In addition, in order to address this concern, some Canadian post-secondary institutions such as Lakehead University and the University of Winnipeg have implemented mandatory classes with Indigenous content.12 It is im- portant to remember that stories of dispossession and environmental disruption are not only of the past but also continue in the present day. Put simply, these are not just academic arguments and revisions, but they also have the potential to have very real consequences in ongoing efforts at reconciliation and decolonization in this country.

In my own undergraduate classes � both in Indigenous history and Indigenous studies � it has been challenging to unpack these ideas with students in a nuanced way. Indigenous perspectives should matter to environmental historians, but this goes beyond listening to Indige- nous voices or studying Indigenous peoples. It means accepting the validity and importance of worldviews that are both historical and con- temporary. Of course, Indigenous peoples have interacted with our environments for millennia, and, from the Anishinaabe perspective from which I write, there is no clear divide between the elements of creation, meaning that human beings are part of, rather than separate from, our environment. As Brenda Macdougall writes in another article in this issue, our understandings of language, traditions, and creation stories provide a necessary holistic historical narrative, rather than simply ‘‘when and why something happened.’’13

9 Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, volume 1: Looking Forward, Looking Back, Queen’s Research and Learning Repository, https://qspace.library.queensu.ca/bitstream/handle/ 1974/6874/RRCAP1_combined.pdf;jsessionid=39E874- F613E1AA61902BD5B165215735?sequence=5 (accessed 28 June 2016).

10 Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (trc), Honoring the Truth, Reconciling the Future: Summary of the Final Report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, http://www.trc.ca/websites/trcinstitution/File/2015/ Findings/Exec_Summary_2015_05_31_web_o.pdf (accessed 28 June 2016), 8. See also trc, Calls to Action, http://www.trc.ca/websites/trcinstitution/File/ 2015/Findings/Calls_to_Action_English2.pdf (accessed 28 June 2016).

11 trc, Honoring the Truth, Reconciling the Future, 8. 12 Jennifer Halsall, ‘‘Some Universities Look to Adopt Indigenous Course

Requirements,’’ University Affairs (23 June 2015), http://www.universityaffairs.ca/ news/news-article/some-universities-look-to-adopt-indigenous-course-require- ments/ (accessed 28 June 2016).

13 Brenda Macdougall, ‘‘Space and Place within Aboriginal Epistemological Tradi- tions: Recent Trends in Historical Scholarship,’’ in this issue, 81.

86 The Canadian Historical Review

This article examines the complex and still evolving relationship between environmental and Indigenous history, specifically focusing on issues related to issues of decolonizing research practices and a focus on Indigenous perspectives, differing cultural views of resources and the environment, and the colonizing impacts of industrial and extractive practices on Indigenous communities. Lastly, this article will conclude with the hopeful suggestion that more scholars incorporate gendered perspectives and that they move beyond the colonial construc- tion of the border along the 49th parallel to examine Indigenous history in ways that respect our own national boundaries on Turtle Island as much can be gained from perspectives that balance local and trans- national contexts.14

The field of environmental history, much like that of Indigenous history in general, is multidisciplinary, and scholars from a variety of academic backgrounds have contributed to our understanding of Indigenous and environmental history. As James D. Rice argued in his historiographical article, environmental history scholarship as it has related to Indigenous peoples and lands has ‘‘mushroomed’’ since the 1990s, but ‘‘most of the new scholarship is being conducted by people who do not primarily regard themselves as environmental historians, and it is being published in venues where environmental historians are unlikely to read it.’’15 Indeed, as I examine below, scholars, Indigenous researchers, and communities in what is now Canada have taken different approaches to the topic and, in the process, have questioned old assumptions and research methods and have begun to privilege Indigenous voices and perspectives.

In this respect, the expansion of environmental history to include Indigenous perspectives mirrors historiographical patterns of Indigenous history in Canada more generally in the 1990s.16 Although scholars such as Bruce Trigger were leaders in the development of ethnohistorical inquiry as early as the 1960s,17 an explosion of historical literature appeared in the decade after the events at Oka in the summer of

14 This term refers to the creation stories of several Indigenous nations in North America, whereby the world was formed on the back of a turtle.

15 James D. Rice, ‘‘Beyond ‘the Ecological Indian’ and ‘Virgin Soil Epidemics’: New Perspectives on Native Americans and the Environment,’’ History Compass 12, no. 9 (2014): 748.

16 Keith Carlson, Melinda Jetté, and Kenichi Matsui, ‘‘An Annotated Bibliography of Major Writings in Aboriginal History, 1990-99,’’ Canadian Historical Review 82, no. 1 (2001): 122–71.

17 First generation revisionist works in Canada include Bruce Trigger, The Children of Aataentsic: A History of the Huron People to 1660 (Montreal and Kingston: McGill Queen’s University Press, 1976); Robin Fisher, Contact and Conflict:

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 87

1990. Many of these works began to change the temporal focus of Indigenous history in Canada, moving beyond the earlier emphasis on missionary and fur trade relations and moving toward examina- tions of Indian Affairs policies, land incursions, environmental issues, health and wellness, and agriculture.18

It was also during the 1990s that decolonizing research method- ologies came to the forefront for the first time. Maori scholar Linda Tuhiwai Smith’s groundbreaking Decolonizing Methodologies made space for Indigenous methods and perspectives, arguing that although our methods are often seen as less rigorous by Western researchers, they are a necessary part of reclaiming Indigenous practices and perspec- tives.19 In the two decades that followed in Canada, the works of Kathy Absolon Minogiizhigokwe (Anishinaabe), Jo-Anne Archibald (Stó:lo), Margaret Kovach (Cree/Saulteaux), Shawn Wilson (Opaskwayak Cree), and Winona Wheeler (Cree/Assiniboine/Saulteaux) have not just been informative for Indigenous scholars, but they have also suggested ways in which settler scholars can better engage with Indigenous peoples not as research ‘‘subjects’’ but, rather, through the establish- ment and maintenance of relationship.20 That is, Indigenous scholars

Indian-European Relations in British Columbia, 1774–1890 (Vancouver: ubc Press, 1977); Arthur J. Ray, Indians in the Fur Trade: Their Role as Trappers. Hunters, and Middlemen in the Lands Southwest of Hudson Bay, 1660–1870 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1974); Jennifer S.H. Brown, Strangers in Blood: Fur Trade Company Families in Indian Country (Vancouver: ubc Press, 1980); Sylvia Van Kirk, Many Tender Ties: Women in Fur-Trade Society 1660–1870 (Winnipeg: Watson and Dwyer, 1980).

18 See, for example, Kerry Abel and Jean Friesen, eds., Aboriginal Resource Use in Canada: Historical and Legal Aspects (Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1991); Robin Jarvis Brownlie, A Fatherly Eye: Indian Agents, Government Power, and Aboriginal Resistance in Ontario, 1918–1939 (Toronto: Oxford University Press, 2003); Sarah Carter, Lost Harvests: Prairie Indian Reserve Farmers and Government Policy (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1990); Mary-Ellen Kelm, Colonizing Bodies: Aboriginal Health and Healing in British Columbia, 1900–50 (Vancouver: ubc Press, 1999).

19 Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples (London: Zed Books, 1999).

20 Kathleen E. Absolon Minogiizhigokwe, Kaandossiwin: How We Come to Know (Winnipeg: Fernwood Press, 2011); Jo-Anne Archibald, Indigenous Storywork: Educating the Heart, Mind, Body, and Spirit (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2008); Margaret Kovach, Indigenous Methodologies: Characteristics, Conversations, and Contexts (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009); Winona Wheeler, ‘‘Reflections on the Social Relations of Indigenous Oral Histories,’’ in Walking a Tightrope: Aboriginal People and their Representations, edited by Ute Lischke and David T. McNab, 189–213 (Waterloo, on: University of Waterloo Press, 2005); Sean Wilson, Research Is Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods (Winnipeg: Fernwood, 2008).

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critiqued the notorious history and contemporary reality of Western research practices and their effects on Indigenous communities: research should be conducted for the benefit of Indigenous peoples and com- munities and should follow Indigenous protocols that privilege relation- ships, kinship, and reciprocity.

It is perhaps no surprise, then, that scholars have become increas- ingly interested in exploring Indigenous voices and perspectives when writing about the environment or, as Brenda Macdougall has elucidated, about our epistemological views of land and space. Julie Cruikshank’s collaborative work with Yukon elders Angela Sidney, Kitty Smith, and Annie Ned, which had previously framed two other books, continued in Do Glaciers Listen? Local Knowledge, Colonial Encounters, and Social Imagination. In it, she asked readers to listen to Tlingit explanations for glacier movement and, by extension, grasp the differences in how Indigenous peoples understand our relationships to our homelands in comparison to scientific models embedded in western thought and culture.21 In the collection The Earth Is Faster Now, several researchers examine the complexity of traditional knowledge and its importance for understanding environmental change in the Arctic.22 Nancy Turner’s work with Helen Clifton (Gitga’at) examines Indigenous knowledge and community adaptation to environmental and colonial changes in British Columbia, as do Keith Thor Carlson and Jonathan Clapperton in their explanation of distinct Stó:lo # and Nlha7kápmx heritage sites in the Fraser canyon, which is understood differently by Canadians for its importance in economic and transportation infrastructure.23

All of these works demonstrate the differences between settler and Indigenous perceptions of historical and environmental change.

Such differences reflect the cultures of the peoples that construct them and can lead to better cross-cultural understanding, but even

21 Julie Cruikshank, Do Glaciers Listen? Local Knowledge, Colonial Encounters, and Social Imagination (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2005). Cole Harris’s review of it in bc Studies demonstrated the need for such a book. See Cole Harris, ‘‘Do Glaciers Really Listen? A Review Essay,’’ bc Studies 148 (2005–6): 103–6; Dorothee Schreiber, ‘‘Glaciers Listen: A Review Essay and Response to Cole Harris,’’ bc Studies 159 (2008): 131–9.

22 Igor Krupnik and Dyanna Jolly, eds., The Earth Is Faster Now: Indigenous Observations of Arctic Environmental Change, 2nd edition (Fairbanks, al: Arctic Research Consortium of the United States, 2010).

23 Nancy Turner and Helen Clifton, ‘‘ ‘It’s So Different Today’: Climate Change and Indigenous Lifeways in British Columbia, Canada,’’ Global Environmental Change 19 (2009): 180–90; Keith Thor Carlson and Jonathan Clapperton, ‘‘Introduction. Special Places and Protected Spaces: Historical and Global Perspectives on Non-National Parks in Canada and Abroad,’’ Environment and History 18 (2012): 475–96.

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 89

a better understanding of Indigenous knowledge can lead to the coop- tation of traditional ecological knowledge (tek) by researchers, which has complicated climate change and environmental discourse. As Anishinaabe scholar Deborah McGregor has argued, ‘‘there is a major dichotomy in the realm of TEK that needs to be understood: there is the Aboriginal view of TEK, which reflects an Indigenous understand- ing of relationships to Creation, and there is the dominant Eurocentric view of TEK, which reflects colonial attitudes toward Aboriginal people and their knowledge.’’24 Timothy B. Leduc’s interrogation of climate change in the North reflects this critique. His example of the Inuit term sila elucidates this co-opting of Indigenous knowledge or, in his particular research context, Inuit qaujimatuqanigit. In Inuit qaujima- tuqanigit, sila refers to a holistic force, but it has been translated to English as a simplified Western word for ‘‘weather.’’25 Thus, environ- mental encroachments and climate change are certainly problematic, but even the solutions can be just as colonizing.

Tellingly, one of the main points of The Earth Is Faster Now, according to Fikret Berkes, is ‘‘indigenous knowledge of environmental change can be treated as knowledge in its own right and not merely as a source for ‘data’ for science.’’26 This argument can be seen as a re- sponse to the criticism that Western researchers often seek to fit complex Indigenous concepts and epistemologies into their Western models, which can decontextualize those ideas from the Indigenous cultures in which they are embedded.27 In fact, as scholars such

24 Deborah McGregor, ‘‘Coming Full Circle: Indigenous Knowledge, Environment, and Our Future,’’ American Indian Quarterly 28, no. 3 and 4 (2004): 386.

25 Timothy B. Leduc, Climate Culture Change: Inuit and Western Dialogues with a Warming North (Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 2010). For a review of literature surrounding Indigenous health and climate change, see James D. Ford et al., ‘‘Vulnerability of Aboriginal Health Systems in Canada to Climate Change,’’ Global Environmental Change 20 (2010): 668–80.

26 Fikret Berkes, ‘‘Epilogue: Making Sense of Arctic Environmental Change,’’ in Krupnik and Jolly, The Earth Is Faster Nows, 344 [emphasis in original].

27 In addition to MacGregor and Leduc in the preceding footnotes, other Indigenous scholars who have critiqued Western extraction of Indigenous knowledge include Kathy Absolon and Cam Willett, ‘‘Putting Ourselves Forward: Location in Aboriginal Research,’’ in Research as Resistance, edited by Leslie Brown and Susan Strega, 97–126 (Toronto: Canadian Scholars’ Press, 2005); Pam Colorado, ‘‘Bridging Native and Western Science,’’ Convergence 21, no. 2 (1988): 49–68; Charles R. Menzies and Caroline Butler, ‘‘Introduction: Understanding Ecological Knowledge,’’ in Traditional Ecological Knowledge and Natural Resource Management, edited by Charles R. Menzies, 10–12 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2006). See also Julie Cruikshank, ‘‘Uses and Abuses of ‘Traditional Knowledge’: Perspectives from the Yukon Territory,’’ in Cultivating Arctic Landscapes: Knowing and Managing Animals in the Circumpolar North, edited by David G. Anderson and Mark Nuttall, 17–32 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2004).

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as Paul Nadasdy have argued, resource management schemes, even when they purport to empower Indigenous communities, can force Indigenous leadership to conform to Western views of time, environ- ment, and management.28 Thus, even the solutions to land-based prob- lems can reflect and exacerbate the processes of colonial dispossession.

In Canada, a country that is so dependent on natural resources for political and economic development, both historically and in the present day, more scholars have been examining the ways in which industrial development and extractive industries have affected Indi- genous communities, particularly in northern regions of the country. Anishinaabe activist and writer Gilbert Oskaboose’s view of four centuries of settler invasion in our homeland in northern Ontario, stretching from the fur trade to a Cold War interest in uranium mining, encapsulates an Indigenous perspective on such practices: ‘‘First the white men came and trapped all the mink and otter and beaver, then they came back for the trees and all we had left were the rocks. Then the s.o.b.’s came back for the rocks.’’29 The timber industry played an important role in the settler development of northern Ontario and had an impact on First Nations in the area. James T. Angus examined the agency of Dokis First Nation leadership in the face of government and timber industry encroachment, and Mark Kuhlberg examined the federal government’s complicity in timber encroach- ment at Long Lac reserve.30 Perhaps the most notorious case of pollu- tion as a result of timber is that which occurred at Grassy Narrows in northwestern Ontario. Anastasia M. Shkilnyk examined Reed Paper’s mercury pollution of the English-Wabigoon river system and its impact on the Grassy Narrows First Nation, known in Anishinaabemowin (Anishinaabe language) as Asubpeeschoseewagong. She linked the contamination to challenges to Anishinaabek well-being in the com- munity.31 Mercury pollution and ongoing disputes about clear-cutting

28 Paul Nadasdy, Hunters and Bureaucrats: Power, Knowledge, and Aboriginal-State Relations in the Southwest Yukon (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2003).

29 Quoted in Felix Atencio-Gonzales, ‘‘URANIUM: It Has Industry ‘Close to Meltdown,’ Windspeaker (7 June 1991), 9.

30 James T. Angus, ‘‘How the Dokis Indians Protected Their Timber,’’ Ontario History 81 (1989): 181–99; Mark Kuhlberg, ‘‘ ‘Nothing It Seems Can Be Done about It’: Charlie Cox, Indian Affairs Timber Policy, and the Long Lac Reserve, 1924–40,’’ Canadian Historical Review 84, no. 1 (2003): 33–64.

31 Anastasia M. Shkilnyk, A Poison Stronger Than Love: The Destruction of an Ojibwa Community (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985). This was soon followed by Christopher Vecsey, ‘‘Grassy Narrows Reserve: Mercury Pollution, Social Disruption, and Natural Resources: A Question of Autonomy,’’ American Indian Quarterly 11, no. 4 (1987): 287–314.

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 91

in the area are still ongoing concerns, demonstrating how industrial pollution casts a long shadow over economic development, Indigenous– settler relations, and Indigenous self-determination.32

As many of these case studies of environmental devastation remind us, even in the postwar period, when status Indians could vote in federal elections and the power of Indian agents slowly eroded, colonial processes were still powerful and facilitated land encroachments and environmental devastation.33 For instance, the road to economic self- sufficiency in Quebec was dependent on the development of hydro- electricity, a battle that marked a turning point in Indigenous–settler relations and resulted in the James Bay and Northern Quebec Agree- ment, the first modern-day treaty in Canada, which was followed in 2002 by the Agreement Respecting a New Relationship Between the Cree Nation and the Government of Quebec.34 Other works have examined the historical and present-day effects of industrial develop- ment in the North and have in common a temporal focus on twentieth-

32 Anna J. Willow, Strong Hearts, Native Lands: The Cultural and Political Landscape of Anishinaabe Anti-clearcutting Activism (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2012). See, for example, ‘‘Grassy Narrows: Why Ontario Decided Not to Clean Up the Mercury,’’ cbc News, http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/thunder- bay/grassy-narrows-why-ontario-decided-not-to-clean-up-the-mercury-1.3140207 (accessed 30 December 2015); ‘‘Ontario Will Test Mercury Levels in Waterways Near Grassy Narrows First Nation,’’ cbc News, http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/ toronto/wynne-grassy-narrows-clean-up-1.3654533 (accessed 28 June 2016).

33 Lianne C. Leddy, ‘‘Cold War Colonialism: The Serpent River First Nation and Uranium Mining, 1953–88’’ (PhD dissertation, Wilfrid Laurier University, 2011).

34 Hans M. Carlson, ‘‘A Watershed of Words: Litigating and Negotiating Nature in Eastern James Bay, 1971–1975,’’ Canadian Historical Review 85, no. 1 (2004): 63–84; Caroline Desbiens, Power from the North: Territory, Identity, and Culture of Hydroelectricity in Quebec (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2013); James Horning, ed., Social and Environmental Impacts of the James Bay Hydroelectric Project (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1999); Richard F. Salisbury, A Homeland for the Cree: Regional Development in James Bay, 1971–1981 (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1986). For hydroelectricity in northern Ontario, see Jean Manore, Cross-Currents: Hydro-Electricity and the Engineering of Northern Ontario (Waterloo, on: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1999). James Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement, 1975, http://www.gcc.ca/ pdf/LEG000000006.pdf (accessed 28 December 2016); Agreement Respecting a New Relationship between the Cree Nation and the Government of Quebec, 7 February 2002, http://www.gcc.ca/pdf/LEG000000008.pdf (accessed 28 December 2016).

