Abstract
Since the publication of the influential text, An African Miracle, much scholarship has focused on Botswana's supposed “exceptionality” anchored in the country's economic growth and sustained democracy. Botswana's success story has proved enduring and versatile, being deployed in numerous contexts including in relation to Botswana’s status as a conservation “safe haven” in southern Africa. Many green plaudits are associated with the tenure of former president Ian Khama (2008–2018), who broke with longstanding tradition and actively campaigned against his own vice president and successor, President Mokgweetsi Masisi. Their acrimonious relationship is multifaceted but in this article, we refer to disputes over wildlife conservation policy wherein Masisi rolled back his predecessor's signature conservation policies, focusing specifically on the reversal of the hunting ban, the disarming of some anti-poaching officers, and changes in Botswana's stance in international environmental diplomacy regarding ivory and the CITES regime. We contend that Khama's conservation decisions—underpinned by lack of consultation and green violence—made Botswana a “green miracle” to outside observers while contravening the central principles of local democratic practice such as therisanyo (consultation) cherished in the country. We argue that Masisi's reversal of Khama-era positions that were unpopular with conservation-adjacent communities represents not a “fall from grace,” but rather the bringing back down to earth of policies that had alienated the local population, thus indicating the potential to pursue inclusive governance that domestically Botswana acclaims.
Introduction
In 1999, Abdi Samatar published his seminal work An African Miracle: State and Class Leadership and Colonial Legacy in Botswana Development, which quickly became the pre-eminent example of scholarship focused on assessing Botswana's supposed exceptional status on the African continent (Samatar, 1999). The miracle state moniker, often applied in reference to Botswana's political institutions, bureaucracy, and electoral system, has proved enduring and versatile (Acemoglu et al., 2003; Leith, 2005; Samatar, 1999; Samatar and Samatar, 2002). As one of only two African countries with an unbroken series of elections since independence (the other being Mauritius), Botswana has been praised as a democratic beacon on the continent (Good and Taylor, 2008). There are distinct parallels in the way this discourse is deployed in service of Botswana's designation as a “green” miracle state, a unique conservation safe haven on the continent (Henk, 2007). Moreover, the green miracle narrative is often specifically utilized in a regional context, casting Botswana as a sanctuary, a place of peace and tranquillity where charismatic megafauna can roam once they have escaped the political turmoil beyond the country's borders (Barbee, 2015; Schiffman, 2015; Thompson, 2013). This amplified Botswana's unique political history in southern Africa; once a safe haven for democracy during the era of minority-rule, now a safe haven in light of poaching and the violence of wildlife crime. This is the explicit connection of Botswana's “exceptional” political reputation to its conservation reputation. International diplomacy, conservation awards, and rave reviews in glossy travel magazines all contributed to the global perception of Botswana as an environmental “African miracle.” Many of these green plaudits are associated with the tenure of former president Ian Khama (2008–2018). However, the international praise belied underlying discontentment at home, both with Khama's leadership style and policymaking related to the environment, with those policies rendering Botswana a stand out often disrupting the citizen-state relations of those living in conservation areas (Mbaiwa and Hambira, 2021; Mogende and Ramutsindela, 2020; Rihoy and Maguranyanga, 2010).
Khama prioritized a series of conservation initiatives that were broadly unpopular in the areas in which they were implemented, often bypassing traditional forms of consultation expected among the local population. Notwithstanding the perceived transgression of these local democratic norms around participatory governance, Botswana's conservation policies undertaken in this era were largely celebrated in the international community (Henk, 2007; Pyle, 2015; Sanjayan, 2017). Against the backdrop of these initiatives, Botswana was often held up as a conservation exemplar in southern Africa (Ramutsindela and Büscher, 2019). Notably, this occurred when Khama bucked regional trends with respect to hunting and the ivory trade, placing Botswana at odds with neighbours who had historically adopted similar approaches to these issues (Cruise, 2016; Daley, 2016). He expected his hand-selected vice president and eventual successor, Mokgweetsi Masisi, to continue his legacy of conservation policies during his term. However, in several ways described in this paper, Masisi reverted to a pre-Khama policy status quo. These reversals highlight an important contradiction at the heart of the miracle state discourse. The policy processes and implementation protocols around conservation frequently circumvented unique features of Botswana society and government, such as the adherence to democratic norms through emphasis on therisanyo—the consultation and consent of the governed, and the use of the institution of the kgotla.
This paper largely focuses on the transition between Khama (2008–2018) and Masisi (2018-present), in which a series of changes to conservation policy have been described as “upending the country's politics” (Bearak, 2019). Absent in much of the international concern with Masisi's conservation policy was the fact that most were popular domestically and, in the case of disarming wildlife officers, were more in line with the letter of the law than Khama-era policies. Despite the skepticism and concern voiced by external observers (Burke, 2019; De Waal, 2019; Harvey, 2019), the transition away from the Khama-era policies represents not a “fall from grace” or a diminution of Botswana's conservation bona fides, but rather the bringing back down to earth of conservation policies that had alienated the local population, especially in conservation-adjacent areas, and perhaps a reinvigoration of consultative policy processes associated with Botswana's domestic commitments to democratic practice, though it remains to be seen if this signals a broader transformation in community-state relations.
This work draws on a breadth of research. Both authors have cultivated extensive, interview-based data throughout several years of qualitative research in Botswana. Their fieldwork occurred periodically beginning in 2011 through 2019. Both authors conducted fieldwork in northern Botswana encompassing the Ngamiland and Okavango region, and the first author conducted interviews in Ghanzi District. This work totalled more than 24 months between both authors. Interviewees include local residents of Botswana's conservation areas, government officials tasked with implementing conservation policy, tourist operators in the wildlife sector, professional guides and hunters, local and national elected officials from the Botswana Democratic Party (BDP) and opposition parties, and conservation and development practitioners, as well as a key informant interview with former president Khama in 2019. Interviews took place in a variety of contexts including the national capital (Gaborone), regional towns (like Maun), as well as in dozens of outlying villages adjacent to conservation spaces (such as Khwai, Boro, Sankuyo, Bere, East and West Hanahai, among many others). The authors have supplemented their first-person interview data with document analysis of government materials, media reports, social media content, and secondary literature. Document analysis was especially important in assessing the outside perceptions of Botswana's exceptionality and conservation reputation.
The arguments of this paper are constructed as follows. In the first section, we examine the roots of the “African miracle” in Botswana's political and economic performance, and contrast that to the elements of democratic practice most amplified in local contexts—the traditional values of consultation and participatory decision-making. Next, we situate Botswana in the context of biodiversity conservation in southern Africa, particularly emphasizing the dynamics of community-based natural resources management (CBNRM) and militarized conservation that have become commonplace in southern Africa over the last three decades. Next, we examine three ways in which President Masisi reversed conservation policies associated with his predecessor: revoking the hunting ban, disarming some wildlife officers, and reorienting Botswana's international environmental diplomacy. All three of these areas were used to justify that Botswana was no longer a “green” miracle. However, in the subsequent section, we explore the ways in which the Khama-era decisions had failed to adhere to locally relevant structures of consultation and democracy, seen by Batswana as vital components of the country's successful political culture. Finally, we note that the transformation seen between the Khama and Masisi administrations clearly embed conservation within domestic politics and the manner in which communities relate to the state, and argue that international audiences must pay greater attention to these local preferences and dynamics.
