Politicizing the “unknown”: Territorial narratives,shared spatial imaginaries,and Bermuda’s oceans

Abstract

Marine conservation advocates have promoted the designation of large-scale marine protected areas (LSMPAs) in the EEZs of small island states and territories. These offshore spaces, early proponents argued, are too remote for people to use and are thus “politically less risky” than nearshore areas to promote conservation. This paper counters this assertion through an empirical examination of how the mistaken assumption that offshore spaces are unpeopled contributed to a failed LSMPA designation attempt in Bermuda. Drawing on policy documents, speech transcripts, media, and 104 semi-structured interviews, it presents an analysis of the territorial narratives used to discursively (re)produce Bermuda’s EEZ during LSMPA negotiations. Three major findings emerge. First, rather than a blank slate on which conservation values could be easily inscribed, these narratives showed Bermuda’s EEZ to be a space entangled with diverse values, identities, and goals. Second, the narratives that actors used revealed broadly overlapping values related to Bermuda’s EEZ, even among people promoting opposing governance outcomes, demonstrating that opportunities for broad agreement on the EEZ’s purpose and governance did, and may still, exist. Third, by using an imaginary of Bermuda’s EEZ as “unknown” to legitimize its decision to delay negotiations, the Bermuda government effectively reinstated the “blank slate,” aligning itself with popular values while avoiding a definitive stance on the contentious national debate. This decision and the broader negotiations demonstrate how the use of territorial narratives and spatial imaginaries can alter offshore spaces, even when no regulatory changes occur, with implications for future ocean governance options.

Keywords

Marine protected area spatial imaginary territorial narrative ocean governance conservation

Introduction

For nearly two decades, marine conservation advocates have promoted the designation of large-scale marine protected areas (LSMPAs) as a way to address area coverage targets (e.g., Aichi Target 11, described in Decision X/2, CBD 2010) for global oceans conservation (Campbell and Gray, 2018; De Santo, 2013; Jones and De Santo, 2016). LSMPAs are ocean areas greater than or equal to 100,000 km² designated for conservation. Beginning in 2006 with the designation of Papahānaumokuākea Marine National Monument in Hawai‘i, the trend has focused largely on national exclusive economic zones (EEZs) surrounding small island states and territories (Christie et al., 2017; Gruby et al., 2015). These offshore spaces, early proponents argued, are too remote for people to use and are thus “politically less risky” than nearshore areas to use for conservation (pers. comm. at the 2014 World Parks Congress). Over the last decade, however, scholarship on LSMPA designation and outcomes has challenged these perceptions, showing that offshore oceans are in fact “lively spaces” (Jay, 2018) consisting of dynamic human-ocean material interactions, contested representations, and powerful perceptions, values, and symbolism (Acton et al., 2019; Artis et al., 2020; Gruby et al., 2017; Kikiloi et al., 2017).

This article furthers this research by examining how the assumption that offshore spaces are unpeopled contributed to a failed LSMPA designation attempt in Bermuda. Specifically, it explores the production of Bermuda’s EEZ during LSMPA negotiations through actors’ use of territorial narratives that served to promote their interests in this ocean space. Rather than a blank slate on which conservation values could be easily inscribed through an LSMPA designation, these narratives showed Bermuda’s EEZ to be a space deeply entangled with the values, identities, and goals of diverse actors, both Bermudian and non-Bermudian. Further analysis reveals how actors used spatial imaginaries of Bermuda’s EEZ to characterize the EEZ, how it should be used, and what it should represent.

Human geographers have demonstrated increasing territorialization of oceans, including, notably, in offshore ocean spaces (Chmara-Huff, 2014; Gray, 2018; Mountz, 2013; Peters, 2020). Historically, oceans have been conceptualized and (re)produced as “non-territories,” or static spaces, empty of social relations with a “negative relationality to the land” (Anderson and Peters, 2014; Peters, 2010; Steinberg, 2009). Yet ocean spaces and territories are entangled with and produced through relationship with people (Campbell et al., 2016; Fairbanks et al., 2018; Gray et al., 2020; Jay, 2018). Studies of marine spatial planning demonstrate that people engage with offshore ocean spaces in ways that were previously impossible, revealing opportunities to creatively re-think offshore planning and possibility (Fairbanks et al., 2018; Jay, 2018). Satizábal and Batterbury (2017) assert that local people’s diverse aquatic epistemologies were used to produce and reclaim rights to offshore ocean spaces in Colombia through MPAs. Indeed, LSMPAs and their cartographic representations have contributed to “imaginative geographies” of oceans, both in national EEZs and areas beyond national jurisdiction (i.e., the high seas), as spaces in need of conservation through fixed, static area-based governance tools implemented by states and state-based international governance regimes (Campbell et al., 2021; Gray et al., 2020).

Boucquey et al. (2016) and Peters (2020) call for greater critical attention to the ontologies and spatial values that underpin ocean management, impacting why and how particular ocean territories and marine governance regimes are produced and emerge. Responding to this call, this article makes three key arguments through its examination of the production of Bermuda’s EEZ during negotiations over its governance. First, though offshore ocean spaces are politically active and lively seascapes, representing them as “unpeopled” offers opportunities to inscribe them with preferred values and territorial goals through spatial imaginaries. Second, the spatial imaginaries that actors used in Bermuda revealed broadly overlapping values related to Bermuda’s EEZ, even among people promoting opposing territorial goals. This demonstrates that, while people largely associate Blue Halo negotiations with intense conflict, opportunities for broad agreement on the purpose and governance of the EEZ did, and may still, exist. Third, despite a perception that “nothing happened” as a result of these negotiations, they still (re)produced and altered Bermuda’s EEZ with implications for human-ocean interactions and future governance options.

Using spatial imaginaries in territorial narratives

Oceanic spatial relations, including ocean territories, emerge not only through physical interactions with or within ocean spaces, but also through rhetorical devices like narratives (Steinberg, 2001). Narratives or “story-lines,” offer “an important form of agency” to people seeking to frame problems or events in ways that support their interests (Hajer, 1995: p. 56). They present clear, simple messages about what is occurring, what caused it, and how best to respond, reducing the perceived complexity of issues and potential responses (Adger et al., 2001; Roe, 1991).