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century development that coincides with Cold War extraction.35 Recon- ciliation, as the Truth and Reconciliation Commission reminds us, requires greater Indigenous control of resource development, includ- ing meaningful consultation with Indigenous communities, access to employment and long-term benefits, as well as corporate education.36

As historians, we can inform the answer to this call to action with a better and more widespread understanding of historical patterns of dispossession by recognizing that they are ongoing and pervasive.

Many of the works cited here have been case studies, reflecting local community attachments to land, but more attention should also be paid to how colonialism and environmental injustice can be gendered processes. Jocelyn Thorpe’s Temagami’s Tangled Wild is an example of a study that shows the intersections of gender, colonialism, and environ- mental history, and a recent collection, Living on the Land: Indigenous Women’s Understanding of Place, reminds us of the importance of Indigenous women’s knowledge.37 But what of other regions where industrial development has had an impact on Indigenous women’s

35 Kerry Abel, Drum Songs: Glimpses of Dene History (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2005); Carly A. Dokis, Where the Rivers Meet: Pipelines, Participatory Resource Management, and Aboriginal-State Relations in the Northwest Territories (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2015); Liza Piper, The Industrial Transformation of Subarctic Canada (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2008); Ginger Gibson and Jason Klinck, ‘‘Canada’s Resilient North: The Impact of Mining on Aboriginal Communities,’’ Pimatisiwin, 3, no. 1 (2005): 114–40. Arn Keeling and John Sandlos, ‘‘Environmental Justice Goes Underground? Historical Notes from Canada’s Northern Mining Frontier,’’ Environmental Justice 2, no. 3 (2009): 117–25; Legacies of northern mining on local communities can be seen in John Sandlos and Arn Keeling, ‘‘Zombie Mines and the (Over)burden of History,’’ Solutions Journal 4, no. 3 (2013): 80–83, https://www.thesolutionsjournal.com/ article/zombie-mines-and-the-overburden-of-history/ (accessed 30 December 2015); For works on Cold War uranium extraction, see Lianne C. Leddy, ‘‘Poisoning the Serpent: Uranium Exploitation and the Serpent River First Nation, 1953–1988,’’ in The Nature of Empires and Empires of Nature, edited by Karl Hele, 125–47 (Waterloo, on: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2013); ‘‘Interviewing Nookomis and Other Reflections of an Indigenous Historian,’’ Oral History Forum 30 (2010): 1–18; Arn Keeling, ‘‘Born in an Atomic Test Tube: Landscapes of Cyclonic Development at Uranium City Saskatchewan,’’ Canadian Geographer 54, no. 2 (2010): 228–52; Anna Stanley, ‘‘Citizenship and the Production of Landscape and Knowledge in Contemporary Canadian Nuclear Fuel Waste Management,’’ Canadian Geographer 52 (2008): 64–82.

36 trc, Calls to Action. 37 Jocelyn Thorpe, Temagami’s Tangled Wild: Race, Gender, and the Making of

Canadian Nature (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2012); Nathalie Kermoal and Isabel Altamirano-Jiménez, eds., Living on the Land: Indigenous Women’s Under- standings of Place (Edmonton: Athabasca University Press, 2016).

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 93

bodies and the health of the community? Since scholars and activists have increasingly made connections between Indigenous women’s bodies and the land, more histories of environmental devastation and disposses- sion in Canada should take this into consideration.38

While local studies are important as they avoid generalizations and allow scholars and audiences to fully engage with the specific geograph- ical and historical realities of a given community or region, more transnational studies and comparisons are welcome.39 Works that have examined Indigenous gender and labour,40 as well as recent collections published by American presses in conservation and ecology,41

have demonstrated the need to examine local realities in the context of a wider, global, Indigenous struggle. Indigenous peoples throughout North America and the world have faced dispossession and environ- mental degradation. The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples calls for the recognition of these rights, and Canada (among other settler nations) has been late to recognize, let alone start, the process.42 While the local context is important to

38 Rosemary Brown, ‘‘The Exploitation of the Oil and Gas Frontier: Its Impact on Lubicon Lake Cree Women,’’ in Women of the First Nations: Power, Wisdom, and Strength, edited by Christine Miller and Patricia Chuchruk, 151–65 (Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1997); Katsi Cook, ‘‘Powerful Like a River: Reweaving the Web of Our Lives in Defense of Environmental and Reproductive Justice,’’ in Original Instructions: Indigenous Teachings for a Sustainable Future, edited by Melissa K. Nelson, 154–67 (Rochester, vt: Bear and Company, 2008); Andrea Smith, Conquest: Sexual Violence and American Indian Genocide (Cambridge: South End Press, 2005); Rachel Stein, ed., New Perspectives on Environmental Justice: Gender, Sexuality, and Activism (New Brunswick, nj: Rutgers University Press, 2004).

39 Gregory D. Smithers compared the work of Winona LaDuke and Deborah McGregor, two Anishinaabe women on opposite sides of the border, in Smithers, ‘‘Beyond the ‘Ecological Indian.’ ’’ Audra Simpson has documented Mohawk sovereignty and resistance in both Canada and the United States. See Audra Simpson, Mohawk Interruptus: Political Life across the Borders of Settler States (Durham, nc: Duke University Press, 2014).

40 Carol Williams, ed., Indigenous Women and Work: From Labour to Activism (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2012); see also Paige Raibmon, Authentic Indians: Episodes of Encounter from the Nineteenth Century Northwest Coast (Durham, nc: Duke University Press, 2005).

41 Stan Stevens, ed., Indigenous Peoples, National Parks, and Protected Areas: A New Paradigm Linking Conservation, Culture, and Rights (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2014); Sharon J. Ridgeway and Peter J. Jacques, The Power of the Talking Stick: Indigenous Politics and the World Ecological Crisis (Boulder: Paradigm Publishers, 2014).

42 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, 13 September 2007, http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/DRIPS_en.pdf 2007 (accessed 30 December 2015).

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understanding specific colonial practices and challenges, as well as specific Indigenous relationships to homeland, understanding that these are global imperial processes is crucial. Historians could do more to compare these experiences in a transnational context, not just for Indigenous nations that straddle international borders (as many do) but also for a greater understanding of colonialism, invasion, and environmental devastation.

In conclusion, environmental history and Indigenous history have grown along similar trajectories, and they often intersect. As scholars, we can harness opportunities to demonstrate decolonizing research methods and demonstrate how we can better represent Indigenous perspectives, acknowledging that events in Indigenous history cannot be relegated to a distant past but rather, have ongoing impacts in Indigenous communities. In addition to challenging traditional tem- poral scopes, research and teaching in this area can examine how environmental challenges and colonial invasions are gendered, and they can also balance local and transnational contexts. As all four of the articles in this section of the issue argue, students can benefit from a clear understanding that decolonized views of Indigenous history cannot separate the past from the present. Land incursions do not end in the nineteenth century but, rather, continue to have real impacts in our urban and reserve communities. To communicate these ideas to students, and within the scholarly community, will provide new, respectful, and fruitful avenues of historical inquiry that not only are intellectually exciting but also hold much promise for dialogue and holding ourselves accountable to the principles of reconciliation.

lianne c. leddy (Anishinaabe kwe) is a member of Serpent River First Nation

and an assistant professor of Indigenous studies at Wilfrid Laurier University’s

Brantford campus.

lianne c. leddy (Anishinaabe kwe) fait partie de la Première Nation de

Serpent River. Elle est professeure adjointe en études autochtones au campus

de Brantford de l’Université Wilfrid-Laurier.

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 95

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docs/Immigration and the American Industrial Revolution From 1880 to 1920.pdf

6/15/2020 Immigration and the American Industrial Revolution From 1880 to 1920

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2760060/ 1/38

Soc Sci Res. Author manuscript; available in PMC 2010 Dec 1. Published in final edited form as:

Soc Sci Res. 2009 Dec 1; 38(4): 897–920. doi: 10.1016/j.ssresearch.2009.04.001

PMCID: PMC2760060 NIHMSID: NIHMS108728

PMID: 20160966

Immigration and the American Industrial Revolution From 1880 to 1920 Charles Hirschman and Elizabeth Mogford

Charles Hirschman, Department of Sociology and Center for Studies in Demography and Ecology, University of Washington, Seattle, WA 98195-3340; Contributor Information. Contact Charles Hirschman at [email protected] and Elizabeth Mogford at [email protected]

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Abstract

In this study, we measure the contribution of immigrants and their descendents to the growth and industrial transformation of the American workforce in the age of mass immigration from 1880 to 1920. The size and selectivity of the immigrant community, as well as their disproportionate residence in large cities, meant they were the mainstay of the American industrial workforce. Immigrants and their children comprised over half of manufacturing workers in 1920, and if the third generation (the grandchildren of immigrants) are included, then more than two-thirds of workers in the manufacturing sector were of recent immigrant stock. Although higher wages and better working conditions might have encouraged more long-resident native-born workers to the industrial economy, the scale and pace of the American industrial revolution might well have slowed. The closing of the door to mass immigration in the 1920s did lead to increased recruitment of native born workers, particularly from the South, to northern industrial cities in the middle decades of the 20 century.

1. Introduction

Within the span of a few decades from the late 19 to the early 20 century, the United States was transformed from a predominately rural agrarian society to an industrial economy centered in large metropolitan cities. Prior to the American industrial revolution, most Americans were reared in largely isolated agricultural households and small towns that were linked to the external world by horse drawn wagons (Olmstead and Rhode 2000: 711). Except for towns that were connected to railroads or water borne shipping, isolation and the costs of overland transportation meant that many rural communities were largely self sufficient in food, clothing, and many other essentials of everyday life. This changed dramatically in the early decades of the 20 century, as the supply and lowered costs of manufactured goods created a consumer revolution for both urban and rural households. Many of these goods, which did not even exist a few decades earlier, were manufactured, marketed, and transported through a rapidly expanding national network of rail lines and highways. By 1920, one half of northern farms had automobiles and telephones (Olmstead and Rhode 2000: 712–713).

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Theses changes were the direct result of the American industrial revolution that was founded on rising investment, employment, and productivity in the manufacturing sector. In 1880, when the agricultural frontier had largely disappeared, almost one-half of the American workers were still farmers and only one in seven workers (less than 15%) worked in manufacturing of any sort. The industrial sector, as late as 1870, consisted primarily of small firms and workshops that relied on artisan technology to produce tools, furniture, building materials, and other goods for local markets (Abramovitz and David 2000: 45). Many small industries, such as grain mills and sawmills, were often located in rural areas close to flowing rivers in order to power machinery. Following the technological revolutions of the early industrial age, workshops and small foundries were supplemented by large factories engaged in mass production. The development of commercial electricity at the end of the 19 century allowed industries to take advantage of the labor supply in large cities. The scale of change is illustrated by the rise in the share of manufacturing horsepower generated by electrical motors from 23% in 1909 to 77% in 1929 (Goldin and Katz 1998: 712).

Enormous gains in industrial productivity, accompanied by institutional change and much lower transportation costs, created national markets with goods and people moving in every direction. Perhaps the most consequential change of the American industrial revolution was the increasing urbanization of society and the shift of labor from farms to factories and offices (Guest 2005). In 1880, workers in agriculture outnumbered industrial workers three to one, but by 1920, the numbers were approximately equal. Employment in the manufacturing sector expanded four-fold from 2.5 to 10 million workers from 1880 to 1920.

The decades surrounding 1900 were not only the age of industrialization in the United States, but were also the age of urbanization and immigration. The 1880s were the first decade in American history, with the exception of the Civil War decade, when the urban population increased more than the rural population (in absolute numbers). From 1880 to 1920, population growth was concentrated in cities— the urban fraction expanded from a little more than one quarter of the national population to more than one half (Carter et al. 2006: 1–105).

The pace of rural to urban migration of the native born picked up during this era, but domestic urbanward migrants were dwarfed by the flood of immigrants coming to cities. From 1880 to 1920, the number of foreign born increased from almost 7 million to a little under 14 million (Gibson and Jung 2006: 26). These figures, however, underestimate the economic and demographic contribution of immigration (Kuznets 1971b). Immigrants inevitably lead to a second generation—the children of immigrants—whose social, cultural, and economic characteristics are heavily influenced by their origins. Counting the 23 million children of immigrants , in addition to the 14 million immigrants, means that over one-third of the 105 million Americans in the 1920 population belonged to the “immigrant community,” defined as inclusive of the first and second generations.

1.1 Immigration, Urbanization, and Industrialization

Immigrants, as well as manufacturing enterprises, were concentrated in the rapidly growing cities of the Northeast and Midwest during the age of industrialization (Gibson and Jung 2006: 72). In 1900, about three-quarters of the populations of many large cities were composed of immigrants and their children, including New York, Chicago, Boston, Cleveland, San Francisco, Buffalo, Milwaukee, and Detroit (Carpenter 1927: 27). Immigration and industrialization were correlated, both spatially and temporally in American history (Taeuber and Taeuber 1971: 117), but is there a causal impact? Addressing this question, the objective of this analysis, requires consideration of the counterfactual of what would have been the course of the industrialization process in the United States if there had not been an immigrant workforce.

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The most commonly cited reasons for the rapid American industrial revolution are the abundance of mineral resources, technological innovation, the evolution of the American system of manufacturing, railroads and lowered costs of transportation, education and human resources, and the rise of the managerial firm (Abramovitz and David 2000; Chandler 1977; Denison 1974; Hounshell 1984; Wright 1990). Among the studies that address the relationship between immigration and industrialization, few go beyond a general or abstract discussion. In a classic survey of the literature on the American industrial revolution in the Cambridge Economic History of the United States, the role of immigration is summarized in a single paragraph, which simply notes the overrepresentation of immigrants in the manufacturing labor force (Engerman and Sokoloff 2000: 387). There are some studies that conclude that the flood of immigration in the late 19 and early 20 centuries had an adverse impact on the per- capita economic growth, the wages of native workers, and diverted domestic migration away from industrializing cities (Hatton and Williamson 1998: Chapter 8; Goldin 1994). However, other researchers have questioned these conclusions and suggested that immigrants had a generally positive impact on the American economy and facilitated the economic mobility of native born workers during the age of industrialization (Carter and Sutch 1999; Haines 2000: 202; Muller 1993: 83–85; Thomas 1973: 174).

1.2 Research Objectives

In this study, we address two specific empirical questions, namely: “What was the role of immigration on changes in the industrial structure of the American economy from 1880 to 1920?”, and “How much did immigrants and their descendents (children and grandchildren) contribute to the manufacturing sector in 1920?” The findings reported here show that recent immigrants and their descendents were the primary workforce in the rapidly expanding manufacturing economy of the early 20 century. Demographic and economic pressures on agricultural households in the late 19 and early 20 century pushed an increasing share of the children of farmers off the land, but only a minority were willing to join “the pool of eastern industrial and commercial labor” (Atack, Bateman, and Parker 2000: 322). When immigrant labor was cutoff in the 1920s, the native poor population, especially poor whites and blacks from the South, began migrating to northern industrial cities in much larger numbers. But in the early 20 century, when manufacturing jobs were dirty, dangerous, and heavily regimented, immigrant workers were the mainstay of industrial employment.

Native born of native parentage (NBNP) Americans continued to be over-represented in the agricultural sector in the early 20 century, but they were also well represented in many of the better jobs in the public and business sectors that were also expanding rapidly with the industrial economy. The managerial elite during the age of industrialization were almost exclusively native born whites (Zunz 1982: 2).

2. How Might Immigration Affect Industrialization

There is a long list of potential factors—variables or conditions—that might have caused the American industrial revolution, including the discovery or adoption of new technologies, the availability and mobility of capital, the expansion of markets as a result of new transportation systems, added demand from a growing population and the expansion of trade, increasing entrepreneurship, stable political and institutional systems that foster cheaper credit and the enforcement of contracts, improvements in human capital and meritocratic social mobility of talent, the increasing division of labor in production, and the specialization of enterprises (see Engerman and Gallman 2000, especially volume 2). This list, which is neither exhaustive nor mutually exclusive, does not specify which factors are exogenous nor does it address the question of which factors are absolutely necessary and which may simply facilitate economic growth and industrialization.

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Without a comparative analysis across countries or regions, it is impossible to test which factors were necessary or sufficient conditions to cause industrialization. Such studies are not always definitive, however, because labor, capital, and other resources can flow across regions and countries. The analytical strategy adopted here is of a detailed case study of one country, the United States, with a primary focus on measuring the increasing share of immigrants and their descendents in the mobilization of labor during the American industrial revolution from 1880 to 1920. The counterfactual, namely whether the domestic labor supply would have been sufficient for rapid industrial development in the absence of immigration, cannot be directly observed. Our strategy, which draws on theory and prior research in addition to empirical analysis, cannot fully adjudicate between competing explanations. Our conclusion about the centrality of immigrant labor is based on the fact that recent immigrants and their descendents were not just the majority of industrial workers, but the overwhelming majority of workers in the emerging manufacturing sector in early 20 century America.

2.1 Economic Theory

Labor is an indispensable source of economic production, and all other things being equal, more labor contributes to more economic production. The magnitude of the impact of immigration on economic growth and welfare depends on the availability of physical capital, the human capital of immigrants and natives, and assumptions about economies of scale (Frieberg and Hunt 1995: 39–42; Smith and Edmonston 1997: chapter 4). Although there was neither a slackening of economic growth nor a slowdown in the trend of rising wages of native born workers during the age of mass immigration in the late 19 and early 20 century (Carter and Sutch 1999: 314–344; Rees 1961), Hatton and Williamson (1998: chapter 8) argued that wages would have grown even faster in the absence of immigration. Differences in the interpretation (or speculation) of the economic impact of immigration are typically based on assumptions of possible effects rather than on measured differences. There is a wide range of mechanisms through which immigrants may affect labor markets and the economy, more generally.

One of the most fundamental effects of immigration is an increase in the number of workers relative to dependents in the population. Immigrants are generally concentrated in the younger working ages. Carter and Sutch (1999: 326) observe that well over 70% of immigrants to the United States during the peak years of the age of mass immigration (1907 to 1910) were between age 18 and 40. Even within the working-age population, immigrants are more likely to participate in the labor force than the native born population. The age selectivity of immigrants reduces the costs of social reproduction for a given population size in the receiving society. Although the costs of support for the dependent population of children and the elderly are generally borne privately by families, there are also public subsidies for education and health care. The costs of rearing and educating persons who immigrate as young adults have been borne by their foreign-resident families and their countries of origin, and might be considered a transfer payment to the taxpayers of the receiving society.

