Technology, Culture, and Environmental Uncertainty - SAGE Journals

10.1177/0739456X05281045 Umemoto Technology, & Culture, Suryanata and Environmental Uncertainty

ARTICLE

Technology, Culture, and Environmental Uncertainty Considering Social Contracts in Adaptive Management

Karen Umemoto & Krisnawati Suryanata

Abstract Natural resource planning is often riddled with uncertainty, especially when new technologies are introduced. While an “adaptive management” approach is attractive in such situations, it is difficult to implement where there is a real or perceived decline of the state. Based on a case study of mariculture development in Hawaii, the authors suggest that planners and policy makers consider informal social contracts as complements to formal regulatory frameworks to increase the viability of adaptive management regimes. Discussion includes the benefits as well as potential pitfalls of social contracts where formal regulations may be necessary. Keywords: adaptive management; social learning; common property; uncertainty Karen Umemoto is an associate professor in the Department of Urban and Regional Planning at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. Krisnawati Suryanata is an associate professor in the Department of Geography at the University of Hawaii at Manoa.

evelopment projects that introduce technological innovations often bring with them a high degree of uncertainty and irreversibility, with each new venture carrying the potential to effect profound changes in the environment and everyday lifestyles. The limitations of science and experience often prevent us from fully understanding the impacts of a new technology over time. In dealing with the complexity and uncertainty inherent in many natural resource management dilemmas, several authors have suggested a deliberative approach that promotes social learning among stakeholders so that society can better respond to unanticipated outcomes (e.g., Christensen 1985; Lee 1993; Schusler, Decker, and Pfeffer 2003). Social learning can be defined as “learning that occurs when people engage one another, sharing diverse perspectives and experience to develop a common framework of understanding and basis for joint action” (Schusler, Decker, and Pfeffer 2003, 311). Lee (1993) suggests that policy makers faced with uncertainties adopt an adaptive management approach, in which policies are designed and implemented as experiments probing the behavior of natural systems. In an adaptive management regime, planners and decision makers develop policy incrementally based on ongoing acquisition of new information so that adjustments in policies and practices can be made. Unexpected outcomes are not viewed as policy failures but rather as instructive findings used in making timely adjustments. Due to the nature of adaptive management regimes, such an approach requires public confidence in the state’s capacity and commitment to make needed corrections in a responsive management system. However, this idealistic application of science to policy is difficult to put into practice if the implementing institutions are perceived to lack the necessary capacity or to be politically biased. The real and perceived retrenchment of the state has left many formal authorities unable to adopt this approach. Meanwhile, the weight of unresolved questions can continue to cripple planning processes, leaving many plans and regulations involving new technologies on slippery foundation. In situations where formal or established rules are perceived to be lacking or deficient, stakeholders are temporarily caught in a social dilemma that could lead to resource breakdowns or escalating environmental conflicts. One dimension of planning that may provide useful insight into such dilemmas is the interface between formal regulations and informal social contracts among

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Journal of Planning Education and Research 25:264-274 DOI: 10.1177/0739456X05281045 © 2006 Association of Collegiate Schools of Planning

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Technology, Culture, and Environmental Uncertainty 䉳

