Cult Stud of Sci Educ DOI 10.1007/s11422-014-9614-z FORUM

Out of sight, out of mind: global connection, environmental discourse and the emerging field of sustainability education Joseph A. Henderson

Received: 11 September 2013 / Accepted: 1 June 2014  Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2015

Abstract How might we understand the complex nature of our existence in the world, and what are the implications of such examination? Moreover, how might we go about engaging others in this practice and what are the complications of such an endeavor? Expanding on Quigley, Dogbey, Che and Hallo’s findings, I consider the implications of human-environment connections and examine the difficulty of articulating such connections via photovoice methods in particular places. Further, I use a Foucauldian discourse lens to situate this connective process to larger political and social dynamics at work in their paper, and in environmental education in general. Implications for sustainability and sustainability education are then developed, along with suggestions for future research in this emerging field. Keywords Ecology

Sustainability
Environmental education
Photovoice
Environmentality


If you understand, things are just as they are. If you do not understand, things are just as they are. —Zen Proverb I write these words perched above the University of Rochester’s academic quad. Sitting near the top floor of a library named after a famous philosopher, I look west toward the Greater Rochester International Airport as commuter planes arrive and depart. This is

Lead editor: D. Long This review essay addresses issues raised in Quigley, Dogbey, Che and Hallo’s paper entitled: Investigating local sustainable environmental perspectives of Kenyan community members and teachers. DOI:10.1007/ s11422-014-9584-1 J. A. Henderson (&) The Margaret Warner Graduate School of Education and Human Development, University of Rochester, Box 270425, Rochester, NY 14627, USA e-mail: [email protected]

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Seneca Nation territory and the State of New York, United States of America, Planet Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, 2014. A cold front is rolling through and cumulonimbus clouds are stacking up south of my location. The Weather Channel app on my phone flashes a severe thunderstorm warning. With my laptop plugged into a nearby outlet, I direct my Internet browser to www.weather.com, where I am able to access real-time radar and satellite imagery. The wind blows across the ornamental trees on the academic quad and through the open window in front of me, ruffling the edges on a stack of research papers printed to help prepare this response paper. I listen to a recently downloaded recording of a 2003 Pearl Jam concert from State College, Pennsylvania while sipping a cup of Starbucks dark roast coffee. All in all, this is a rather lovely situation and I am privileged to sit high in this tower to reflect upon my place in the world. And so here I sit, thumbing through the Quigley, Dogbey, Che and Hallo paper, wondering how or if I am involved in positive environmental practice, appropriate environmental citizenship and/or sustainable practices of some kind. Maybe, but I am not so sure. What I do know however, is that I feel connected to something larger: connected to a history of social and material practices that constructed Rush Rhees Library and the University of Rochester, connected to the water cycle, to economic, politic and legal systems that produced Pearl Jam and laptop computers and satellites and iTunes and the Starbucks Corporation, and to an educational system that now allows me to sit here from a position of privilege to write these words. I am somehow connected to many people whom I will never meet, and to many places that I will probably never visit. Is this sustainable? I do not know. Moreover, do all of these different cycles, networks, systems and people somehow intersect to form my local environment or the environment? Is this a distinction without a difference, and does that matter? How am I related to all of these things? Perhaps I am becoming aware of what the environmental anthropologist Timothy Ingold (2011) refers to as the ‘‘domain of entanglement’’ within which we all exist (p. 71). Or maybe I am having what the environmental philosopher Timothy Morton (2010) refers to as ‘‘the ecological thought’’ by engaging with that ‘‘vast, sprawling mesh of interconnection without a definite center or edge’’ (p. 8). I am clearly part of something larger than myself. And although I have an amazing scene in front of me, I remain largely unaware of how it has emerged into its present, visible form. And so here I am, experiencing a sense of both immense connection and immense ignorance as I ponder the sustainability of it all. I have been researching and teaching environmental issues for over a decade now, and I still feel ignorant when it comes to really understanding the forces shaping my daily life. I have no idea how the energy powering my laptop is produced, or how my laptop is even produced for that matter. Who are the people who have enabled me to download Pearl Jam? Where are they? What are their lives like? Who grew and processed the coffee beans that I now consume? Where are they? What are their lives like? How did music files and coffee arrive to my present location? Where have that cloud’s water droplets been and where are they going? Where is that Southwest Airlines jet going? What is its carbon impact? Does any of this actually matter? Does it really matter how aware I am of the environment? And, if I am more aware, does it automatically mean that material and social conditions might improve? It is this ‘‘becoming aware’’ process that I want to focus on in this response paper, for much environmental and science education research and practice proceeds from the base assumption that increased awareness of one’s social and material surroundings will somehow mitigate the

