Black faces,black spaces: Rethinking African American underrepresentation in wildland spaces and outdoor recreation

Abstract

The Wilderness Act of 1964 defines wilderness as “an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain”. It goes on to limit acceptable activities in designated wilderness areas to those associated with leisure, scenic viewing, education, and scientific inquiry. These precepts are the basis for federal wilderness management in national parks, national forests, national wildlife refuges, and lands administered by the Bureau of Land Management. They are derived from the interests and values held by the early environmental movement's predominantly white middle and upper class patrons, and imposed on diverse groups who may not hold the same views. This study examined how the imposition of wilderness management at Congaree National Park greatly restricted local African Americans' traditional fishing practices and how fishers made meaning of their displacement. Participants' experience of alienation is a result of their perceptions of racial discrimination in the park's preferential treatment of white visitors. This study argues that African American presence in the Great Outdoors is erased both materially and symbolically by racial bias in the Wilderness Act, a general lack of attention to black outdoor spaces, and the use of white outdoor values and pursuits as the criterion for which to assess African American outdoor ethos.

Keywords

African Americans environmental policy national parks racial discrimination wilderness

Introduction

The U.S. National Park Service (NPS) faces an enormous challenge today. After over one hundred years of predominantly white middle class leadership and support, its visitorship does not reflect the growing diversity of the American public. In a 2009 nationwide survey of recent visitation to a national park, whites constituted 70% of the sample but represented 78% of recent visitors. African Americans were the most underrepresented group comprising 12% of the sample but only 7% of recent visitors (Taylor et al., 2011). These findings pose a serious problem for the NPS, as U.S. racial demographics undergo dramatic changes. The U.S. Census Bureau predicts that by 2060, people of color will comprise more than 50% of the U.S. population (U.S. Census Bureau, 2012). Such shifts could affect support for the NPS if the interests of people of color are not included in the agency's planning and programming (Fonseca and Costa-Lima, 2016).

The NPS's diversity dilemma is the outcome of a long history of racial and class discrimination in policies that inform national park management. The eviction of Native Americans from Yosemite Valley, Yellowstone, and Glacier National Parks, and poor whites from Shenandoah National Park as well as Jim Crow policies that resulted in the deplorable treatment of African Americans at Shenandoah National Park and George Washington Birthplace National Monument (Burnham, 2000; Purdue and Martin-Purdue, 1979; Shumaker, 2005) demonstrate the ways in which national parks have been arduously and violently cultivated as spaces for the white and wealthy. More specifically, racial and class exclusion along with narrowly conceived scholarly research have served to erase African American presence – both symbolically and materially – from national parks, other wildland¹ settings, and the outdoor recreation community.

I write this paper out of concern for the ways in which this erasure has supported a popular perception of African American environmental relationships as urban-based and focused on the impacts of industrial toxins on health outcomes. In my view, this myopic conception has had the effect of (1) overlooking the experiences of African Americans who do visit wildland spaces and participate in outdoor recreation, (2) promulgating the belief that African Americans have few or no cultural ties to the natural environment, (3) reinforcing white outdoor culture as the standard for determining the extent and depth of African American environmental relationships, and (4) accomplishing little to help us think about the types of policies and programs that would engage African Americans in environmental initiatives. My argument is not an attempt to undermine the findings of leisure studies and environmental justice research. Rather, I am advocating for broader and more nuanced questions regarding African Americans’ environmental engagement – questions which consider their presence, or lack thereof, in wildland spaces and outdoor recreation.

In this paper, I use the terms “African American” and “black” interchangeably as descriptors of race and to highlight a cultural, historical, and contemporary context emerging from racial struggles in the U.S. South. I follow the works of Finney (2014), Mills (2014), Taylor (2016), and Glave and Stoll (2006) who affirm African American presence and deep sense of place in outdoors. I also shed light on the variegated nature of African Americans’ environmental relationships by highlighting the views and experiences of those who do interact with wildlands through their participation in outdoor recreation. The following case study presents a subgroup of African American fishers who reside in rural southeastern U.S. and who hold different views toward wildlands than the northern and western urbanites who comprise the sample populations of most studies. They maintain historical ties to the land that is now Congaree National Park (CNP). However, with the imposition of federal wilderness management, their intergenerational fishing practices were displaced leading to perceptions of racial discrimination and subsequent alienation from the park. This study demonstrates that examining African American visitation to wildlands and participation in outdoor recreation is necessary for a more comprehensive explanation of their underrepresentation in these spaces and activities. It does not employ dominant forms of outdoor recreation as the standard for which to test the strength and character of African American outdoor relationships. Rather it takes these relations on their own terms – driven by beliefs, interests, and values often different from (and sometimes similar to) their white counterparts. This approach yields an expanded and more nuanced understanding of African American environmental relationships and the reasons for their underrepresentation in wildland settings and outdoor recreation.

Black, white, and the outdoors

Research in leisure studies reveals differences between the outdoor recreational preferences of African Americans and whites. For example, in a 1994 survey of rural residents surrounding Florida's Apalachicola National Forest, African Americans had lower visitation rates to the area and less favorable perceptions of wildlands than whites (Johnson et al., 1997). Similarly, Virden and Walker (1999) found that black college students residing in the western U.S. perceived forests as dangerous while white students viewed them as safe. These findings are also consistent with a study of urban Michigan residents' preferences for natural settings in which black participants preferred managed outdoor spaces with widely spaced vegetation and a high range of visibility while whites favored outdoor environments with dense vegetation (Kaplan and Talbot, 1988).

African Americans' views toward outdoor recreation are shaped by a variety of factors stemming from a history of racial oppression in and exclusion from wildlands (Johnson and Bowker, 2004). Research shows that they continue to experience a range of obstacles to participation including financial barriers, fear of venturing beyond one's own ethnic space stemming from the brutalities African Americans endured during the Jim Crow era, views of wildland recreation as a “white people thing”, a dearth of urban natural spaces and formative experiences in nature, an absence of relevant cultural attractions in wildland settings, transportation difficulties, lack of time, fear of wildlands, procrastination, perceptions of racial discrimination in wildland areas, and unawareness of what parks with wildland spaces can provide for visitors (Erickson et al., 2009; Lawton and Weaver, 2008; Le and Holmes, 2012; Lee and Scott, 2016).