stakeholders. Certainly, formal laws and official processes are not the sole means of managing resources or resolving conflicts. In the book Order without Law, Ellickson (1991, 282) argues that in close-knit communities, “informal social controls are likely to supplant law.” Individuals caught in social dilemmas are likely to innovate and change the institutional structure to improve joint outcomes (Ostrom 1998), which include developing a system of informal social controls. There are numerous examples of robust resource management regimes whose effectiveness is based on the strength of informal social controls (e.g., Acheson 1988, 2003; Berkes 1999; Millar 1996). In fact, formal rules and norms could be more effective and more legitimate in the eyes of local community members when distant lawmakers are perceived to be less informed than local norm makers or to be prone to manipulation by interest groups. Understanding the dynamic linkages between formal and informal systems of social controls is instructive for planners as they search for ways to “reconcile pragmatism and vision within the complex dynamics of power, values and cultural differences” (Forester 1999). The notion of deliberating informal as well as formal social controls is consistent with Cohen’s (1997, 430) suggestion that “new deliberative arenas outside formal politics might work as ‘schools of deliberative democracy’ in a special way.” Planners who attend to the interaction and discourse beyond the formal realm into the informal one may gain a more complete understanding of social dynamics surrounding any planning controversy. This is especially important in environmental disputes in which formal deliberative processes are perceived to have a limited range of desirable outcomes. In cases previously characterized by lengthy litigation and embittered conflict, informal negotiations have produced plans of action acceptable to traditional adversaries (Bingham 1986; Lee 1993). Generally speaking, a comprehensive system of social controls consists of rules and sanctions that employ both rewards and punishments, and they range in form from personal ethics, interpersonal contracts, and informal social norms, to the more formal rules and law (Ellickson 1991). With this understanding, a critical challenge for planners is devising planning processes that could enhance the building of informal norms and social contracts, such that they complement formal regulatory frameworks that may still be in their formative stage. Collaborative relationships that facilitate social learning can also aid in the more thoughtful development of evolving management regimes to better address the concerns of various stakeholder groups. However, current mechanisms for public participation in planning, such as public hearings, are not necessarily designed for social learning and, to the contrary, often encourage

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concerned parties to take increasingly extreme actions that harden opposing positions, with no incentives for stakeholders to learn from or accommodate one another (Carpenter and Kennedy 1988; Daniels and Walker 2001; Millar and Aiken 1995). Processes that promote collaboration include informal face-to-face meetings (Ostrom 1998, 2000; Strauss 1999), understanding and acknowledging the concerns of opposite parties (Carpenter and Kennedy 1988; Bush and Folger 1994), and joint fact finding (Susskind and Field 1996; Ehrmann and Stinson 1999). Establishing trust—that people will deal honestly with each other—is a critical first step toward collaborative learning (Carpenter and Kennedy 1988; Susskind and Field 1996). Drawing from behavioral studies on rational choice, Ostrom (1998) suggests that most people tend to react to the positive actions of others with positive responses. Therefore, people invest in being trustworthy not necessarily out of intrinsic goodness but because it is in their interest to build a reputation for keeping promises so that they can expect others to follow a norm of reciprocity. These mutually reinforcing “core relationships” of reputation, trust, and reciprocity (Ostrom 1998, 12) lie at the heart of self-enforced cooperation necessary to break out of social dilemmas. This is particularly important in controversies where historic events, differing values, and incomplete information have previously fomented distrust among the various stakeholders. In this article, we examine the case of mariculture development in Hawaii, in which a diverse array of individuals and groups were seen to advocate, negotiate, and deliberate issues in such a way that blurred the distinction between the private and public domains of decision making in the context of an evolving regulatory scheme for an emerging industry. In the following section, we briefly discuss the background of a controversy regarding the application of new mariculture technology in the state of Hawaii. Since the regulatory framework for this new industry was and is still in its infancy, both proponents and opponents of mariculture are temporarily caught in a social dilemma that has resulted in increasingly litigious confrontations. Then, we discuss how, at its own initiative, one of the mariculture firms invested in establishing trust and reciprocal relationships in their attempt to avoid costly legal battles that had crippled or stalled other mariculture projects. In the final section, we explore ways for planners and policy makers to facilitate the establishment of informal social contracts, while being mindful of the risks of overly relying on informal agreements. We suggest that planners and policy makers consider redesigning planning processes to enable informal social contracts that would increase the viability of adaptive management regimes. This is especially important when historic events have eroded public confidence in the

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implementing institution’s capacity. Critical to this is the establishment of trust and reciprocity among stakeholders who would become partners in a process of social learning. This includes joint fact finding, creating more flexible management systems to respond to “new findings,” and encouraging stakeholders to seek a “common framework of understanding and basis for joint action.” We entertain this approach with a discussion of both the benefits and the pitfalls of relying on informal social contracts and where formal regulations and enforcement mechanisms may be necessary.