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deleterious effects of human existence on the planet. This is not so clear to me, and in more ways than one.

On the (In) visibility of connection Timothy Pachirat, in a masterful ethnography of the industrialized animal slaughter (2011), demonstrated how the killing process is kept hidden in modern society, even from the slaughterhouse workers themselves, through a ‘‘politics of sight’’ that established particular ‘‘zones of confinement’’ (2011, p. 255). By sheltering the masses from the otherwise abhorrent processes of slaughter, industrialized killing was normalized and pursued for the benefit of both owners of capital and the consuming public for whom it was largely invisible. I, as the end consumer, am now able to travel to the local grocery store and purchase a piece of animal without really having to think about any of the processes and people that contributed to the slaughter of that animal, if I even consider the animal at all. Zones of spatial confinement render slaughter processes out of sight and out of mind. Additional examples include energy extraction and consumption practices (Pink 2012, Watts 2004) and the uneven spatial distribution of capital and its effect on economic development and environmental injustice (Harvey 1996, Smith 2008). The invisibility of these processes produces what the sociologist Allan Johnson (2008) referred to as the ‘‘luxury of obliviousness,’’ where one has ‘‘the freedom to live unaware of what you’re participating in and how and with what effect’’ (p. 180). Such confining processes are artifacts of our modern condition, and how they play out complicates any examination of one’s environment, or the environment. Quigley et al. engage in photovoice methods with Kenyan community members to assess their perceptions of the environment and sustainability. This was an intentional design decision to challenge the so-called ‘‘‘objective view from nowhere’ understanding of things’’ that Western science supposedly loves to promulgate (Harding 1991). Participants’ responses to their photographic prompts then represented a countervailing ‘‘view from somewhere’’, which was then assumed as decolonizing. Given the history of