Actors use territorial narratives, or story-lines defining power relations associated with particular geographic spaces, to support or contest the organization, boundaries, and/or control over an area (Rasch, 2014). In ocean contexts, these devices offer discursive representations and produce symbolic meanings that order ocean spaces and possibilities for their governance (Fairbanks et al., 2018; Steinberg, 2001). For instance, scholars have demonstrated that powerful marine conservation NGOs and other activists have used territorial narratives related to strongly held values (e.g., species and biodiversity conservation, participatory governance, and livelihood support) to promote consensus around MPAs, LSMPAs, and MPA networks as favored conservation tools in oceans governance (Corson et al., 2014; Chmara-Huff, 2014).

Territorial narratives cannot “telekinetically transform reality” (Davis, 2005: p. 611); actors employing them often use particular devices (e.g., visual or literary symbols, metaphors, black-boxing) to make their arguments (Hajer, 1995). Spatial imaginaries are one such device. Wolford (2004) defines spatial imaginaries as “cognitive frameworks, both collective and individual, constituted through the lived experiences, perceptions, and conceptions of space itself” (p. 410). They are “deeply held, collective understandings of socio-spatial relations” that are widely shared, or at least widely recognized as meaningful (Davoudi et al., 2018: p. 101; Waters and Barnett, 2018). Spatial imaginaries are “neither rigid nor homogenous” (Cidell, 2011: p. 837); indeed, the shifting interests of actors can lead to re-conceptualizations of a space and its meaning. In other words, spatial imaginaries are emergent, political, and dynamic – there is always room for disruptions and change (Davoudi et al., 2018).

Though rarely called spatial imaginaries, geographers studying human-ocean relations have previously identified commonly held spatial imaginaries of oceans (Campbell et al., 2016; Gray et al., 2020; Havice and Zalik, 2018; Steinberg, 2001). For instance, Steinberg (2001) explains that ocean spaces are often viewed by actors as spaces of freedom, where restrictions should be limited; spaces for development in which states should invest to accrue benefits; or spaces for conservation in need of stewardship without human interference. Notably, actors need not physically engage with spaces to conceptualize and relate to them through spatial, and particularly ocean, imaginaries (Davis, 2005; Watkins, 2015; Watkins, 2017). Island studies scholars have pushed this further, calling for understandings of islands (including their associated ocean spaces) less as symbolic objects of difference or as governable microcosms of mainland complexity, but as relational spaces of continual emergence (Chandler and Pugh, 2020). Growing attention to disruption and non-linear emergence in island studies has revealed traces “of colonial legacies, island geographies, oceanic currents, elemental forces, and everything else” (Chandler and Pugh, 2021: 401–402), deepening understanding of their entangled histories, processes and relations.

Watkins (2015) calls researchers to interrogate how spatial imaginaries, and the actors articulating them, create futures through practice. The enactment of a spatial imaginary within material reality (i.e., beyond a static understanding of linguistic reproduction) contributes to the ongoing emergence of that reality over time (Davoudi et al., 2018; Sadowski and Bendor, 2019). Spatial imaginaries can influence how particular spaces are governed by shaping norms, including or excluding interests or groups, and defining relationships between actors (Davoudi et al., 2018; Waters and Barnett, 2018). Similar to actors employing different narratives that support mutually beneficial outcomes, “discursive and material coalitions can…emerge around resonating imaginaries” (Granqvist et al., 2019: p. 742).

This article furthers human geography scholarship on spatial imaginaries by examining how actors used them as tools in territorial narratives about Bermuda’s EEZ and its governance. Narratives offer an avenue for actors to circulate, normalize, create, alter, and promote the enactment of particular spatial imaginaries (Sadowski and Bendor, 2019; Watkins, 2017). Here, I show how the articulation and (re)production of spatial imaginaries through territorial narratives changed Bermuda’s EEZ over the course of governance negotiations. The analysis reveals commonalities between spatial imaginaries held by actors advocating for divergent governance outcomes, and in so doing, reveals potential opportunities for future governance trajectories that may not otherwise be apparent.

Watkins (2015) calls for additional research on the distinctions and relations among different types of spatial imaginaries. He identifies two types that are relevant to this case: place imaginaries and idealized space imaginaries. Place imaginaries are collectively held ideas about the material or relational attributes of a specific bounded space (e.g., a particular city, region, or park) that produce that space as somehow distinctive. They are formed through and ascribe distinguishing characteristics to that place. Idealized space imaginaries reflect actors’ understanding of certain types of spaces, rather than a particular place. They include features or characteristics that this type of space usually has or ought to exhibit (e.g., a developed vs. a developing country; an EEZ vs. high seas area). In other words, place imaginaries refer to perceived characteristics of a specific space, while idealized space imaginaries offer a normative ideal by describing what a space should be or do. I distinguish the spatial imaginaries identified through my analysis as either place imaginaries or idealized space imaginaries, explore how they relate, and discuss the implications of their interactions for creating and/or limiting future governance possibilities for Bermuda’s EEZ.

The push for LSMPAs in the Sargasso Sea and Bermuda’s EEZ

Negotiations over an LSMPA in Bermuda emerged from a push to implement a mostly high seas LSMPA in the Sargasso Sea, which includes and surrounds Bermuda’s EEZ in the northern Atlantic Ocean. In 2009, the Bermuda government took leadership of the Sargasso Sea Alliance (SSA), a global initiative to promote Sargasso Sea conservation. Encouraged by SSA members, Bermuda decided to simultaneously consider designating a national LSMPA within its own EEZ. Proponents hoped the designation would encourage other nations to commit to collaboratively support Sargasso Sea conservation in international governance arenas. At an SSA meeting in 2010, the Bermuda government agreed to invite the Global Ocean Legacy branch of Pew Charitable Trusts (hereafter, Pew), a global conservation NGO, to partner with them in consulting Bermudian and foreign stakeholders about the proposed LSMPA.

Over the next year, this proposed LSMPA became known as the Blue Halo. It would consist of a ring around Bermuda extending from 50 to 200 nautical miles (nm) off Bermuda’s shore, with the furthest extent coinciding with the outer boundary of Bermuda’s EEZ. No extractive economic activity would be permitted; it would be designated as “no take.” As almost no such activity occurred in this area at the time, proponents initially predicted little resistance to the Blue Halo. One interviewee explained, “Most Bermudian fisheries, all of them except for maybe one long-liner, take place within a 50 nautical mile zone. So, the outer donut, no one’s out there. No one really cares” (BDA Interview X76).