䉴 Mariculture Development in Hawaii In 1997, a demonstration project to grow fish in the open ocean using large, high-tech, submerged cages was begun jointly between the University of Hawaii Sea Grant Program, the Aquaculture Development Program of the Department of Land and Natural Resources, and the Oceanic Institute (Helsley 2001). In 1999, Hawaii state law was amended to allow leasing of submerged lands and the water column above them for the development of marine activities, including mariculture. This marked the beginning of commercial development of the mariculture industry in the state of Hawaii. The regulatory framework for mariculture at the national and state levels is still in its early developmental stages. A variety of local, state, and federal rules and regulations apply to mariculture, although they were not specifically written with mariculture in mind.1 Most of these rules are based on the principles of insuring public safety and minimizing the impacts of development on the environment and on current users while promoting economic growth. In Hawaii, the Aquaculture Development Program, housed under the state Department of Agriculture, is the main state agency that has assisted firms in navigating the regulatory maze and serves as a guiding resource for lawmakers, commissioners, entrepreneurs, and concerned stakeholders. Approval and oversight of leases and site selection fall under the jurisdiction of the Board of Land and Natural Resources. Lease applicants must submit an environmental assessment that includes a description of current users and their activities, including any practitioners of traditional and customary Hawaiian rights. This application is subjected to reviews by state agencies as well as the general public. The agency accepts formal testimonies and facilitates public hearings. Anyone opposed to an application can request a contested case hearing, a quasi-judicial process involving the presentation of evidence by witnesses, cross-examination, and arguments in front of the Board of Land and Natural Resources.

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Proponents in favor of mariculture emphasized its many potential benefits, most of which could be measured in tangible forms. In light of the fact that the world’s fisheries are in steep decline while the global demand for seafood continues to rise, mariculture offers one alternative means to meet a growing demand for seafood. Mariculture can potentially diversify Hawaii’s economy, widely recognized as being overly reliant on tourism. Fish farming can bring new jobs, including new opportunities for fishers experiencing shrinking catches. Proponents also argued that unlike other fish farms situated in bays and estuaries that have experienced problems of pollution and disease, offshore fish farms flushed by strong currents could be managed with little to no adverse impacts to the marine environment. Submerged cages could develop to become fish-aggregating devices (FAD), such as in the case of the first mariculture venture off Oahu, thus benefiting local fishermen. Last, the lease revenues, 20 percent of which would go to the Office of Hawaiians Affairs for use of ceded lands, would add needed revenues to state coffers. Proponents strongly argued that mariculture was a low-risk option that can take advantage of “underutilized” marine resources. In contrast to the tangible benefits professed by supporters, a variety of opponents and skeptics raised a wide-ranging set of issues, many of which were of a nature not easily measured in comparative terms. Indeed, some of the objections fit neatly into the vernacular of existing regulations. “Use conflicts” between mariculture operators and recreational users, commercial fishers, and designated marine mammal sanctuaries were among the most clearly defined and tangible issues. These types of conflicts had relatively clear avenues for resolution. Cages could either be relocated so as not to compete with existing uses, or new areas could be designated for existing uses, if such arrangements were feasible. Other tangible concerns that could be negotiated within the existing regulatory framework included species selection or thresholds of biological and chemical input. Other concerns, however, were more intangible and did not fit into discrete, codified realms outlined within the existing regulatory framework. They included differences in beliefs and values with regard to how resources and the environment should be treated and conflicting views of what mariculture and ocean leasing meant to individual and collective identities (Suryanata and Umemoto, forthcoming). For example, a number of opponents questioned the propriety of allowing private entrepreneurs to exclude others from the ocean “commons” by claiming exclusive use of space. Others viewed ocean leasing as yet another reminder of the historic disregard of Native Hawaiian rights to the land. These concerns were amplified by the high degree of uncertainty associated with the newly introduced technology.


In the absence of regulatory frameworks that can address the intangible concerns, some opponents resorted to filing a contested case-hearing request, the only means available to them for stopping a project. Consistent with the existing regulatory frameworks, these complaints were generally framed in environmental or use-conflict terms. They demanded that firm entrepreneurs remove any uncertainties regarding the potential impacts—a difficult condition for the entrepreneurs to meet in a short period given the lack of data or experience associated with the new technology. This procedure provides a critical safeguard, but without other concurrent venues for dialogue, its adversarial nature can trap both sides of the mariculture controversy in a social dilemma, in which maximizing short-term interests (such as winning the contested case) eventually leaves all stakeholders worse off than feasible alternatives (such as reaching consensus). The conflict is due in part to the infancy of the industry and the formative state of the regulatory process for this emerging technology. Reflecting on this conundrum, one entrepreneur stated, “There are any number of reasons people could pick that may come out of the woodwork towards of the end of the process.” Another agreed, “[Even when I finally got the lease], it cost me about 50 thousand in legal expenses.” And another, “The cost of following these steps [in the permitting process] has left us in an economic position that we are not competitive in the world market.” Ironically, because underlying grievances were not addressed in these cases, opponents were equally dissatisfied with the process. A community member who had backed down from an earlier opposition expressed her concern that members of the community must have enough funds to be heard: “I could not afford legal representation to help me file a contested case hearing, but I think the concerns are still not addressed.”2