In an ingenious analysis of the potential impact of the differing age composition of immigrants and the native born populations, Neal and Uselding (1972) estimate the savings received by the United States through immigration from 1790 to 1913 relative to the costs that would have been incurred if all immigrants were replaced by children of the native born population (this counterfactual is posed by the “Walker hypothesis” that posits that native born fertility was depressed by the arrival of immigrants). Assuming these savings had been invested (not consumed by social reproduction), Neal and Uselding (1972: 87) conclude that immigration had contributed from 13 to 42 percent of the capital stock of the United States by 1912. Several analysts have noted that the large number of immigrants in the North in the 1860s provided the manpower surplus that allowed the Union to triumph in the Civil War (Gallman 1977: 31, Muller 1993: 78–79).

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2.2 Empirical Studies

In their study of the impact of immigration on American industrialization and native born workers, Hatton and Williamson (1998: chapter 8) asked whether immigrants accelerated industrialization by solving labor bottlenecks by entering high-wage high-growth occupations faster than native born workers (Hatton and Williamson 1998: 161–164). Based on their findings that immigrants were more likely to be found in less skilled occupations and in slower growth occupations from 1890 to 1900, Hatton and Williamson conclude that immigration did not contribute to economic development and rapid industrialization. However, other analysts report that immigrants were no less skilled than native born workers (Schachter 1972). The real question, in our judgment, is not the skill level of immigrants, but their role in filling the demand for labor in manufacturing and other key sectors of emerging industrial economy. The central element of the industrial revolution is most appropriately measured by shifts across industrial sectors – the rise of manufacturing, in particular.

The other problem with Hatton and Williamson’s account is their focus on relative growth as the index of labor demand. Starting from a small base (or zero), new industries may experience extraordinarily rapid relative growth, but the absolute number of added workers may be relatively small. For example, the telephone industry grew over 80 times faster than the workforce as a whole from 1880 to 1920, but the total growth was only a quarter of a million workers. On the other hand, the manufacturing sector grew much less rapidly—only about 2.4 times as fast as the work force as a whole, but added about 7.5 million workers. Are immigrant workers in manufacturing not to be considered part of the “shock troops of structural change” (Hatton and Williamson 1998: 161) simply because of their relative share in the growth in selected high demand occupations? The contribution of immigrants might be evaluated differently if the absolute numbers of workers in expanding industries were counted. In this analysis, we consider the contribution of immigrants to absolute and relative changes in the industrial structure.

One of the most important theoretical claims about the positive impact of immigration on industrialization centers on the creation of economies of scales—both in the production of and the demand for industrial goods (Abramovitz and David. 2000: 12; Carter and Sutch 1999: 331–332; Romer 1996). The creation of economies of scale was possible only with the growth of cities and urban industries. Before the age of industrialization, per-capita productivity was rarely increased by having large numbers of workers concentrated in one location (Ward 1971: 90). Artisan labor in most industries, such as grain milling, iron working, and leather goods, did not rely on a complex division of labor. Overall, there were few advantages of locating a factory in large cities. The important considerations for site location were access to sources of raw materials, nearby flowing water, and transportation. There is some evidence that some “non-mechanized” factories in the mid 19 century were more productive than artisan shops, but these factories were distinctive in employing women and children (e.g. textiles), and economies of scale were only significant for factories with about 20 or fewer employees (Engerman and Sokoloff 2000: 375).

With electricity to power machinery, it became possible to redesign the organization of factories to create an integrated flow of work (assembly lines) to take advantage of a larger number of workers in one location. Larger factories were located in cities where labor was more plentiful. And cities were disproportionately the home of immigrants. Even in 1850, when only 15% of the American population lived in cities, more than one-third of the population of most large American cities was foreign born. Assuming that second generation immigrants (the children of immigrants) were as numerous as the foreign born, it seems reasonable to conclude that almost all large American cities were predominantly composed of immigrants and their children as early as 1850 (Gibson and Jung: 2006: 82).

In the middle decades of the 19 century, new immigrants were the ready source of labor to unload ships, to build roads and canals, and to transport goods (Carter 2006: I-590-591). With the growth of factories and the demand for unskilled labor, immigrants, primarily young men in the working years,

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continued to be the ideal source of labor. Immigrants were generally more willing to accept lower wages and inferior working conditions than native born workers (Zolberg 2006: 69). Great efficiencies in production led to higher profits that could be reinvested in new technology, which led to even more production and eventually higher wages for workers.

Although the demand for manufactured goods gradually grew to encompass the entire country, the initial demand was from the urban population. Unlike farm families that were largely self sufficient in food and made most of their clothing, urban families needed to purchase everything in the market. The large and growing urban populations, primarily fueled by immigration throughout the second half of the 19 century and the first two decades of the 20 century, created a huge demand for the increased production of the emerging industrial sector. Carter and Sutch (1999: 330–331) claim that economies of scale in demand and production also stimulated inventive activity and the diffusion of technological knowledge and innovation. In his analysis of long swings, or Kuznets cycles, Easterlin (1968) found that immigration (and population growth) and subsequent family formation stimulated economic growth through increasing demand for housing, urban development, and other amenities. This association was strongest, Easterlin noted, in the century prior to World War II. In the post World War II era, the federal government assumed more responsibility for maintaining aggregate demand regardless of population dynamics.

If capital is fixed, additional immigrant labor would lead to lowered productivity as capital stocks are spread more thinly and as less capital is invested per worker (capital dilution). However, there is some evidence that capital follows the international movements of labor, especially in labor scarce economies (Hatton and Williamson 1998: 214–215). In addition to international capital flows, immigrants are thought to save a higher proportion of their incomes than native born workers. Much of this savings is remitted to family and kin in their countries of origin, but there is also evidence that immigrants purchase homes, open small businesses and invest heavily in the education of their children. These claims suggest that immigrants contribute to economic growth by increasing the supply of (or attracting) capital as well as the supply of labor. Rosenberg (1972: 32–33) concludes that immigrants to the United States also brought European technology that increased the productivity of American industry.

Carter and Sutch (1999: 323) review the historical evidence on the debate over immigration and capital dilution at the turn of the 20 century, with a focus on the claim that immigrants increased the returns to capital (and hence capitalists), but harmed the economic fortunes of native born workers. They conclude that the division between capital and labor was not as clear cut as many assume. A substantial share of American workers owned capital through home ownership and as operators of farms and small shops. About half of American households in 1905 might have been considered as equity investors through their ownership of insurance policies that were self-financed pensions (Ranson and Sutch 1987 cited in Carter and Sutch 1999: 323).

3. Data and Measurement

The decennial census data analyzed here have been extracted from the IPUMS (Integrated Public Use Microdata Samples) files that have been produced and distributed by researchers at the University of Minnesota (Ruggles et al. 2004). The IPUMS files are created by extracting samples of household records and all persons in sampled households from the original manuscript (microfilm) records. The samples of the IPUMS census files are sufficiently large to reproduce, within the range of sampling error, published figures in the original census reports. Moreover, the IPUMS files, with complete individual (and family) unit records, can be recoded and tabulated, limited only by the scope and detail of the original census questions and classifications. In addition to the standard census variables, the IPUMS files also contain many new recoded variables to facilitate comparisons across censuses (Sobek 2001).

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Although the classification of workers by industrial sectors is sometimes conflated with occupations, these two dimensions of work are conceptually distinct. Industries refer to product produced or service delivered (by a firm or family run enterprise) while occupations refer to actual work activities and skills of workers (Sobek 2006, Sutch 2006). There is overlap in some categories – most farmers (occupations) work in the agricultural sector, but there are significant differences in the wide range of occupations (e.g., unskilled labor, clerical workers, managers) for those who work in the manufacturing, construction, and retail trade sectors.

The process of industrialization is associated with industrial restructuring as well as changes in the skills and actual tasks performed by workers. We focus on the shifts in the industrial distribution of workers because technological and organizational change typically results in the origin, growth, decline, and disappearance of businesses and forms of production. As agricultural productivity increased, workers were drawn into manufacturing and services.

Shifts in occupations and the division of labor are likely to be derivative of the changes in industrial structure and technological change. As factories replaced farms (the prototypical shift in the organization of work), many new occupations were created. Aside from the link to industrial structure, there is less theoretical clarity in the expected changes in occupations with industrialization. A widespread assumption is that technological change leads to an upgrading of occupational skills. However, early mass production probably led to a replacement of skilled craft workers with unskilled production workers. Goldin and Katz (1998) argue that this process was reversed in the years around World War I when technological change may have had a pro skill bias. Regardless of changes in the content of nonfarm occupations, the shift from farming to factory work was probably not considered as a step upward, or to a more technologically challenging job, by farmers. In addition to their autonomy, farmers have to master a number of trades including animal husbandry, crop management, and the entrepreneurial activities of buying and marketing. With our focus on industrial sectors, we attempt to capture the direct impact of industrialization on the structure of the labor force without additional assumptions of the skill levels or status of workers.

3.1 A Detailed Industrial Classification

For this analysis, we rely on the IPUMS variable “IND 1950,” which represents a recoding of the reported industries from each decennial census from 1850 to 2000 to the 1950 census industry classification (for additional details, see http://www.ipums.org/usa/pwork/ind1950a.html). The industry question was first asked in the 1910 census. For prior censuses, IND 1950 was inferred from responses to the census question on occupations. The IND 1950 classification consists of 152 detailed (three- digit) categories plus “nonclassifiable” and “industry not reported” categories. Detailed industrial categories are generally nested within primary (one digit) and secondary (two digit) categories. The classification includes some detailed industries that emerged from technological change over time. For example, the detailed category #376 “Motor vehicles and motor vehicle equipment” did not include any workers until the 1910 census.

Any study of industrial change must attempt to reconcile the need for detail revealed by the tertiary level categories with the need for parsimony evident in the broader categories. The summary industrial classification used here is ad hoc, reflecting elements of both principles with the objective of understanding the creation and expansion of specialized industries during the Age of Industrialization. Two major sectors, AGRICULTURE and CONSTRUCTION, are only reported at the primary level, while TRADE is shown for only the two major secondary levels: WHOLESALE TRADE and RETAIL TRADE. The other primary sectors are subdivided into their detailed (tertiary) industries, though quite a few of the detailed categories have been aggregated. Our primary emphasis is on the MANUFACTURING sector which includes all secondary level categories and most of the tertiary

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industries. Following Singlemann (1978: 31), we reorganized the very heterogeneous SERVICE sector into three new major categories: BUSINESS SERVICES, PERSONAL SERVICES, and SOCIAL SERVICES. Our final classification is displayed in Appendix 1.

4. Changes in the Industrial Structure and Immigrant Participation: 1880 to 1920

Our first objective is to describe changes in the industrial structure of the gainful workforce from 1880 to 1920, and the share of recent immigrants and their descendents in this industrial transformation. Figure 1 shows the dramatic changes in the structure of the workforce in 1880 and 1920 for the 9 major industrial sectors. The single most striking change was the decline in agriculture (from 48 to 25% of the workforce) and the rise of manufacturing employment (up from 14 to 25%). There are also significant increases in the proportions working in mining, transportation and utilities, trade, producer services and social services. There was relative stability (from 4.6 to 4.8%) in construction, and a relative decline of employment in personal services (from 11.5 to 9.5%).

Figure 1

Industrial Structure of Workforce: 1880 & 1920

The source percentages in Figure 1 are presented for detailed industry categories in the first two columns in Table 1, which provides an overview of the growth and transformation of the American workforce from 1880 to 1920. Columns 3 and 4 show the absolute and relative growth of workers in

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each industry over the forty years. Columns 5 and 6 show the immigrant share (both first and second generation) of each industrial sector. The final column shows the ratio of the growth of immigrant workers to the overall growth (or decline) of workers in each industry from 1880 to 1920.

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Table 1

Industrial Structure of the Work Force of Gainful Workers, by Immigrant (1st and 2nd Generation) Generation: United States, 1880 to 1920

Open in a separate window

Sources: 1880 and 1920 PUMS from Ruggles et al. (2004)

Notes: Gainful workers in 1880 not reporting an industry (codes 997/998) are disributed prorata by the industry of their reported occupation.

(1). Percentage by Major and Selected Industrial Sectors of Employment of 1880 Total Labor Force.

1880 to 1920 Change

% in Industry of Total LF

Absolute (in 000)

Relative to Total Growth

% Immigrant of Industry

Imm. Grwth as %

of Total

Grwth1880 1920 1880 1920

INDUSTRIAL SECTOR (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

AGRICULTURE 47.9% 25.3% 1,548 0.1 21% 23% 36%

MINING 1.7% 3.1% 956 2.5 64% 47% 42%

206 Metal mining 0.1% 0.4% 156 5.2 52% 66% 68%

216 Coal mining 0.5% 2.1% 741 6.5 64% 50% 49%

226 Crude petroleum and natural gas extraction

0.0% 0.4% 138 15.2 32% 13% 12%

236 Nonmetallic mining and quarrying, except fuel

1.0% 0.3% −80 −0.3 68% 40% 105%

246 CONSTRUCTION 4.3% 4.8% 1,159 1.2 41% 45% 47%

MANUFACTURING 13.5% 24.8% 7,585 2.5 57% 53% 52%

 Wood and Mineral Products (incl. logging/sawmills)

2.6% 3.2% 817 1.4 51% 37% 29%

 Metals (Steel and Iron) 1.3% 3.7% 1,268 4.3 60% 57% 57%

336 Blast furnaces, steel works, & rolling mills

0.5% 1.4% 476 4.1 61% 56% 55%

337 Other primary iron and steel industries

0.1% 0.8% 285 9.0 58% 57% 57%

338 Primary nonferrous industries

0.2% 0.3% 114 3.3 57% 62% 64%

346 Fabricated steel products 0.4% 1.0% 313 3.5 60% 56% 55%

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(2). Percentage by Major and Selected Industrial Sectors of Employment of 1920 Total Labor Force.

(3). Change (in thousands) in Absolute Number of Workers, by Industrial Sector from 1880 to 1920.

(4). Ratio of the Pecent Change from 1880 to 1920 of Each Industrial Sector to the Percent Change of the Total Work Force from 1880 to 1920 (123%).

(5). Percent Immigrant (first and second generation) of Workers, by Industrial Sector in 1880

(6). Percent Immigrant (first and second generation) of Workers, by Industrial Sector in 1920

(7). Ratio of the Change in the Absolute Number of Immigrants (first and second generation) to the Absolute Change of Workers in Each Industry from 1880 to 1920.

Although we consider these data comparable to the labor force during this period, technically, the data refer to gainful workers or all persons who reported a “gainful occupation” in the census enumeration (Bancroft 1958: Appendix C; Carter 2006: 1–2 – 1–14). Accordingly, we refer to the gainful working population as the workforce, which does not connote the precision of the modern labor force concept and measurement.

Rapid growth and structural transformation are the two major trends in the American workforce from 1880 to 1920. The number of gainful workers in the United States more than doubled from 1880 to 1920 (18.1 to 40.5 million). Even more significant was the shift from an employment structure centered on agriculture to a much more diversified industrial employment structure. These patterns are illustrated with summary measures of “absolute growth” (indexed by the increase in the number of workers in the industry from 1880 to 1920) and “relative growth” (indexed by dividing the absolute growth in each industry by the expected growth, assuming that every industry grew at the same rate as the national workforce). A relative growth index value of 1.0 means the particular industry grew at the same rate as the national workforce (which more than doubled). A value of less than 1.0 means the industry experienced a below-average growth rate, and values greater than 1.0 above-average growth for the sector.

In 1880, at the eve of the age of mass migration and when almost half of the workforce was in the agricultural sector, immigrants and their children comprised about one-third of all workers. We include the second generation (the children of immigrants) as part of the immigrant community because they are reared and socialized by their foreign born parents and would not have been in the United States except for the migration of their parents. The immigrant share increased to 40 percent of the workforce in 1920. Almost half of the total growth of 22 million workers from 1880 to 1920 can be attributed to the increase of first and second generation immigrant workers (the last column of Table 1).

4.1 Agriculture

For the first century after the nation’s founding, the United States was an agricultural society, and most American farms were small scale household enterprises that relied on family labor. In the early 19 century, upwards of two-thirds of the working population was employed in agriculture (Taeuber and Taeuber 1971: 175). At the turn of the twentieth century, nearly two-thirds of Americans lived on farms or in villages and towns of less than five thousand residents (Katz and Stern 2006: 8). Throughout the 19 century, government priorities and spending reflected the dominance of rural and agricultural interests. One of the landmark expansions of the federal government was the Morrill Act of 1862, which created the Department of Agriculture and authorized the founding of land grant colleges (Carter et al. 2006: 4–24; Atack, Bateman, and Parker 2000: 273).

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From 1880 to 1920, agriculture added 2.1 million more workers (mostly prior to 1900), but the rate of growth in agriculture was only one-tenth (0.1) of the overall growth rate of the national workforce. By 1920, only one in four American workers remained in agriculture, and the American economy was increasingly centered in urban factories and offices rather than on farms. Although many immigrants were drawn to the agricultural frontier in the 18 and 19 centuries, only one of every five farmers was an immigrant or the child of an immigrant during the age of mass immigration from 1880 to 1920.

4.2 Manufacturing and Related Industries

The largest shift in the American workforce from 1880 to 1920 was the expansion of manufacturing employment from 14 to almost 25 percent of the workforce. If mining and construction were combined with manufacturing, one-third of Americans were industrial workers in 1920. Manufacturing employment grew more than twice as fast as the workforce as a whole from 1880 to 1920. In absolute terms, the manufacturing sector expanded from 2.5 to 10 million workers.

Within the manufacturing sector, the largest increases were registered in metals (iron and steel), which grew from 1.3 to 3.7% of the workforce, and in machinery, which grew from 0.7 to 5.0% of the workforce. Closely related to this was the expansion of coal mining (used to produce steel) from 0.5 to 2.1% of workers. More than one out of ten workers in the American economy in 1920 were producing steel, extracting the raw materials used to produce steel, or making machinery from steel (e.g., automobiles). The Chemical/Petroleum/Rubber sector, which included the automobile related industries of tire manufacturing and gasoline production, grew from 0.2 to 1.6% of workers.