In 2011, Pew initiated a Blue Halo advocacy campaign in Bermuda. They promoted the Blue Halo widely through advertisements, social media, and public events, and they hired two Bermudian consultants to network and provide information about the Blue Halo to the public. The Bermuda government’s Sustainable Development Department announced a public consultation for the fall of 2013, through which Bermudian stakeholders could voice their perspectives about the potential LSMPA. As the public consultation approached, Bermudians and non-Bermudians with economic interests in Bermuda’s EEZ began to publicly argue against implementing the Blue Halo. They raised concerns about the future of deep-sea mining, recreational fishing, and commercial fishing within the offshore waters of Bermuda’s EEZ if the government applied strong regulatory restrictions. Their arguments gained traction throughout 2013, and the Blue Halo soon became a highly divisive topic.

The next section presents the territorial narratives that actors used to promote or contest Blue Halo designation leading up to, during, and closely following the 2013 public consultation. These narratives reveal not only actors’ interests and priorities for Bermuda’s EEZ, but also how they conceptualized and valued the EEZ more generally (see Steinberg, 2001). Broadly, they demonstrate how the continual reproduction of territorial narratives can make territorial relations appear unquestioned and coherent, reinforcing the idea of space and territory as already fixed (Massey, 2005; Steinberg, 2009). While additional governance options were discussed during negotiations (e.g., multi-use areas, LSMPAs of other sizes and shapes, etc.), I focus on discussions about the Blue Halo because they were the most dominant and influential.

Data collection for this project included 115 semi-structured interviews with 104 interviewees; policy and promotional document collection; and the collection of online and hardcopy media, such as news articles, speech transcripts, a filmed Town Hall meeting, and promotional films. Interviewees included representatives from global and local Bermudian NGOs, Bermudian civil servants, recreational and commercial fishermen, other industry representatives, researchers, and other informed members of the public. This article presents the findings from one part of a larger research project, and most of the data used here were collected during a total of 4 months of fieldwork in Bermuda in 2014 and 2015. I also use data collected from other project field sites (i.e., Washington, DC, London, and surrounding areas) and sources (e.g., interviews conducted remotely or by email) to understand who used particular territorial narratives, how they were employed, and why. Data analysis included inductive and deductive thematic coding followed by a narrative analysis to identify and understand key territorial narratives used during negotiations. For clarity, this article presents only major territorial narratives that actors regularly used during negotiations, as well as a few narratives that actors employed less frequently, but that directly responded to or refuted these major narratives. It is important to note that most of the interview data used for this analysis necessarily reflects the opinions, memories, and/or thoughts that actors reported after the 2013 public consultation had taken place. Given that most interviews were conducted either during (August 2014) or shortly after (summer 2015) the final negotiations and their ultimate resolution, narratives voiced during these interviews serve as a proxy for how these spaces were discussed and produced during the negotiations themselves. Interview data were also triangulated with the other contemporaneous data described above (e.g., policy documents, promotional material, various forms of media) to increase validity.

Narratives and imaginaries: Territorializing Bermuda’s EEZ

In this section, I describe the territorial narratives used to promote or impede establishing the Blue Halo in Bermuda’s EEZ. For each territorial narrative, I highlight a spatial imaginary, either an idealized space imaginary or a place imaginary, that actors employed in that narrative to legitimize their desired governance outcome. Analysis revealed four key spatial imaginaries. The three idealized space imaginaries include commonly held oceanic imaginaries: (1) as untouched, “pristine” waters and ecosystems (2) as a frontier for economic development, and (3) as an opportunity for state-based territorial expansion (Havice and Zalik, 2018; Steinberg, 2001). Applying these to Bermuda’s EEZ, actors characterized Bermuda’s offshore waters as (1) a space for conservation, (2) a space for economic development, and (3) a space to advance sovereignty. The fourth imaginary, a place imaginary, characterized Bermuda’s EEZ as unknown. Different aspects of these imaginaries and their meanings were highlighted in each narrative depending on the preferred governance outcome; all of the imaginaries were employed to promote and legitimize that outcome.

Territorial narratives promoting Blue Halo designation

Table 1 presents four key territorial narratives used to promote Blue Halo designation in Bermuda. It identifies the spatial imaginary employed in each, the types of actors that used each narrative, and the elements that structure it. The territorial narratives that Blue Halo proponents used each presented a problem concerning Bermuda’s EEZ and how the Blue Halo would solve it.

Table 1.

Spatial imaginaries and territorial narratives using them to promote the Blue Halo.

		Elements of territorial narratives
Spatial imaginary of Bermuda’s EEZ	Types of actors employing narrative	Problem to be solved	Key arguments and rhetorical devices	Actors’ roles in narrative
Space for conservation (an idealized space imaginary)	Pew, the SSA, local NGOs and environmental groups, Bermuda government representatives	Declining oceans health, mainly because of IUU fishing	Easy enforcement; Bermuda’s conservation legacy; “safety deposit box;” Blue Halo symbolism and source of pride	Bermuda as Sargasso Sea conservation leader; Bermuda as hero
Space for sovereignty (an idealized space imaginary)	Pew, local NGOs, a Bermuda government representative	Bermuda has limited sovereignty as an overseas territory	Blue Halo would demonstrate Bermuda’s sovereignty over its EEZ	Bermuda as gaining a stronger international presence
Space for economic growth (an idealized space imaginary)	Pew, local and global NGOs and environmentalists, Bermuda government representatives, Bermuda tourism industry	Bermuda’s weakened economy	Revitalize tourism; rebrand Bermuda; attract marine science research and events; Blue Halo is a “no brainer”	Bermuda as economically vulnerable
Unknown space (a place imaginary)	Pew, local and global NGOs and environmentalists, Bermuda government representatives	Activity in Bermuda’s offshore EEZ might irreparably damage ecosystems	Ecology and oceanography are unknown; Bermuda should minimize the risk of ecological harm through the Blue Halo	Bermuda as protector for future

Narrative presenting Bermuda’s EEZ as a space for conservation

The first territorial narrative presented Bermuda’s EEZ as a space for conservation, building on the idealized space imaginary of offshore oceans as untouched ecosystems that should remain “pristine.” Actors promoting this narrative argued that illegal, unreported, and unregulated (IUU) fishing by foreign vessels threatened the ecological health of Bermuda’s waters. The Blue Halo would remove the threat through a “no take” regulatory structure, identifying lawbreakers using satellite imagery and observed incident reports from cruise ships or shipping vessels. The Blue Halo would offer a “safety deposit box,” protecting Bermuda’s entire EEZ. It would “form a protective buffer zone to help safeguard Bermuda’s rich innermost marine areas” where most fishing, tourism, and other ocean-related activities take place (Iverson, 2012; Bermuda Blue Halo informational pamphlet, p. 8).

