12 Fabien Girard et al.
and regional conferences, sometimes endorsed by the CBD and UNESCO.
The CBD
38 and IPBES
39 have recently started integrating the concept in their
respective work, and dedicated international programmes strive to bridge the
gaps between cultural and natural heritage.
40 Another step in this direction
lies in the “ Nature-Culture Alliance” to be launched at the forthcoming CBD
COP 15, which will extend – and p robably take the place of – the joint SCBDUNESCO nature-culture programme.
41
Some also expressed their discontent with the way the issue was raised. For
example, Brosius and Hitchner regretted at some point that the “biocultural
perspective” and the “biocultural diversity” concept be “entirely the product
of the crisis narrative”, thereby preventing their designers and advocates from
acknowledging the “dynamic, creative possibilities that can emerge from human
agency and processes of hybridity” (Brosius & Hitchner, 2010, p. 143). They
therefore argued for examining the potentialities and implications – in terms of
practices, policy, and governance – of what they saw as a new “trans- disciplinary
field” engaged in conservation (Brosius & Hitchner, 2010, p. 142). By and large,
their call was heeded by scholars (Bridgewater & Rotherham, 2019). With hindsight, there is little doubt that the “biocultural axiom” (Nietschmann, 1992)
opened a political space (Mulrennan & Bussières, 2020, p. 293; Nemogá, 2019,
p. 260) for IPLCs by showing that biodiversity, beyond its “concrete biophysical
elements” (Escobar, 1998, p. 53), is a “discursive invention of recent origin”
(ibid.). At the very least, this “biocultural axiom” has nurtured the notion that
biodiversity forms part of complex territorialised networks, living systems, inextricably linking worldviews and praxis, expressing attachments to the earth and
more-than-humans (Tsing, 2013); and that, therefore, alternative approaches to
biodiversity conservation ought to be sustained, bounding up considerations of
human rights, equity, ethics, and ontologies (see Mulrennan & Bussières, 2020,
p. 299).
To return to the three avenues that were explored during the CBD negotiations to tackle the issue of TK’s “protection” – sui generis intellectual property
laws vested in communities, access laws, and “recognition (and elevation to levels
of national and international recognition)” of communities’ own traditions and
customs (Halewood et al., 2006, p. 185; also see Halewood, 1999) – there is little doubt that the last two have undergone significant changes as engagements
with biocultural diversity have intensified. In the field of access law, with the
“rediscovery” of the “work” (Hayden, 2007) of IPLCs that has been too long
belittled or denied (Younging, 2010), and the “reappearance” of humans within
a supposedly “inanimate” or “wild” nature (Posey, 2001, pp. 384–385), new
debates have emerged with the Nagoya Protocol
42 at the forefront. Under the
new legally binding agreement, all parties now have to take measures with the
aim of ensuring that TK and genetic resources are accessed with the prior and
informed consent (PIC) or approval and involvement of IPLCs, and that MATs
have been established (Nagoya Protocol, Articles 6 & 7). States are also obliged
to take measures for the purpose of ensuring that benefits arising from the use of
and regional conferences, sometimes endorsed by the CBD and UNESCO.
The CBD
38 and IPBES
39 have recently started integrating the concept in their
respective work, and dedicated international programmes strive to bridge the
gaps between cultural and natural heritage.
40 Another step in this direction
lies in the “ Nature-Culture Alliance” to be launched at the forthcoming CBD
COP 15, which will extend – and p robably take the place of – the joint SCBDUNESCO nature-culture programme.
41
Some also expressed their discontent with the way the issue was raised. For
example, Brosius and Hitchner regretted at some point that the “biocultural
perspective” and the “biocultural diversity” concept be “entirely the product
of the crisis narrative”, thereby preventing their designers and advocates from
acknowledging the “dynamic, creative possibilities that can emerge from human
agency and processes of hybridity” (Brosius & Hitchner, 2010, p. 143). They
therefore argued for examining the potentialities and implications – in terms of
practices, policy, and governance – of what they saw as a new “trans- disciplinary
field” engaged in conservation (Brosius & Hitchner, 2010, p. 142). By and large,
their call was heeded by scholars (Bridgewater & Rotherham, 2019). With hindsight, there is little doubt that the “biocultural axiom” (Nietschmann, 1992)
opened a political space (Mulrennan & Bussières, 2020, p. 293; Nemogá, 2019,
p. 260) for IPLCs by showing that biodiversity, beyond its “concrete biophysical
elements” (Escobar, 1998, p. 53), is a “discursive invention of recent origin”
(ibid.). At the very least, this “biocultural axiom” has nurtured the notion that
biodiversity forms part of complex territorialised networks, living systems, inextricably linking worldviews and praxis, expressing attachments to the earth and
more-than-humans (Tsing, 2013); and that, therefore, alternative approaches to
biodiversity conservation ought to be sustained, bounding up considerations of
human rights, equity, ethics, and ontologies (see Mulrennan & Bussières, 2020,
p. 299).
To return to the three avenues that were explored during the CBD negotiations to tackle the issue of TK’s “protection” – sui generis intellectual property
laws vested in communities, access laws, and “recognition (and elevation to levels
of national and international recognition)” of communities’ own traditions and
customs (Halewood et al., 2006, p. 185; also see Halewood, 1999) – there is little doubt that the last two have undergone significant changes as engagements
with biocultural diversity have intensified. In the field of access law, with the
“rediscovery” of the “work” (Hayden, 2007) of IPLCs that has been too long
belittled or denied (Younging, 2010), and the “reappearance” of humans within
a supposedly “inanimate” or “wild” nature (Posey, 2001, pp. 384–385), new
debates have emerged with the Nagoya Protocol
42 at the forefront. Under the
new legally binding agreement, all parties now have to take measures with the
aim of ensuring that TK and genetic resources are accessed with the prior and
informed consent (PIC) or approval and involvement of IPLCs, and that MATs
have been established (Nagoya Protocol, Articles 6 & 7). States are also obliged
to take measures for the purpose of ensuring that benefits arising from the use of