Extant research also shows that African Americans and whites hold different outdoor recreational preferences. In a study of household recreation across the continental U.S., blacks and whites participated in urban outdoor activities (i.e. picnicking, tennis, horseback riding, and swimming) at similar rates. However, blacks were much less likely to engage in sightseeing, camping, and hiking (Washburne and Wall, 1980). Dwyer and Gobster (1992) found that blacks were more likely to use Illinois State Parks with facilities for sports, social gatherings, and camping. Whites were more likely to visit parks with landscapes providing the opportunity to “get away from people”. In Chicago's Lincoln Park, Gobster and Delgado (1993) observed that blacks tended to visit the park in groups that engaged in socializing while whites were more likely to be involved in walking and other activities that could be accomplished alone.

These studies suggest that distinctions between the outdoor recreational preferences of African Americans and whites, and the reasons for African Americans' underrepresentation in wildland spaces and outdoor recreation are shaped by cultural factors particular to these groups as well as broader socio-economic processes. Scholars in leisure studies tend to explain these dynamics using one or a combination of three theoretical approaches. Although they help to explicate African American underrepresentation in wildland settings and recreation, each has limitations.

Explanations for racial/ethnic variation in wildland recreation

Marginality theory attributes the under-representation of people of color in wildland settings and outdoor recreation to socio-economic barriers largely stemming from past racial discrimination (Floyd, 1999; Le and Holmes, 2012; Washburne, 1978). However, it assumes that marginalized populations would behave similar to dominant groups if only socio-economic barriers were removed (Johnson et al., 1998). It also does not account for intra-group variations in socio-economic status, reasons for non-visitation, perceptions of wildlands and outdoor recreation, on-site usage patterns, or the effects of modern day forms of discrimination (Floyd, 1998).

Ethnicity or subcultural theory suggests that there are culturally distinct patterns between the ways people of color and whites view wildlands and engage in outdoor recreation (Virden and Walker, 1999; Washburne, 1978). Some racial groups might avoid recreational spaces or activities perceived as belonging to another racial group. Yet, ethnicity/subcultural theory has several weaknesses including the absence of indicators for measuring cultural difference and little consideration for how views and behaviors vary within ethnic groups.

Discrimination theory contends that perceptions of discrimination in wildland environments adversely affect visitation (Floyd, 1999). Although discrimination theory finds support in empirical research, the types of discrimination visitors might experience are not well understood (Floyd, 1999; Sharaievska et al., 2014). The present study sheds light on the ways in which racial discrimination can occur in leisure research. For example, in a 2012 park visitor study conducted at CNP (N = 3240), 93% of visitors self-identified as white while only 3% self-identified as black. Only 2% of respondents reported fishing at the park (Begly et al., 2013). However, participants were chosen through a random sample of individuals who entered the Harry Hampton Visitor Center, a site that local African Americans fishers rarely visit. This study shows how African American presence in the outdoors can be erased by dominant power structures responsible for defining who counts as members of the outdoor community. This oversight begs several questions: How representative is this study of African American visitation to CNP? More importantly, to what extent is African American underrepresentation in wildland settings and recreation an observation derived from efforts that seek, as Finney would say, black faces in white spaces (2014)?

Historical and cultural context of African American environmental relationships

In order to better understand how African American outdoor presence is disregarded by dominant power structures, I suggest that findings and theoretical perspectives presented in leisure literature be further elaborated upon by works in black studies, race theory, environmental history, and political ecology. Byrne and Wolch (2009) offer a useful framework to begin this task. They challenge the user-oriented models outlined above and advocate for a more critical accounting of social and political-economic processes that shape the spatial characteristics of urban parks and which in turn, impact accessibility and user patterns among racial groups. In their model, a park's historical and cultural context is vital in determining the physical characteristics of a park and the social characteristics of potential users. Together, these three elements influence potential users' perceptions of a park which can lead to avoidance or culturally-specific uses of park spaces. They can also produce unequal access to park resources in ways that disadvantage communities of color.

Byrne and Wolch's model has broad applications beyond urban contexts and can help to explain the production of racialized space in parks with wildland settings. However, it fails to consider how the historical and cultural contexts of potential users powerfully influence the development of park space, user and non-user perceptions, and usage patterns. To better grasp how African Americans have been excluded from wildland parks, we must understand the historical, cultural, and socio-ecological processes underlying both park provision and (non)users' perceptions.

Literature in environmental history illuminate the roles of history, culture, and socio-ecological dynamics in the development of African American environmental relationships. These analyses show that contrary to popular belief, African Americans possess a rich outdoor heritage. Johnson and Bowker (2004) contend that in seeking explanations for why African Americans tend not to engage in dominant forms of wildland recreation (i.e. hiking, camping, canoeing, etc.) we must look to their complicated environmental history. Wildlands provided concealment, shelter, and sustenance for escaped slaves to find their way to freedom or form maroon societies (Diouf, 2014; Schweninger, 2002; Starkey, 2005). They enabled the enslaved to develop knowledge of medicinal plants, perform spiritual practices, form resistance movements, feed their families, and create an ethnic cuisine (Blum, 2002; Glave and Stoll, 2006; Johnson and Bowker, 2004; Leatherberry, 1999; Starkey, 2005). Conversely, wildlands were also where African Americans endured rapes, beatings, and lynchings, and toiled under cruel conditions in logging and turpentine industries (Blum, 2002; Glave and Stoll, 2006; Nelson, 2014; Outka, 2008; Taylor et al., 2011). These experiences, Johnson and Bowker argue, reside in African Americans’ collective memories, vehicles by which a group's cultural history is handed down from generation to generation, shaping the meanings attached to events, places, and objects. Thus, collective memory describes how certain places marking significant events and processes in the history of a group come to hold positive or negative meanings even if their descendants have never experienced similar places. According to Johnson and Bowker, African Americans’ collective memories of wildlands produce ambivalent views toward these spaces which often diverge from those of whites.

Leatherberry (1999) asserts that despite this complicated history, African Americans maintain powerful symbolic ties to forests. They are envisioned as places of refuge, solace, and freedom as evinced in their spiritual music. While it appears that African Americans' connection to forests may have attenuated, as many moved to urban areas located in the northern and western regions of the U.S., he argues that forests are central to African Americans' environmental heritage and the ways they imagine the future. Forests are “embedded in the souls of black folks” (1999: 453).