Elections and economic growth: An African miracle
The various depictions of Botswana as a star or exceptional performer in development and democratic governance began in earnest in the 1980s, reflecting the political stability and rapid economic growth after independence (Parson, 1984; Picard, 1985, 1987). Botswana has long been lauded as one of the “strongest” states in the developing world, with some scholars suggesting it is the “most successful state on the African continent” (Eriksen, 2011: 265). Undoubtedly, some of the praise for Botswana's postcolonial success appears warranted. At independence, Botswana only had five kilometers of paved roads, an 80% illiteracy rate, and approximately 30 university graduates in the entire country (Fawcus and Tilbury, 2000; Good, 2008; Parsons et al., 1995). Its inauspicious start notwithstanding, Botswana is now considered a middle-income country with some of the highest growth rates of the 20th century (Acemoglu et al., 2003; Hillbom, 2008; Jerven, 2010; Leftwich, 2000; Leith, 2005; Samatar, 1999). From this backdrop, its economic performance since independence is remarkable, and perhaps even miraculous, notwithstanding critiques that despite many positive macroeconomic indicators, inequality and poverty are high, especially among ethnolinguistic minorities (Good, 1993; Hillbom, 2011; Mbaiwa, 2017; Sapignoli, 2018; Zips-Mairitsch, 2013).
Moreover, as the violence of minority-ruled regimes, and the ossification of one-party states became the norm across the region and the continent in the 1980s, Botswana, again, was praised as a standout performer, especially in the realm of electoral politics and universal enfranchisement of the citizenry (Acemoglu et al., 2003; Bauer and Taylor, 2005; Hwedi, 2001; Maundeni, 2002; Wiseman, 1998). Claims of Botswana's political “miracle” status focus on its unbroken series of free and fair elections since independence and well-capacitated and efficient bureaucracy (Danevad, 1995; Robinson and Parsons, 2006; Samatar, 1999; Selolwane, 2007; Tsie, 1996). It goes without saying that this is genuinely unique on the continent, with only one other country (Mauritius) able to demonstrate the same. The “African Miracle” assessments of Botswana's democratic characteristics prioritize procedural qualities such as the regular holding of free and open national elections, the commitment to multiparty democracy (though the dominant ruling party that has never lost an election), and an independent judiciary allowing for the protection of civil and political rights. However, many scholars have problematized the “African Miracle,” highlighting limits to the country's democratic standing (Bodilenyane, 2012; Botlhomilwe et al., 2011; Cook and Sarkin, 2010; de Jager and Sebudubudu 2017; de Jager and Taylor, 2015; Good, 1992, 1996, 2008; Good and Taylor, 2007, 2008; Mogalakwe, 2003; Mogalakwe and Nyamnjoh, 2017; Taylor, 2003).
Nonetheless, the government is invested in this narrative and makes efforts to shape, if not police, it. Academics and journalists challenging the African miracle narrative (such as political scientist Kenneth Good) have been deported from the country (Taylor, 2006). Despite intense, and at times pessimistic, debate in the scholarly literature of the last decade (see, e.g. the special issue edited by Mogalakwe and Nyamnjoh, 2017) the discourse promoting Botswana's exceptionality in economic and political characteristics remains prevalent in media, and among policymakers, think tanks, and governments (Good and Taylor, 2008; Tupy, 2020; Wende, 2016). These plaudits reflect the country's conditions across several decades, encompassing at least three presidential administrations (Seretse Khama, Quett Masire, and Festus Mogae). Therefore, it seems reasonable to attribute this reputation to not one politician alone, but rather to the country and its political system, writ large. Despite dissensus in the academic literature, the “African Miracle” has become a proxy for the country's stability, perceived lack of corruption, and focus on “good” policy.
A green miracle?
Mogende and Ramutsindela (2020) trace the government's policy approaches to environmental management and other associated concerns through the tenure of each postcolonial political leader. While these efforts predate him, during his tenure (2008–2018) President Ian Khama assiduously cultivated a personal brand associated with a particular type of conservation through involvement in international networks of conservation NGOs, by foregrounding conservation policies in his domestic agenda and international diplomacy, and with his personal (and financial) involvement in the high-end photographic tourism industry (Rihoy and Maguranyanga, 2010). An incumbent president and the government he runs are interrelated but distinct entities. This can, of course, become blurred when international relations become highly personalized, and praise for a country is tied to a specific set of policies enacted by the country's current leader. The question remains, can Botswana's international reputation as a star performer in conservation be attributed to a system-level cause, or is it uniquely tied to the figure of a president committed to a particular vision of biodiversity conservation in Botswana? We argue that Botswana's “green miracle” status both pre-dated the presidency of Ian Khama, while also becoming elevated, amplified, and more firmly associated with him personally during his tenure.
Khama is still regularly described as a “keen environmentalist” (AFP, 2021), “preeminent environmentalist” (Henk, 2007) and “deeply passionate about protecting wildlife” (AFP, 2018a). All of this made him a compelling figure, particularly for audiences in the Global North (often in travel journalism or wildlife films), and especially when he stood out as heterodox compared to his regional neighbours, as when he reversed Botswana's longstanding positions regarding hunting and the ivory trade (Christ, 2016; Cropley, 2016). However, the very aspects that made him an appealing avatar of African conservation abroad generated resentments and critiques at home, particularly when his robust pursuit of his conservation agenda clashed with longstanding norms around consultation and citizen consent in policymaking (Good, 2010; LaRocco, 2016; Mbaiwa, 2017; Mbaiwa and Hambira, 2021).
Therisanyo, the Kgotla, and domestic narrations of the miracle state
While external metrics of Botswana's democratic “exceptionality” tend to focus on procedural mechanisms such as free and fair elections, domestic discourse explicitly appeals to a more active and participatory vision of democratic governance beyond electoral contests alone. The notion that citizens have a say in policymaking is deeply embedded in rhetoric about consultation and good governance. This can be seen in documents such as Vision 2016, a government manifesto produced in the late 1990s that encapsulates the aspirations for Botswana over the two decades leading up to the 50th anniversary of Botswana's independence in September 2016. Of particular note is the document's promotion of ideas of stability, unity, norms of consultation and democracy, as well as the notion that “the management of the environment and the control of natural resources must be shifted to the level of the community” (Government of Botswana, 1997: 39–40).
A central pillar of Botswana's idealized future described in Vision 2016 is the country being “An Open, Democratic and Accountable Nation” (Government of Botswana, 1997: 11). “Democracy” as a mode of legitimate authority is important to Botswana's self-conceptualization, with leaders articulating the history of the kgotla as evidence of the country's indigenous traditions of participatory governance—an internal rather than external marker of democratic practice.
The kgotla, a traditional forum akin to a community meeting or town hall, is a complex and nuanced institution that sits at the nexus of Tswana traditional authority, the government civil service, and postcolonial electoral politics (Gulbrandsen, 2012; Kuper, 1970; Maundeni, 2002; Mogalakwe, 2006; Molutsi and Holm, 1989; Mompati and Prinsen, 2000; Odell, 1985; Vaughan, 2003; Wylie, 1990). Using the kgotla as an exemplar, leaders have localized the concept of democracy, rejecting the idea that it is a colonial import, evoking its embeddedness in Botswana's particular history and culture. Former Vice President Peter Mmusi emphasized this mythos, noting that “We haven't learned democracy from America or England. It is inborn…(it) grew from a system developed by our forefathers” (Wylie, 1990: 211). A corollary is the extensive exercise of therisanyo, or consultation, across all levels of society in line with the apparent indigenous practice of democracy. Botswana's postcolonial state motto, Puso ya batho ka batho (Government of the people for the people) (Gulbrandsen, 2012: 196) bears a strong resemblance to a traditional Tswana proverb, Kgosi ke kgosi ka batho/merafe (The chief is chief by virtue of the people/tribe) (Wylie, 1990: 210). Both convey a sense of a check on the power of the rulers by the people being ruled and imply a spirit of consensus and consent. While this proposition has been at times more theoretical than actualized (Rihoy and Maguranyanga, 2010; Swatuk, 2005), it promotes the idea that popular, even “traditional”, democracy exists as a local mode of citizen-state relations beyond the discrete act of participation in procedural elections.