By designating the Blue Halo, those promoting the narrative predicted that Bermuda would become a leader in international marine conservation and a protector of the marine environment for future generations. It would draw international attention to Bermuda’s legacy of prioritizing conservation by creating the largest marine reserve in the Atlantic Ocean (at the time) and one of the largest in the world. The “halo” imagery and complementary “I’m a believer” slogan situated Bermuda as a hero, a savior. As the leader of the Sargasso Sea conservation initiative, proponents further argued, Bermuda could take this first step in its own EEZ and, it was theorized, other nations would more likely commit to backing Sargasso Sea protection (see Freestone, 2013).

Narrative presenting Bermuda’s EEZ as a space for sovereignty

Another narrative employed by Blue Halo proponents presented Bermuda’s EEZ as a space to enact sovereignty. This narrative relied on another idealized space imaginary for offshore oceans as opportunities for state-based power expansion through territorial control. The narrative asserted that protecting the offshore EEZ from any extractive activity would demonstrate Bermuda’s authority over its own resources, both now and in the future. Further, the Blue Halo presented Bermuda, an overseas territory of the UK, with the opportunity to demonstrate its autonomy at an international level. One proponent contended,

“[The Blue Halo is] not about fisheries management or any of that, this is diplomacy. This was literally, above everything else, profiting Bermuda. The whole concept was a diplomatic win for Bermuda, a rebranding for Bermuda…A huge act of sovereignty.” (BDA Interview F01)

This narrative emerged late in the negotiations, during the 2013 public consultation. It was largely a response to Blue Halo opponents’ portrayal of the Blue Halo as infringing on Bermuda’s sovereignty (see below). While it gained little traction during negotiations, likely because of its late emergence, this narrative was prominent in later interviews with Blue Halo proponents. This suggests that the collective understanding of Bermuda’s EEZ as a space to demonstrate sovereignty strengthened, and may have largely emerged, through the negotiations themselves.

Narrative presenting Bermuda’s EEZ as a space for economic development

A third territorial narrative employed by Blue Halo proponents used the idealized space imaginary of offshore oceans as economic frontiers to characterize Bermuda’s EEZ as a space for economic development. Delayed impacts from the 2008 global recession had severely weakened Bermuda’s economy, as demonstrated through job loss and increasing national debt (Central Intelligence Agency, 2017). In this narrative, the Blue Halo would present a mechanism for Bermuda to strengthen its economy in three ways: by revitalizing Bermuda’s historically strong draw as a tourist destination, by rebranding Bermuda as a major ecotourism destination, and by attracting scientific research and researchers to the island.

Interviewees explained that, as Bermuda had become focused on international business over the previous two decades, its income from tourism had decreased significantly. An informational pamphlet on the Blue Halo’s economic impacts provided by Pew speculated that, given sufficient marketing and media exposure, tourism in Bermuda could increase by one or 2%, contributing millions of dollars to Bermuda’s GDP (Iverson, 2012). An interviewee lamented that, had the Blue Halo been designated, “there was a clean blue environmental image that would have benefitted Bermuda and given it a makeover as a tourist destination, a brand if you like” (BDA Interview K74).

The Blue Halo, proponents argued, would also help improve international perceptions of Bermuda by re-branding it as a leader in marine conservation. Senator Michael Fahy, representing the then opposition or minority political party, stated that “The benefits [of the Blue Halo] will be enormous, including the ability to market Bermuda as an environmental haven… We [the One Bermuda Alliance (OBA)] support this initiative wholeheartedly” (Johnston-Barnes, 2012). Further, the Blue Halo could support the economy by attracting international scientists, scientific research collaborations, and global conferences and workshops centered on marine science (e.g., see Iverson, 2012). Given these opportunities, Blue Halo advocates characterized its designation as a win for everyone, or as one popular blog post described it, “a no-brainer” (Deacon, 2014).

Narrative presenting Bermuda’s EEZ as unknown

The final territorial narrative used by Blue Halo proponents portrayed Bermuda’s offshore EEZ as unknown relative to inshore spaces. Rather than use a pre-formed idealized space imaginary to characterize Bermuda’s EEZ (or any offshore ocean space) as an opportunity for conservation, economic development, or territorial expansion, proponents used the specific socionatural relations of Bermuda’s EEZ, namely the distinction between ecological and oceanographic understanding of its inshore versus offshore waters, to produce the place imaginary. Through this narrative, proponents invoked the precautionary principle, arguing that, if Bermudians waited for better or complete understanding of these characteristics to protect their offshore EEZ, this “relatively unknown” (BDA Interview Z02) space may have already endured irreparable damage through overfishing or other extractive activities. A non-Bermudian Blue Halo proponent questioned the wisdom of developing an offshore long-line fishery instead of designating the Blue Halo, saying,

“If you don’t know what’s there, you can’t measure it. So, I’m not going to accept that you should have more fish out of your EEZ if you can’t tell me if that’s a good thing or a bad thing in terms of the stock assessment. Or in terms of what it does to your reef or in terms of other stuff. [Bermudians] haven’t a clue. They really don’t know what they’ve got.” (BDA Interview X69)

The spatial imaginary presenting Bermuda’s EEZ as unknown is a place imaginary because it highlights a particular characteristic of this ocean space as it is, rather than presenting a generic imaginary of how offshore EEZs should be used or what they should represent (Watkins, 2015). To rationalize the need for the Blue Halo given this lack of knowledge about its ecological resilience, proponents also invoked the idealized space imaginary that presented offshore oceans as in need of protection, described above. This narrative was increasingly used later in negotiations and during the public consultation to strengthen the assertion that not implementing the Blue Halo could result in irreparable harm to the EEZ.