Smith (2005) contends that the concept of wilderness was created by and for white men. She reminds readers that the seemingly universal view of wilderness as pristine nature is but one among many understandings of wildlands. Discovering these non-dominant interpretations requires that canonical writers (e.g., John Muir) be set aside. Smith describes the significance of wilderness in the lives of the enslaved and analyzes the writings of W.E.B. Dubois and Alexander Crummell to argue that African Americans hold a profound connection to wildlands through their imaginings of Africa and collective memories of life in the U.S. South. She points out that their conception of wilderness is different from that of mainstream preservationism in that it does not bifurcate humans and the environment. Rather, wilderness is both external and internal to society. For DuBois and Crummell, its preservation facilitated the preservation of African American cultural forms and racial consciousness.

These authors reject the popular belief that African Americans are detached from nature and advance a distinctive African American outdoor tradition. However, their analyses are grounded in historical data and do not speak to contemporary African Americans’ real-world experiences. Few authors have attempted this type of empirical examination. One notable exception is Carolyn Finney's (2014) monograph, Black Faces, White Spaces, which delves into the reasons for African Americans’ underrepresentation in the outdoors. For Finney, much of the problem lies in essentialist stereotypes of blackness (i.e. primitive, lazy, childish, slaves, etc.) that negatively link African Americans to nature. Such representations have led African Americans to estrange themselves from their outdoor heritage and limit their ability to imagine alternatives for their lives. Color-blind portrayals of American identity (e.g., photographs of American wilderness) that erase the presence and impact of African Americans in the outdoors also bear responsibility. However, she asserts that we must distinguish between these broader issues and African Americans’ day-to-day experiences. Overgeneralizing their outdoor relationships obscures the numerous complexities and particularities that distinguish various communities of African Americans. It also thwarts efforts to address their specific environmental issues.

Historical and cultural context of the Wilderness Act

During the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the early U.S. environmental movement emerged from the advocacy of primarily well-educated, influential, elite white women and men. Prominent figures like Henry David Thoreau, Abby Williams Hill, Frederick Law Olmstead, Mary Belle King Sherman, John James Audubon, Alice Fletcher, John Muir, and Franklin D. Roosevelt played central roles in setting its agenda (Kaufman, 2006; Nash, 2001; Taylor, 2002). Many lobbied to save American wildlands from destruction associated with westward expansion by clearing them of indigenous peoples and restricting their uses to leisure, scientific learning, and self-contemplation.

Over time, advocates' values and preferences became embedded in U.S. federal legislation, namely the Wilderness Act of 1964. This statute established the National Wilderness Preservation System, a conglomeration of federally protected lands known as designated wilderness areas. It also set forth mandates that inform federal wilderness management in national parks, national forests, national wildlife refuges, and lands administered by the Bureau of Land Management. Section 2(c) of the Wilderness Act codified early environmentalists' ideals in federal policy.

A wilderness, in contrast with those areas where man and his own works dominate the landscape, is hereby recognized as an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain. An area of wilderness is further defined to mean in this Act an area of undeveloped Federal land retaining its primeval character and influence, without permanent improvements or human habitation, which is protected and managed so as to preserve its natural conditions and which (1) generally appears to have been affected primarily by the forces of nature, with the imprint of man's work substantially unnoticeable; (2) has outstanding opportunities for solitude or a primitive and unconfined type of recreation; (3) has at least five thousand acres of land or is of sufficient size as to make practicable its preservation and use in an unimpaired condition; and (4) may also contain ecological, geological, or other features of scientific, educational, scenic, or historical value.

An uncritical reading of this section conveys a carefully considered effort to preserve U.S. wildlands for the use and enjoyment of the American public. But further scrutiny reveals that it is thoroughly imbued with racial and class biases. Prescribed activities in wilderness areas reflect the interests of the white, elite preservationists who viewed wilderness as a place for non-consumptive activities – a conception that leaves little room for wildland workers such as subsistence fishers, hunters, foragers, and loggers (Cronon, 1995).

Scholars of environmental history and political ecology have offered critical analyses highlighting numerous interrelated problems emerging from the social construction of wilderness (see Cosgrove, 1995; Cronon, 1995; Jacoby, 2014; Kosek, 2006; Meeker et al., 1973; Neumann, 1998). Rather than reiterate them here, I want to emphasize how racism and elitism embedded in wilderness ideology is enacted through policy. This framing allows disparate literatures in leisure studies, black studies, and race theory, political ecology, and environmental history to be brought into conversation offering paths for finding the historical and cultural tensions, and violences that erase African Americans from wildlands such as national parks.

The Wilderness Act defines wilderness as an uninhabited space where human presence is scarcely noticeable and “primitive” types of recreation are allowed. White (1995) argues that this delineation demonstrates environmentalists' perception of blue-collar labor as destructive to nature. Moreover, their bifurcation of play and work marks the separation of nature and the humans. In this conception, nature signifies wealth and whiteness while humans represent nature's racialized, working class Other. Yet, we must remember that people of color have struggled to achieve full recognition as human beings. Within colonialism's racial hierarchies, phenotypic variations were believed to indicate cultural, moral, and intellectual differences between the races. Colonial discourses constructed whites, namely white men, as the embodiment of progress, rationality, morality, and civility – the ideal or fully realized human, or what Sylvia Wynter (2003) refers to as “Man”. Conversely, people of color signified nature – barbaric, primitive, immoral, childlike, and degenerate (Moore et al., 2003).

McKittrick (2013) asserts that spaces emerged alongside these constructs fixing whiteness to “liveable” places characterized by wealth, and “overdevelopment” while attaching blackness to geographies of death, militarization, occupation, surveillance, incarceration, starvation, poverty, and pollution. American wilderness can be classified as a white space partly because it symbolizes the conquering of and one's separation from fallen nature – the urban racialized Other. Outka (2008) contends that this “accomplishment” bequeaths human freedom and dignity. It is the essence of the sublime which is not an inherent feature of wilderness but rather a meaning ascribed to it, produced and performed by whiteness. Through this performance, wilderness becomes what Bruce Braun (2003) calls, “the purification machine” where one can become white and affirm their freedom to live without racial struggle. According to this logic, Outka argues, black folks cannot produce the sublime nor any other thing of value. Their primitivity and laziness make them naturally suited for a life in captivity and other spaces of subordination. They do not belong in American wilderness.