Another important shift was the rise in apparel (clothing) manufacturing from 0.3 to 1.1% of workers, which paralleled the decline of relative workers in dressmaking shops (listed under Personal Services) from 1.3 to 0.6% of the workforce. In the early 20 century, American women and men were able for the first time to buy inexpensive manufactured (ready made) dresses, shirts, and suits, and there was less dependence on home made and hand tailored clothing. With less expensive ready made clothing, fashions changed as well. Men and women replaced simple cloaks with fitted coats (Cahan 1917).

The rapid growth of manufacturing from 1880 to 1920 relied heavily on immigrant labor. In the latter part of the 19 century, the cotton manufacturing industry and the iron and steel industry relied heavily on “old immigrants” from Great Britain and Northwestern Europe, but in the early decades of the 20 century, the rapid growth of these industries became increasingly dependent on “new immigrants” from Southern and Eastern Europe (Perry 1978).

More than one-half of the net growth of 7.5 million workers in manufacturing from 1880 to 1920 was due to the increase of first and second generation workers over this period. The immigrant share was significant in all manufacturing industries, but proportionally less in wood and mineral products and a few other categories. Immigrants provided the majority of added workers in the rapidly growing iron and steel industry, machinery manufacturing, and textiles and apparel. The dominance of the Eastern European immigrants in apparel manufacture (and trade) in New York City is well known (Kahan 1978), but immigrants were also over-represented in mining and construction and throughout the heavy industries in the Northeast and Midwest.

4.3 Transportation, Communications, and Utilities

The consequences of expansion in the manufacturing sector rippled through other sectors. This led to major changes in the organization of the economy and the structure of employment. The distribution of goods from manufacturing plants to households also required massive investments and expansion in transportation, communications, retailing, and a supportive institutional structure for the expansion of business, and an increasingly urban society. A governmental bureaucracy was needed to build roads, manage cities, and to educate the population for employment in factories and offices.

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The transportation and communication sector added more than 2.3 million workers from 1880 to 1920, of which 1.2 million were added to the railway and railroad sector alone. The two million workers employed in the railroads and railway sector in 1920 comprised 5% of the total workforce. The telegraph was the only means of rapid long-distance communication in 1880 and the small number of workers employed in the sector (about 27,000) reflected the limited role of long distance communications (there were an additional 26,000 workers employed in postal services). By 1920, a brand new communications industry—the telephone—grew from zero to 279,000 workers or about 0.7 of the 1920 workforce.

Immigrants played an important role in the growing transportation and communications sector, but their role was secondary to the 3 and higher generation population—the NBNP (Native Born of Native Parentage) population. For example, nearly two-thirds of the added workers in railroads were 3 and higher generation Americans. There was a great boom in railroad construction in late 19 century America. By 1899, “every major city had a rail head that was connected to the national system” (Cain 2006: 4–771; also see Mayer 1989: 928). The geographic dispersion of railroads, and relatively good wages in the industry, undoubtedly pulled many descendents of the native born workers into the railroad sector.

4.4 Wholesale and Retail Trade

The enormous outpouring of goods from the nation’s factories had to be distributed and sold, mostly to domestic markets. Wholesale trade added almost 600,000 workers from 1880 to 1920, and retail trade grew by almost 2.4 million workers. One of every eight American workers in 1920 was employed in retail or wholesale trade—about one-half of the size of the manufacturing sector.

The late 19 century witnessed the beginnings of mass retailing and the emergence of department stores in large cities (Ward 1971: 94; Raff 2006: 4–706). Although most studies in the business literature focus on larger firms, most retail enterprises were probably small family owned stores. As late as 1899, the number of proprietors in retail sales was approximately equal to the number of employees in the sector (Carter et al. 2006: 4–713). The rapid growth of workers in sales were most likely employed in very small shops or as peddlers who sold goods to farm families and other households in scattered rural communities. The availability of new manufactured goods, linked by an expanding transportation system and a network of wholesale and retail enterprises, created a national market for consumer goods that would gradually supplant home production

Immigrants, especially the second generation, provided for about half of the added workers in trade from 1880 to 1920, primarily in general merchandise, food, and apparel stores. Immigrant merchants were often reputed to create new markets through peddling goods to remote regions and in extending credit to people without accumulated savings.

4.4 Services

The very heterogeneous collection of service industries is reorganized here to emphasize the key distinctions between producer, personal, and social services (Singlemann 1978). Producer services include banking, insurance, real estate, accounting, and other business services that play an important intermediary role in urban and industrial economies. Social services include education, health care, public administration, and other services that are generated by the government to meet the collective needs of communities and individuals. Personal services is the residual category and corresponds most closely to the image of service occupations, and it includes private household workers, dressmakers, and shoe repair shops. This sector also includes repair services (including auto repair), and entertainment services (including movie theaters and recreation). There is a certain amount of

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arbitrariness in all industrial classifications, including this one. Hotels and lodging places are classified as a personal service, but eating and drinking establishments are considered as part of the retail trade sector.

Concurrent with the creation of an industrial society from 1880 to 1920 was the expansion of business and the beginnings of public provision of education, health care, and welfare – these are evident in the increases of workers in producer services and social services. As business and social services expanded from 1880 to 1920, personal services declined. The decline of personal services was primarily of private household workers (domestics), which declined from 7 to just over 4% of workers from 1880 to 1920. There were also relative declines in some other traditional personal services (dressmaking and repair services), but increases in some “modern” personal services, such as auto repair services, hotels, and the theatre and motion picture industry.

Producer services grew almost 4 times as fast as the overall workforce from 1880 to 1920, and more than doubled their relative share from 1.6 to 4.1% of all workers. The largest components of the increase in producer services were in banking, insurance, real estate, and related business services (Ward 1971: 99). The absolute number of workers in these business industries is small, but rapid expansion reflects the increasing complexity of an industrial economy. The efficient management and coordination of large firms and corporations required a growing army of accountants, bookkeepers, and other office personnel.

The relative growth of social services from 3.2 to 6.9% was fueled by increasing numbers of teachers, health and hospital workers, and governmental employment at all levels, including postal workers. The expansion of government services was shaped by the increasing urbanization of the population. The concentration of people in cities made it easier to provide proximate access to schooling, health care, and other services including transportation, sanitation, and public safety. Custom, kinship networks, and voluntary associations are often sufficient to satisfy collective welfare needs in low density settlements and rural areas, but the growth of government appears to be an inevitable concomitant of an urban and industrial society. Government employment grew from 3 to 5 times faster than the workforce as a whole.

As the new service industries, including education, government employment, and business services, grew from 1880 to 1920, the second generation participated proportional to their numbers, but 3 and higher generation Americans were the majority of added workers. This was particularly true in social service fields such as health, education, the post office, and government employment more generally. By and large, these were good jobs that required educational credentials and social capital, which immigrants were much less likely to possess.

The growth of professional employment in the service economy was a natural accompaniment of the expansion and development. Perhaps, immigrants were more likely to “push up” native born workers than to crowd them out. Michael Haines (2000: 202) observes that as immigrants occupied “a disproportionate share of the lower skill and lower status positions, they made possible, in some sense, the better-paid higher status occupations of the native white population.” This interpretation has also been made by Lieberson (1980: chapter 10) in his theory of labor market queues. Lieberson’s focus was on the concentration of African Americans in the least desirable occupations in 1900, as they had few resources and encountered the greatest discrimination in northern labor markets. Although new immigrants were ahead of African Americans in most labor queues, the growth of the overall labor market through immigration created demand for managerial, professional, and clerical employment that was more likely to be filled by older stock white Americans than by immigrants or African Americans.

5. A Model to Estimate the 3rd Generation Immigrants by Industry

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The underlying question that motivates this analysis is the impact of immigration on the transformation of the American economy from a primarily agrarian structure to one based on manufacturing and associated industries. Would it have been possible to have had the American industrial revolution without immigrants? Or alternatively, would the industrial revolution have been smaller, slower, or more costly? In the prior section, we focused on the magnitude and economic roles of the first and second generation immigrant population. In this section, we extend the analysis with an estimate of magnitude of 3 generation immigrants—the grandchildren of immigrants and their economic roles.

The grandchildren of immigrants are unlikely to have attachments to their ancestral homeland and are probably well assimilated into American society. If we desire to attribute the 3 generation as part of the immigrant contribution, the skeptical reader may wonder why we do not also count the 4 and higher generations as also part of the immigrant share. Clearly, there is a thin line from “reasonable” assumptions to a reductio ad absurdum argument that the immigrant contribution includes all Americans. Our claim is that 3 generation immigrants in the early 20 century are the recent descendants of European immigrants who were more likely to have settled in cities than to have moved to the agricultural frontier. In 1880, one-third of all workers were composed of first and second generation immigrants and most lived in cities. We assume that 3 generation immigrants were much more likely to have been exposed to emerging opportunities in the urban industrial economy than older stock native born Americans in the late 19 and early 20 century.

In this section, we present the methods and results of a “Shift-Share” estimation (akin to indirect standardization) of the industrial structure of the grandchildren of immigrants in 1920. There are two components to estimate: immigration generations and the industrial structure by immigrant generation. We first address the measurement of immigration generations.

The 1920 work force can be divided into two components: immigrants (counting both the foreign born and the second generation) and the native born of native parentage (NBNP). Although the NBNP population is typically assumed to reflect a society without immigration, the distinction between the immigrant and NBNP populations is not fixed, since the 3 and higher order generation descendents of immigrants are counted as part of the native born population. Since immigrants were disproportionately living in cities and held industrial jobs in 1880, it seems plausible to assume that their grandchildren are probably over-represented in industrial employment in 1920 relative to the grandchildren of the 1880 NBNP Population.

The logic of our analytical approach is diagrammed in Figure 2. The two columns represent the 1880 and 1920 work force by immigrant generation. In both years, we can measure only three generational groupings: (1) the foreign born, (2) the second generation—the children of immigrants, and (3) third and higher generations—NBNP. The 1920 workforce is composed of some 1880 workers (those age 20 in 1880 would be age 60 in 1920), the descendants of the 1880 population, and recent immigrants and their descendants. It is impossible to make precise estimates of generational continuity and succession because of the complexity of demographic structure and changes, including variations in age structure, labor force exits and entries, mortality, and differential fertility (Duncan 1966a). Although most workers in 1880 would have retired (or died) before 1920, some are still working. Some 1880 workers have no children (or no working children) 40 years later, while other 1880 workers may have been “replaced” by one or more descendents.

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Figure 2

The Demographic Components of the 1920 Gainful Workforce

Nonetheless, we can provide a crude estimate of the contribution of recent immigration to the 1920 workforce with several simplifying assumptions. The first assumption is that the majority of the first and second generation workers in 1920 were recent immigrants. Some of these immigrants (or their parents) may well have arrived before 1880. Thus, the label of “recent immigrants” is somewhat broader than the 1880 to 1920 period. The estimation of the third generation requires even more heroic assumptions about the fraction of the 1920 third and higher generation workers (NBNP) that are descendents of immigrants in 1880.

The analytical task is illustrated in Figure 2, by the dashed line that identifies the 1920 3 generation from the broader category of the 3 and higher generation population. To do this, we assume that the ratio of the 3 generation population (grandchildren of immigrants) to the 3 and higher generation population in 1920 is proportional to the ratio of the 2 generation to the 2 and higher generation population in 1880. We have three of the four numbers in this equation (1880 2 generation, 1880 2 and higher generations, and 1920 3 and higher generation populations), and it is straightforward to estimate the missing element—the 1920 3 generation. 1920 3 Gen = [1880 2 Gen/1880 2 & Higher Gen]* 1920 3 & Higher Gen

This equation assumes that the relative magnitude of 1920 3 generation is roughly comparable to the descendents of the 1880 2 generation. The demographic metabolism that leads to generational replacement over time is exceedingly complex, and our simple model does not directly measure these processes (for more discussion, see Blau and Duncan 1967: 112). Our estimation rests on an assumption about proportionality—that the 1880 2 generation (relative to the 2 and higher

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generational total) is proportional to the 1920 3 generation (relative to the 3 and higher generational total). One virtue of this assumption is its transparency – it does not specify demographic mechanisms, but simply assumes that generational replacement over a 40 year period (from all mechanisms) is roughly proportional to the initial generational composition.

The next step is to measure the industrial composition of the 1920 labor force within each immigrant generation: 1 , 2 , 3 , and 4 and higher. The industrial composition of the 1 and 2 generations is directly measured, but estimating the industrial classification of 1920 3 generation (and 4 & higher) can be done with an adaptation of the standard “Shift-Share” model. The Shift-Share model is often used to measure the expected changes in a subset of the population (state or locality) by assuming that change (share) is proportional to the change in the total population (national). The difference between the expected distribution and the actual distribution for the local area is a residual (shift) that is due to local factors that are independent of the national trend.

In this analysis, we first estimate an expected distribution by industry assuming that the growth rate of workers in each industry from 1880 to 1920 is equal to the national growth rate of the workforce. The next step is to measure the difference between the expected and actual workers in each industry. The logic of the estimation of these two components of industrial transformation—Continuity and Shifts— is diagramed in Figure 3.

Figure 3

Estimating the Sources of Change in the Industrial Structure of the Gainful Workforce From 1880 to1920

Continuity is measured as the “expected 1920 work force by industry”, which assumes 1920 workers are distributed by industry proportional to the industry structure of their ancestors in the 1880 workforce. In other words, the expected workers in each industry in 1920 are assumed to increase at the same rate as “natural growth” of the workforce from 1880 to 1920. The natural growth of the

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workforce (excluding 1 generation immigrants) “r” is measured as the ratio of the 3 and higher generation population in 1920 to the 2 and higher generation labor force in 1880. Specifically, we assume that 24.2 million 3 and higher generation workers in 1920 are (approximately) the descendents of the 12.9 million 2 and higher generation workers in 1880. This succession process or “continuity” includes a host of demographic processes including aging and the differential “replacement” of 1880 workers by their adult children and grandchildren in 1920. The multiplication of this ratio (approximately 1.9) times the number of 1880 2 and higher generation workers in each industry in 1880 yields an “expected” number of 1920 3 and higher generation workers in each industry.

Exp 1920 3 &Higher Gen in Ind(i) = 1880 2 &Higher Gen in Ind(i) r (1)(1)

5.1 Estimation of Expected Number of Workers by Industry and Generation

This formula assumes that the overall growth rate “r,” is the same across all industries. This formula can be extended to divide the 1920 3 & higher generation expected populations into two components: the expected 1920 3 generation population and the expected 1920 4 & higher generation population.

Exp 1920 3 Gen in Ind(i) = 1880 2 Gen in Ind(i) r (2)(2)

Exp 1920 4 &Higher Gen in Ind(i) = 1880 3 &Higher Gen in Ind(i) r (3)(3)

The overall natural growth rate is assumed to be equivalent for the 3 generation population and the 4 and higher generation population. The expected distributions of the labor force by industry (and generation) from 1880 to 1920 assume continuity—1920 workers followed their parents (or grandparents) in the same industries. This assumes that skills, preferences, and informal mechanisms of recruitment are passed along across generations. As measured by the index of dissimilarity, the industrial structure of the 1880 first generation is more similar to that of the 1920 second generation than to the 1920 3 and higher generations. Of course, workers change employment from time to time, and children do not always follow in the same line of work as their parents. The forces of supply and demand, technological change, and other market forces create pressures to which workers must respond. The measured differences between the “actual” 1920 workers in each industry and the “expected” number are labeled (net) “Shifts.”

(4)(4)

The next step is to allocate the Shifts between industries to the 3 generation and the 4 and higher generations in 1920. The overall Shift for the 3 and higher generations in 1920 is distributed proportional to the relative size of the 1880 generations. Specifically,

(5)(5)

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Ind(i))−(Exp

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(6)(6)

The results of this simple estimation of Continuity and Shifts are show in Table 2.

Shift of 1920 Gen in Ind3rd

(i) = [1880 Gen in[Shift of 1920 &Higher Gen in Ind (i)]3rd ∗

2nd

Ind (i)/1880 2nd & Higher Gen in Ind (i)]

Shift of 1920 Gen in Ind4th

(i) = [1880 Gen in[Shift of 1920 &Higher Gen in Ind (i)]3rd ∗

3rd

Ind (i)/1880 2nd & Higher Gen in Ind (i)]

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Table 2

Estimation of the Composition of the 1920 Industrial Structure by Immigraton Generation Based on Assumptions of Generational Replacement from 1880 to 1920

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Open in a separate window

Notes:

(1). The generational compostion of each industrial sector is estimated in two steps:

a) GROWTH: the expected 1920 workers in each industry is assumed to be proportional to the national growth rate appied to the number of 1880 workers in the industry:

-- the 1920 4th and higher generation is assumed to be the descendants of the 1880 3rd and higher generations in that industry

-- the 1920 3rd generation is assumed to be the descendants of the 1880 2nd generation in that industry

b) SHIFT: the difference between the actual 1920 3rd and higher number in each industry and the expected based on assumed GROWTH

Expected Workforce in

1920

SHIFT (Actual -

Expected)

ACTUAL 1920 WORKFORCE (in

thousands) 4th + Gen

3rd Gen

4th + Gen

3rd Gen

SHARE

Immigrant Generation

Based on 1880:

Based on 1880:

From 1920

Total 3rd + 2nd 1st 3+

Gen 2nd Gen

3+ Gen

2nd Gen

1st & 2nd E

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

(r * 1880

3rd +)

(r * 1880 2nd) (3+4)/(1)

AGRICULTURE 10,235 7,897 1,373 967 11,667 1,167 −4,488 −449 23%

MINING 1,270 668 192 410 189 83 275 121 47%

206 Metal mining 181 62 34 85 20 5 30 7 66%

216 Coal mining 834 414 130 291 56 28 221 109 50%

226 Crude petroleum and natural gas extraction

145 126 12 6 8 2 92 24 13%

236 Nonmettalic mining and quarrying, except fuel

110 66 16 28 104 49 −59 −28 40%

0

246 CONSTRUCTION 1,942 1,077 394 471 778 185 92 22 45%

0

MANUFACTURING 10,039 4,724 2,451 2,863 1,793 971 1,272 689 53%

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-- the estimated SHIFT for the 1920 3rd and higher generations is allocated proportional to the relative size of the 3rd and higher and 2nd generations in 1880.

(2). Columns 1, 2, 3 and 4 are the actual number (in thousands) of gainful workers in each industry, by immigrant generation (3rd & higher, 2nd, and 1st) in 1920.