Territorial narratives challenging Blue Halo designation

In this section, I review the territorial narratives used by actors opposing the Blue Halo. These narratives each presented a problem that the Blue Halo would either cause or exacerbate in Bermuda’s EEZ and argued that it should therefore not be implemented. Table 2 presents four key territorial narratives used to challenge Blue Halo designation, including the spatial imaginary employed, the actors that used the narratives, and the elements structuring them. Note that, though they argue for different governance outcomes, the spatial imaginaries used in these territorial narratives are the same or very similar to those used in the territorial narratives promoting Blue Halo designation.

Table 2.

Spatial imaginaries and territorial narratives using them to challenge Blue Halo designation.

		Elements of territorial narratives
Spatial imaginary of Bermuda’s EEZ	Types of actors employing narrative	Problem to be solved	Key arguments and rhetorical devices	Actors’ roles in narrative
Space for conservation (an idealized space imaginary)	Deep-sea miners, commercial and recreational fishermen, local NGOs and environmentalists, the Billfish Foundation	Blue Halo is unnecessary, takes resources from inshore waters	Offshore is already protected; limited resources should focus on protecting inshore waters	Bermuda is already seen as demonstrated conservation leader
Space for sovereignty (an idealized space imaginary)	Commercial and recreational fishermen, the Billfish Foundation, local industry, local NGOs and environmental groups, Bermuda government representatives	Blue Halo would infringe on Bermuda’s sovereignty	Bermudians need a “made in Bermuda” governance solution for the EEZ; sovereignty over EEZ is a unique “gift”	Pew (and later SSA) as untrustworthy outsiders; Bermudian resource users as victims
Space for economic growth (an idealized space imaginary)	Commercial and recreational fishermen, the Billfish Foundation, local extractive and environmental industry, Bermuda government representatives	Blue Halo would limit economic opportunity	Blue Halo would harm current recreational fishing and deep-sea cable industries and hurt deep-sea mining and commercial fishery prospects; Blue Halo as “economic suicide” and “blue noose”	Bermuda as economically vulnerable
Unknown space (a place imaginary)	Commercial and recreational fishermen, local extractive and environmental industry, local NGOs, Bermuda government representatives	Blue Halo would limit economic opportunity	Insufficient knowledge about material resources and economic potential; Bermuda should minimize risk of economic loss by not implementing Blue Halo	Bermuda as protector for the future

Narrative presenting Bermuda’s EEZ as a space for conservation

The first territorial narrative used by actors opposing the Blue Halo portrayed Bermuda’s EEZ as a space for conservation. Building on the assumption of an idealized space imaginary of offshore oceans as “pristine” spaces that should remain untouched, the narrative argued that the Blue Halo was unnecessary given existing regulations. As one opponent of the Blue Halo stated, “I mean, it is illegal for any unlicensed vessels to fish there. So, in a way, you know, [by trying to implement the Blue Halo], Pew was trying to protect something that’s already protected” (BDA Interview G80). The government, Blue Halo opponents contended, should focus its management resources on the more pressing and relevant issues in Bermuda’s nearshore waters, where most fishing and other activity occurred. One interviewee explained, “I firmly personally believed in the [nearshore] platform first, for Bermuda; the Sargasso Sea, for the world” (BDA Interview Z76).

Through this narrative, Blue Halo opponents also argued that Bermuda had already demonstrated its commitment to marine conservation through statutes regulating EEZ activity. The Billfish Foundation, a US-based recreational fishing organization, released a report concerning the Blue Halo that stated,

“With a well-established network of MPAs already implemented and a rich history of safeguarding its marine resources, Bermuda should not take the easy road by simply creating a no-take marine reserve. Rather, other options should be explored that allow economically important activities so that Bermuda continues to be recognized for its commitment toward marine conservation.” (The Billfish Foundation 2013, p. 14)

As exemplified through this quote, actors promoting this narrative often clarified that they considered themselves to be “conservation minded” and generally wanted EEZ protection, but not in the form of the Blue Halo.

Narrative presenting Bermuda’s EEZ as a space for sovereignty

Blue Halo opponents used another territorial narrative that portrayed Bermuda’s EEZ as a space for Bermuda to enact sovereignty. This narrative built on an idealized space imaginary of offshore oceans as opportunities to expand territorial power. Blue Halo opponents argued that by promoting the Blue Halo, Pew, a powerful foreign NGO, was trying to expand its own conservation agenda through control of Bermuda’s EEZ. Bermudians had already demonstrated their commitment to conservation through their historical legacy, they asserted; the implication by foreign actors that Bermuda was not sufficiently protecting its waters was insulting.

The narrative rejected the idea that policies proposed and promoted by foreign actors should be accepted as common sense, without question. Indeed, the Blue Halo was untrustworthy because of its association with an outside entity. One interviewee explained the Bermuda public’s relationship with Pew this way,

“So, when a group comes in and says, ‘Wait a minute, we want you to exclude 96% of that asset, and do nothing with it, don’t even go out there, and if you do that, it’s gonna be wonderful, wonderful for you because you’re gonna get all these benefits’ … And people [Bermudians] saw it as – and this is a Bermuda thing – people saw it as outsiders coming in trying to tell us what to do with our own assets. Start there, you’re finished.” (BDA Interview X10)

Interviewees noted that Bermuda is a small island, sandwiched between the US and Europe on either side of the Atlantic Ocean. Bermuda was the only UK overseas territory at the time with the explicit rights to govern its own EEZ, and many wanted to assert control over this relatively large ocean space in practice. Blue Halo opponents therefore contended that the selected governance solution should be “made-in-Bermuda,” conceived and collectively chosen by Bermudians to demonstrate their autonomy.