McKittrick (2013) points out that the seeming naturalness of these place-identity couplings is an illusion that sustains the racial subjugation of black people and the uneven development of black and white spaces. The oppression of racialized Others, according to Wynter (2003), serves to “confirm” the “overrepresentation” of Man as human. But since this scheme of domination is not the natural order of things, it must be arduously reproduced in a “lawlike manner”. The overrepresentation of Man in policy is exemplified in the Wilderness Act. Harris (1993) points out that lands violently seized from indigenous peoples became the property of whites – both settlers and the U.S. government – through a system of laws that denied Native Americans rights of first possession. As a central feature forming the foundation for rights in property, “possession” was narrowly defined to only include the cultural interests of whites. I argue that in the case of the Wilderness Act, the right of possession of federal land is maintained by what Omi and Winant (2014) call, the “racial state”. Lands set aside as designated wilderness are caught up in a constellation of institutions, coalitions, social relations, rules, and policies that dictate who is considered a political agent, what political interests matter, and the relationship between the state and society. This assemblage is steeped in politics that favor white racial privilege. The Wilderness Act invokes the power of the racial state to shape vast landscapes according to the environmental values and recreational preferences of white middle class and elite constituencies.

But why the need to re-assert white identity and space through statutes such as the Wilderness Act? Authors of race theory have identified linkages between the emergence of racialized policies and social unrest. Whether it be the proliferation of prison building in California (Gilmore, 2007) or “underdevelopment” projects in the Mississippi Delta (Woods, 2017), racialized and racist restructuring is oftentimes a backlash to social and economic crises. The movement to preserve American wilderness beginning in the late 1800s was, in part, a response to heightened immigration and emancipation of the enslaved. It sought to congeal an Anglo American identity, and assert white racial purity and supremacy through the creation of racialized spaces such as national parks (Cosgrove, 1995; Kosek, 2004). Omi and Winant (2014) explain how the racial state participates in these power dynamics. They suggest that the U.S. racial system is laboriously maintained by the state. However, when this equilibrium is disrupted by social transformations, some federal agencies move toward accommodation while others “dig in their heels” to oppose changes to the status quo. Their approach demonstrates the need to analyze environmental policies created during times of social change with an attention to racial bias. For example, the 1916 Organic Act which established the NPS can be explored as a law emerging from interrelated concerns regarding the closing of the frontier, the desire to define and assert an Anglo-American identity, women demanding the right to vote, and anxieties over immigration and African American migration. Similarly, the Wilderness Act can be seen as a move to shore up racial boundaries at a time of tremendous socio-political upheaval. Thus, while Finney (2014) argues that the Wilderness Act and the Civil Rights Act (both passed in 1964) were not in conversation with each other, Omi and Winant's theorization offers a different analysis. The Civil Rights Act accommodated the demands of activists by calling for the end of segregation on the basis of race, religion or national origin in all public spaces (U.S. Congress, 1964a) – including national parks. The creation of the Wilderness Act can be viewed as a response to Civil Rights proponents as state and civil society actors “dug in their heels” to uphold wilderness as a space for the white and wealthy.

Despite their exclusion from and violence in wildland spaces, African Americans have found ways to (re)claim their outdoor heritage. Henry Louis Gates (1984) described the African American intellectual tradition as “two-toned”, reflecting elements of dominant culture but distinctly black. I believe the same can be said of African Americans' outdoor ethos. Because of its hybrid nature, African American presence in the outdoors can be easily overlooked if one only searches for black faces in white spaces. Outdoor Afro, a nationwide network of local organizations connecting black people to nature, reveals the variegated character of African American environmental relationships. One might find members hiking at Yosemite National Park but they are just as likely to be found exploring their roots on plantations in Charleston, camping out at the Annual Jazz and Blues Festival in Idlewild, or volunteering at an urban garden in Oakland (Mapp, 2018). Likewise, African American presence in the outdoors is prevalent within and around CNP. However, due to their historical connections to the land through slavery, landownership, and subsistence practices and more recent alienation from the area caused by the enactment of the Wilderness Act, one has little chance of finding them on popular trails or inside the Harry Hampton Visitor Center. Rather than searching for explanations for African American underrepresentation in the Great Outdoors in places known for dominant forms of recreation, this study takes a different route by seeking black faces in black spaces.

Methods

The methodological design for this study included participant observation, semi-structured interviews, and document analysis. Between March 2014 and January 2015, I employed snowball and opportunity sampling to recruit 25 African American fisherwomen and fishermen and four NPS employees to participate in this study. Table 1 shows the categories, total number, age range, and sex of participants.

Table 1.

Participant information.

Participants	Total	Ages	Men	Women
Current fishers	12	36–70	11	1
Past fishers	9	46–70	7	2
Never fished at CNP	4	53–69	4	0
NPS Employees	4	N/A	3	1

CNP: Congaree National Park; NPS: National Park Service.

Participant observation involved asking participants to teach me how to fish. My time with them ranged from a few hours to all-day excursions. They coached me on how to bait a hook, cast a rod, and clean and fillet fish for cooking. I observed their interactions with friends and family, park staff, other park visitors, and the natural environment. I also spent time alone in the park honing my fishing skills and developing a sense of place. In addition, I attended board meetings and events hosted by a local community organization to better understand local issues, values, and the nature of the community's relationship with CNP. I reflected on my observations and noted emerging questions in a research journal.

Semi-structured interviews were designed to gather data based on participants’ specific circumstances. I created three interview protocols: one for participants who currently fish at the park, another for those who fished there in the past, and a third protocol for those who had never fished at CNP. Individual interview protocols were developed for each NPS/CNP staff member based on the nature of their work. Staff interviews helped to corroborate and clarify fishers’ statements and offered them an opportunity to respond to fishers’ claims, voice their perceptions of community engagement, and express concerns about the impact of fishing on park resources. Employees were also instrumental in helping me identify and procure NPS internal and public documents which provided context for fishers’ and employees’ assertions and explanations.

I recorded most interviews with a digital recording device. In cases where participants requested that their interviews not be recorded, I took notes in a research journal or typed them directly into a Word document. After transcribing interviews and gathering necessary documents, I used Dedoose qualitative data analysis software to organize and code interviews, documents, and notes. Using thematic analysis, I developed a preliminary coding scheme derived deductively from literature and inductively from the data. After completing an initial analysis, I reviewed each code to uncover patterns and relationships in the data. Codes were also created, aggregated, and disaggregated to distinguish between important concepts and events. This process allowed me to identify common themes offering insight into the character of African American fishers' outdoor relationships and the reasons for their alienation from CNP.