(3). Columns 5 and 6 are the expected number of gainful workers in each industry in 1920 assuming proportional change from the the 1880 2nd & higher gen in to the 1920 3rd and higher gen

a) Col 5: Expected 1920 gainful workers in each industry from 1880 3rd and higher gen workers = r * 1880 3rd and higher gen workers in the industry

b) Col 6: Expected 1920 gainful workers in each industry from 1880 2nd gen workers = r * 1880 2nd gen workers in the industry

where r = the ratio of total 3rd and higher gen wokers in 1920 to the 1880 total 2nd gen and higher workers

(4). Columns 7 and 8 are the Shift of Workers (Actual - Expected) from 1880 to 1920 in each industry, assuming that the 1920 3rd and higher gen workers “inherit” the industry composition of the 2nd & higher gen workers in 1880. The expected 1920 workers are distributed proportionally to the 1880 generations of 3rd and higher and 2nd.

a) Col 7: The proportional share of the 1920 3rd gen & higher actual workers in each industry minus the expected 1920 “descendants” of the 1880 2nd and higher generation workers

b) Col 8: The proportional share of the 1920 3rd gen and higher actual workers in each industry minus the expected 1920 “descendants” of the 1880 2nd and higher generation workers

Sources: 1880 and 1920 PUMS from Ruggles et al. (2004)

Column 1 through 4 in Table 2 show the 1920 workforce by industrial sector for all workers and for each immigrant generation (3 and higher, 2 , and 1 ). The next two columns show the estimated workforce for the 4 and higher and the 3 generations by industry in 1920, assuming intergenerational continuity. The next columns show net shifts, or the differences between the actual and expected workforce by industry, for the same immigrant generations. Let’s consider the manufacturing sector as an example to illustrate these calculations.

5.2 The Contribution of the 3 Generation

There were a little more than 10 million workers in manufacturing in 1920—about one quarter of the total workforce. This figure is in the first column of Table 2 in the row labeled MANUFACTURING. The next three columns show the absolute number of workers in each industry by generation in 1920. First and second generation immigrants comprised 2.9 and 2.5 million workers in manufacturing –or about 53% of the 10 million workers in the sector in 1920 (as noted in Table 1). This figure, as large as it is, is an underestimate of the contribution of immigration to the manufacturing sector in 1920. Recall that 58% of 1880 immigrant workers (which included both 1 and 2 generation) were employed in manufacturing (Table 1). Some of the 1880 immigrants and their descendents are included in the 1 and 2 generation in 1920, but many others have been absorbed into the NBNP (3 and higher generation).

Following the logic of the formulae presented above, Columns 5 and 6 show the expected numbers of 1920 workers in each industry for the 1920 4 & higher generations and the 1920 3 generation, respectively. A shorthand designation of these calculations is that the expected 1920 4 and higher workers are the descendents of the 1880 3 and higher generation workers and the expected 1920 3 generation are the descendents of the 1880 2 generation. However, descendents is only an approximate term, since there are multiple demographic mechanisms that might be responsible for the

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replacement of the 1880 workforce by workers in 1920, including some individuals who are in the workforce at both time points. The expected generational figures in each industry are generated by an assumption of intergenerational continuity whereby each generation follows their parents (or grandparents) in the same sector of the economy. The measurement of this process is generated by the assumption of proportionality—workers in 1920 by generation were distributed by industrial sector in similar proportions to the prior generation in 1880.

The next two columns, 7 and 8, in Table 2 show the net Shifts (for the 4 and higher and the 3 generations) between the actual and expected numbers in 1920 workforce by industry. Although we have only the actual 1920 workforce for the 3 and higher generation, we can estimate shifts for the 4 and higher and the 3 generation in 1920, by assuming proportionality with the 1880 generational composition (the 3 and higher generation and the 2 generation).

These estimates are combined in columns 9, 10, and 11, which show the percentage of 1920 workers in each industry that can be attributed to 1 and 2 generation workers, 3 generation continuity, and 3 generation shift. These three components are totaled in column 12 to show our estimates of the share of 1920 workers that might be thought to be the result of recent immigration. The results of this exercise are summarized in Figure 4, which shows the composition of the 9 major industrial sectors in 1920 by immigrant generation.

Figure 4

Components of the 1920 Industrial Workforce

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In the case of manufacturing, 53% of 1920 workers are immigrants (first and second generation), another 10% might be attributed to 3 generation continuity (based on the distribution of 2 generation workers in 1880), and the other 6% are estimated to be 3 generation shifts or the share of the descendents of 1880 2 generation workers who left their parental (grandparental) industry to become a worker in manufacturing. These estimates suggest that over two-thirds of manufacturing workers in 1920 are immigrants or the descendents of recent immigrants.

Most farmers in 1920 were the descendents of old stock Americans. Of the 10 million agricultural workers in 1920, only a quarter was first or second generation immigrants. There was a substantial exodus out of farming—the shift-share model estimates that 4 million 4 (or higher) generation NBNP descendants of farmers were working in some other sector in 1920.

The mining sector, as shown in Table 1, grew rapidly from 1880 to 1920 with relative decline in the immigrant share from 64 to 47%. The estimates (and assumptions) in Table 2, show that all of the native born (NBNP) increase in mining is composed of the grandchildren of immigrants. This is also true of many other sectors in which it appears that the immigrant share declined from 1880 to 1920, such as railroad workers. Note, however, that the workforce in the new petroleum and natural gas industry was disproportionately composed of 4 and higher generation Americans.

As noted earlier, almost 7 in 10 workers in manufacturing in 1920 were 1 , 2 or 3 generation immigrants. This was particularly true in the growth sectors of iron and steel, machinery (but only one half of workers in the new motor vehicle industry), meat packing, and textiles and apparel. More than one half of railroad workers in 1920 had some foreign roots as did two thirds of workers in retail sales.

Although the addition of the 3 generation increases the participation of recent immigrants to the service sector, the role of immigrants in many of the relatively good jobs in teaching, health, the post office, and other government services is much lower than in manufacturing and other sectors with less desirable jobs. By virtue of their education and social connections, the descendents of long resident Americans had a leg up on entry into many of the better jobs in 1920. To the extent that there are differential intergenerational transition rates because of proximity, ethnic recruitment, and discrimination, these figures underestimate the advantages of long resident Americans relative to newcomers.

6. The Counterfactual

Would native born workers have been more willing to enter the industrial sector had immigrant labor not been available? Although it is impossible to answer this question definitively, we can review the potential labor reserves and speculate about their likely responses based the extensive research literature on domestic migration patterns.

The potential source of reserve labor in the United States in the late 19 century and early 20 century were the sons and daughters of small scale farmers in the Northeast, Midwest, and South. Many of these farms were relatively small and could barely support a family. With a growing population, many of the second and third sons of independent farmers had to descend to the ranks of tenancy or farm laborer, secure funds to purchase a farm (or marry a woman who was an heir to a farm), or seek their fortune elsewhere (Wright 1988).

Some segments of the rural population were worse off than others. Over the last half of the 19 century, a large fraction of Southern white famers had lost their land, and became tenant sharecroppers growing cotton on marginal lands (Raper and Reid 1941, Newby 1989). Even more precarious was the situation of African American tenant farmers, whose plight was comparable to those of persecuted

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peasantry (Raper 1936). In addition to the economic privations shared by white and black sharecroppers, African Americans encountered omnipresent racism and rising violence in the Jim Crow South.

Poverty, even abject poverty, is not always an impetus to long distance migration. The thresholds that break the bonds of place vary across time and place. Depravation creates push factors but knowledge of opportunities in other locations, cultural preferences, and the support of family and friends in destination areas are also important (Massey et al. 1993).

When mass migration from Europe was interrupted during World War I and then halted in the 1920s, Southern blacks migrated in large numbers to become industrial laborers in Northern cities. The African American Great Migration from the 1920s through the 1950s was an epochal movement (Fligstein 1981; Tolnay 2003). The spread of the boll weevil and farm mechanization laid waste to even marginal employment in much of the rural South. There was a parallel trek of white workers from the South to northern cities (Berry 2000; Gregory 2005; Kirby 1987: Ch. 9). The destinations and timing of these domestic migrations suggest that Southern born blacks and whites were a partial substitute for European immigrant labor in industrializing cities of the North. Collins (1997) concludes that mass migration from Europe delayed the migration of black workers from the South.

The situation of white farmers outside the South, and their children, is more difficult to assess. A common presumption is that farming was a preferred way of life and migration, especially to the city, was the last resort even for the landless children of farmers. This assumption seems to be consistent with evidence on migration patterns. In the early decades of the twentieth century, the majority of the farm origin population remained on farms or in rural small town areas as adults, though not necessarily in their exact place of origin (Taeuber 1967: 25). Only a small percentage moved to large metropolitan cities.

This preference for an agricultural way of life was grounded in the historical settlement of the United States. Prior to the late 19 century, cities were not engines of economic growth, but were primarily centers of commerce and administration and transportation hubs. For the first half of the 19 century, over 90% of the American population lived in rural areas. Immigrants arrived in port cities, but most probably moved on as soon as they could. During the 18 and the first half of the 19 century, the shortage of land in eastern states impelled most immigrants as well as many of the children of older settlers to seek their fortunes on the American frontier, first in Appalachia, then in the Ohio Valley, and eventually in the Great Plains (Ferrie 2006: 1: 489). As the Eastern seaboard was filled in—at least in terms of agriculture—the western frontier was the source of land for agricultural settlement by immigrants and native born Americans without an inheritance (Atack, Bateman, and Parker 2000).

The situation changed in the late 19 century as most of the potential arable land on the American frontier was settled and the economic development of urban industries expanded employment opportunities in cities. With the development of the modern industrial economy, cities offered expanded employment in factories, commerce, and in offices. For persons with the right set of education, skills, and ambitions, the urban economy offered opportunities for social mobility that was impossible in any other location. There is evidence that the well educated sons of farmers were able to find well paid jobs as teachers, clerks, merchants, and in the skilled trades (Wright 1988: 201).

But for most white Americans with limited skills and ambitions, it was not obvious that menial factory or office work in a city was a step up from living on a farm or in a small town. Most factory jobs were probably not highly desirable. As the author of the 1920 census report on immigrants commented, “It would seem that, generally speaking, the foreign born population is engaged in more laborious, disagreeable, and probably, less skilled and less remunerative work than are the native born white” (Carpenter 1927: 271). One study reported that the accident rate for non English-speaking workers in

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one steel mill was twice the average for all workers and that one quarter of all recent immigrant steel workers were injured or killed (Brody 1960: 100–101). Most historical and comparative studies conclude that the process of industrialization was a profoundly alienating experience for most workers (Kerr et al. 1964: Chapter 6, Rodgers 1981). Factories that tried to impose industrial discipline were plagued by high rates of absenteeism and turnover.

The children of farmers who left farming were disproportionately represented in the lower rungs of the occupational hierarchy (Freedman and Freedman 1956, Blau and Duncan 1967: 28). In addition to the loss of autonomy in factory employment, migrants from farm families had to give up the familiarity of family and friends and the economic security of food production. If forced to migrate, many native born white Americans from rural or small towns may have preferred to seek their fortune in the West than to join the ranks of the urban proletariat in industrializing cities. In the late 19 and early 20 century long distance (interstate) migration was much more likely to lead to greater occupational mobility than short distance moves (Ferrie 2005: 213).

Almost 90% of native-born white inter-state migrants went to rural areas during the 19 century, and the proportion migrating to cities remained modest in the early decades of the 20 century (Hall and Ruggles 2004). Similar patterns are also evident in Table 3, which shows net lifetime migration of African Americans and of whites by nativity for each decade from 1870 to 1950. The rapidly expanding industrial economy of the North and Midwest drew disproportionately on immigrant labor and then on African American workers from the South. From 1870 to 1920, the population growth of the Northeast and Midwest included almost 14 million immigrants, but there was negative net migration of 2.5 million native born whites out of the region. Following the closing of the immigration door, more than 2.5 million African American net migrants (from the South) were added to the population of the Northeast and Midwest from 1920 to 1950, while there was a continuing exodus of native born whites from the region (3.3 million from 1920 to 1950).

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Table 3

Net Migration (in thousands) of Native Whites, Foreign Born, and African Americans, 1870–80 to 1940–50.

NORTHEAST/NORTH CENTRAL SOUTH WEST

Native Born

Foreign Born

Native Born Foreign

Born

Native Born Foreign

BornWhite Black White Black White Black

1870–1880 −348 68 1,609 91 −68 89 257 -- 177

1880–1890 −283 89 3,297 −271 −88 124 554 -- 337

1890–1900 −344 185 2,559 −30 −185 124 374 -- 205

1900–1910 −1,306 172 4,263 −69 −194 240 1,375 22 686

1910–1920 −219 523 2,227 −663 −555 232 880 32 428

1920–1930 −641 861 1,896 −704 −903 67 1,345 42 480

1930–1940 −692 425 −74 −558 −480 −53 1,250 55 5

1940–1950 −1,955 1,225 408 −866 −1,581 206 2,822 356 361

1870 to 1920

−2,500 1,037 13,955 −942 −1,090 809 3,440 54 1,833

1920 to 1950

−3,288 2,511 2,230 −2,128 −2,964 220 5,417 453 846

Source: Eldridge and Thomas. 1964. Tables 1.21 and 1.27

Examining these data, Hatton and Williamson (1998: 164–173) conclude that the competition with immigrants for jobs lowered the wages of the native born (or slowed their rate of increase) and that native born workers were crowded-out from urban labor markets in the Northeast and Midwest. In a detailed empirical study of the relationship between immigrant concentrations, manufacturing wages, and the inter-state (and inter-county) migration of the native born, Carter and Sutch (2006) find no support for Hatton and Williamson’s claims that the presence of immigrants lowered the wages and “crowded out” native born workers in industrial labor markets. Wages, adjusted for cost of living, rose for manufacturing workers and unskilled workers during the age of immigration (Rees 1961; Margo 2006). Moreover, Carter and Sutch (2006) show that there is a positive correlation between the destinations of immigrants and native born workers from 1900 to 1910. Rural laborers, both native- born and from abroad, were responding to declining prospects in their places of origin and to the new opportunities in the same destinations.

Many native born workers did go to the industrial cities, but many more sought their fortune in the West. The majority of immigrants, and the African Americans that followed them, settled in the industrial cities of the Northeast and Midwest. The willingness of immigrants and African Americans

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to work in the lowest rungs of urban employment may have been largely due to the lack of better alternatives. Most immigrants had been pushed out of their places of origin and had to brave considerable costs and hardship to emigrate to the United States. The fact that one-third of European immigrants from 1908 to 1923 returned to Europe is testimony of the difficulties of adjusting to life and of finding employment in industrializing America (Wyman 1993: 10).

Although industrial wages continued to rise during the age of industrialization and immigration, it seems that the prevailing wages, working conditions, and urban life were not sufficiently attractive to many native born workers who had social attachments and security, if not prosperity, in their places of origin. Immigrants and their children remained the mainstay of industrial labor until the 1920s. Perhaps higher wages and better working conditions were necessary to attract a sufficient supply of domestic labor to work in the steel mills, stockyards, and other sectors of the industrial economy in the middle decades of the 20 century.

7. Discussion and Conclusions

As the American industrial revolution spread in the late 19 century and the early decades of the 20 century, the United States passed Great Britain to become the most productive industrial nation in the world (Romer 1996). In one of the most widely cited studies of this transition, Wright (1990) identifies a number of factors, including the discovery and development of mineral resources (coal, iron, petroleum, copper, and others) and the export of high quality producer goods as key to the American industrial development and rapid economic growth. Other researchers have emphasized the significance of the early American investment in human capital and the spread of public schooling as the primary reason for the ascendance of the American economy during the age of industrialization. In an interesting aside, Wright (1990: 662) notes that most of the workers in the heavy industries were not well educated native born Americans, but immigrants who were not particularly well educated by world standards. He goes on to say, “Key industries like iron and steel and motor vehicles paid high wages to unskilled workers (who were nonetheless much cheaper than the skilled craft workers used with older technologies) presumably because it was rough, disagreeable, demanding work, and because it was vital to have an ample excess labor supply available” (Wright 1990: 662).

In this study, we have estimated the representation of the immigrant population, including the children and grandchildren of immigrants, in the industrial transformation of the American workforce from 1880 to 1920. This exercise involves a number of assumptions, mostly about the relative proportionality of the 3 generation in 1920 to the 2 generation in 1880. There are also many other potential problems of measurement, including inferring industry from occupational reports and unclear boundaries of the gainful worker population. Although we make no claims to exactitude, there is little doubt that the American workforce was heavily dependent on immigrant labor in the early 20 century, and the manufacturing workforce was almost completely dependent on immigrant workers. Most prior studies of the role of industrial labor during these years have acknowledged the centrality of immigrant labor, but they underestimated their numbers because second and third generation immigrants were counted as part of the native born workforce.

Adjusting the immigrant share to include second generation workers is straightforward because parental birthplace was routinely measured in American censuses. Adding the 3 generation required a more complicated estimation procedure that relied on fairly crude assumptions. Our estimates of the 3 generation add another 15 to 20 percentage points to the prior estimates that about 50% of workers in most manufacturing industries were of immigrant stock. The results presented here show that 1 , 2 and 3 generation immigrants comprised 70 to 80% in several core manufacturing industries.

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These are conservative estimates (which would underestimate the true level of the 3 generation in manufacturing) because third generation immigrant workers are assumed to be no more likely to shift to the manufacturing sector than the workforce as a whole. We expect that the children and grandchildren of urban residents from the mid 19 century would have been much more likely to have entered industrial employment than the descendents of farmers. In 1880, even before industrialization was in full swing, 1 and 2 generation immigrants comprised over one-third of the American workforce. Almost two-thirds of all miners, 41% of construction workers, 57% of manufacturing workers, 41% of railway workers, and 49% of retail sales workers in 1880 were immigrants or the children of immigrants.

The disproportionate concentration of the immigrant community in cities and nonagricultural employment in 1880 meant that their progeny were proximate to the exploding growth of employment in factories, offices, and retail trade in the late 19 and early 20 century. The 3 generation immigrants, with their American education, were probably able to rise above the less desirable jobs on the factory floor and found employment as foremen and even in the front office.

If we assume that the urban children and grandchildren of immigrants were prone to find employment in the industrial economy, can we also assume that the children of farmers were motivated to avoid industrial employment? We do not have direct measures on preferences, but over 50% of the sons of farmers found their first job in agriculture circa 1920 and about 40% were still in agricultural jobs several decades later (Blau and Duncan 1967: Tables 3.3 and 3.8). Most of the decline in agricultural employment over the first half of the 20 century was a result of inter-cohort shifts rather than intra- cohort changes (Duncan 1966b). These figures suggest that, in spite of the economic pressures on farmers, the primary reasons for departure were the lack of an inheritance rather than discouragement with farming as a way of life. Most of the farm origin migrants in the early 20 century went to rural areas or small towns and relatively few moved to large metropolitan cities (Taeuber 1967: 25). As noted earlier, there was substantial net lifetime out-migration of native born whites during the age of industrialization from the Northeast and Midwest to the West.