Narrative presenting Bermuda’s EEZ as a space for economic development

A third territorial narrative used by Blue Halo opponents employed the idealized space imaginary depicting offshore oceans as frontiers for economic development (see Havice and Zalik, 2018). The narrative asserted that the Blue Halo would limit the pursuit of commercial interests in the offshore spaces of Bermuda’s EEZ. The promotion of this territorial narrative by actors from diverse industries, as well as government and NGO actors’ reluctance to oppose proposals for economic opportunity given Bermuda’s weakened economy, helped this narrative gain significant traction during negotiations.

Blue Halo opponents asserted that the Blue Halo could harm the economy by limiting access to a growing deep-sea cable industry and, more visibly, by deterring recreational fishermen from participating in lucrative international fishing tournaments in Bermuda. Recreational fishermen, they argued, contributed significantly to Bermuda’s economy, and losing their business could exacerbate the island’s economic issues. One Blue Halo opponent contended, “Just a perception of a closed zone could have detrimental impacts on the fishing community…. Anglers have a lot of options, they can go anywhere in the world. If you want to close your waters to them, it’s your own fault when you lose that economic input” (BDA Interview N50).

This narrative also drew attention to how the Blue Halo could keep Bermuda from diversifying its economy through two key industries: deep-sea mining and offshore commercial fishing. As Blue Halo opponents argued, encouraging deep-sea mining could offer the government revenue through taxes and fees and could increase Bermuda’s financial ratings, opening doors for further international investments. Similarly, an offshore, longline commercial fishery could sustain Bermudian livelihoods by opening new markets and supply chains as well as provide job opportunities through a potential shore side processing facility. Given the potential for these industries to contribute to economic stability and debt reduction, some opponents referred to the Blue Halo as a “Blue Noose” (Johnston-Barnes, 2013). Dr David Saul, a deep-sea mining investor and previous Premier of Bermuda, publicly called the Blue Halo “economic suicide” (Saul, 2013), a phrase repeated often by interviewees and in the media at the time.

Narrative presenting Bermuda’s EEZ as an unknown

Blue Halo opponents used a fourth territorial narrative that depicted Bermuda’s EEZ as unknown. The narrative employed a place imaginary highlighting the lack of knowledge about the presence and potential to extract economically valuable resources within Bermuda’s EEZ. Without an understanding of existing opportunities, opponents contended, the government should maintain Bermudian access to, and the possibility for exploration of, the EEZ. Actors using this narrative discussed two specific resources of interest: deep-sea minerals and fish to develop offshore fisheries. Insufficient knowledge existed about the resources (e.g., where they were located, the capacities needed to harvest them, the associated opportunities for and risks of extraction) for Bermuda to completely remove access to them be implementing the Blue Halo. As one Blue Halo opponent related, “Dr Saul brought up about the unknown [deep-sea minerals]. I asked [a Blue Halo proponent] what is out there. If we close it [the offshore EEZ] down, we’ll never know” (BDA Interview V82).

Similar to the narrative used by Blue Halo proponents that presented Bermuda’s EEZ as unknown, this narrative employed both a place imaginary and an idealized space imaginary to rationalize impeding the Blue Halo. Actors argued that, given that offshore oceans, and in turn Bermuda’s offshore EEZ, present a frontier for economic development (an idealized space imaginary), designating the Blue Halo when the EEZ and its resources are unknown (a place imaginary) would be risky. This differs from the narrative above that challenges the Blue Halo directly as a detriment to economic stability and growth in that it calls for more information before deciding how to govern the EEZ.

Choosing by waiting: Implications of the failed Blue Halo

In late 2014, nearly a year after formal negotiations ended, the Bermuda Sustainable Development Department released a report detailing the outcomes of the public consultation (Sustainable Development Department 2014, hereafter SDD 2014). It concluded that the process had produced insufficient information to make a final decision. It called for a “comprehensive economic analysis” of the potential governance options for Bermuda’s EEZ, including a marine reserve (SDD 2014, p. 2). Though the Cabinet initially approved pursuing this analysis (SDD 2014), Premier Michael Dunkley announced in March 2015 that it would delay the analysis due to insufficient budgetary resources. In the summer of 2015, when many interviews for this study took place, most interviewees described the state of negotiations over the Blue Halo as “stalled” and expressed doubts that negotiations would resume in the future. As of 2023, the negotiations have not resumed, and the proposed Blue Halo is widely regarded as “failed.”

In its response to findings from the public consultation, the Bermuda government invoked shared idealized space imaginaries used by both Blue Halo proponents and opponents during negotiations. For example, the report asserted that the chosen governance outcome for the EEZ should take potential impacts on the marine environment into account and promote sustainability, invoking the idealized space imaginary of offshore oceans in need of protection (SDD 2014). It further stated that any solution chosen to govern Bermuda’s EEZ should demonstrate Bermudian sovereignty by supporting “a made-in-Bermuda approach to the EEZ and its future” (SDD 2014, p. 4). Note that the government relied largely on the territorial narrative used by Blue Halo opponents to invoke this shared spatial imaginary. Finally, the report borrowed from the narratives of both proponents and opponents to promote the idealized space imaginary of offshore spaces, and hence Bermuda’s EEZ, as opportunities for economic development. It argued that EEZ governance should ultimately represent the most economically beneficial outcomes for Bermuda and called for a comprehensive economic analysis to further investigate its economic potential.

While noting each of these shared idealized space imaginaries, the Bermuda government ultimately used the shared place imaginary portraying Bermuda’s EEZ as unknown, or insufficiently known, to legitimize delaying negotiations. The public consultation, the government argued, had produced insufficient or unreliable information concerning potential economic benefits for Bermuda and certain material aspects of its EEZ (e.g., fish stocks, biodiversity, and the presence of benthic minerals). The report called for an economic analysis to study, for example, the potential for developing an offshore fishery or mining prospects in the EEZ’s benthic regions.

Many interviewees described the government’s decision to delay negotiations as a veiled decision against the Blue Halo because it inevitably stunted political momentum for Blue Halo designation. In other words, though the government never announced a definitive policy decision, “doing nothing” was never a real option once discussions gained sufficient traction. Blue Halo negotiations had altered both Bermuda’s EEZ and actors’ relations with it, with implications for future governance possibilities and human-ocean interactions (Davis, 2005; Dryzek, 2005). I reflect on these changes and the space that emerges in the final two sections.