Positionality and trustworthiness

As an environmental advocate, outdoor recreationist, and working class, African American woman raised in the southeastern U.S., I do not pretend to be agenda-less in this work. I believe that recent socio-political events have exposed the ways in which racism pervades U.S. institutions. In policing, judicial processes, education, housing, the workplace, and so on racial discrimination enacted via policy impede the personal growth and social wellbeing of African Americans and other people of color. Recent works by Carolyn Finney (2014) and Dorceta Taylor (2008, 2014) show how African Americans continue to be excluded from participation in dominant environmental initiatives and enjoyment of their societal benefits. I want to understand the processes by which these injustices occur and possibilities for confronting them.

Most fishers seemed to feel comfortable relating their experiences and views about the park to me. However, my racial status did not always situate me as an insider. Researchers are often accorded extensive access to park resources which led some participants to perceive me as having greater access to the park than themselves. In order to avoid this perception and experience the park in ways similar to those of fishers, I declined all special services offered by the park administration.

Fishers often related experiences that resonated with my own; therefore, it was imperative that I implement mechanisms to assure trustworthiness. To keep my own attitudes in check, I frequently reflected on my thoughts and feelings. I also gathered data from multiple sources (interviews with both fishers and park staff, internal and public documents, and participant observation) to avoid bias. Lastly, I discussed my study with peers and fishers to make sure that my interpretations were consistent with the data. The methodology outlined allowed me to uncover a fresh perspective on African American environmental relationships and potential causes for their underrepresentation in wildland settings and recreation.

A history embedded in the land

CNP is located in southeastern Richland County, South Carolina in a rural, historically African American community locally known as Lower Richland. While it has been dubbed as “the swamp” or “the monument” (explained in the next section) by locals, park officials describe it as an old-growth bottomland hardwood forest. Adjacent to the Congaree and Wateree Rivers, this floodplain ecosystem is the largest unfragmented tract (26,545 acres) of its kind in the southeastern U.S. Its high biodiversity makes it home to several state and national champion trees (those considered the largest of their species) which has earned it several designations including an International Biosphere Reserve and Globally Important Bird Area (National Park Service, 2014b).

But before the area gained these distinctions, it was where indigenous people, known as the Congaree, fished, hunted, and buried their dead. Later, it was incorporated into the local plantation economy as a place where slaves herded livestock, and built dikes and mounds to protect crops and cattle from seasonal flooding. The forest also sustained a maroon community (Cely, 1975; Lockhart, 2006; National Park Service, 2014a).

When Yellowstone, America's first national park, was created in 1872, much of Lower Richland was a resource commons for local whites and newly freed women and men. Reconstruction offered emancipated people the possibility of self-sufficiency, social autonomy, and corporeal freedom through landownership. In 1869, the South Carolina legislature, dominated by African American males, established the South Carolina Land Commission to oversee the redistribution of plantation lands among freed people and whites who did not own property (Almlie et al., 2009). In Lower Richland, 39 freed women and men realized the dream of landownership when they purchased 1399 acres of land from the Commission (Almlie et al., 2009). Together, they built small farms, industries, churches, and schools. They nurtured social bonds through spiritual practices as well as collective hunting, fishing, and foraging in the local forest. Today, roughly 72% of residents in Lower Richland own land despite a high rate of poverty (Copeland, 2008). These prized lands along with their related socio-ecological practices were passed on to future generations which include most of the fishers interviewed for this study.

“Outdoors people”

During the study, I interviewed a group of hunter-fishermen who were members of a black hunt club. I began our conversation by explaining my interest in understanding local fishers’ experiences and perceptions of CNP. “Well, we fish,” one hunter-fisher responded, “but we are what you call ‘outdoors people’” (N2, 2014). Then he went on to explain that they along with other members of the community were fishers, hunters, farmers, gardeners, and artists. At that moment, I realized that in merely examining the activity of fishing, my study would only scratch the surface of a kaleidoscopic outdoor heritage that challenges what Martin (2004) calls the “racialized outdoor leisure identity” attached to African Americans. This term refers to stereotypes of racial groups’ outdoor relationships which are disseminated by popular media inculcating the public about who does and does not belong in the outdoors. Racialized outdoor leisure identities tend to present African Americans as disconnected and absent from, or uninterested in wildland spaces. Whites, on the other hand, are portrayed as lovers of the outdoors and frequent visitors to backcountry areas. This group of hunter-fishers, however, are not the urban black folks interviewed in most studies possessing the assumed African American outdoor leisure identity. They were born and raised in rural Lower Richland where contact with wildlands was frequent. They also possessed the disposable income to participate in recreational hunting, which can be an expensive past time. Moreover, the type of fishing in which they were engaged involved motorboats and big, powerful vehicles to haul them. These well-off, outdoors people complicate dominant narratives of marginality and detachment that characterize African Americans’ environmental relationships.

Fishers also defied the widespread belief that African Americans fear wildlands. Indeed, some fishers perceived “the swamp” to be a dangerous place. However, these sentiments were not spoken with trepidation. Rather, they were derived from extensive experience fishing in its remote areas far from well-worn trails. Fishers spoke about the aggressiveness of female wild hogs protecting their young and alligators that swam alongside their boats. One fisher told a harrowing story of facing off with a water moccasin until it slithered away (C1, 2014). While fishing with participants, I was constantly reminded to be aware of my surroundings. Fishers constantly advised me to “look ahead”, “look behind”, “look up in the trees”, “keep an eye out”, “keep an ear out”, “keep your tackle box closed” and “zip up your backpack when you're finish using it”. Unsurprisingly, their keen senses could detect movement and sound more readily than mine. I marveled at how they were able to fish, talk, laugh, and eat while simultaneously scanning the landscape for animal threats.