The kgotla is frequently described by politicians, government bureaucrats, and in public-facing state documents as an organic expression of consultative, democratic governance. The government's 10th National Development Plan emphasizes the importance of the kgotla in internal concepts of democratic practice: Vision 2016 sees the tradition of the Kgotla to be providing a strong base on which to build democracy; that through the use of the Kgotla, democracy must be extended down to the level of community in a way that allows ordinary people to feel that their views have been freely sought and taken seriously received. (Ministry of Finance and Development Planning, 2013: 88)
Therefore, the kgotla and its associated norms like therisanyo are locally cognizable metrics for assessing democratic practice in Botswana for Batswana. This occurs despite the relative paucity of attention given to this institution by foreign audiences (such as the international “rankers” of democracies), who prioritize the regularity and characteristics of Botswana's electoral and formal political system as a proxy for “miracle” status. For example, the democracy “ranking” measure produced by Freedom House, which is often cited in media and incorporated into datasets and quantitative analysis in political science, makes no mention of the institution of the kgotla (Freedom House, 2021). Domestically, the kgotla is held up as the gold standard—the means through which to contest policies, announce support, or articulate grievances. It is described as more permanent, deep, and meaningful than electoral contests held every five years. The proposition of citizen involvement in policies is often reiterated by government officials and in state media, with high-ranking cabinet ministers articulating the position that the “people's right for governance does not end with the ballot paper” (Pelontle, 2015).
However, we are mindful to not overly romanticize institutions such as the kgotla, particularly as they relate to conservation policies discussed later. It should be noted that not all observers of, or indeed participants in, the kgotla system are as sanguine about its role in postcolonial Botswana society. Scholars have argued the kgotla reinscribes marginalities upon participants who are non-Tswana, women, and youth (de Jager and Sebudubudu, 2017; Lekorwe, 1989; Mompati and Prinsen, 2000). Others argue they occupy a largely performative role, wherein the dialogue between citizens and the elected official or government representative is highly choreographed with the people and questions determined beforehand (Gulbrandsen, 2012; Sapignoli, 2018; Swatuk, 2005). Nonetheless, over several decades of consistent state promotion of these ideals in the public sphere, conservation-adjacent Batswana appear to take promises of consultation and participation as credible parts of the state's articulated commitment to democracy, and as will be discussed below, expressed dismay when this appeared to fall short in the Khama years.
Situating Botswana's conservation reputation in the context of Southern Africa
In order to contextualize this material within southern Africa, the following section explores two region-wide trends—CBNRM and militarized (fortress) conservation—and considers their operation in Botswana over the last several decades. Scholars have long been engaged in theoretical debates not only around their effectiveness in terms of practical conservation, but also assessing the way they structure citizen-state relations; in other words, how states interact with their citizens living in particularly valuable and iconic wildlife-rich regions, through the guise of conservation policy.
Community-based conservation
In the 1990s, CBNRM was promoted by a wide spectrum of international conservation NGOs and donor agencies as a way of addressing the legacy of environmental injustice associated with exclusionary conservation that violated human rights of local communities (Adams and Hulme, 2001; Alexander and McGregor, 2000; Anderson and Grove, 1987; Dressler et al., 2010; Hulme and Murphree, 1999). This approach reflected the ideological trends of market-driven neoliberal conservation (having conservation “pay its way”) (Brockington et al., 2008; McAfee, 1999) and decentralization and/or devolution of decision-making (Ribot, 2003), as well as a recognition that fortress conservation had led to poor outcomes in terms of species protection as well as for local communities that bore the costs of these interventions with little, if any, of the benefits. In essence, the CBNRM approach reframed wildlife as a potential economic asset to be utilized to promote biodiversity conservation. It suggests that if local communities obtain some kind of economic benefit, they will be encouraged to use natural resources sustainably so that both conservation and rural development goals can be achieved simultaneously (Dressler and Roth, 2010; Thakadu, 2005; Twyman, 2017). Hence, CBNRM was portrayed as a win-win solution toward achieving biodiversity conservation and uplifting rural livelihoods.
Proponents of CBNRM have argued for democratic participation in the decision-making processes about natural resource use. This is premised on the idea that conservation is not only compatible with democratic practice but contingent upon it, as participation by impacted people is a necessary pre-condition for long-term sustainable solutions to environmental management (Purdy, 2015). Put simply, CBNRM recognizes local communities as citizens with rights and responsibilities over a nation's natural resources. Mogende and Ramutsindela (2020: 407) note that the inclusion of local communities in the management of resources “is a demonstration that the state upholds democratic values, and it gives a good face of the state to the public.” However, many have argued that the shortcomings of CBNRM in practice can be attributed to the lack of genuine participation or devolution of decision-making power in community-based conservation initiatives (Blaikie, 2006; Murombedzi, 2003; Nelson, 2010; Neumann, 2005; Swatuk, 2005). Moreover, the layered interventions of de/recentralizing community management and the renewed regional and continental emphasis on militarization (Duffy et al., 2019; Lunstrum, 2014) have troubled the potential democracy/conservation nexus.
CBNRM in Botswana
In Botswana, CBNRM was introduced in 1989 by international donor agencies as a part of the Southern African Development Community's natural resource management program (NRMP) (Mogende and Ramutsindela, 2020). This was in-step with the broader regional trends and largely harmonized with its neighbours and was supported by mainstream conservation actors and with foreign development aid. In this regard, Botswana was not exceptional but rather quite typical. CBNRM was operationalized through a community forming a community-based organization (CBO) to directly engage in eco-tourism projects in either consumptive or non-consumptive tourism (Thakadu, 2005). In the early 1990s, local communities participating in CBNRM through their CBOs made some management decisions, though there were government constraints (Blaikie, 2006; Rihoy and Maguranyanga, 2010). For instance, communities were able to decide how to spend the profits generated from their tourism projects and which tourism operator to partner with to manage their concession areas (Cassidy, 2021). Throughout the history of CBNRM in Botswana, CBOs were largely dependent on the consumptive use of natural resources, mainly through trophy hunting to generate profit (Mbaiwa, 2004, 2017; Mbaiwa et al., 2011).
However, in line with broader theoretical critiques described above, CBNRM has yet to achieve meaningful participation and decentralization (Blaikie, 2006; Nelson, 2010). Despite lofty goals of participation, a series of incremental policy shifts have rendered CBNRM weak in Botswana (LaRocco, 2016; Magole, 2009; Rihoy and Maguranyanga, 2010). Indeed, since its inception, CBNRM in Botswana has changed considerably. The CBNRM Policy of 2007, implemented under President Festus Mogae, was an important turning point. Despite its original intent, the formalization of this policy marked the beginning of the end of CBNRM as a community-based exercise in Botswana. Since the program was officially promulgated by the government's 2007 policy, it has become increasingly implemented from the political center, limiting local input and autonomy, and disrupting norms of participation (Government of Botswana, 2007). In terms of political economy, the policy directed the distribution of revenue, with the central government claiming a major 65% stake of CBO earnings (Cassidy, 2021; Government of Botswana, 2013; Hoon, 2014). The mismanagement of funds by CBOs in the early incarnations of CBNRM became an opportunity for the government of Botswana to reassert control over profits generated by local communities (Rihoy and Maguranyanga, 2010).
Furthermore, as the CBNRM policy was being debated, members of parliament from the ruling BDP argued that wildlife, just like diamonds, are a national resource that should benefit the entire nation regardless of where they are found. Scholars have noted that this process of (re)centralization is tied to the logic of the unitary developmental state—natural resources are considered national resources, and no subset of citizens should have greater claim to the benefits and advantages from these endowments (Hoon, 2014; Poteete, 2009; Poteete and Ribot, 2011; Rihoy and Maguranyanga, 2010). This remains a compelling argument nationally, despite the fact that there are specific costs to living with co-local wildlife and other place-based impacts of biodiversity conservation (DeMotts and Hoon, 2012; LaRocco, 2020a; Mbaiwa, 2005).