This avoidance of large cities, and industrial employment, by old stock white Americans who were reared in rural areas and small towns was probably reinforced by popular culture. For most of American history, cities, where most immigrants settled, were derided and feared as places filled with dangerous people and radical ideas (Hawley 1972: 521). Popular beliefs about the natural superiority of a rural way of life were intertwined with ethnic stereotypes of urban residents and the corruption of people who moved to cities. These stereotypes probably discouraged the children of farmers in the late 19 century and early 20 century from migrating to cities and taking the unskilled jobs in the industrial economy.

The continued demand for unskilled labor in industrial cities after the cutoff of immigration in the 1920s certainly played a major role in continuing, if not originating, the African American Great Migration from the 1920s to the 1960s (Collins 1997; Tolnay 2003). There was also a parallel wave of Southern white labor to Northern industrial cities that began during World War I and grew during the 1920s, 1940s, and 1950s (Berry 2000; Gregory 2005). If there had not been the massive wave of European immigration from 1880 to 1920, the demand for labor may have started earlier and drew even larger numbers from the dispossessed Southern peasantry. There is substantial literature on the poverty and hardships of sharecroppers and tenant farmers, both black and white in the rural south (Raper 1936, 1943; Raper and Reid. 1941).

However, the scale of the demand for industrial employment from 1880 to 1920 might have overwhelmed the potential labor reserves. For readers who may not accept the assumptions used to pad our estimate of the impact of immigration with 2.8 million 3 generation workers in 1920, there were

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still 5.3 million 1 and 2 generation workers in manufacturing (directly measured in the 1920 census). Replacing these 5.3 million immigrant workers in manufacturing would have required shifting one-quarter of all 3 and higher generation workers in 1920 from other sectors to manufacturing. To accomplish even some fraction of this would have required much greater incentives, both in terms of pay and working conditions, than those offered to immigrants. Without immigrant labor, it seems unlikely that the American industrial revolution would have been achieved at the same pace, scale, and profitability that it did. Our claim is not that immigrant labor caused the American industrial revolution; there were a number of factors that played an important role in this epochal process. Immigrant labor, however, may well have been a necessary condition for the pace and scale of the rise of the manufacturing sector from 1880 to 1920.

Acknowledgments

The authors are deeply indebted to Patty Glynn for her statistical advice and assistance and to Brian Gatton, Avery Guest, Matthew Sobek, Stewart Tolnay, and the anonymous reviewers for their detailed criticisms and comments of earlier visions of this paper. All remaining errors are the responsibility of authors.

Appendix 1. Industry classification used in this study

AGRICULTURE

MINING

206 Metal mining

216 Coal mining

226 Crude petroleum and natural gas extraction

236 Nonmettalic mining and quarrying, except fuel

246 CONSTRUCTION

MANUFACTURING

306–326 Wood and Mineral Products (incl. logging/sawmills)

Metals (Steel and Iron)

336 Blast furnaces, steel works, & rolling mills

337 Other primary iron and steel industries

338 Primary nonferrous industries

346 Fabricated steel products

347 Fabricated nonferrous metal products

348 Not specified metal industries

Machinery

356 Agricultural machinery and tractors

357 Office and store machines

358 Misc machinery

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367 Electrical machinery, equipment and supplies

376 Motor vehicles and motor vehicle equipment

378 Ship and boat building and repairing

379 Railroad and misc transportation equipment

406–429 Food & Tobacco

Textiles/Footwear/Leather

436 Knitting mills

437 Dyeing and finishing textiles, except knit goods

438 Carpets, rugs, and other floor coverings

439 Yarn, thread, and fabric

446 Misc textile mill products

448 Apparel and accessories

449 Misc fabricated textile products

487 Leather: tanned, curried, and finished

488 Footwear, except rubber

489 Leather products, except footwear

457–459 Paper and Printing

466–478 Chemical/Petro/Rubber

387–399 & 499 Miscellaneous

TRANSPORTATION, COMMUNICATION AND UTILITIES

506 Railroads and railway

516 Street railways and bus lines

526 Trucking service

527 Warehousing and storage

536 Taxicab service

546 Water transportation

578 Telephone

579 Telegraph

586 Electric light and power

587 Gas and steam supply systems

WHOLESALE AND RETAIL TRADE

606–627 Wholesale

636–699 Retail

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PRODUCER SERVICES

716 Banking and credit

726 Security and commodity brokerage and invest companies

736 Insurance

746 Real estate

806 Advertising

807 Accounting, auditing, and bookkeeping services

808 Misc business services

879 Legal services

898 Engineering and architectural services

PERSONAL SERVICES

816 Auto repair services and garages

817 Misc repair services

826 Private households

836 Hotels and lodging places

846 Laundering, cleaning, and dyeing

847 Dressmaking shops

848 Shoe repair shops

849 Misc personal services

857 Theaters and motion pictures

858 Bowling alleys, and billiard and pool parlors

859 Misc entertainment and recreation services

SOCIAL SERVICES

868 Medical and other health services, except hospitals

869 Hospitals

888 Educational services

896 Welfare and religious services

897 Nonprofit membership organizs.

899 Misc professional and related

906 Postal service

916 Federal public administration

926 State public administration

936 Local public administration

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Footnotes Earlier versions of this paper were presented at the 2006 annual meetings of the Population Association of America and at colloquia at the Department of Sociology, University of British Columbia, the Center for Studies in Demography and Ecology, University of Washington, and the Minnesota Population Center at the University of Minnesota.

Industrial production experienced an almost five-fold expansion of value added in manufacturing and mining from 1880 to 1915 (Davis 2006: 3-23-24 and 3-25). Manufacturing’s share of value added in commodity production rose more rapidly from 1879 to 1894 than in any other period of the 19 century (Fogel 1964: 121).

The children of immigrants includes native born persons who have at least one foreign born parent.

“Considering the magnitude and duration of this movement, it is difficult to exaggerate its importance as a factor in the economic growth of the United States. Since immigration brought in a large labor force, the cost of whose rearing and training was borne elsewhere, it clearly represented an enormous capital investment that dwarfed any capital inflows of the more orthodox type—a conclusion that stands with any reasonable estimate we can make of the money value of labor.” (Kuznets 1971a: 357).

The major exceptions were Charlestown, South Carolina and Washington, DC.

Occupational prestige scales rank farmers above unskilled workers, while occupational socioeconomic scales consider them about the same, see Duncan 1961.

About 13% of workers in the 1880 census IPUMS file did not have a known industry (codes 997 and 998). However, almost all did have a reported occupation (most were laborers), and this allowed us to impute industries based on the distribution of industries for those with a known occupation. We are grateful to Matthew Sobek who suggested this method.

This fast pace of growth has not slackened. The U.S. labor force also doubled from about 70 to 140 million workers from 1960 to 2000 (Carter et al. 2006: 2: 83–86).

The second generation is defined by census practice to include those with two foreign born parents and those with one foreign born parent.

This is the sum of coal mining, metals (iron and steel) manufacturing, and machinery manufacturing.

The absolute figures are not reported in Table 1, but can be obtained by multiplying the proportion in the industry by the total workforce.

A less technical version of Carter and Sutch’s working paper is available from the Social Science Research Council website (Carter and Sutch 2007).

Henry Ford, who as much as anyone created the American automobile age, “looked upon big cities as cesspools of iniquity, soulless, and artificial” (Higham 1988: 283).

There were 24.3 million NBNP workers in 1920 and 4.7 were already employed in manufacturing. The 5.3 million immigrant (1 and 2 generation) workers in manufacturing are 27.2 % of the 19.5 million non- manufacturing NBNP workers.

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docs/Maya ecotourism article.pdf

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Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada Lianne C. Leddy

The Canadian Historical Review, Volume 98, Number 1, March 2017, pp. 83-95 (Article)

Published by University of Toronto Press

For additional information about this article

[ Access provided at 16 Jun 2020 03:11 GMT from Ontario Tech Library ]

https://muse.jhu.edu/article/649809

LIANNE C. LEDDY

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada

Abstract: The relationship between environmental and Indigenous history is complex and still evolving. As the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada reminds us, land dispossession is not simply an historical phenomenon, but one that continues to affect Indigenous communities and Indigenous-settler relations in the present day. This article takes an historiographical approach to examining issues related to decolonizing research practices that privilege Indigenous perspectives, differing cultural views of resources and the environment, and the colonizing impacts of industrial and extractive practices on Indigenous communities. It argues that more scholars should incorporate gendered perspectives, and that they analyze Indigenous history in ways that respect our own national boundaries on Turtle Island.

Keywords: historical analysis, Native North Americans, Indigenous

epistemologies, natural resources

Résumé : Il existe une relation complexe entre l’histoire de l’environnement et celle des Autochtones, relation qui continue d’évoluer. Comme le rappelle la Commission de vérité et de réconciliation, la dépossession du territoire n’est pas simplement un phénomène historique; c’est aussi un phénomène qui continue, aujourd’hui encore, d’influer sur les communautés autochtones ainsi que sur les relations entre Autochtones et colonisateurs. Le présent article adopte une perspective historiographique pour analyser des questions touchant la décolonisation de pratiques de recherche qui privilégient à la fois les perspec- tives autochtones, des points de vue culturels divergents sur les ressources et l’environne- ment, et les effets colonisateurs de l’industrie et de l’extraction sur les communautés autochtones. L’auteure soutient que plus de chercheurs devraient intégrer des perspectives genrées et analyser l’histoire autochtone de manière à respecter nos propres frontières nationales sur l’ı̂le Turtle.

Mots clés : analyse historique, Autochtones nord-américains, épistémologies

autochtones, ressources naturelles

In 1971, Iron Eyes Cody paddled a canoe past industrial sites and shed a famous tear for the environment in a Keep America Beautiful

The Canadian Historical Review 98, 1, March 2017 6 University of Toronto Press

doi: 10.3138/chr.98.1.Leddy

public service announcement.1 This image of a crying ‘‘Indian,’’2 a man who seemed to be one with nature, untouched by modernity, and wearing what appeared to be traditional dress, was deconstructed in Shepard Krech III’s 1999 monograph The Ecological Indian: Myth and History.3 Many scholars praised his work as a long overdue revi- sionist rebuttal to an old trope that characterized Indigenous peoples as one with nature, simple, and without agency, an image Robert K. Berkhofer had examined two decades before in his study of settler con- structions of Indigenous peoples.4 In it, Berkhofer outlined Enlighten- ment thinkers’ characterization of Indigenous peoples as the noble savage, the ‘‘possibility of progress by civilized man if left free and untrammeled by outworn institutions.’’5 This image of the ‘‘noble savage’’ had been constructed by settlers to critique their own ways of life at different periods in history, and, as the ‘‘crying Indian’’ advertise- ment demonstrated, this image was refined as the ‘‘ecological Indian’’

1 Iron Eyes Cody (or Espera Oscar de Corti), was an actor who claimed Indigenous ancestry but was of Sicilian heritage. For more about this commercial, see Shepard Krech, III, Ecological Indian: Myth and History (New York: W.W. Norton, 1999); Finis Dunaway, ‘‘Gas Masks, Pogo, and the Ecological Indian: Earth Day and the Visual Politics of American Environmentalism,’’ American Quarterly 60, no. 1 (2008): 67–99. The commercial can be seen in its entirety at https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7OHG7tHrNM (accessed 30 December 2015).

2 I use the term ‘‘Indian’’ only when directly quoting a work, referring to con- structed images of Indigenous peoples or using the legal term ‘‘status Indian.’’ Otherwise, I use ‘‘Indigenous peoples’’ or the specific name of the Indigenous nation I am referring to.

3 Krech, Ecological Indian. See also Andrew C. Isenberg, The Destruction of the Bison (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000) for a work that argues that Indigenous peoples, along with Euro-Americans and environmental changes, were to blame for the bison crisis.

4 See, for example, Alfred W. Crosby, ‘‘Review of Shepard Krech III’s Ecological Indian: Myth and History,’’ Ethnohistory 49, no. 3 (2002): 715–17; Peter A. Coates, ‘‘Review of Shepard Krech III’s Ecological Indian: Myth and History,’’ Journal of American Studies 37, no. 2 (2003): 340–3; Ted Binnema, ‘‘Review of Shepard Krech III’s Ecological Indian: Myth and History,’’ bc Studies 130 (2001): 113–14. Kimberly Tallbear (Sisseton-Wahpeton Oyate) wrote an overview of the backlash in ‘‘Shepard Krech’s The Ecological Indian: One Indian’s Perspective,’’ International Institute for Indigenous Resource Management (2000): 1–5, http:// www.iiirm.org/publications/Book%20Reviews/Reviews/Krech001.pdf (accessed 20 December 2015).

5 Robert K. Berkhofer, The White Man’s Indian: Images of the American Indian from Columbus to the Present (New York: Vintage, 1979), x. For a work that defines the ‘‘ecological Indian’’ and seeks to examine environmental activism in a way that moves beyond such stereotypes, see Gregory D. Smithers, ‘‘Beyond the ‘Ecological Indian’’’: Environmental Politics and Traditional Ecological Knowledge in Modern North America,’’ Environmental History 20 (2015): 83–111.

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during the 1970s when environmentalism and counterculture gained widespread popularity.

While many scholars welcomed Krech’s revisionist work, the anthro- pologist faced significant backlash after his book’s publication because it opened the door to criticism of Indigenous ways of life and dis- counted Indigenous worldviews in ways that were rooted not only in historical case studies but also in present-day political realities.6 So, how do we understand the nuance of the ‘‘ecological Indian’’ argu- ment while still respecting Indigenous epistemologies and, indeed, Indigenous peoples who still see their cultures as being land-based? Despite the passage of time, the image of the ‘‘ecological Indian’’ is as pervasive as it is constructed. But, at the same time, those that take Krech’s argument to its furthest reach can undermine land claims, Indigenous protests against devastating industrial practices, and Indig- enous rights at their very core.7 In fact, this was one of Adrian Tanner’s concerns about Krech’s arguments in his 2001 review of the book, when he wrote that Krech’s ‘‘failure to adequately take account of the political context of Indian environmental discourse means his book may play into the hands of reactionary and racist interests and pre- judices opposed to aboriginal rights.’’8 Moreover, how do we account for the fact that colonial policies, industrial practices, and settler inva- sion have threatened these practices and understandings?

6 An article in the New York Times featured the works of scholars including Krech and Isenberg, among others, in which the latter not only spoke against roman- ticizing Indigenous peoples but also made the point that ‘‘[n]one of us have an animus toward Indians.’’ See Jim Robbins, ‘‘Historians Revisit Slaughter on the Plains,’’ New York Times, http://www.nytimes.com/1999/11/16/science/ historians-revisit-slaughter-on-the-plains.html?pagewanted=all (accessed 28 June 2016). Krech revisited this controversy in ‘‘Beyond the Ecological Indian,’’ in Native Americans and the Environment: Perspectives on the Ecological Indian, edited by Michael E. Harkin and David Rich Lewis, 3–31 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007). The edited collection came in part out of a conference, ‘‘Re-configuring the Ecological Indian’’ at the University of Wyoming, for which Vine Deloria, Jr., originally ‘‘issued a call via H-Amerindian and other internet discussion groups to attend the conference in protest.’’ See ‘‘Introduction,’’ in Native Americans and the Environment, xxii–xxiii. Tallbear, ‘‘Shepard Krech’s The Ecological Indian.’’

7 Frances Widdowson and Albert Howard, Disrobing the Aboriginal Industry: The Deception behind Indigenous Cultural Preservation (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2008).

8 Adrian Tanner, ‘‘Review of Shepard Krech’s The Ecological Indian: Myth and History,’’ H-AmIndian (April 2001), https://www.h-net.org/reviews/showrev. php?id=5068, (accessed 20 December 2015).

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 85

As the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples reminded Cana- dians twenty years ago,9 and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission has more recently echoed,10 Indigenous history is not separate from the contemporary issues that our communities face. Indeed, ‘‘history plays an important role in reconciliation; to build for the future, Cana- dians must look to, and learn from, the past.’’11 In addition, in order to address this concern, some Canadian post-secondary institutions such as Lakehead University and the University of Winnipeg have implemented mandatory classes with Indigenous content.12 It is im- portant to remember that stories of dispossession and environmental disruption are not only of the past but also continue in the present day. Put simply, these are not just academic arguments and revisions, but they also have the potential to have very real consequences in ongoing efforts at reconciliation and decolonization in this country.

In my own undergraduate classes � both in Indigenous history and Indigenous studies � it has been challenging to unpack these ideas with students in a nuanced way. Indigenous perspectives should matter to environmental historians, but this goes beyond listening to Indige- nous voices or studying Indigenous peoples. It means accepting the validity and importance of worldviews that are both historical and con- temporary. Of course, Indigenous peoples have interacted with our environments for millennia, and, from the Anishinaabe perspective from which I write, there is no clear divide between the elements of creation, meaning that human beings are part of, rather than separate from, our environment. As Brenda Macdougall writes in another article in this issue, our understandings of language, traditions, and creation stories provide a necessary holistic historical narrative, rather than simply ‘‘when and why something happened.’’13

9 Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, volume 1: Looking Forward, Looking Back, Queen’s Research and Learning Repository, https://qspace.library.queensu.ca/bitstream/handle/ 1974/6874/RRCAP1_combined.pdf;jsessionid=39E874- F613E1AA61902BD5B165215735?sequence=5 (accessed 28 June 2016).

10 Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (trc), Honoring the Truth, Reconciling the Future: Summary of the Final Report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, http://www.trc.ca/websites/trcinstitution/File/2015/ Findings/Exec_Summary_2015_05_31_web_o.pdf (accessed 28 June 2016), 8. See also trc, Calls to Action, http://www.trc.ca/websites/trcinstitution/File/ 2015/Findings/Calls_to_Action_English2.pdf (accessed 28 June 2016).

11 trc, Honoring the Truth, Reconciling the Future, 8. 12 Jennifer Halsall, ‘‘Some Universities Look to Adopt Indigenous Course

Requirements,’’ University Affairs (23 June 2015), http://www.universityaffairs.ca/ news/news-article/some-universities-look-to-adopt-indigenous-course-require- ments/ (accessed 28 June 2016).