These fishers' outdoor ventures show that taking risks is not solely the domain of whites. Braun (2003) explains that within dominant American culture, taking risks – especially in the outdoors – demonstrates one's freedom of choice, individuality, superiority, and whiteness. Being “at-risk”, on the other hand, is the condition of the racialized Other who lacks the agency to alter their circumstances, and therefore must passively endure their lot or resist by engaging in delinquent behavior. Thus, African Americans cannot be adventurers or risk-takers because they lack self-determination. While it is true that African Americans are forced to navigate numerous restrictions that often limit their choices, I argue that this is just one side of the coin. African Americans take risks everyday to confront these restrictions or find alternative pathways around them. Yet, because their risk-taking often takes place in non-dominant geographies (e.g., remote areas of CNP) or do not meet mainstream criteria for risk-taking, it goes largely unnoticed. However, African American fishers' risk-taking must not be conflated with white risk culture described in Braun's essay. For these fishers, it is not associated with a “return to nature”, nor is it an individuating activity but rather a necessity for building community.

Fishers' intimate relationship with the swamp emerged from a history of subsistence practices and the social relations they supported. Most fishers were raised in families whose livelihoods depended either partially or wholly on fishing, hunting, and foraging in the swamp. One participant stated

Either you worked in a factory or you worked on Fort Jackson [the local Army base] or you did day labor, and it was few and far between. So to make ends meet the people hunted and fished to make up that portion. (C4, 2014)

One elder fisher spoke of foraging in the swamp: “… me and my grand uncle used to go down there with a mule and wagon cutting mulberry to sell to and make a living” (P3, 2014).

Another feature of intergenerational fishing shared by participants was the crucial role it played in nurturing social relationships. It was both a subsistence and recreational activity, blurring the boundary between work and leisure. Most participants learned how to fish by accompanying other family members on fishing trips. On many occasions, families and friends would gather early in the morning, hike, bike, or drive to a favorite fishing hole, dig for bait, and spend the day catching, cooking, and eating fish. During a presentation at CNP nature artist, Jimmy Dinkins, narrated his childhood adventures in the swamp.

We would catch brims and stuff, and we would cook, and play for a while, and go back and catch more fish, and eat, and stuff like that. And so, it was, so you know, it was like our playground. (2009: 2).

He also spoke of camping in the forest with friends and being baptized in Cedar Creek.²

These socio-ecological relationships were not exclusive to African Americans in the community. All participants described harmonious relations with their white neighbors. Francis Dawson, a white resident, owned a cabin and land on Cedar Creek. Not only did he allow locals to park their vehicles and fish on his property, he supplied them with benches, tables, and bait to make their experience more pleasant. Eventually, his property was sold to the park and access was restricted by wilderness management. However, fishers remember him well and refer to the area as “Francis”. Like Dawson, most landowners did not mind if community members crossed or fished on their property. In addition, legacy roads and trails built by loggers and hunters made for easy access to fishing holes.

Today, fishing is mainly a recreational activity but remains central to the social lives of most participants. For example, if fishers catch more than their families can eat, the surplus is distributed through a fish fry where friends and family are invited to their homes for an evening of eating, drinking, and socializing. Some fishers will freeze their catches and store it for months before finally orchestrating a much larger fish fry. Participants also kept loved ones in mind while fishing. One fisher set aside his entire catch of jackfish for his father. Another fisher distributed his surplus fish among elderly friends who were poverty stricken or unable to fish for themselves. And since I was a fledgling fisher and never caught many fish, participants always demanded that I accept some, if not all of their catch.

Landownership combined with affable social relations created a fluid landscape allowing freed women and men to settle in Lower Richland and enabled residents to meet their subsistence and social needs. This history lives on in the present through fishers' socio-ecological practices. It is central to the emergence of a black outdoor leisure identity among local fishers different from that described by Martin (2004) and those of outdoor recreationers favored by the Wilderness Act. Fishers' outdoor leisure identity is intimately tied to wildlands in a way that does not bifurcate people and nature. As opposed to viewing nature as separate from society – as a place one goes to get away from people, fishers understand nature as a place one goes to nurture social relationships.

Despite their differing leisure identities, African American fishers of Lower Richland and those participating in other studies have atleast one thing in common – they are alienated from local outdoor recreational spaces. Several studies suggest that African Americans’ underrepresentation in national parks and other wildland spaces is largely due to perceptions of racial discrimination (Erickson et al., 2009; Le and Holmes, 2012; Lee and Scott, 2016). However, African Americans participating in these studies tend to speculate about the types of discrimination they would encounter if they visited these areas. While their views support discrimination theory, there is little empirical data offering insight into the types of discrimination that actually does occur in spaces associated with outdoor recreation (Floyd, 1999). Examining the experiences of African Americans who visit wildlands and participate in outdoor recreation like the fishers of Lower Richland offers a more nuanced and empirically-based understanding of how racial discrimination can take place in the Great Outdoors.

Wilderness comes to Lower Richland

CNP was once a much smaller park called Congaree Swamp National Monument (CSNM). Established in 1976 through the efforts of local environmental activists to save the old-growth forest from logging interests, the “monument” conserved the area in ways that allowed for the continuation of local African Americans intergenerational fishing practices. But once CSNM received its wilderness designation in 1988, restrictions began to disrupt their socio-ecological practices. Hunting and foraging were banned. Fishing was still allowed but on an increasingly limited basis. More restrictions were imposed with the inauguration of CNP in 2003. At the time of this study, 21,700 of the park's 26,545 acres were designated as federal wilderness. According to the Wilderness Act, designated wilderness areas are administered to create an untrammeled, natural, undeveloped, and scenic landscape and provide opportunities for solitude and “primitive” forms of recreation (U.S. Congress, 1964b). Therefore, structures (i.e. buildings, roads, trash cans, signage etc.) as well as motor and mechanical vehicles are prohibited unless they are deemed necessary for wilderness management. Consequently, most traditional fishing holes can now only be accessed by hiking long distances (over a mile in some areas). Fishers must haul their equipment (i.e. rods, tackle, bait, ice pack, bucket, water, and snacks) to fishing sites with the added weight of their catch on return. Such treks can be especially taxing on older fishers and those with mobility issues.

The popular fishing site locally known as Francis was gated requiring fishers to walk a quarter of a mile or further to reach traditional fishing holes on Cedar Creek. Those who used the area to put in their boats can no longer do so as it is too difficult to transport a boat the distance from the parking lot to the creek. Eventually, keys to the gate were given to commercial outfitters to hold canoe tours. Observing the racial make-up of the outfitters and their clients, many fishers perceived the park as providing preferential treatment to white visitors.