䉴 Case Study and Method This article is based on a comparative analysis of controversies that surround the reviews of lease application submitted by four Hawaii-based mariculture firms during the period of 2001 to 2003. Concerns over the potential impacts on the environment were relatively few for the first two proposals, and the first commercial mariculture operation began in summer 2002. As the visibility of ocean leasing and marine aquaculture increased in Hawaii, however, the number of concerned stakeholders increased while the substance of concerns broadened. By the time the hearing for the third proposal was conducted, the issue of fish farming had become highly controversial. Echoing the well-documented criticisms of fish farming worldwide (see, e.g., Goldburg, Elliott, and Naylor 2001), residents

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raised concerns over potential cumulative environmental impacts on the health and behavior of marine animals, water quality, coral reefs, and local marine ecology. Voiced with equal resolve were the concerns over the potential impacts on local lifestyles, cultural norms, and values. Eventually, widespread opposition and the threat of a litigious confrontation led one of the firms to withdraw its application. A fourth proposal, and the focus of this study, was an application for the farming of finfish along the Kona coast of the island of Hawaii that was put forward in 2003. The initial application was for use of the seafloor and water column that would occupy a ninety-acre site, with exclusive use of a nine-acre area at the surface, and the deployment of a combination of submerged and floating cages. The owners proposed to grow hatchery-reared fish that were native to Hawaii, including kahala (Seriola dumerili) and mahimahi (Coryphaena hippurus), with an estimated production of 360 tons of fish per year. In contrast to the failed proposal a few months earlier, the application was approved without much controversy. We examine the application process of this company to understand how mariculture entrepreneurs and community members found their way out of the social dilemma they confronted, to allow learning and adaptive management to seed. The relative transparency of the planning process lent ease of access to the public discourse surrounding proposed developments. The authors collected data through observations of public hearings, formal interviews with stakeholders from 2001 to 2003, and project documents, written testimonies, editorials, and opinions in the news media. We interviewed thirtyfive stakeholders and experts, including fishermen, land-based fish farmers, new entrepreneurs, marine biologists, extension specialists, representatives of government agencies and elected officials, legal experts, concerned residents, agricultural economists, environmentalists, and Native Hawaiian cultural practitioners. We selected the interviewees using a combination of purposeful and snowball sampling. The interviews were semistructured followed by open-ended conversations to allow interviewees to express their own perspectives on the controversies. They ranged in length from one to three hours, with a majority lasting two hours. Public hearings and interviews were recorded and transcribed. These and other textual sources were then coded.3 We developed some preliminary coding schemes based on the existing literature on Native Hawaiian rights, common property, and mariculture development. For the most part, however, we used an inductive approach to content analysis (Strauss and Corbin 1998). Our units of analysis included events and “thought units”—that is, the words, sentences, or paragraphs used to express an identifiable thought. Over fifty types of concerns among proponents, skeptics, and opponents

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emerged from the data, clustering into the following categories: impacts on current uses, potential impacts on the environment, issues concerning the changing property regime, procedural and policy issues, economic issues, and social and cultural issues (see appendix).

䉴 Uncertainty and State Capacity Similar to other ventures utilizing technology that is newly introduced into an environment, issues of uncertainty reigned. Concerns raised in response to proposed aquaculture development were composed of two types: (1) uncertainties about impacts on the environment and (2) uncertainties about the place of residents and stakeholders in the changing picture of the future. These uncertainties were compounded by the existing skepticism regarding the local government’s capacity to monitor compliance and its presumed bias toward commercial development.