The most profound changes to CBRNM took place under the presidency of Ian Khama through policies such as the hunting ban and the tourism land bank, which further eroded community beneficiation from tourism projects and short-circuited meaningful participation (Cassidy, 2021; Mbaiwa and Hambira, 2020, 2021). First, the hunting ban implemented in 2014, without consultation with conservation-adjacent communities, collapsed the income flow of many CBOs reliant on trophy hunting (Mbaiwa, 2018). Second, the tourism land bank transferred community tourism concession areas to the Botswana Tourism Organisation (BTO), an institution that is responsible for the marketing and promotion of Botswana tourism internationally. President Khama argued that the land bank was meant to facilitate the development of the tourism sector through the maintenance of an adequate and constant supply of land for tourism activities (Author 2 Interview, Ian Khama, 4 March 2019). However, prior to this change, community tourism concessions were given by the land boards—institutions responsible for the allocation of communal land throughout Botswana. Consequently, the land bank pre-empted land boards in allocation of tourism concession areas, an unpopular move deemed by some as a violation of Botswana's land administration (Author 2 Interview, Regional Wildlife Officer, 23 May 2018; Author 2 Interview, Tawana Land Board Official, 18 May 2018).
Many of these policy interventions in CBNRM are more to do with the consolidation and promotion of the interests of private tourism investors, of which Khama is one, than with promoting community-informed conservation. The hunting ban starved CBOs of profits earned from the consumptive use of wildlife. The land bank marginalized CBOs by removing their right to negotiate with the commercial tourism partner of their choice. These decisions and the attendant shifting of authority have not only reduced local autonomy over wildlife but opened new avenues for private sector dominance in the wildlife tourism sector, downgrading the central citizen-state compact at the theoretical heart of CBNRM (LaRocco, 2016; Mbaiwa and Hambira, 2020; Mogende and Ramutsindela, 2020).
Militarized (fortress) conservation
In recent years, there has been a revival and intensification of militarized conservation on the African continent, largely counter to the logics of CBNRM. Militarized conservation involves strategies that promote the use of “force or armed forms of conservation; the development and application of military style approaches and the use and applications of technologies originally developed by the military” (Duffy et al., 2019: 66). The use of militarized conservation strategies is largely tied with the rise in poaching and illegal wildlife trafficking (Duffy, 2016; Büscher and Ramutsindela, 2016; Lunstrum, 2014; Neumann, 2004), where poaching is framed as a national security issue (Massé and Lunstrum, 2016). Governments and international conservation NGOs have also justified militarized conservation on the basis of biodiversity loss and the need to urgently restore the species numbers (Mabele, 2017; Marijnen, 2017; Weldemichel, 2020). The militarization of conservation is mainly enforced by security agents comprising of national armies and private security companies who deploy violence in the name of saving wildlife (Duffy 2014; Duffy et al., 2019; Lombard, 2016; Marijnen 2018; Massé and Lunstrum, 2016).
The debates regarding the militarization of conservation are polarized, often dividing proponents from more critical scholars in political geography. On one side are scholars and practitioners who view green militarization as an appropriate and legitimate approach to save wildlife that is on the verge of extinction (Henk, 2007; Hubschle and Jooste, 2017; Jooste and Ferreira, 2018; Mogomotsi and Madigele, 2017). The argument is that militarization is effective in aiding conservation, reducing poaching, and leading to growing wildlife numbers and can be justified upon those terms. On the other side, critics consider this trend to be morally unjust and disruptive of community-state relations (Bocarejo and Ojeda, 2016; Büscher and Ramutsindela, 2016; Duffy et al., 2015, 2019; Mabele, 2017; Marijnen et al., 2021). There is a view that militarized conservation is misguided on the grounds that it fails to recognize local communities as significant change agents in conservation (Hübschle and Shearing, 2018) and may incentivize illegal hunting as a mode of resistance (Witter, 2021). The conclusion that is drawn by this critical literature is that a coercive agenda of conservation will have very limited prospects of success in the long run, thus being counterproductive. This critique is aligned with newer perspectives like convivial conservation that argues that socio-ecological relations must be “built on a politics of equity, structural change, and environmental justice” (Büscher and Fletcher, 2019: 286). The premise urges for more democratic engagements with socio-environments in response to coercive, technocratic, and capital-extractive approaches that are largely alienating to most conservation-adjacent people.
We note that the concept of militarized conservation can be broadly applied beyond anti-poaching operations to scenarios where violence, either physical or structural, is enforced through evictions and continued restrictions on land-use. In non-poaching context, we contend that militarized conservation has been deployed to amplify fortress conservation (Weldemichel, 2020; Witter and Satterfield, 2019), a conservation practice that involves the separation of humans from nature, largely influenced by the Western conservation notion of wilderness (Adams and Mulligan, 2003; LaRocco, 2020a). Underpinning fortress conservation is the appealing myth that African wilderness areas are earthly “Edens,” that is, free from all human interference (Brockington, 2002; Carruthers, 2008; Neumann, 1998). This pervasive approach considers locals to be disturbing the romantic notion of unspoiled and untouched wilderness (Adams and McShane, 1992) and much wildlife tourism is premised on this spectacle (Adams, 2020; Igoe, 2017). Fortress conservation was instrumental in the creation of many protected areas in Africa, resulting in the violent dispossession of local communities’ land in the name of saving nature (Dowie, 2009; Ramutsindela, 2004). Consequently, fortress conservation resulted in the prevention and criminalization of the consumptive use of natural resources often leading to inequitable access to natural resources and advancing the interests of economic and political elites (Ramutsindela et al., 2022).
Militarized (fortress) conservation in Botswana
Militarized anti-poaching in Botswana predates the larger regional trend and theoretical debate. Botswana has used the army, the Botswana Defence Force (BDF), since the 1980s to protect wildlife (Henk, 2007; Mogende and Ramutsindela, 2020). As a military officer, Lt. General (and future president) Ian Khama was instrumental in bringing the army into wildlife conservation. The move was prompted in part by substantial waves of commercial poaching in Botswana, which were linked to liberation struggles in southern Africa (Ramutsindela, 2016).
In this context, it was Botswana's early adoption of its military in the service of wildlife protection that initially made it a standout, and elicited plaudits. Botswana's decision to deploy military personnel and assets to protect wildlife put it in the vanguard of this type of conservation practice in southern Africa, and much of the continent has moved in Botswana's direction over the last two decades. The origins of the “green miracle” can be found here. The earliest praise for Khama came during his time helming the BDF. A 1999 documentary film Wildlife Warriors, recounting the decision to pivot the BDF to wildlife protection, features interviews with both President Masire and Khama (in his capacity as BDF commander), but the film clearly frames Khama as a hero archetype and largely centers the narrative around him (Joubert, 1999). Around this time, Khama received numerous international conservation accolades for spearheading the deployment of the army in anti-poaching operations, which reflect support of militarized conservation as an appropriate approach to conservation by states (Mogende and Ramutsindela, 2020; Ramutsindela, 2021).
The involvement of the BDF in anti-poaching had some success in terms of “re-establishing a perception of security among a population once very sensitive to armed poachers and among a jittery tourist clientele” (Henk, 2007: 281). For these reasons, Henk (2007) has lauded the BDF anti-poaching as a success model in dealing with poaching. Observers over the years, including researchers (Mogomotsi and Madigele, 2017), tourism industry operators (Author 1 Interview, tourism operator, 6 November 2013), and commentators in popular culture suggested this was a model for other countries in Africa to follow. For example, the 2013 wildlife documentary Poaching Wars featuring British actor Tom Hardy was an almost hagiographic tribute to the role of the BDF in anti-poaching and featured interviews with major political actors, including Tshekedi Khama, brother to Ian Khama and the Minister of Wildlife, Environment, and Tourism 1 at the time. The film argued Botswana's use of the national military was an example for other countries in Africa (Thompson, 2013).