One disabled fisher described the difficulties that the gate imposed on his ability to reach traditional fishing sites and the negative implications for his ability to continue fishing at CNP. He also told me about an encounter with a local outfitter. One day, he arrived to find the gate open and vehicles with canoes attached driving towards the creek. When he approached a staffer with the outfitter and asked how they were able enter the property with their vehicles, the staff member responded, “If you pay the $300 fee, you can drive in here too.” Furious, he walked away and began his labored hike to the creek as white visitors in their vehicles drove by (C8, 2014). Other fishers described similar experiences. One angry fisher argued

If you white, why I gotta walk and you white, why I can't ride? See, that's the principle! But they can do anything they want to do but black people can't do it. But if you white, you can come in here cause it's right. (C7, 2014)

Fishers were also denied access to Weston Lake, another popular fishing site. Community members would drive or bike to the lake using Sims Road. However, the road was closed making the boardwalk trail the shortest distance (roughly one mile) from the main parking lot to Weston Lake. Moreover, fishing equipment was banned on the boardwalk and the lake was closed to fishing due to what park officials describe as a litter problem. Additional regulations prohibited other activities fishers once enjoyed such as digging for bait and cooking. Fishing is now limited to a few areas. The quality of fishing at some of these sites is poor. Many fishers attributed this problem to overfishing caused by too many people fishing in too few locations. This finding suggests local fishers' displacement may have ecological implications contrary to the goals of wilderness management.

The imposition of designated wilderness also exposed class disparities. Fishers with boats or access to hunt club properties adjacent to the park (hunt club memberships range from $125 to $2500 annually) were able to reach more fishing sites than less wealthy participants who were restricted to a few areas and required to walk long distances to reach their fishing sites. The relationships between wilderness and class are well-documented. Authors have argued that wilderness is a white elitist construction designed to provide respite from and/or limit the usufruct rights of working class, often racialized communities (Braun, 2003; Cosgrove, 1995; Cronon, 1995; DeLuca and Demo, 2008; Jacoby, 2014; Kosek, 2004). However, the ways in which wilderness policy fosters class divisions within racialized groups are less understood. Omi and Winant (2014) offer an entry point for explaining these processes. In contrast to popular conceptions which view class relations as a cause of racial struggle, they assert that class relations must also be understood as a consequence of these conflicts. These dynamics are present in fishers' experience at CNP where racialization of resource access produced by wilderness management exacerbated inequalities between well-off and less wealthy fishers.

At the time of this study, some restrictions had recently been lifted. Park management barred all vehicles from entering Francis and built a large parking lot close to Cedar Creek where outfitters could hold canoe tours and fishers would be able to walk a shorter distance to fishing holes. Fishers, however, claim that this area is “fished out” or overfished because it is one of the few remaining sites accessible by foot. In addition, fishers are now allowed to carry their equipment on the boardwalk and Weston Lake has been reopened to fishing. However, most participants did not know about changes in park policies which points to communication barriers between the park and the local community. Those who were aware of these changes were unsure if they would resume some of their old fishing traditions. There were still too many restrictions and their sense of place was lost (C1, 2014; P1, 2014).

Fishers also talked about the park's lack of facilities to accommodate their other preferred outdoor activities. Some fishers stated that CNP would be a great place to hold family and church gatherings, but because wilderness management limits music and cooking and there are no facilities for games and sports, they could not use the park for any activities beyond fishing.

Ironically, fishers had greater access to the forest when it was under private landownership than when it became public land under the jurisdiction of the federal government. However, this is not the first time a state has limited a community's rights to local resources. From New Mexico and the Adirondacks in the U.S. to Mt. Meru, Tanzania and Java, Indonesia, states have enclosed the commons for the purposes of resource extraction and tourism (Jacoby, 2014; Kosek, 2004; Neumann, 1998; Peluso, 1994). Yet, few analyses examine issues of access at the intersections of race, wilderness ideology, and policy (see Kosek, 2006). Fishers' experiences at CNP suggest that federal wilderness management operates as what Omi and Winant refer (2014) to as a “racial project”. These activities link social structures to cultural representations in ways that interpret, symbolize, and explain racial dynamics and accordingly, reorganize and redistribute societal resources along racial lines.

The Wilderness Act functions as a racial project in that it connects environmental values, symbols, and beliefs associated with white elitist outdoor culture to the power of the racial state. It codifies this group's interests in federal law, thus racializing the rights of resource access. In doing so, it plays a major role in maintaining white supremacy in the Great Outdoors. According to Baldwin (2009), this type of racial dominance proliferates through white liberalist claims to multi-racial accommodation while leaving white racial privilege intact. He contends that this is often accomplished through universalizing language that presents white environmental values as important to the national or global order. Similarly, the Wilderness Act employs universalizing language that advances white environmental interests as a social good for the American public. Whether or not its authors or implementers intend(ed) to support white racial dominance does not change its overall effect. Pulido (2015) argues that white supremacy does not require racial animus. Institutions can unwittingly impose policies that simultaneously harm people of color and benefit whites. She also points out that institutional actors are often aware of the racializing impacts of their practices. At CNP, employees were cognizant of the ways in which wilderness management creates racially inequitable access to park resources.

One employee agreed with fishers' claims that park policies were racially discriminatory against black fishers at Francis (E1, 2014). Staff and management regretted their inability to change the circumstances. When I told an employee about fishers' desire for greater access to traditional fishing sites, he responded

I totally understand that perspective. On the one hand my personal feeling is yes, we should be doing that, it makes sense but then on the other hand, if we're mandated to follow what the law is saying then we can only do so much in wilderness. (E2, 2015)

This employee went on to describe a range of actions that can be taken by the park and community of lift restrictions imposed by wilderness management (Davis, 2015). His statement, however, shows that unjust policies can be implemented despite institutional awareness of the harm they inflict.

Fishers' responses to their displacement also differed from those documented in other studies. Some fishers gathered community members for a meeting with park staff, some tried to discuss their concerns with park employees individually, while others threatened to notify local media outlets about their plight. While it was possible that some fishers might have continued fishing in designated wilderness areas, “poaching” fish did not seem to be major activity. The lack of visible broad-scale resistance could be attributed to a number of factors. Firstly, wilderness management was imposed at a time when most community members were less dependent on the forest for subsistence uses and economic stability. Secondly, a high rate of landownership combined with ongoing communal social ties and access to hunting clubs (for those who could afford it) provided fishers with alternative fishing sites. Third, fishers were able to continue their socio-ecological practices despite their displacement demonstrating that such practices might be less tied to place and more strongly connected to the activity of fishing which can be accomplished in a variety of locations.