Fig. 1 View from the 500 M level of Rush Rhees Library, Rochester, New York

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colonizing research methodologies—especially in educational and anthropological research—this is a laudable ethic. My concern, however, is that the ‘‘view from somewhere’’ is itself limited in its ability to attend to the complex forces that shape particular somewheres, for the view itself masks. Take my current view perched atop the university library (Fig. 1). What is visible in this image? Among other things: papers, a computer, a window, many trees, university buildings, the sky, an airport control tower in the distance. What remains hidden? A long and racist history of Seneca Nation land dispossession, a global network of labor and capital within which my University’s endowment carries significant influence, a government bureaucracy that regulates physical and symbolic airspace, the labor practices of the workers who produced my laptop, the workers themselves, the places from which its resources were extracted. Even though this is my particular ‘‘view from somewhere,’’ much is hidden from me via Pachirat’s ‘‘zones of confinement.’’ Or, simply, time and space constrain my perception. Put another way, it is not enough to merely engage people in the processes of rendering the environment visible, for doing so keeps much hidden. In this way then, ‘‘visibility is a trap’’ (Foucault 1977, p. 200) for it may produce a situation whereby those with the authority to shape the world are absolved of their influence simply through mechanisms of invisibility. Given the geographically uneven modern condition of neoliberal globalization (Harvey 1996, 2007), those who remain hidden might include hedge fund managers who traffic in economic symbols on global commodities markets, steering labor and capital from great distances and with significant social and ecological implications for places like Kenya, for example. Jan Nespor, in explaining the limitation of place-specific educational approaches (2008) writes instead on the necessity of examining places in relation to other places: The question, then, is not whether or not we are place-conscious, it is the places of which we are conscious. Focusing people on their immediate settings, in this view, would not necessarily be a good way to focus them on their immediate surroundings. (p. 487) An excessive focus on one’s local community might then blind them to the forces elsewhere that actually influence that community. How photovoice is deployed then matters a lot for the types of truth produced during such an educational and research activity. While engaging in decolonizing methodologies like photovoice are certainly useful for illuminating particular social and environmental relationships, I wonder if some caution in drawing political conclusions from such methods might be in order given the aforementioned issues. For example, the sociologist Vivek Chibber (2013) is critical of aspects of the postcolonial project, and subaltern studies in particular, for it ‘‘fails to recognize the real dynamics that drive political change, misidentifies the relevant actors…and refuses to recognize the constraints under which social actors make their choices’’ (p. 287). For Chibber, the field errs in misallocating its focus toward identity and away from capital. Likewise, it is not clear to me that photovoice method and pedagogy is inherently decolonizing. Perhaps, but we should proceed with caution here, for how one hones their focus matters for the types of processes made visible. One then senses the incomplete nature of the research at hand in the Quigley et al. paper and the challenge for future work in photovoice methods and environmental sustainability education. While outside the scope of their original study, I am left wondering what

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happens to participants after the photovoice elicitations? Were they able to organize to contest the political and economic power of those who influence their environment, and did that lead to material change and increased human and environmental flourishing? What were the lived, material implications of their educational programs? Should we assume that political action stimulating social and environmental change would inevitably arise from such blessed unrest, as Quigley et al. seem to suggest (Hawken 2007)? If so, how? These might be fruitful avenues to explore in future work, especially with historically marginalized peoples attempting to gain authority in political and economic decision-making venues. I am suggesting that photovoice methods could be utilized to inspire political action depending on how they are deployed. We should not assume that such action is inherent in the method itself.

The play of environmental discourse I now want to turn to the political dimension of becoming aware of one’s environment. In particular, I will highlight some of the environmental discourses present in the Quigley et al. paper and their implications for environmental identity development and sustainability education. On some days I belong to a small cadre of researchers (e.g. Fletcher 2010; Ferreira 2000, 2009; Luke 1999, 2001) on the margins of environmental education who examine environmental issues through a Foucauldian lens. In particular, we draw from Michel Foucault’s later work on governmentality (1991) and biopolitics (2008) to examine the practices and discourses that humans use to understand and govern the environment. Early academic work in this area, often referred to as environmentality (Agrawal 2005) or green/eco-governmentality (Oels 2005), included the ways that major environmental organizations constituted both themselves and the environment, with subsequent effects on material and social worlds. For example, Timothy Luke (1996) examined how the major ecological organization Worldwatch Institute framed their work using a discourse of technoscientific control, thereby bringing a managerial and capitalist logic to the entire world system in order to instrumentally govern global natural resources. For Worldwatch, nature (including humans) was situated as a resource to be brought under global human surveillance via a number of scientific technologies (e.g. bio-accounting systems, resource management techniques, pregnancy policies, carbon credit markets). The environmental discourse at play in Worldwatch was globally focused (quite literally world watching), technoscientific, managerial and capitalist. Such discursive rendering is now referred to as the neoliberal environmentality (Fletcher 2010). This discourse then shaped its educational programming and how people within the institution examined environmental dynamics; or what Foucault (1991) referred to as discursive truth effects. Worldwatch’s environmental discourse produced pedagogical and curricular effects within the organization, both at the level of the institution and of the individual practitioners. The general thrust of this body of research is in examining how environmental subjects develop via particular environmental discourses: ‘‘the group of statements that belong to a single system of formation’’ (Foucault 1972, p. 121). For Foucault, discourse is laden with normative biopolitical power, which in turn guides behavior as people discipline themselves relative to the norm (Foucault 1980). Such research then proceeds by examining the various ‘‘environing mentalities’’ and their effects on both the constitution of selves and the impact on the material world that surrounds the self: the environment.