The regional spikes in rhino poaching during the Khama presidency provided a fertile ground for Botswana to intensify its efforts in anti-poaching and exceptionalize itself from its neighbours. With its economy dependent on only a few main industries, including high-end tourism, Botswana went to great lengths to protect these sectors (Ramutsindela and Büscher, 2019). The government of Botswana deployed additional security agencies in conjunction with the already allocated BDF and Department of Wildlife and National Parks (DWNP) anti-poaching units (Author 2 fieldnotes). 2 Furthermore, during the Khama-era, the DWNP anti-poaching unit was upgraded to use fully automatic military assault rifles, a decision that would become a major point of contention under Masisi (discussed below).
Underlying this discussion is the fact that Botswana has over the years sanctioned a “shoot-to-kill” policy in anti-poaching enforcement, which aims to deter suspected poachers from entering or operating in Botswana (Mogomotsi and Madigele, 2017). However, as a result, scores of suspected poachers have been killed, often Namibian and Zimbabwean nationals, creating diplomatic tensions with neighboring countries (Dube, 2020; Konopo, 2020; Mail and Guardian, 2015; Tau, 2020) and generating concern around the extrajudicial nature of these killings. A “shoot to kill” policy has implications for human rights, as it confounds rule-of-law norms and lacks meaningful legal or civilian oversight (Author 1 Interview, human rights advocate, 24 January 2014). Despite the possible human rights violations incumbent in this policy posture, the stance taken by Botswana's intensification of green militarization has been applauded as a necessary facet of wildlife protection by western governments and some influential actors in the conservation NGO space (Bugday, 2016; Henk, 2007). We posit that militarized conservation—particularly “shoot-to-kill”—suggests fundamental tensions not only with the logics of CBNRM but also with tenets of democratic governance and the rule of law that are, as argued above, often associated with Botswana to great acclaim.
Building a conservation reputation and the Khama Presidency
Numerous international conservation accolades have been bestowed upon Botswana, dating back to the early 1990s and associated with the decision to deploy the army in anti-poaching operations (Henk, 2007). However, it is imperative to examine the unique importance of Khama to Botswana's conservation reputation.
Khama has close ties with international networks of likeminded individuals and international organizations such as Conservation International (he is an emeritus board member) 3 and International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), as well as being a patron for Kalahari Conservation Society, a locally-based conservation NGO. While still president, he was granted lifetime honorary membership to the IUCN, where he was described as having “a life-long commitment to the environment” (IUCN, 2012). On an individual level, in 2011, President Khama was awarded the International Conservation Caucus Foundation Teddy Roosevelt International Conservation Award 4 for government leaders demonstrating innovative leadership in conservation (Mmegi, 2011).
In 2013, both the President and the Government were awarded accolades by the Conde Nast Group, a large American publishing syndicate. President Khama was named a Global Visionary and identified as a remarkable global citizen for “his contribution toward sustainable development and conservation” (Elliott, 2013). Alongside this recognition, the government was acclaimed a “World Saver” for its efforts to promote sustainable development in tourism (Buchmeyer, 2013). Both awards were accompanied by large features in the group's magazine, CN Traveler, a high-end publication aimed at luxury travelers, the ideal clientele for Botswana's tourism industry. Glowing coverage of Botswana's exceptionality is commonplace in travel journalism especially; in the Lonely Planet's guide to their top destinations for 2016, their number one pick, Botswana, is described as “Democratic, progressive, enlightened – but above all, invigoratingly wild,” which, of course, melds together the claims of political exceptionality with the environment (Lonely Planet, 2015).
However, the gushing descriptions fail to capture well-documented limitations of Botswana's tourism industry, including its elite concentration (Magole and Magole, 2011; Mbaiwa, 2005, 2017; Rihoy and Maguranyanga, 2010). In light of this work, and others addressing concerns around the growing elite corruption in Botswana (Mbaiwa and Hambira, 2020; Mogalakwe and Nyamnjoh, 2017), Khama's financial interests are as a necessary backdrop when assessing conservation policy implemented during his presidency. Khama's commitment to conservation is linked to his (and his family's) financial interest in high-end photographic wildlife-based tourism in Botswana. As an example, he is a shareholder in one of Botswana's largest ecotourism operator Wilderness Safaris (Mail & Guardian, 2012; Ntibinyane, 2011), and his nephew, Marcus ter Haar, sits on the company's Board of Directors. 5 We note that Khama's financial interest and his international ties with conservation NGOs largely shaped Botswana's conservation strategies during his presidency, when he realigned the wildlife economy with political power (Mbaiwa and Hambira, 2020; Mogende and Ramutsindela, 2020).
Presidential turn-over and realignments in conservation policy
In 2014, Ian Khama handpicked Mokgweetsi Masisi to be his deputy, ahead of more senior politicians. Although many BDP members were skeptical as to whether Masisi could lead the party through numerous challenges including a decline in the party's popular vote share over the past years, an increasingly dissatisfied electorate, inequality, high youth unemployment, and credible allegations of corruption, Khama stood by his choice and Masisi repeatedly emphasized his loyalty to the president (Morton, 2019). From a relatively privileged background, President Masisi is the son of a former cabinet minister who himself served under President Seretse Khama, father to Ian Khama. While a cabinet minister, President Masisi publicly avowed in a kgotla meeting that he is a “bootlicker” (lelope) emphasizing a legacy of family loyalty to the Khamas stating, “I am a bootlicker; I am a son of a bootlicker. I am a grandchild of a bootlicker” (Botswana Gazette, 2017). For this reason, Khama believed that Masisi, a vocal and staunch loyalist, was the right man to continue his legacy and maintain his policy trajectory upon his accession to the presidency (Allison, 2019). When Khama left office in April 2018, Masisi took over the presidency under the automatic succession provision of the constitution, whereby the vice president assumes the presidency when the incumbent steps down.
Contrary to those expectations, shortly after ascending to power, President Masisi began to unravel his predecessor's signature conservation policies (Mail & Guardian, 2018). Masisi rolled back many of Khama's flagship initiatives, including reinstituting trophy hunting after a five-year moratorium, disarming the DWNP anti-poaching force, lobbying CITES for legal ivory sales, and taking a more confrontational approach to conservation actors, including some Khama-aligned NGOs and conservationists, many of whom he critiqued as having neo-colonial designs on Botswana's natural resource management (Chiu, 2018). Around this time international commentary shifted to suggest that Botswana was no longer a safe haven (de Greef, 2018a; de Waal, 2019; Fine Maron, 2019), arguing that in prior years Botswana had “an enviable reputation as a wildlife haven” and an “unparalleled conservation success story” (Harvey, 2018) at risk of being lost, attributing this to the policy transformations described below.
While delving into these dynamics is beyond the scope of this paper, the transition between the two presidents dissolved into personal and partisan acrimony (Fabricius, 2019; The Economist, 2019). In an unprecedented move, Khama quit the ruling party founded by his father and used his traditional legitimacy as a paramount chief to actively campaign against Masisi in the November 2019 elections (Brown, 2020; Morton, 2019; Seabo and Nyenhuis, 2021). Rather than focusing on the electoral dimensions, we next examine three areas of conservation policy where the transition was seen by outside actors as potentially jeopardizing Botswana's conservation reputation.