Territorial narratives reveal a peopled EEZ

Actors involved in negotiations over the governance of Bermuda’s EEZ as well as actors promoting offshore LSMPA designation more generally have asserted that a lack of physical engagement with offshore spaces implies a lack of interest in them (Gruby et al., 2015). The territorial narratives described in this analysis demonstrate that this is not the case; offshore spaces represent active social and political seascapes with which and through which people do, in fact, interact. This finding in itself is not new; a decade of research has repeatedly demonstrated that LSMPAs are associated with strong, varied interests and connections (Artis et al., 2020; Richmond and Kotowicz, 2015; Sand, 2012). Yet, the Blue Halo case in Bermuda demonstrates that even proposed marine protected areas “call forth territories” (Chmara-Huff, 2014: p. 12), or territorial practices seeking to define and order a bounded space. Though the push to designate an LSMPA ultimately failed, actors used territorial narratives as “an important form of agency” to direct attention toward the possibilities offered by offshore spaces and produce the EEZ as a space of onshore interest (Hajer, 1995: p. 56).

In practice, many Bermudians are materially connected to the country’s offshore EEZ, directly, indirectly, or both. Boats carrying tourists, fishermen and their crews, military personnel, and imported and exported goods frequently cross the waters surrounding Bermuda. Deep-sea cables crisscrossing the EEZ allow islanders to communicate across vast distances. Fish harvested from inshore waters live in or migrate through offshore spaces, and a deep-sea mining company in Bermuda has owned an exclusive lease to explore the seabed for decades. Yet, the assumption that “no one’s out there. No one really cares” (BDA Interview X76) set the stage for people to inscribe their interests on a seemingly blank slate despite these existing connections. This paved the way for actors to employ new or existing spatial imaginaries of offshore oceans that would resonate with the specific political interests (e.g., a small island territory demonstrating sovereignty) and current context (e.g., Bermuda’s weakened economy following the global recession) in Bermuda.

That actors used the same spatial imaginaries to promote opposing governance outcomes suggests collectively shared understandings of Bermuda’s EEZ and what it should be and do. It also shows that idealized space imaginaries are flexible, able to accommodate varied interests through their reliance on broadly shared (and often unquestioningly accepted) values (see Granqvist et al., 2019 for similar findings in Helsinki city planning). For example, opposing actors’ use of the idealized space imaginary presenting offshore oceans as pristine spaces in need of protection suggests a shared understanding that conservation remains a priority in Bermuda and that the EEZ should reflect this aspect of Bermuda’s identity. Similarly, actors’ use of the idealized space imaginary presenting offshore waters as opportunities for expanding and/or reinforcing sovereignty demonstrates the shared pride that many Bermudians feel in their self-sufficiency, exemplified through the authority to govern their EEZ despite remaining a UK territory.

Further, the narratives producing Bermuda’s EEZ as a space to enact sovereignty demonstrate how spatial imaginaries shape spatial relations and define possibilities for future practice (Cidell, 2011; Watkins, 2015). While advocating for different governance outcomes (i.e., designating the Blue Halo as an act of international diplomacy vs. rejecting it in favor of a “made-in-Bermuda” approach), actors used these narratives to stabilize and, in some cases, establish collective understandings of ocean space as a tool through which to assert the country’s independence and power. Similarly, Blue Halo proponents and opponents (re)produced Bermuda’s oceans, including offshore spaces, as an untapped (or at least inadequately tapped) frontier for economic development. By legitimizing its decision to delay negotiations using this idealized space imaginary, the Bermuda government reinforced this imaginary (Davoudi et al., 2018), preferencing this valuation of the EEZ ahead of others and working to steer future governance decision-making toward prioritizing economic considerations.

The case illustrates not only the malleability of idealized space imaginaries, but also their potential to gather coalitions and build consensus. Similar to the “win-win-win” mentality found among LSMPA enthusiasts globally (Artis et al., 2020), Blue Halo proponents and opponents both used complex territorial narratives invoking seemingly competing idealized space imaginaries, simultaneously claiming conservation, economic, and sovereignty-related benefits to legitimize their offshore territorial interests. The need to address varied values through complex territorial narratives produced coalitions between historically unlikely allies. For instance, recreational and commercial fishermen, often adversaries in local fisheries policy negotiations, united in Blue Halo opposition; as one Bermudian civil servant recalled, “The fishermen got up in arms…and boy, I’ve never seen fishermen so united!” (BDA Interview W62). While noting that new conflicts between previous allies also emerged from these negotiations (e.g., some previously aligned local environmental NGOs supported Blue Halo designation while others opposed it), these new coalitions suggest opportunities for finding common EEZ governance interests that may better align with Bermudians’ shared values (see Lester et al., 2017 for a similar finding related to Bermuda’s inshore EEZ).

More broadly, spatial imaginaries were used in Bermuda to reflect concerns about the identity, security, and agency of a small island territory. The case demonstrates how idealized space imaginaries are used in territorial narratives to articulate, underscore, and (re)produce spatial values and relations, largely because of their unquestioned acceptance and generalizability. It further showed that, in contrast with early assumptions about a lack of interest in these offshore spaces, some actors, both Bermudian and non-Bermudian, care deeply about the offshore EEZ and its governance. While Blue Halo negotiations are often associated with heated conflict by those involved, the shared idealized spatial imaginaries described here offer a potential starting point for future negotiations based on collective spatial understandings.

Producing Bermuda’s unknown EEZ

“Despite its long existence, its proximity and its intrigue, relatively little is known about our EEZ … Bermuda’s EEZ is a largely unexplored territory, where more scientific information is being gathered and even more remains outstanding.” (SDD 2014, p. 13)

In delaying negotiations due to insufficient knowledge about the EEZ, the Bermuda government ultimately gave precedence to the place imaginary, portraying Bermuda’s EEZ as unknown. Rather than presenting the EEZ as symbolic of or providing a specific ideal or benefit, this place imaginary referred to particular material and relational attributes of the EEZ, including its ecological attributes (e.g., unknown organisms, ecosystems, interactions), resource attributes (e.g., unknown quantity and quality of valuable minerals), and economic attributes (e.g., insufficiently understood local and global markets for fish and valuable minerals). Watkins (2015) contends that place imaginaries are often used to illustrate how a space is representative of a particular idealized space imaginary. Yet, in this case, the Bermuda government strategically used a place imaginary to demonstrate the instability, or the potential for losing the assumed benefits, of particular idealized space imaginaries in Bermuda’s EEZ. They invoked a lack of knowledge to highlight the precarity of maintaining the values, specifically economic security and (to a lesser extent) long-term conservation, associated with these imaginaries in the face of (in)action around the Blue Halo.