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It is with this concept in mind that I turn to the complex environing mentalities present in the Quigley et al. paper. To their credit, the researchers have elicited some diverse and often conflicting environmental discourses in their work. The neoliberal environmentality is certainly present when Seth speaks in the language of cost-benefit analysis in the management of cattle and grazing arrangements. While less obvious, it is also present in the researchers’ extensive focus on ‘‘the local.’’ Such localized geographic framing is characteristic of neoliberal discourses that ‘‘downshift responsibility and accountability to the level of individuals and communities’’ (McKenzie 2012, p. 167) and away from some of the larger forces discussed earlier. We also see a neoliberal environmental discourse at work when Celeste disciplines herself in her choice of packaging. Reducing environmental issues to individualized acts of consumption ‘‘accepts capitalism’s redefinition of us from citizens to consumers’’ which ‘‘reduces our potential forms of resistance to consuming and not consuming’’ (Jensen 2009, n.p.). This is a common discourse in environmental education, where solutions to socially and politically complex environmental problems are relegated to the realm of individual economic choice and altering one’s market participation (Hursh and Henderson 2011). And I write this as someone who consciously drives a hybrid vehicle and tries to reuse shopping bags. I understand the impulse and live in the hypocrisy. Discourses are not totalizing in the hegemonic sense, and environmentalities frequently come into conflict in the real world. We see this when Daniel mentions his government’s inability to protect citizens as responsible for environmental degradation. This could be seen as an appeal to better government action in the name of security and mitigating risk. Jacob also leverages a risk discourse when he hypothesizes potential future destruction from present deforestation. Risk mitigation is another prominent environmental discourse, most famously articulated by Ulrich Beck (1992), who hypothesized that modern society was becoming preoccupied with dealing with the risks that modernity creates. Interestingly, Jacob situates deforestation as the cause of potential future risks, from lack of tourism to poverty and human and animal death. Consider the direction of the causal arrow here: deforestation causes x. But what causes deforestation? Those causes remain hidden to Jacob as he examines his photo and projects this perception into the world. Perhaps this points to another methodological and pedagogical modification for future photovoice work: asking participants to locate the hidden forces influencing their environment, their discursive underpinnings, and then making these public for discussion and possible future action. Quigley et al. also present modernization as not equated with ‘‘progress or improvement,’’ and instead articulate how research participants described their current issues relative to ‘‘problems of globalization’’ in light of traditional practice. This section of the paper is pregnant with a complexity that warrants further analysis. Despite authors’ attempts otherwise, modernization is situated as a change toward which respondents are heading. The whole concept of ‘‘the modern’’ here implies a present trajectory happening to the participants toward which they must then relate. Such a conception of the modern state of affairs is interesting in light of Bruno Latour’s famous pronouncement that ‘‘No one has ever been modern. Modernity has never begun. There has never been a modern world.’’ (1993, p. 47). For Latour, ‘‘the modern’’ continues to reflect a cultural desire to distinguish humans from nature, an effort that is simply impossible given the intimate relationships humans have always developed with the more-than-human over their history. Rather, it is the nature of this relationship that is always in flux in the current moment and throughout history. I suggest that the participants in the Quigley et al. paper are less concerned with ‘‘the modern’’ than with the dynamic nature of their relationship with the

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environment, for it is this relationship that is always under negotiation, always being brought into the realm of the real via discursive practice through the formation of identities and in an ecology of sociomaterial relations. Western scientific institutions, traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) practitioners, governments, global economic actors, and resource managers all articulate environmental relationships that frequently conflict to produce the complex world we all inhabit. It is not clear to me that Western scientific or TEK approaches to knowledge are inherently more or less sustainable. Instead, they are discourses with unique social and material effects in the world. An interesting future research approach might involve examining how these environing discourses work to construct ‘‘actually existing sustainability’’ (Luke 2013) with varying social and ecological effects.