Hunting ban
Perhaps nowhere was the divergence between Khama and Masisi so stark as with the revocation of 2014 hunting ban. President Khama was unequivocal in his personal aversion to hunting (Author 1 interview, DWNP official, 14 October 2013) and the lack of citizen consultation in the lead-up to the moratorium's enactment was roundly criticized locally as out-of-step with Botswana's norms around consensus-building and dialogue, notwithstanding the international praise received (Mbaiwa and Hambira, 2021). The principle of consultation is a pillar of Botswana's embedded conceptions of itself as a successful democratic nation, yet this was consistently lacking under the Khama administration (Good, 2010). Therefore, following a motion in parliament to reconsider the ban, Masisi established a cabinet Subcommittee on Hunting Ban and Social Dialogue which, after a series of focus groups and kgotla meetings, recommended the resumption of hunting, centering human-wildlife conflict as a primary rationale (Author 2 fieldnotes).
Media reports framed the reinstatement as likely to anger conservationists “who believe the move is political” and noted that the decision is likely to “damage the country's international reputation for conservation” (BBC, 2019b). For example, on the occasion of 2021's World Elephant Day, South Africa's Daily Maverick newspaper published the following commentary about the state of elephant populations on the continent. Of Botswana it said, “once the darling of wildlife conservation, is using human-animal conflict and ‘overpopulation’ to justify overturning its moratorium on trophy hunting. It's an argument that's been rubbished by conservationists (italics added)” (Pinnock, 2021). This flattens out the reality that there are significant areas of debate in conservation scholarship and practice around consumptive-use, community involvement, and the impacts of the fortress model on conservation outcomes. Indeed, some voices were questioning the conservation success story in the last years of Khama's term, noting the brewing domestic resentments around the hunting ban and violent anti-poaching enforcement were sowing disruption (Mbaiwa, 2018; Somerville, 2015). However, much of the reporting portrays these issues in black-and-white terms, presenting a definitive consensus where there is little.
Of course, there were conservation groups, such as the UK-based Born Free, who were broadly supportive of the hunting ban, and critical of its rescindment. 6 Others like the CEO of Conservation International wrote favorably about the hunting ban as well as Botswana's opposition to the ivory trade during the Khama years. He noted, “Botswana's president, Ian Khama, has personally led his country's commitment to wildlife—in contrast to some of his neighbours—in taking a stand against hunting and ivory sales” (Sanjayan, 2017). His writing implicitly evoked an exceptionality narrative contrasting Khama-era Botswana to its regional counterparts, despite the fact that in administrations both before and after the Khama presidency, Botswana has been typically aligned with the broader southern African region with respect to consumptive resource-use in environmental management. Nevertheless, local conservation researchers at the Okavango Research Institute publicly questioned the policy's scientific necessity and efficacy throughout, noting at the time that barring sustainable-use practices would hit the rural poor hardest and further breed resentment for the government among conservation-adjacent communities (Tabane, 2017). Similarly, organizations like the IUCN have offered nuanced positions, suggesting well-regulated consumptive-use management can be a part of a broader conservation policy, including CNBRM approaches (IUCN, 2016).
In the days after the announcement of the Masisi government's decision to end the moratorium on hunting, the policy change became a viral cause célèbre in the USA and the UK, especially on social media. News reports described Masisi in personal terms as “pilloried by everyone from Ellen DeGeneres to his own predecessor (Khama)” (Sguazzin and Bax, 2019), referencing an American television host, who tweeted to her nearly 80 million followers, “President Masisi, for every person who wants to kill elephants, there are millions who want them protected. We’re watching. #BeKindToElephants @OfficialMasisi” (DeGeneres, 2019). Her original tweet was retweeted over four thousand times, including by many other celebrities with a substantial number of followers. While not on the scale of the viral condemnation that occurred in 2015 with the “Cecil the Lion” controversy (Chimuka, 2019), the social media discourse around the reinstatement of hunting fell back on the simplistic tropes of African political corruption and disregard for animals.
It is telling that a contrast between Masisi and his predecessor was drawn in stark, Manichean terms, with Khama portrayed as a conservation hero and Masisi as jeopardizing Botswana's status as a green miracle (Joubert, 2019). However, this fails to tell the whole story, which includes nuanced perspectives on Masisi's initiatives among ecologists and others, nor grasp the differential between how these policies were viewed abroad versus at home. Largely missing from the international backlash to the hunting ban's end was any notion that Batswana should have a say in the matter. Comparatively little reference was made to the irregular manner of the ban's implementation under Khama, the specific impacts of the ban on CBNRM, or the fact that the rollback of the ban was made after a lengthy period of consultation with local people (Mbaiwa and Hambira, 2021).
Anti-poaching
A similar discourse developed around the decision by the Masisi government to disarm some anti-poaching personnel. The government argued the decisions made with regard to DWNP anti-poaching units were to bring them in line with the existing legal framework, which does not allow the department to use military grade arms, in recognition of the rule-of-law constraints in conservation policymaking (Masisi, 2018; Somerville, 2018). Moreover, the removal of military grade weapons from DWNP officers did not fully de-militarize anti-poaching in the country's conservation areas, as the BDF remained present (Potgieter, 2019) and Masisi retained a bellicose position regarding a “shoot to kill” posture toward poaching (Dube, 2020). This is in keeping with Botswana's long-held policy of armed conservation described above.
Yet, in media reports, this move was tied implicitly, and sometimes explicitly, to apparent increases in poaching. Coverage in The Washington Post framed the disarmament in this manner, “It's a move that goes against Botswana's former policy against poachers, which had garnered praise from conservationists for its ‘shoot to kill’ stance” (Chiu, 2018). Upticks in incidences of rhino (Fynn and Kolawole, 2020) and elephant poaching (Schlossberg et al., 2019) became associated with what some observers called Masisi's “ill-advised decision to disarm the anti-poaching unit” (Motlhoka, 2021). In one incident, Elephant Without Borders, an NGO led by a close ally to Khama, argued that poaching was increasing in the outskirts of the Okavango Delta. Their claim that 87 elephants were poached quickly went viral and was described in international outlets as an “elephant poaching frenzy” (De Greef, 2018a), despite repeated pushback from the government of Botswana and later reporting challenging the veracity of the evidence (De Greef, 2018b).
These developments further exacerbated the tension between President Masisi and his predecessor. In the midst of the global coronavirus pandemic (Covid-19), and the disruptions and economic displacement caused as a result of public health measures, Khama criticized the incumbent government specifically regarding wildlife management and anti-poaching operations. Through his Facebook account, Khama shared images of allegedly poached rhinos and commented that: This is what failure looks like. No lockdown or curfew for poachers. In 18 months about 120 rhinos with and without horns have been slaughtered. After corona, there will be none left for tourists to come and see (Khama, 2021).
Again, Khama and other critics linked the high incidents of poaching to the disarmament of wildlife rangers, creating a perception that elephants and rhinos were no longer safe under the administration of President Masisi. Although military grade weapons were repossessed from wildlife rangers, the unit continues to be armed with semi-automatic rifles, which they utilized in their anti-poaching mission even prior to the Khama administration. Khama's privileged access to the media, and his ability to influence the global narrative in his retirement has not subsided. However, this may have countervailing domestic effects. Makgala (2019: 153) argues that the willingness to discredit Masisi in the international press by Khama during the 2019 election led to “widespread public hostility toward Khama and sympathy for Masisi” (Brown, 2020).
International environmental diplomacy: Summits and CITES
In the Khama years, Botswana positioned itself as an indispensable player in the realm of international wildlife diplomacy, leveraging its large wildlife population and painstakingly cultivated reputation into a position where Botswana was seen as one of the most valued African interlocutors in global conservation and environmental governance (Mosube, 2015; Pyle, 2015). Botswana was a high-profile host and attendee of various international environmental and wildlife conferences, including a series of conferences beginning with the African Elephant Summit, co-hosted by the Government of Botswana and IUCN, in Gaborone in December 2013. At this conference, delegates from 30 countries and 27 international organizations (both intergovernmental and NGOs) met to discuss “key urgent measures required to stem the growing illegal ivory trade and its impacts on elephant populations in Africa.” 7 Following the 2013 Gaborone meeting was the London Conference on the Illegal Wildlife Trade, held in February 2014. It was hosted by the British Government and was attended by many African heads of state, high-ranking officials from the British Foreign Office, as well as by three members of the British Royal Family, who regularly express interest in wildlife conservation in Africa (Vaughan, 2014). In early 2015, Botswana hosted follow-up meetings to these initial events, as well as a second conference on the Illegal Wildlife Trade in Kasane (WWF, 2015). This latter conference featured prominently in the British Foreign Office's public communications, and the move from London to a venue in Africa was touted as symbolically important (Pyle, 2015).
