One ocean

Abstract

Over 25 years ago, I began conducting research on bycatch of sea turtles, seabirds, and marine mammals in global fisheries. This involved a lot of international travel and attempts to engage partners in regions around the world. I sought out these partners because of their regional expertise and their data on the critical issues. One conversation with a young woman scientist is still seared into my memory. During a workshop in Argentina, I was explaining my interest in bycatch and desire to help reduce bycatch while sustaining local fisheries. Her first question was, “Are you coming to stay? Or are you coming to go?” In another conversation with a young scientist, I referred to her country as a “developing country.” She was clearly offended, “By referring to my country as a developing country, you are implying that we would like to be like you (the US)—we don't want to be like you!” Seeking the right terminology, my response was, “Ok, if I shouldn't refer to your country as a ‘developing country,’ what should I call your country?” “Uruguay!!” I could feel the air streaming through my tangled main parachute as I reached for the handle on my reserve chute. I now humbly recognize we share one ocean (Figure 1) and need to equitably cooperate to study and conserve both natural resources and biological diversity, while recognizing human diversity around the coastlines. Thankfully, a few years prior to these experiences, I had started the first course in Marine Conservation Biology and Policy at Duke University Marine Lab. The first year, I had 50 students from all over the United States and one international student from Barbados, who happened to be in the United States working on an MS degree. One day while I was waxing philosophical in front of this large class from my US centric view, she quietly stood. “Let me tell you how it is in Barbados….” The whole class got quiet, and listened, and learned—including me. This single international student taught me a valuable lesson—take time to listen and learn—to fully engage international partners. She was the inspiration for the Global Fellows in Marine Conservation program at Duke Marine Lab, which began with five people in 1998 and continues 20+ years later. It has engaged 178 Global Fellows from 65 countries and Fellows continue to interact with each other and with US students. In reviews of the course, US students always called out the Global Fellows as their favorite part of the experience! I remember classes raging with debates and evenings of lively conversation on the deck of the boathouse. Much more learning occurred there than in the classroom. Since then, I have had the opportunity to teach in similar courses in Mexico and in China. Through this experience, I began to realize that building capacity and international networks could provide a better alternative to parachute science. I was humbled by my experiences doing international research and recognized that scientists and policy makers operating in their own country are the best way forward. The Marine Conservation Biology and Policy course rapidly evolved from one based on lectures, to discussions, debates, and simulation games. We also spent 25% of class time in the field studying how problems were solved in our region. My co-instructor, an anthropologist, and I taught together and debated each other in the class. Rather than just showing them the disciplinary ingredients needed for solutions, we began to focus on how those ingredients can be combined to design pathways to solutions. I also learned that the Global Fellows needed support and resources to implement their ideas, so I worked with funders to establish mini-grants to help get Global Fellows into the funding system and actively stayed in touch with them to provide advice as needed. Achieving sustainable marine conservation to benefit people and the planet will take full engagement of the world's scholars, practitioners, and communities. We need to respect the knowledge, experience, and culture of our partners whether we are working in their country or our own. And we need to support and promote their efforts. In addition to listening and working to change our own behaviors, we need to address structural colonialism that remains in institutions, including universities, philanthropies, and multinational NGOs, many in the global north. The conservation challenges before us are daunting and there is more than enough work to do to define and achieve local to global goals. And the work will require respectful partnerships across disciplines, languages, and cultures—from defining the problem, to designing pathways to solutions, to implementing and monitoring actions. Marine conservation is interdisciplinary and international, some would say transdisciplinary—or you are not really doing it! So, I think working from within a single discipline or a single cultural perspective is limited and ultimately doomed to fail, at least for global scale problems. As global citizens, we share one ocean with global-scale challenges from climate change, global fisheries, and unfettered global markets. So because most of us work at a relatively local scale, the drivers of system change are often beyond our reach. A question for me is how to promote anti-colonial science, shelve the parachute, and engage fully with our international partners. Overcoming the wrongs of colonial science and conservation is not only the right thing to do, but it is necessary if we hope to sustain coastal ecosystems and marine resources, as well as the human communities who depend upon them. I would like to thank all my international friends and colleagues for gently teaching me how to interact in a respectful and honest way and to avoid parachute science. I would also like to thank my students and post-docs, many of them international scholars, and especially Hannah Blondin, who prepared Figure 1. The author declares that there is no conflict of interest.

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