While it appears that fishers passively accepted their displacement, Shinew et al. (2004) suggest that acts of resistance among African Americans can take on unexpected forms. They argue that African Americans might feel less limited in their leisure pursuits than anticipated because they are accustomed to handling restrictions placed on their activities and have therefore, cultivated ways of navigating constraints. These strategies often yield alternative types of leisure activities which function to defy the norms and initiatives of dominant structures. Thus, while fishers might not have organized to challenge displacement, their refusal to recognize and affiliate with formal establishments within the park can be seen as acts of resistance. For example, fishers do not visit the Harry Hampton Visitor Center, nor do they call the park by its official moniker but refer to it by names long used by the community such as “the swamp” or the “monument”, and they continue to refer to the area officially named “Dawson's Cabin” as “Francis”.

Like African Americans interviewed in other studies (Erickson et al., 2009; Lee and Scott, 2016), some fishers resist white-mainstream outdoor activities in order to assert black identity. My interview with one fisher reveals how outdoor leisure can serve as a platform for which to affirm a black outdoor ethos.

JD: I want to ask you about the activities they provide at the park. They have hiking, camping, and canoeing. Have you ever participated in any of them?

P3: Yeah, I went down there and I walked. They've got nice trails and stuff. It's nice down there. But for me, I was walking to fish.

JD: So you're more interested in fishing. Not necessarily hiking and camping?

P3: The reason I'm more interested in hunting and fishing than bird watching and camping is because the house I used to live in, we had one room and when the stars were out, you can count the stars at night.

JD: So, do you think if you didn't have any of those experiences already, would you do any of those activities at the park?

P3: I would hunt and fish.

JD: But you wouldn't do the other stuff?

P3: I ain't worried about sleeping in no woods and all that!

JD: Why not?

P3: That's for the white people to do, not us. (P3, 2014)

This fisher is advancing social thought about the character of black leisure and rural identity. He is claiming a deep relationship with the outdoors different from that which is promoted by the Wilderness Act. His relationship with the land emerges from a way of life deeply rooted in the natural environment rather than derived from periodic excursions into the woods. His vocabulary opposes dominant terminology. He does not hike through the forest. He walks. Camping is akin to “sleeping in the woods”. Yet, from his childhood home to hunting and fishing practices, he is as much an outdoors person as any enthusiast who visits CNP.

Some fishers, however, were amenable camping. Yet, this group was constrained by a variety of factors. One fisher said she would like to camp at the park with her grandchildren but she was too old to physically maneuver in the ways tent camping required. She stated that if the park had cabins or allowed recreational vehicles, she would be more likely to camp at CNP. Several fishers stated that they would not mind camping at the park if they were not already familiar with the landscape due to many years of fishing and/or hunting in its remote corners. These fishers’ preferences reveal the two-toned nature of African American outdoor leisure. While camping is an activity closely associated white outdoor culture, the goal of camping differs for fishers. Possibilities for camping were always discussed within the context of fishing or hunting rather than sightseeing. Fishers often stated that they did not understand the goal of sightseeing and that it did not seem interesting or adequate to engage their minds like fishing or hunting. These views and preferences are integral to fishers’ outdoor ethos. They reveal its American-ness in fishers’ fondness for camping. However, their utilitarian character derived from fishers’ family histories of enslavement and subsistence practices shows their rootedness in black life in the swamp.

Conclusion

This research examined the factors leading to local African American fishers' estrangement from CNP. It found that the Wilderness Act imposed restrictions that limited or prohibited their traditional fishing practices while encouraging those associated with CNP's white visitors. This disparity caused fishers to perceive racial discrimination at the park, prompting their alienation. In examining the experiences of African Americans who participate in wildland recreation, this study calls for a broader conception of African American environmental relations and a more thorough understanding of the factors underlying their underrepresentation in wildland settings and outdoor recreation.

More studies are needed to illuminate the breadth of African American environmental relationships. A research agenda taking on this task would build on existing theoretical frames and refine them through empirical analyses. This work would contribute to several important bodies of literature on non-indigenous political ecologies of conservation at the intersections of colonial systems of slavery and its legacies in environmental ideology and practice, resource access and control, and state power. It also has the potential to extend environmental justice literature and practice on matters pertaining to African Americans beyond discourses focused on urban industrial toxins to consider the ways in which environmental racism operates in non-urban and conservation contexts.

At a time when environmental problems that threaten our quality of life are exacerbated by political maneuvers which further endanger our ecosystems, the NPS cannot afford to alienate an increasingly diverse population. Policies established in times of extreme racial violence, such as the Wilderness Act, should be reassessed to address real concerns about the relationship between racial injustice and environmental protection. It is my hope that this research will help pave the way for legislative and institutional reform as well as place-based solutions to account for the needs of groups underrepresented and unacknowledged in the Great Outdoors.

Highlights

A broader consideration for African American environmental relations is needed that extends beyond urban industrial toxins discourses.

African American underrepresentation in wildland settings and recreation can be partly attributed to their symbolic and material erasure in the outdoors.

By seeking the perspectives of those who do visit wildlands, a better understanding of their underrepresentation can be achieved.

By seeking the perspectives of those who do participate in outdoor recreation, a better understanding of their underrepresentation can be achieved.

In taking this approach, this research shows that federal policy contributes to African American erasure and underrepresentation in the outdoors at CNP.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

I want to express my deep appreciation to the many people who assisted the development of this work. Many thanks to the fishers of Lower Richland; to my former advisor, Kirstin Dow and former committee members Amy Mills and Tom Lekan for their guidance and profound insights; to Capers Stokes for connecting me with fishers in Lower Richland and for checking in on me; to David Shelley and the staff at CNP for their candidness despite the somewhat controversial nature of this research; to Cassandra Johnson-Gaither and Brian Williams for reviewing this paper and providing helpful feedback; to Marie Barber Adams, Ed Carr, Carolyn Finney, John Grego, Conor Harrison, Ben Haywood, Frank Henning, Mark Kinzer, David Kneas, John Kupfer, Caroline Nagel, Ronnie Schumann, Payal Shah, Maria Shelley, and Bob Weyeneth.

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) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Notes

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