While it was a major feature of Khama's presidency, this focus on environmental diplomacy did not end with Masisi's entry into executive office, but rather it shifted in tone, tenor, and its central participants. Whereas Khama's international environmental diplomacy was focused primarily on the illegal wildlife trade, and often centered around international, continental, and NGO partners, Masisi's efforts have largely been focused on the regional context, and re-establishing the prior regional consensus around issues like the management of ivory under the CITES regime. At the Kasane meeting with the presidents of Namibia, Zimbabwe, and Zambia in May 2019, Masisi's opening remarks set the tone: “We cannot continue to be spectators while others debate and take decisions about our elephants” (AFP, 2019). The aspiration for this summit was to develop and present a united front with regard to elephant management among those countries on the elephant range most impacted by conservation efforts. However, much of the coverage of the event was focused on the “peculiar gift” of stools made of elephant feet given to each leader in attendance, rather than the region-specific concerns and potential solutions being developed by the elephant range states themselves (BBC, 2019a).
Similarly, southern African states have, in general, tended to view the legalized ivory trade more favorably than their East African counterparts; since 1989, South Africa, Botswana, Namibia, Zambia, and Zimbabwe have all tabled proposals to reopen a controlled trade (Duffy, 2013; Ellis, 1994). In 1997, the elephant populations in Botswana, Namibia, and Zimbabwe were downgraded to Appendix II, paving the way for possible future legal ivory sales. In 1999, 2004, and 2008 Botswana participated in CITES-sanctioned one-off sales of ivory to Chinese and Japanese buyers. While critics argued these one-off sales would precipitate poaching, several studies conducted after found no evidence linking the legal, CITES-approved sales with a spike in poaching (Duffy, 2013; Reeve, 2002; Stiles, 2004). Despite Botswana's relative success at navigating the complexities of a highly charged global marketplace for ivory throughout the 1990s and 2000s, under President Khama the government made a significant about-face, ruling out any sale of ivory, even if permissible under the international convention (Daley, 2016). While once an advocate for regulated, legal trade through CITES alongside its regional neighbours, during the Khama era, the government was forcefully opposed to any sale of ivory (Mguni, 2015), despite Botswana's historical preference for limited, managed sales within the CITES framework. The Khama government was adamant about its position to not sell ivory from the national stockpiles, occasionally going so far as to officially rebut speculation to the contrary coming from local media (BOPA, 2015). This stance was then reversed again under Masisi, wherein Botswana rejoined its regional counterparts in tabling motions at the 18th Conference of the Parties (CoP18) of CITES for the reopening controlled ivory sales under the regime's legal framework—thus reverting to the position held through the 1990s and early 2000s. 8 Despite a renewed united front from Southern Africa, the motion was rejected by member states, amid strong opposition from East African countries (Collins, 2019), as well as animal rights NGOs, such as the International Fund for Animal Welfare (Collis, 2019).
Conservation and democratic legitimacy: A fall from grace or a return to ground?
The period associated with heightened attention to Botswana as a green miracle state coincided with critical assessments about the state of Botswana's democracy, placing these two avenues of reputational exceptionality into tension with one another. Much of the praise of Khama's conservation policy occurred alongside the growing scholarly criticisms of democratic backsliding during his tenure (Botlhomilwe et al., 2011; Mogalakwe and Nyamnjoh, 2017). Indeed, the criticism of the latter has its roots in the former, as his conservation approach highlighted the diminution of consultative processes (Author 1 fieldnotes; Mbaiwa and Hambira, 2021), the top-down style of governance derived from military institutions (Author 1 Interview, DWNP official, 28 March 2014; Good, 2010), and the merging of individual elite interests with public policy (Author 2 fieldnotes; Makgala and Botlhomilwe, 2017, Mbaiwa and Hambira, 2020). In some key ways, the policies of the green miracle state—predicated on a lack of consultation and heavy-handed state violence—undermined the central characteristics that constitute Botswana's domestic norms around democratic practice. The most substantive changes to conservation policy between 2008–2018 did not utilize systems of consultation embedded in the kgotla, or other participatory frameworks. Moreover, they were not merely technical conservation decisions, but structure state-community relations in an ostensibly democratic polity. We argue that the international community largely failed to recognize that Khama's signature conservation policies marginalized local communities, often already among the most politically and socio-economically disadvantaged in the country.
The absence of substantive kgotla meetings about various issues relating to conservation—including the policy structure of the CBNRM, the presence of armed state agents, and the cessation of legal hunting—was consistently noted by interview respondents across Botswana's conservation areas during the course of fieldwork (Author 1 fieldnotes; Author 2 fieldnotes). Informants considered the lack of consultation regarding these changes as a violation of one of the democratic principles of Botswana, therisanyo anchored in the tradition of the kgotla, and regularly reaffirmed in state pronouncements (like Vision 2016 examined above). The lack of consultation was ascribed to the militaristic outlook of former President Ian Khama, whose leadership style was described as emphasizing command and control over consensus processes (Author 1 Interview, resident of Sankuyo, 21 November 2013). This sentiment is echoed and reinforced in scholarship arguing he possessed an authoritarian style atypical to Botswana's political culture, was known for his strong aversion to opposing views, and eschewed locally valorized democratic norms (Botlhomilwe et al., 2011; Good, 2010).
Questions about the democratic legitimacy of Botswana's biodiversity conservation and its policy implementation frequently arose directly from interview respondents unprompted (Author 1 fieldnotes). An interviewee in Khwai village explicitly invoked Botswana's democratic standing, and the seeming hypocrisy of the lack of consultation he experienced with reference for the hunting ban. He noted: We are living in a democratic country, democracy should be done and followed thoroughly, and not being consulted is you know, is another way of ignoring the democracy…Because obviously if you suggest something, you should give people…time to think of it, and see how it affects their life. That's how you should take a decision, collectively not just individually (Author 1 Interview, Khwai resident, 12 December 2013).
There is a savvy, tactical use of Botswana's much-touted democratic reputation in order to contest what he perceived as an authoritative overreach, using the very institutions and discourses promoted by the state in order to resist state action. He also conveyed a consensus-based conceptualization of deliberative democracy wherein decisions are premised upon collective agreement, rather than simply an aggregation of individual preferences. This deeper characterization of democracy was echoed by an elderly man in nearby Boro village who said of the conservation policies at the time, “These kind of decisions are the opposite of democracy. Democracy is about trust and fairness” (Author 1 Interview, Boro resident, 25 November 2013). By equating democracy not just with the act of filling out a ballot paper every five years, he harkened to broader definition of democracy that the state itself refers to when invoking the kgotla and Vision 2016. The invocation of “trust and fairness”, elevates equality and shared set of rules, values, and norms. It argues for a richer form of legitimacy, a social contract enlivened beyond the procedural mechanisms of timely elections.