13 Brenda Macdougall, ‘‘Space and Place within Aboriginal Epistemological Tradi- tions: Recent Trends in Historical Scholarship,’’ in this issue, 81.

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This article examines the complex and still evolving relationship between environmental and Indigenous history, specifically focusing on issues related to issues of decolonizing research practices and a focus on Indigenous perspectives, differing cultural views of resources and the environment, and the colonizing impacts of industrial and extractive practices on Indigenous communities. Lastly, this article will conclude with the hopeful suggestion that more scholars incorporate gendered perspectives and that they move beyond the colonial construc- tion of the border along the 49th parallel to examine Indigenous history in ways that respect our own national boundaries on Turtle Island as much can be gained from perspectives that balance local and trans- national contexts.14

The field of environmental history, much like that of Indigenous history in general, is multidisciplinary, and scholars from a variety of academic backgrounds have contributed to our understanding of Indigenous and environmental history. As James D. Rice argued in his historiographical article, environmental history scholarship as it has related to Indigenous peoples and lands has ‘‘mushroomed’’ since the 1990s, but ‘‘most of the new scholarship is being conducted by people who do not primarily regard themselves as environmental historians, and it is being published in venues where environmental historians are unlikely to read it.’’15 Indeed, as I examine below, scholars, Indigenous researchers, and communities in what is now Canada have taken different approaches to the topic and, in the process, have questioned old assumptions and research methods and have begun to privilege Indigenous voices and perspectives.

In this respect, the expansion of environmental history to include Indigenous perspectives mirrors historiographical patterns of Indigenous history in Canada more generally in the 1990s.16 Although scholars such as Bruce Trigger were leaders in the development of ethnohistorical inquiry as early as the 1960s,17 an explosion of historical literature appeared in the decade after the events at Oka in the summer of

14 This term refers to the creation stories of several Indigenous nations in North America, whereby the world was formed on the back of a turtle.

15 James D. Rice, ‘‘Beyond ‘the Ecological Indian’ and ‘Virgin Soil Epidemics’: New Perspectives on Native Americans and the Environment,’’ History Compass 12, no. 9 (2014): 748.

16 Keith Carlson, Melinda Jetté, and Kenichi Matsui, ‘‘An Annotated Bibliography of Major Writings in Aboriginal History, 1990-99,’’ Canadian Historical Review 82, no. 1 (2001): 122–71.

17 First generation revisionist works in Canada include Bruce Trigger, The Children of Aataentsic: A History of the Huron People to 1660 (Montreal and Kingston: McGill Queen’s University Press, 1976); Robin Fisher, Contact and Conflict:

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 87

1990. Many of these works began to change the temporal focus of Indigenous history in Canada, moving beyond the earlier emphasis on missionary and fur trade relations and moving toward examina- tions of Indian Affairs policies, land incursions, environmental issues, health and wellness, and agriculture.18

It was also during the 1990s that decolonizing research method- ologies came to the forefront for the first time. Maori scholar Linda Tuhiwai Smith’s groundbreaking Decolonizing Methodologies made space for Indigenous methods and perspectives, arguing that although our methods are often seen as less rigorous by Western researchers, they are a necessary part of reclaiming Indigenous practices and perspec- tives.19 In the two decades that followed in Canada, the works of Kathy Absolon Minogiizhigokwe (Anishinaabe), Jo-Anne Archibald (Stó:lo), Margaret Kovach (Cree/Saulteaux), Shawn Wilson (Opaskwayak Cree), and Winona Wheeler (Cree/Assiniboine/Saulteaux) have not just been informative for Indigenous scholars, but they have also suggested ways in which settler scholars can better engage with Indigenous peoples not as research ‘‘subjects’’ but, rather, through the establish- ment and maintenance of relationship.20 That is, Indigenous scholars

Indian-European Relations in British Columbia, 1774–1890 (Vancouver: ubc Press, 1977); Arthur J. Ray, Indians in the Fur Trade: Their Role as Trappers. Hunters, and Middlemen in the Lands Southwest of Hudson Bay, 1660–1870 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1974); Jennifer S.H. Brown, Strangers in Blood: Fur Trade Company Families in Indian Country (Vancouver: ubc Press, 1980); Sylvia Van Kirk, Many Tender Ties: Women in Fur-Trade Society 1660–1870 (Winnipeg: Watson and Dwyer, 1980).

18 See, for example, Kerry Abel and Jean Friesen, eds., Aboriginal Resource Use in Canada: Historical and Legal Aspects (Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1991); Robin Jarvis Brownlie, A Fatherly Eye: Indian Agents, Government Power, and Aboriginal Resistance in Ontario, 1918–1939 (Toronto: Oxford University Press, 2003); Sarah Carter, Lost Harvests: Prairie Indian Reserve Farmers and Government Policy (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1990); Mary-Ellen Kelm, Colonizing Bodies: Aboriginal Health and Healing in British Columbia, 1900–50 (Vancouver: ubc Press, 1999).

19 Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples (London: Zed Books, 1999).

20 Kathleen E. Absolon Minogiizhigokwe, Kaandossiwin: How We Come to Know (Winnipeg: Fernwood Press, 2011); Jo-Anne Archibald, Indigenous Storywork: Educating the Heart, Mind, Body, and Spirit (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2008); Margaret Kovach, Indigenous Methodologies: Characteristics, Conversations, and Contexts (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009); Winona Wheeler, ‘‘Reflections on the Social Relations of Indigenous Oral Histories,’’ in Walking a Tightrope: Aboriginal People and their Representations, edited by Ute Lischke and David T. McNab, 189–213 (Waterloo, on: University of Waterloo Press, 2005); Sean Wilson, Research Is Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods (Winnipeg: Fernwood, 2008).

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critiqued the notorious history and contemporary reality of Western research practices and their effects on Indigenous communities: research should be conducted for the benefit of Indigenous peoples and com- munities and should follow Indigenous protocols that privilege relation- ships, kinship, and reciprocity.

It is perhaps no surprise, then, that scholars have become increas- ingly interested in exploring Indigenous voices and perspectives when writing about the environment or, as Brenda Macdougall has elucidated, about our epistemological views of land and space. Julie Cruikshank’s collaborative work with Yukon elders Angela Sidney, Kitty Smith, and Annie Ned, which had previously framed two other books, continued in Do Glaciers Listen? Local Knowledge, Colonial Encounters, and Social Imagination. In it, she asked readers to listen to Tlingit explanations for glacier movement and, by extension, grasp the differences in how Indigenous peoples understand our relationships to our homelands in comparison to scientific models embedded in western thought and culture.21 In the collection The Earth Is Faster Now, several researchers examine the complexity of traditional knowledge and its importance for understanding environmental change in the Arctic.22 Nancy Turner’s work with Helen Clifton (Gitga’at) examines Indigenous knowledge and community adaptation to environmental and colonial changes in British Columbia, as do Keith Thor Carlson and Jonathan Clapperton in their explanation of distinct Stó:lo # and Nlha7kápmx heritage sites in the Fraser canyon, which is understood differently by Canadians for its importance in economic and transportation infrastructure.23

All of these works demonstrate the differences between settler and Indigenous perceptions of historical and environmental change.

Such differences reflect the cultures of the peoples that construct them and can lead to better cross-cultural understanding, but even

21 Julie Cruikshank, Do Glaciers Listen? Local Knowledge, Colonial Encounters, and Social Imagination (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2005). Cole Harris’s review of it in bc Studies demonstrated the need for such a book. See Cole Harris, ‘‘Do Glaciers Really Listen? A Review Essay,’’ bc Studies 148 (2005–6): 103–6; Dorothee Schreiber, ‘‘Glaciers Listen: A Review Essay and Response to Cole Harris,’’ bc Studies 159 (2008): 131–9.

22 Igor Krupnik and Dyanna Jolly, eds., The Earth Is Faster Now: Indigenous Observations of Arctic Environmental Change, 2nd edition (Fairbanks, al: Arctic Research Consortium of the United States, 2010).

23 Nancy Turner and Helen Clifton, ‘‘ ‘It’s So Different Today’: Climate Change and Indigenous Lifeways in British Columbia, Canada,’’ Global Environmental Change 19 (2009): 180–90; Keith Thor Carlson and Jonathan Clapperton, ‘‘Introduction. Special Places and Protected Spaces: Historical and Global Perspectives on Non-National Parks in Canada and Abroad,’’ Environment and History 18 (2012): 475–96.

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 89

a better understanding of Indigenous knowledge can lead to the coop- tation of traditional ecological knowledge (tek) by researchers, which has complicated climate change and environmental discourse. As Anishinaabe scholar Deborah McGregor has argued, ‘‘there is a major dichotomy in the realm of TEK that needs to be understood: there is the Aboriginal view of TEK, which reflects an Indigenous understand- ing of relationships to Creation, and there is the dominant Eurocentric view of TEK, which reflects colonial attitudes toward Aboriginal people and their knowledge.’’24 Timothy B. Leduc’s interrogation of climate change in the North reflects this critique. His example of the Inuit term sila elucidates this co-opting of Indigenous knowledge or, in his particular research context, Inuit qaujimatuqanigit. In Inuit qaujima- tuqanigit, sila refers to a holistic force, but it has been translated to English as a simplified Western word for ‘‘weather.’’25 Thus, environ- mental encroachments and climate change are certainly problematic, but even the solutions can be just as colonizing.

Tellingly, one of the main points of The Earth Is Faster Now, according to Fikret Berkes, is ‘‘indigenous knowledge of environmental change can be treated as knowledge in its own right and not merely as a source for ‘data’ for science.’’26 This argument can be seen as a re- sponse to the criticism that Western researchers often seek to fit complex Indigenous concepts and epistemologies into their Western models, which can decontextualize those ideas from the Indigenous cultures in which they are embedded.27 In fact, as scholars such

24 Deborah McGregor, ‘‘Coming Full Circle: Indigenous Knowledge, Environment, and Our Future,’’ American Indian Quarterly 28, no. 3 and 4 (2004): 386.

25 Timothy B. Leduc, Climate Culture Change: Inuit and Western Dialogues with a Warming North (Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 2010). For a review of literature surrounding Indigenous health and climate change, see James D. Ford et al., ‘‘Vulnerability of Aboriginal Health Systems in Canada to Climate Change,’’ Global Environmental Change 20 (2010): 668–80.

26 Fikret Berkes, ‘‘Epilogue: Making Sense of Arctic Environmental Change,’’ in Krupnik and Jolly, The Earth Is Faster Nows, 344 [emphasis in original].

27 In addition to MacGregor and Leduc in the preceding footnotes, other Indigenous scholars who have critiqued Western extraction of Indigenous knowledge include Kathy Absolon and Cam Willett, ‘‘Putting Ourselves Forward: Location in Aboriginal Research,’’ in Research as Resistance, edited by Leslie Brown and Susan Strega, 97–126 (Toronto: Canadian Scholars’ Press, 2005); Pam Colorado, ‘‘Bridging Native and Western Science,’’ Convergence 21, no. 2 (1988): 49–68; Charles R. Menzies and Caroline Butler, ‘‘Introduction: Understanding Ecological Knowledge,’’ in Traditional Ecological Knowledge and Natural Resource Management, edited by Charles R. Menzies, 10–12 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2006). See also Julie Cruikshank, ‘‘Uses and Abuses of ‘Traditional Knowledge’: Perspectives from the Yukon Territory,’’ in Cultivating Arctic Landscapes: Knowing and Managing Animals in the Circumpolar North, edited by David G. Anderson and Mark Nuttall, 17–32 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2004).

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as Paul Nadasdy have argued, resource management schemes, even when they purport to empower Indigenous communities, can force Indigenous leadership to conform to Western views of time, environ- ment, and management.28 Thus, even the solutions to land-based prob- lems can reflect and exacerbate the processes of colonial dispossession.

In Canada, a country that is so dependent on natural resources for political and economic development, both historically and in the present day, more scholars have been examining the ways in which industrial development and extractive industries have affected Indi- genous communities, particularly in northern regions of the country. Anishinaabe activist and writer Gilbert Oskaboose’s view of four centuries of settler invasion in our homeland in northern Ontario, stretching from the fur trade to a Cold War interest in uranium mining, encapsulates an Indigenous perspective on such practices: ‘‘First the white men came and trapped all the mink and otter and beaver, then they came back for the trees and all we had left were the rocks. Then the s.o.b.’s came back for the rocks.’’29 The timber industry played an important role in the settler development of northern Ontario and had an impact on First Nations in the area. James T. Angus examined the agency of Dokis First Nation leadership in the face of government and timber industry encroachment, and Mark Kuhlberg examined the federal government’s complicity in timber encroach- ment at Long Lac reserve.30 Perhaps the most notorious case of pollu- tion as a result of timber is that which occurred at Grassy Narrows in northwestern Ontario. Anastasia M. Shkilnyk examined Reed Paper’s mercury pollution of the English-Wabigoon river system and its impact on the Grassy Narrows First Nation, known in Anishinaabemowin (Anishinaabe language) as Asubpeeschoseewagong. She linked the contamination to challenges to Anishinaabek well-being in the com- munity.31 Mercury pollution and ongoing disputes about clear-cutting

28 Paul Nadasdy, Hunters and Bureaucrats: Power, Knowledge, and Aboriginal-State Relations in the Southwest Yukon (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2003).

29 Quoted in Felix Atencio-Gonzales, ‘‘URANIUM: It Has Industry ‘Close to Meltdown,’ Windspeaker (7 June 1991), 9.

30 James T. Angus, ‘‘How the Dokis Indians Protected Their Timber,’’ Ontario History 81 (1989): 181–99; Mark Kuhlberg, ‘‘ ‘Nothing It Seems Can Be Done about It’: Charlie Cox, Indian Affairs Timber Policy, and the Long Lac Reserve, 1924–40,’’ Canadian Historical Review 84, no. 1 (2003): 33–64.

31 Anastasia M. Shkilnyk, A Poison Stronger Than Love: The Destruction of an Ojibwa Community (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985). This was soon followed by Christopher Vecsey, ‘‘Grassy Narrows Reserve: Mercury Pollution, Social Disruption, and Natural Resources: A Question of Autonomy,’’ American Indian Quarterly 11, no. 4 (1987): 287–314.

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 91

in the area are still ongoing concerns, demonstrating how industrial pollution casts a long shadow over economic development, Indigenous– settler relations, and Indigenous self-determination.32

As many of these case studies of environmental devastation remind us, even in the postwar period, when status Indians could vote in federal elections and the power of Indian agents slowly eroded, colonial processes were still powerful and facilitated land encroachments and environmental devastation.33 For instance, the road to economic self- sufficiency in Quebec was dependent on the development of hydro- electricity, a battle that marked a turning point in Indigenous–settler relations and resulted in the James Bay and Northern Quebec Agree- ment, the first modern-day treaty in Canada, which was followed in 2002 by the Agreement Respecting a New Relationship Between the Cree Nation and the Government of Quebec.34 Other works have examined the historical and present-day effects of industrial develop- ment in the North and have in common a temporal focus on twentieth-

32 Anna J. Willow, Strong Hearts, Native Lands: The Cultural and Political Landscape of Anishinaabe Anti-clearcutting Activism (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2012). See, for example, ‘‘Grassy Narrows: Why Ontario Decided Not to Clean Up the Mercury,’’ cbc News, http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/thunder- bay/grassy-narrows-why-ontario-decided-not-to-clean-up-the-mercury-1.3140207 (accessed 30 December 2015); ‘‘Ontario Will Test Mercury Levels in Waterways Near Grassy Narrows First Nation,’’ cbc News, http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/ toronto/wynne-grassy-narrows-clean-up-1.3654533 (accessed 28 June 2016).

33 Lianne C. Leddy, ‘‘Cold War Colonialism: The Serpent River First Nation and Uranium Mining, 1953–88’’ (PhD dissertation, Wilfrid Laurier University, 2011).

34 Hans M. Carlson, ‘‘A Watershed of Words: Litigating and Negotiating Nature in Eastern James Bay, 1971–1975,’’ Canadian Historical Review 85, no. 1 (2004): 63–84; Caroline Desbiens, Power from the North: Territory, Identity, and Culture of Hydroelectricity in Quebec (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2013); James Horning, ed., Social and Environmental Impacts of the James Bay Hydroelectric Project (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1999); Richard F. Salisbury, A Homeland for the Cree: Regional Development in James Bay, 1971–1981 (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1986). For hydroelectricity in northern Ontario, see Jean Manore, Cross-Currents: Hydro-Electricity and the Engineering of Northern Ontario (Waterloo, on: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1999). James Bay and Northern Quebec Agreement, 1975, http://www.gcc.ca/ pdf/LEG000000006.pdf (accessed 28 December 2016); Agreement Respecting a New Relationship between the Cree Nation and the Government of Quebec, 7 February 2002, http://www.gcc.ca/pdf/LEG000000008.pdf (accessed 28 December 2016).

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century development that coincides with Cold War extraction.35 Recon- ciliation, as the Truth and Reconciliation Commission reminds us, requires greater Indigenous control of resource development, includ- ing meaningful consultation with Indigenous communities, access to employment and long-term benefits, as well as corporate education.36

As historians, we can inform the answer to this call to action with a better and more widespread understanding of historical patterns of dispossession by recognizing that they are ongoing and pervasive.

Many of the works cited here have been case studies, reflecting local community attachments to land, but more attention should also be paid to how colonialism and environmental injustice can be gendered processes. Jocelyn Thorpe’s Temagami’s Tangled Wild is an example of a study that shows the intersections of gender, colonialism, and environ- mental history, and a recent collection, Living on the Land: Indigenous Women’s Understanding of Place, reminds us of the importance of Indigenous women’s knowledge.37 But what of other regions where industrial development has had an impact on Indigenous women’s

35 Kerry Abel, Drum Songs: Glimpses of Dene History (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2005); Carly A. Dokis, Where the Rivers Meet: Pipelines, Participatory Resource Management, and Aboriginal-State Relations in the Northwest Territories (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2015); Liza Piper, The Industrial Transformation of Subarctic Canada (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2008); Ginger Gibson and Jason Klinck, ‘‘Canada’s Resilient North: The Impact of Mining on Aboriginal Communities,’’ Pimatisiwin, 3, no. 1 (2005): 114–40. Arn Keeling and John Sandlos, ‘‘Environmental Justice Goes Underground? Historical Notes from Canada’s Northern Mining Frontier,’’ Environmental Justice 2, no. 3 (2009): 117–25; Legacies of northern mining on local communities can be seen in John Sandlos and Arn Keeling, ‘‘Zombie Mines and the (Over)burden of History,’’ Solutions Journal 4, no. 3 (2013): 80–83, https://www.thesolutionsjournal.com/ article/zombie-mines-and-the-overburden-of-history/ (accessed 30 December 2015); For works on Cold War uranium extraction, see Lianne C. Leddy, ‘‘Poisoning the Serpent: Uranium Exploitation and the Serpent River First Nation, 1953–1988,’’ in The Nature of Empires and Empires of Nature, edited by Karl Hele, 125–47 (Waterloo, on: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2013); ‘‘Interviewing Nookomis and Other Reflections of an Indigenous Historian,’’ Oral History Forum 30 (2010): 1–18; Arn Keeling, ‘‘Born in an Atomic Test Tube: Landscapes of Cyclonic Development at Uranium City Saskatchewan,’’ Canadian Geographer 54, no. 2 (2010): 228–52; Anna Stanley, ‘‘Citizenship and the Production of Landscape and Knowledge in Contemporary Canadian Nuclear Fuel Waste Management,’’ Canadian Geographer 52 (2008): 64–82.