Oceans are “lively spaces,” continuously remade as people are forced to make choices about their governance despite “uncertain and poorly understood settings” (Jay, 2018: 13–14). The Bermuda government’s decision to delay negotiations was such a choice; it effectively reinstated Bermuda’s EEZ as a “blank slate” to legitimize its inaction, despite years of exploration and debate about EEZ relations and values. This illustrates how spatial imaginaries do work, limiting and/or opening possibilities for future spatial relations. By presenting Bermuda’s EEZ as “unknown” and hinging decision-making on a future economic analysis yet to be completed, the government effectively closed negotiations and the possibility of implementing the Blue Halo. As Davis (2005; p. 612) argues, “while everyone may have a unique version of what a place ought to be, there is only one site. Power then dictates which version of place gets to be produced.” Survey data collected through the public consultation process demonstrated that respondents largely favored implementing the Blue Halo (SDD 2014). While these data cannot and do not accurately reflect the perspective of all Bermudians at that time (see SDD 2014 for discussion), the decision to delay negotiations indefinitely, indirectly ensuring the Blue Halo’s failure, limited trust between respondents and government decision-makers and the potential for consensus-building around offshore EEZ governance, at least for a time.

However, the failure to designate the Blue Halo also served to strengthen the understanding of Bermuda’s EEZ as Bermudian territory, a place resistant to unwanted outsider influence. In other contexts, coastal communities have used MPA designation to territorialize ocean space in order to maintain local control (Satizábal and Batterbury, 2017) or to bolster their positions as “large ocean states” (see Chan, 2018). Yet, Chandler and Pugh (2021) remind us that, for islands like Bermuda, change reveals entangled histories and occurs through disruption, “a weird carnival of contradictions” (p. 407). In Bermuda, rejecting the MPA through refusing to decide whether to establish one became a territorializing resistance against foreign power. Pew marked the Bermuda LSMPA as “failed” on its website for years, and a large hole remains in the Sargasso Sea conservation area partially as a result of the contentious Blue Halo negotiations (Gruby et al., 2017). Thus, for some in Bermuda, the rejection of international conservation actors and their strict “no-take” access limitations was seen to strengthen sovereignty, though the extent to which this was successful remains unclear. Just as rapid proliferation of global LSMPAs is world-making (Campbell et al., 2021), the “failure” of this LSMPA demonstrates that the global push for ocean conservation through area-based governance tools is not entirely hegemonic; there are possibilities to enact other spatial relations and imaginaries.

Blue Halo negotiations changed Bermuda’s EEZ by (re)shaping actor relations to and understandings of the space, with possible implications for future governance. For many interviewees promoting the Blue Halo, the EEZ now represents a missed opportunity to demonstrate sovereignty and national pride through conservation. Interviewees opposing the Blue Halo also reported new conceptualizations of the EEZ, as a space of hope for economic opportunity and a space through which Bermuda has already demonstrated its sovereignty through the removal of its EEZ from the Sargasso Sea high seas conservation area (see Acton et al., 2019). For others, discussions about Bermuda’s EEZ as a space to demonstrate sovereignty revealed it to be a contested space, vulnerable to territorial practices of Bermudians and non-Bermudians alike. In a more recent, emerging ocean planning partnership between the Bermuda government and local and foreign NGOs, the Bermuda Government website states that the program “is led by Bermudians for Bermudians,”¹ revealing how “sediments” (Moore, 2005) of Blue Halo negotiations and the politics surrounding spatial imaginaries that emerged remain relevant today.

This paper has demonstrated that even negotiations over a proposed, ultimately undesignated LSMPA, though remote and less accessible to people physically, can alter people’s conceptualizations and territorial relations to that space. Further, as demonstrated through this case, actors promoting divergent governance solutions in these remote spaces may share multiple spatial imaginaries concerning what these spaces should or currently do symbolize. In this case, the negotiations and the government’s final decision produced Bermuda’s EEZ as an unknown and unsettled space, territorializing it as a space to enact sovereignty, conservation, and economic development to varying degrees. As actors continue to propose LSMPAs, or otherwise seek territorial governance changes in offshore spaces, understanding and addressing already established or emerging relations to these ocean spaces will prove invaluable to achieving governance outcomes upon which actors with varied interests can agree.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

This research was undertaken as part of a larger project, the Human Dimensions of Large Marine Protected Areas (). I thank my collaborators on this larger project, and particularly PI Rebecca Gruby and co-PIs Lisa Campbell and Noella Gray, for the many conversations that have informed my thinking about this case. Lisa Campbell served as my dissertation advisor, collaborated in field work and provided invaluable comments on early paper drafts. I would like to thank Luke Fairbanks for his helpful insights on later versions. Finally, I am grateful to project interviewees and others who facilitated data collection; this research would not have been possible without their generous donation of time and effort.

Declaration of conflicting interests

The Waitt Foundation funded part of the author’s dissertation research in Bermuda through the Human Dimensions of Large Marine Protected Areas Project. The Waitt Foundation was also one of the original funders of the Sargasso Sea Alliance. These are separate initiatives, and the Waitt Foundation has not contributed to or influenced the research design, data analysis, or writing of this manuscript.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This work was supported by the Oak Foundation, the Waitt Foundation, the Tiffany and Co. Foundation, and Lyda Hill as part of the Human Dimensions of Large Marine Protected Areas project (). Additional support was provided by the Horowitz Foundation for Social Policy, Duke University, the University of Southern Mississippi, and Brown University.

Note

Leslie Acton is a Lecturer of Environment and Society in the Institute at Brown for Environment and Society at Brown University. Her research centers on coastal and marine conservation and governance, including management practices and decision-making related to people, resources, systems, and their relationships. Using human geography and common pool resource theory, she studies how ocean policy is negotiated and executed and the implications for relevant stakeholders and ocean spaces.

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