The absence of previously common practices for consultation, especially during the Khama presidency, was not uncontested. Government bureaucrats and conservation practitioners alike consistently emphasized the need to use the traditional function of the kgotla as a consultative forum when making decisions, especially decisions related to the environment and resources (Author 1 Interview, conservation practitioner, 23 September 2013). This further speaks to the broad societal acceptance of these concepts and practices. A senior official in the DWNP described the way in which many public servants considered kgotla consultation as central to state practice, and integral to their imagining of their own role as agents of the state. He said, “First and foremost you have to consult. In our case consulting means going to the grassroots. Going to the kgotla meetings” (Author 1 Interview, DWNP official, 25 September 2013). This reflects a genuine buy-in from many frontline government workers tasked with the practical, first-hand responsibility of engaging with the people impacted by policies of biodiversity conservation.
However, we are mindful not to present an overly optimistic vision of community-state relations prior to Khama's term. The ideal of consultation has not always aligned with the actual roll-out of policy, nor can this be exclusively associated with the presidency of Ian Khama, as this goes back decades, and includes use and presence of BDF in conservation communities from the late 1980s (Henk, 2007), the controversial relocation of communities from the Central Kalahari Game Reserve (CKGR) in the 1990s and 2000s (Sapignoli, 2018), the real-world limits to CBNRM (Blaikie, 2006; Swatuk, 2005) including the re-centralization mechanisms of the 2007 CBNRM policy (Hoon, 2014; Rihoy and Maguranyanga, 2010), and more recent stand-alone policy shifts like the 2014 hunting ban (Mbaiwa and Hambira, 2021). All of this suggests broader systemic issues in state-community relations that cannot be fixed with presidential transition alone (LaRocco, 2020b).
Consultation or ploy?
From early in the 2018–2019 process of reviewing the hunting ban, the government emphasized its focus on consultation, stakeholder meetings, and the use of the kgotla (Author 2 fieldnotes; AFP, 2018b). This occurred simultaneously with the run-up to the 2019 election, and commentators, including a prominent opposition politician (Boko, 2019), argued that Masisi's reversal of policies unpopular with conservation-adjacent people was an electoral strategy to entice voters in conservation areas in northern Botswana seen as essential for a BDP victory (Avery, 2019; Bloomberg, 2019; Dall, 2019; De Waal, 2019; Oliphant, 2019). 9 Articulating critiques of Masisi's conservation policies as, essentially, an electoral ploy meant to stimulate support in the rural areas implies that democratically elected leaders should not be responsive to local policy preferences. This is problematic from the perspective of democratic theory and practice, dismisses the specific context of therisanyo (consultation) in Batswana political culture, and also raises questions regarding conservation itself, as scholars and analysts, and many conservation practitioners, argue that long-term and sustainable programs for biodiversity conservation require the buy-in and support of local populations. Indeed, this is central tenet of CBNRM examined above.
Moreover, implicit in these critiques that environment has become a “political football” (Harvey, 2019) is the assumption that the initial policies, like the hunting ban's implementation, the U-turn on ivory sales, or the arming of wildlife officers, were not political to begin with. However, they clearly did serve a constituency—a set of international conservation NGOs, photographic tourism operators (domestic and international), and animal rights activists who adopt a particular stance regarding biodiversity conservation in Africa. This alludes to a kind of antipolitics (Ferguson, 1994) wherein conservation decisions are rendered simply apolitical or technocratic, sublimating the deep and decades-long contestations over these policies in impacted local communities, in the scholarship, and even among conservation biologists and other practitioners.
Finally, much of the commentary regarding changes in conservation policy assumes the state has only meaningful obligations to the protection of wildlife populations, and fails to capture how these changes may be viewed in the local context, by citizens in a democratic polity to whom the state also has meaningful obligations. In this vein, an older man in the Ghanzi district noted, “Government should also protect us. It should know that we are its people. Government prioritizes wild animals over people. But animals cannot be taken from the bush to come and cast votes” (Author 1 interview, Bere resident, 12 March 2014). We are not suggesting that the state lacks an interest in protecting wildlife. However, this premise should take into account the widely shared social contract emphasizing consultation and participation. At the opening of the hunting season in 2021, the Director of the DWNP, Kabelo Senyatso alluded to this by saying, “Either you agree or disagree with the decision (to reinstate hunting)…it is a policy that was taken by the government after a consultative process and (a) majority of our people supported it” (AFP, 2021).
Conclusion
This paper has argued that what might be construed as a fall from grace by external observers of Botswana's conservation record, is more of the bringing back down to earth of a set of policies that were deeply resented among the effected population. It reflects an effort to engage in participatory exercises and give some credence to local preferences in resource and wildlife management. In light of the current prevalence of armed conservation, both regionally and continentally, Masisi's decision to remove certain categories of weapons from wildlife officers (while still authorizing the use of the BDF) was likely to tempt backlash and criticism. This decision, along with others like the revocation of the hunting ban and a reconsidered stance with regard to the CITES regime, are often portrayed as evidence that Botswana under Masisi is falling from a conservation pedestal in the region. Yet, all of these policy decisions are more in line with local demands and preferences of conservation-adjacent Batswana, and with the exception for the disarming of wildlife officers, the policies implemented are in greater harmony with Botswana's neighbours, who have regimes of legalized hunting and have long advocated for regional exceptions to the CITES ivory ban.
However, by no means do we argue that this has rendered overnight the strategies and structures of biodiversity conservation and wildlife tourism more equitable, accessible, and fair. The (re)activation of consultation mechanisms under Masisi is not sufficient to constitute a reimaging of biodiversity conservation and the associated wildlife tourism industry in Botswana. While the renewed used of the kgotla and consultation begins to recognize the on-the-ground grievances and gestures to more inclusive governance, it does not address longstanding critiques expressed by local people and scholarly observers alike around militarized conservation. Nor does this re-orient the institutional and policy frameworks, such as the 2007 CBNRM policy, upon which community-conservation relations are premised. As such, many of the same systems and institutions that centralize decision-making and beneficiation, and elevate the interests of a small set of elite private investors remain the same. We suggest that newer frameworks, such as convivial conservation approaches wherein conservation “becomes a part of broader structures of democratically sharing the multidimensional wealth that nature embodies” (Buscher and Fletcher, 2019: 289), may offer a way for Botswana to live up to the promise of twin discourses exceptionality, harmonizing democratic practice and conservation policy.
This will require the current administration to reckon with the decades of structural violence wrought upon those living in conservation spaces, address the inequities of a highly stratified tourism industry, and consider the way in which militarized approaches reinforce these environmental injustices and confound Botswana's reputation as free from political violence. This suggests real work to be done on the ground in small, local settings perhaps far away from the glossy travel features and wildlife documentaries that often characterize Botswana's conservation image. A genuine, community-based approach to conservation aimed at addressing the needs of the local population, focused on repairing past harms, and empowering conservation-adjacent communities would, in fact, be truly exceptional in southern Africa. It remains to be seen if this will come to pass in the country so often referred to as the “African miracle.”
Highlights
While Botswana is often referred to as an “African miracle” for its economic growth and unbroken series of elections, this paper focuses on domestic tenets of democratic practice including therisanyo (consultation) and participatory institutions such as the kgotla, and how they have often been side-lined in policymaking around biodiversity conservation.
The political transition from President Khama to President Masisi saw renewed efforts at citizen consultation and a series of changes to Botswana's conservation policy—including the reintroduction of hunting, the disarming of some wildlife officers, and a recalibration of Botswana's environmental diplomacy regarding ivory.
Attempts at consultative governance and reversal of some exclusionary policies do not represent a fall from grace, but rather a recognition that conservation policies had marginalized nearby communities.
Prioritizing conservation-adjacent communities will require genuine recommitment to decentralization and meaningful participation, sustained outside and beyond a high-stakes presidential transition period.
Footnotes
Declaration of conflicting interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: LaRocco received funding from the Cambridge Overseas Trust and Trinity College, Cambridge, as well as the Dorothy F. Schmidt College of Arts and Letters at Florida Atlantic University. Mogende received funding from the Faculty of Science at the University of Cape Town and the University of Botswana.