36 trc, Calls to Action. 37 Jocelyn Thorpe, Temagami’s Tangled Wild: Race, Gender, and the Making of

Canadian Nature (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2012); Nathalie Kermoal and Isabel Altamirano-Jiménez, eds., Living on the Land: Indigenous Women’s Under- standings of Place (Edmonton: Athabasca University Press, 2016).

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 93

bodies and the health of the community? Since scholars and activists have increasingly made connections between Indigenous women’s bodies and the land, more histories of environmental devastation and disposses- sion in Canada should take this into consideration.38

While local studies are important as they avoid generalizations and allow scholars and audiences to fully engage with the specific geograph- ical and historical realities of a given community or region, more transnational studies and comparisons are welcome.39 Works that have examined Indigenous gender and labour,40 as well as recent collections published by American presses in conservation and ecology,41

have demonstrated the need to examine local realities in the context of a wider, global, Indigenous struggle. Indigenous peoples throughout North America and the world have faced dispossession and environ- mental degradation. The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples calls for the recognition of these rights, and Canada (among other settler nations) has been late to recognize, let alone start, the process.42 While the local context is important to

38 Rosemary Brown, ‘‘The Exploitation of the Oil and Gas Frontier: Its Impact on Lubicon Lake Cree Women,’’ in Women of the First Nations: Power, Wisdom, and Strength, edited by Christine Miller and Patricia Chuchruk, 151–65 (Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1997); Katsi Cook, ‘‘Powerful Like a River: Reweaving the Web of Our Lives in Defense of Environmental and Reproductive Justice,’’ in Original Instructions: Indigenous Teachings for a Sustainable Future, edited by Melissa K. Nelson, 154–67 (Rochester, vt: Bear and Company, 2008); Andrea Smith, Conquest: Sexual Violence and American Indian Genocide (Cambridge: South End Press, 2005); Rachel Stein, ed., New Perspectives on Environmental Justice: Gender, Sexuality, and Activism (New Brunswick, nj: Rutgers University Press, 2004).

39 Gregory D. Smithers compared the work of Winona LaDuke and Deborah McGregor, two Anishinaabe women on opposite sides of the border, in Smithers, ‘‘Beyond the ‘Ecological Indian.’ ’’ Audra Simpson has documented Mohawk sovereignty and resistance in both Canada and the United States. See Audra Simpson, Mohawk Interruptus: Political Life across the Borders of Settler States (Durham, nc: Duke University Press, 2014).

40 Carol Williams, ed., Indigenous Women and Work: From Labour to Activism (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2012); see also Paige Raibmon, Authentic Indians: Episodes of Encounter from the Nineteenth Century Northwest Coast (Durham, nc: Duke University Press, 2005).

41 Stan Stevens, ed., Indigenous Peoples, National Parks, and Protected Areas: A New Paradigm Linking Conservation, Culture, and Rights (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2014); Sharon J. Ridgeway and Peter J. Jacques, The Power of the Talking Stick: Indigenous Politics and the World Ecological Crisis (Boulder: Paradigm Publishers, 2014).

42 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, 13 September 2007, http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/DRIPS_en.pdf 2007 (accessed 30 December 2015).

94 The Canadian Historical Review

understanding specific colonial practices and challenges, as well as specific Indigenous relationships to homeland, understanding that these are global imperial processes is crucial. Historians could do more to compare these experiences in a transnational context, not just for Indigenous nations that straddle international borders (as many do) but also for a greater understanding of colonialism, invasion, and environmental devastation.

In conclusion, environmental history and Indigenous history have grown along similar trajectories, and they often intersect. As scholars, we can harness opportunities to demonstrate decolonizing research methods and demonstrate how we can better represent Indigenous perspectives, acknowledging that events in Indigenous history cannot be relegated to a distant past but rather, have ongoing impacts in Indigenous communities. In addition to challenging traditional tem- poral scopes, research and teaching in this area can examine how environmental challenges and colonial invasions are gendered, and they can also balance local and transnational contexts. As all four of the articles in this section of the issue argue, students can benefit from a clear understanding that decolonized views of Indigenous history cannot separate the past from the present. Land incursions do not end in the nineteenth century but, rather, continue to have real impacts in our urban and reserve communities. To communicate these ideas to students, and within the scholarly community, will provide new, respectful, and fruitful avenues of historical inquiry that not only are intellectually exciting but also hold much promise for dialogue and holding ourselves accountable to the principles of reconciliation.

lianne c. leddy (Anishinaabe kwe) is a member of Serpent River First Nation

and an assistant professor of Indigenous studies at Wilfrid Laurier University’s

Brantford campus.

lianne c. leddy (Anishinaabe kwe) fait partie de la Première Nation de

Serpent River. Elle est professeure adjointe en études autochtones au campus

de Brantford de l’Université Wilfrid-Laurier.

Intersections of Indigenous and Environmental History in Canada 95

prev-submitted-to-prof/RA1-1.docx

Quintana Roo, Mexico

Stated in the statistical analysis are the last three-year revenues generated from tourism in Mexico are as follow:

· $ 19.65 Billion US (2016)

· $ 21.34 Billion US (2017)

· $ 22.51 Billion US (2018)

These figures indicate the maturation in revenue every year. As this implicates the Tourism as the important source of economy of the Country, it is very foremost to mull over the rudiments of creation of this tourist attraction, prudent policy making scenario, incessant burgeon of socio-economic inequality, etc.

On Yucatan Peninsula, Quintana Roo is the state in the Mexico which became a fascinating tourist attraction and adhered with this industry many factors inter alia social, physical, environmental, and economic.

The official development of Cancun was planned in 1969 and started in early 1970. The reasons for this establishment are several such as coast lines, beaches, sand dunes, white sand beaches etc. However, these are the roots watered by the pragmatic bankers and multi-national conglomerates. The reason, why this glittering city was planned, is to entice the foreign tourism and pave the trait to make riches. Yet very successful in the goal achievement, there are some shadow areas of this so-called totally triumphant project.

· Social Impacts: As an outstanding nature-connected tourist point, many people brimmed to the developing city to make their livings. This polarization ramified into amalgam of migrants. They brought with themselves not only the diverse cultural coalescent and variety but also some negative aspects like increased alcoholism, prostitution, spousal abuse, and class discrimination.

· Physical Influence: Many migrants travelling to the area were the young and hence this brimmed the population in the city and around its outskirts. This burgeon in the population resulted in the low labor cost.

· Environmental Ramifications: As the city was developed purposely to serve as the tourist attraction, there was massive alteration to the natural system of land, over exploitation of fishing, vegetation vicissitudes and untreated sewage.

The process of development of the tourist attraction aimed at availability of following notable attributes:

· Hotels

· Resorts

· Restaurants

· Underwater Museums

· Sea -Bird Nesting

· Archeological Sites

Since most of development involved the infrastructure, so funding was from foreign companies as well as from the investors from the Country. This financial distribution undoubtedly make the riches but allotment of revenue remains among the big fishes, creating economic inequality.

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question.docx

Reading Assignment #1

Worth 25% of your mark in LBAT 3999

 

MODULE 1: A Brief History of Humans and the Environment

· “Introduction,” in MacDowell, L. S. (2012). An environmental history of Canada. UBC Press https://www.ubcpress.ca/asset/9296/1/9780774821018.pdf (Links to an external site.)

· Leddy, L. C. (2017). Intersections of Indigenous and environmental history in Canada. Canadian Historical Review98 (1), 83-95.  https://ocul-it.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_IT/1nbm9s4/projectmuse_s649809_S1710109317100045 (Links to an external site.)

1. Summarize, describe and explain the field of Canadian environmental history. Briefly list and describe the central theories (theorists), debates and problems, and the topics that scholars in this field are interested in. Identify one of the key scholars that influenced this field, and describe their contributions to it. (400 -750 words)

MODULE 2: The Industrial Revolution

· Butt, M. (2019). Rethinking the Industrial Revolution in a Changing World: A Case Study of the Environmental Impacts of Textile Industry on Contemporary England. Journal of European Studies35(2), 92-103. (copy and paste the full reference into Google Scholar ( https://scholar.google.ca/ (Links to an external site.) ) for a PDF copy of this article.

· Hirschman, C., & Mogford, E. (2009). Immigration and the American Industrial Revolution from 1880 to 1920. Social Science Research38(4), 897-920.  https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2760060/ (Links to an external site.) . HINT: pay close attention to the major changes that the authors touch on, for example the shift from rural to urban living for the working classes, and specifically immigrants. Students are encouraged to read the abstract and introduction closely, and also take note of the major subheadings used to organize the paper.

2. Drawing on the readings and content items from Module 2, explain and describe the Industrial Revolution. Where and when did it happen, why was it ‘revolutionary,’ and what was were the technologies that were associated with it. Briefly list and explain the major social and environmental effects of the Industrial Revolution. 400 -750)

MODULE 3: The Consumer Revolution

· Murray, G. (2007). Constructing paradise: the impacts of big tourism in the Mexican coastal zone. Coastal Management35(2-3), 339-355.  https://is.muni.cz/el/1456/jaro2014/BKR_GECR/um/Constructing_Paradise_The_Impacts_of_Big_Tourism_mexico.pdf (Links to an external site.)

3. Describe and explain how and why Cancun, Mexico was created as a tourist destination. Identify and explain the social and environmental impacts of tourism in the state of Quintana Roo, Mexico, also known as the “Mayan Riviera” (500 words or less). Students may also consider consulting Juarez (2002) for additional context and support in answering this question. You can access the article here:  https://www.d.umn.edu/~pfarrell/Latin%20America/pdfs%20of%20readings/Maya%20ecotourism%20article.pdf (Links to an external site.)

· McCurdy, P., & Thomlison, A. (2019). Beyond Bitumen: How Advertising Sells the Myth of Canada’s Oil/Tar Sands. Advertising, Consumer Culture and Canadian Society: A Reader, Toronto: Oxford University Press.  McCurdy_Thomlinson_Bitumen.pdf Preview the document

· Students can also access this page for an in-line version of this text  McCurdy and Thomlinson

4. Identify and differentiate the key themes, messages, and symbols communicated in post-2007 oil sands advertisements. Summarize and describe how oil sands advertising is ‘greenwashed’, and explain how environmental activists have protested this. (400-750 words)

General Tips and Formatting Expectations

· You are not required to cite outside sources for the Reading Assignments in this course, but if you do, they must be peer-reviewed. Any outside sources must be given proper source attribution. You may use and cite sources inside the course content, including videos and websites posted by the instructor, but this is not required. Reading questions are intended to get you summarizing, describing, and explaining the content of academic arguments in your own words.

· Students are required to indicate source attribution clearly and include an embedded citations in the author, date method (author, date). For information on how to cite different kinds of sources, please consult this APA citation guide from Ontario Tech University.  https://guides.library.uoit.ca/ld.php?content_id=4715041 (Links to an external site.)

· Please use APA 7th edition formatting standards consistently to format your document, for things like spacing, page numbers, margins etc. If you are unfamiliar with this method, you can copy and paste this link from the Purdue Online Writing Lab for format your document according to the STUDENT example provided.  https://owl.purdue.edu/owl/research_and_citation/apa_style/apa_formatting_and_style_guide/documents/20200128APA7StudPaper.pdf (Links to an external site.)

· You are not required to have an abstract, but please include a title page and properly formatted, APA reference page.

· Please number your questions as they are numbed below, and do not include the question text in your submission to lower the threshold of your originality score on TurnItIn. You do not need to use subheadings for each question.

· As the rubric at the bottom of this document indicates, grammar and technical writing are an important component of written assignments in this course. Please ensure that you proof-read your documents carefully and seek editing support from a peer, or through the university supports provided to you, including writing supports through Student Life,  https://studentlife.ontariotechu.ca/services/academic-support/index.phpLinks to an external site. , and the NOOL writing toolkit, also supported by Student Life:  https://nool.ontariotechu.ca/index.phpLinks to an external site. .

· Your document must be able to be read by Canvas and TurnItIn, the recommended file type is a .doc or .pdf. Students are permitted to see their originality score after submission, your threshold should not exceed 25%. Papers that do not meet academic standards will not be accepted for submission.

· Please do not use direct block quotes. If you do decide to use select and short quotations, please include a page number.

Students can access a word document of the assignment instructions here:  LBAT3999_Reading_Assignment1_2020U2.docx Preview the document

Rubric

Reading Assignments

Reading Assignments

Criteria

Ratings

Pts

This criterion is linked to a Learning OutcomeFormatting and Academic Integrity

APA formatting conventions are met. APA 7th edition for title page, document, reference page. Student includes required citations and source attribution.

4.0 pts

Outstanding

Student has shown mastery of APA 7th edition formatting conventions. Student has effectively and precisely included embedded citations.

3.25 pts

Excellent

Student shows excellent use of APA formatting and citation conventions with minor errors.

3.0 pts

Good

Student shows good application of APA 7th edition conventions for formatting and citation with less than four errors.

2.5 pts

Satisfactory

Submission is either missing title or reference page and has more than five formatting or citation errors.

2.0 pts

Needs Improvement

Some aspects of APA conventions are recognizable, but there are consistent errors in the document, title page, and reference page.

0.0 pts

Catastrophic Errors

Submission is lacking two or more of the following items: a reference page, proper source attribution and citations, APA general formatting, and APA 7th edition title page.

4.0 pts

This criterion is linked to a Learning OutcomeGrammar and Mechanics

Technical Writing - Grammar, Diction, Sentence and Paragraph Mechanics, Capitalization, Punctuation

5.0 pts

Outstanding

Writing is outstanding and approaching publishing standards.

4.0 pts

Excellent

Excellent writing and organization, minor typos or grammar errors.

3.5 pts

Good

Less than five grammar errors and/or minor organizational errors.

3.0 pts

Satisfactory

Submission contains five or more grammar errors and organizational errors.

2.5 pts

Needs Improvement

Submission contains consistent grammar and organizational errors that detract from the overall quality of the submission.

0.0 pts

Catastrophic Errors

Submission contains excessive writing and organizational errors that render the submission unacceptable.

5.0 pts

This criterion is linked to a Learning OutcomeQuestion 1

Student effectively and precisely answers the question by drawing on appropriate key terms and key works.

4.0 pts

Outstanding

Student shows high level critical analysis by effectively answering the question using precise language and terminology.

3.25 pts

Excellent

Student shows excellent critical analysis by effectively answering the question using precise language and terminology.

3.0 pts

Good

Student answers the question with some difficulty, but touches on the main points and offers some evidence of critical analysis.

2.5 pts

Satisfactory

Student offers indication they have engaged with the reading and responded to the prompts. Submission is missing a component of the question, or the ideas are not clearly conveyed to the audience.

2.0 pts

Needs Improvement

Student fails to answer the question effectively, either because they use imprecise language, and/or their ideas are not clearly conveyed. Minimal evidence that student engaged fully with the reading.

0.0 pts

Catastrophic Errors

Student does not submit an answer for this question.

4.0 pts

This criterion is linked to a Learning OutcomeQuestion 2

Student effectively and precisely answers the question by drawing on appropriate key terms and key works.

4.0 pts

Outstanding

Student shows high level critical analysis by effectively answering the question using precise language and terminology.

3.25 pts

Excellent

Student shows excellent critical analysis by effectively answering the question using precise language and terminology.

3.0 pts

Good

Student answers the question with some difficulty, but touches on the main points and offers some evidence of critical analysis.

2.5 pts

Satisfactory

Student offers indication they have engaged with the reading and responded to the prompts. Submission is missing a component of the question, or the ideas are not clearly conveyed to the audience.

2.0 pts

Needs Improvement

Student fails to answer the question effectively, either because they use imprecise language, and/or their ideas are not clearly conveyed. Minimal evidence that student engaged fully with the reading.

0.0 pts

Catastrophic Errors

Student does not submit an answer for this question.

4.0 pts

This criterion is linked to a Learning OutcomeQuestion 3

Student effectively and precisely answers the question by drawing on appropriate key terms and key works.

4.0 pts

Outstanding

Student shows high level critical analysis by effectively answering the question using precise language and terminology.

3.25 pts

Excellent

Student shows excellent critical analysis by effectively answering the question using precise language and terminology.

3.0 pts

Good

Student answers the question with some difficulty, but touches on the main points and offers some evidence of critical analysis.

2.5 pts

Satisfactory

Student offers indication they have engaged with the reading and responded to the prompts. Submission is missing a component of the question, or the ideas are not clearly conveyed to the audience.

2.0 pts

Needs Improvement

Student fails to answer the question effectively, either because they use imprecise language, and/or their ideas are not clearly conveyed. Minimal evidence that student engaged fully with the reading.

0.0 pts

Catastrophic Errors

Student does not submit an answer for this question.

4.0 pts

This criterion is linked to a Learning OutcomeQuestion 4

Student effectively and precisely answers the question by drawing on appropriate key terms and key works.

4.0 pts

Outstanding

Student shows high level critical analysis by effectively answering the question using precise language and terminology.

3.25 pts

Excellent

Student shows excellent critical analysis by effectively answering the question using precise language and terminology.

3.0 pts

Good

Student answers the question with some difficulty, but touches on the main points and offers some evidence of critical analysis.

2.5 pts

Satisfactory

Student offers indication they have engaged with the reading and responded to the prompts. Submission is missing a component of the question, or the ideas are not clearly conveyed to the audience.

2.0 pts

Needs Improvement

Student fails to answer the question effectively, either because they use imprecise language, and/or their ideas are not clearly conveyed. Minimal evidence that student engaged fully with the reading.

0.0 pts

Catastrophic Errors

Student does not submit an answer for this question.

4.0 pts

Total Points: 25.0

Submission