Sustainabilities and education It is important to remember that discourses and identities are not static. Sustainability education is one example of an emergent field undergoing discursive churn. The United Nations’ Brundtland Report (WCED 1987) provides the most commonly cited definition of sustainability as development that ‘‘meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs’’ (p. 12). This definition (which is really a definition of sustainable development, not sustainability) exhibits an enduring tension between sustaining and developing that continues to challenge environmental and sustainability education work. This is the paradox of having one’s cake and eating it too (Jucker 2004). ‘‘‘Sustainability’ implies lack of change, ‘development’ implies change. The slogan tells us we can have both simultaneously. At face value, this is simply impossible.’’ (Stables 2013, p. 183). Sustainability and sustainable development are relatively new educational concepts, and as such, their meaning is often vested with particular assumptions and worldviews that often conflict when deployed in pedagogies. Sustainability is also often portrayed as achieving a state of harmonious balance within a system, but this is mistaken for it neglects the ecological fact that systems are in a constant state of change over time. Instead, I agree with John Foster when he recommends thinking of sustainability as ‘‘not a specifiable target state, but the continuous exploratory pursuit, through open-ended learning of ways to ensure that life goes on’’ (p. 145). So, where does this leave us in a time of global connection and environmental concern? Surely knowledge, including of both the scientific and TEK variety, can help illuminate problems and solutions in ways that might not have been readily available before. My own research (Henderson 2014) involved ethnographically investigating an educational institution in the United States that implemented a state-of-the-art ‘‘living building’’ with the intent of having the students govern the workings of the space in the name of achieving a local conception of sustainability and sustainability education. Participants did not speak of sustainability as if they had a fully formed notion of the concept. Rather, sustainability, and sustainability education, was constructed with a set of competing discourses that together worked to shape the concept and implementation in this particular school. This messy discursive play is also present in Quigley et al.’s findings and perhaps speaks to the nascent nature of sustainability and its educational implications. Two main themes emerge in the Quigley et al. analysis: co-habitation and modernization. The participants recognize a changing socioecological situation and the need to engage in this with sensitivity to both humans and the more-than-human. Notice the connection with their immediate surroundings and concern with distant, unknown, abstract

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changes. By holding immediate beauty and distant danger together in tension, participants are engaged in a sort of existential crisis: what does it mean to be alive and human in my place in this larger world? We are now asking this question using the language of sustainability, but there is nothing inherently new about the concept. These are age-old questions of human existence. We all exist within particular places that are vested with unique discourses, histories, animals, people, cultures, and technologies. These places are increasingly connected to other people in other places, whether we realize it or not, and with effects that we may or may not be aware. ‘‘Our choice is not about whether to be connected but about what to do with those connections, how to acknowledge and interpret them’’ (Peterson 2009, p. 97). Gilda, in describing why she took her particular picture of trees planted by children, affectionately states that it is ‘‘beautiful to conserve it, as it [is] home to birds and other living things’’. Likewise, I look out the window again from my perch in the library and think of our homes, our oikos (Henderson and Hursh 2014). How do we understand and then develop them in ways that allow maximum flourishing, ecological and otherwise? I commend the Quigley et al. team and their research participants for beginning this difficult work and hope that our visible connection in this space has been positive.

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Joseph A. Henderson is a recent PhD graduate from the University of Rochester, where he specialized in sociocultural and political studies of environmental and science education. His research engages sustainability education, the emergent energy and climate systems, and education policy. He has recently accepted a Learning Sciences Researcher position at the University of Delaware, where he will join the multi-disciplinary NSF MADE CLEAR (Maryland-Delaware Climate Change Education, Assessment, and Research) Project.

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