Uncertainties about Long-Term Environmental Impacts Most of the objections voiced against lease applicants were articulated as concerns over cumulative environmental impacts on the health and behavior of marine animals, water quality, coral reefs, and local marine ecology. Specifically, opponents raised concerns over the impacts on spinner dolphins, migratory patterns of fish and marine mammals, benthic environments and coral reefs, the possible attraction of predators such as sharks into recreational areas, the possible introduction of diseases, biological pollution, reproductive cycles of marine species, alteration of established koa (fishing grounds), and the impact of juvenile fish capture on the wild fish population. In several permit applications, testimonies underscored the need to protect the quality of the marine environment, pointing to the fact that the sites were located in the Class AA waters, designated as the more pristine within the state’s two-tiered, water-classification system. These objections echoed well-documented criticisms of fish farming elsewhere in the world (Goldburg, Elliott, and Naylor 2001; Millar and Aiken 1995). Proponents tried to assuage public concerns by citing recent studies of mariculture in Hawaii, based on water sampling around the only existing submerged farm system located off the coast of Oahu, which, at least up to the time of this study, showed negligible impact on water quality or the benthic environment (Helsley 2003).4 They reiterated that offshore mariculture avoids the many problems that have plagued

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mariculture projects elsewhere, arguing that strong ocean currents would effectively prevent accumulation of effluents. Others attempted to clarify the differences in technologies and management practices, with some advocating that Hawaii set a leading standard for best-management practices for the future of mariculture. While somewhat successful in clarifying misinformation, uncertainty over long-term impacts remained, especially since the study of cumulative impacts over longer periods or with higher cage densities was not yet possible.

Uncertainties about Local Culture and Sense of Place Citizens also voiced concerns over how new technology would alter local and indigenous culture and the community’s sense of place. To many of them, the introduction of new technology and the establishment of new firms represented the potential entrance of a new industry that may have profound impacts on the demography, labor market, and other social practices, just as the plantation economy and tourism economy had done in previous eras. Particularly, where social identity and the struggle for cultural survival among Native Hawaiians are based on the continuation of practices tied to the land and ocean, changes to the environment and activities upon it carried great meaning beyond the modification of the physical surroundings. In the historical backdrop of colonization and a steady movement for Native Hawaiian sovereignty, these meanings served to frame interpretations of proposed ventures. A major thematic component of these claims was a fear that over time, the creation of a new industry would lead to changes that left no place for local residents in a future scenario. At the public hearings, as well as in conversations with local residents, the following sentiment was widely shared: “If we allow fish farming, we share the risks. But what are we going to get out of it, besides jobs?” For many, it was not simply a matter of opposing new uses for the ocean but of protecting a way of life and a way of being in the world. Various stakeholders, notably, local fisherman, Native Hawaiian advocates, and cultural practitioners, strongly opposed the exclusive use of ocean space that they viewed as vital to their livelihood. Some expressed a fear of displacement conditioned by earlier tourism and resort development. As one elderly resident said, “I look at the future and I see our fishing grounds get smaller and smaller. Eventually there won’t be places for fisherman to fish.” This fear was expressed at the same time wild fisheries in nearshore waters were facing rapid decline. Given the high cost of establishing offshore mariculture ventures, some residents also speculated that the need for


substantial finance capital would make the industry vulnerable to domination by global and foreign powers. Accompanying this suspicion was a fear that foreign multinationals would lack the sensitivity, concern, and commitment that members of a locally based community may have in the preservation of the environment and for the welfare of their neighbors.

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inadequate staffing. Other claimants cited the lack of empirically grounded research on ocean currents as evidence that proponents along with the state may not be prepared to fully evaluate critical issues before moving forward.6

䉴 Informal Social Contracts Capacity of the State Given the types and degree of uncertainty, new mariculture projects are those that could benefit from an adaptive management regime. But one of the requirements of such an approach is the capacity of the state to oversee the implementation of an “experimental” and “adaptational” system, including the mandate to make adjustments deemed necessary based on ongoing experiments to protect the natural resources. In the case of Hawaiian mariculture, there was a history of real and perceived regulatory failure that undermined faith in the state’s capacity to manage a new and heretofore unknown industry. In particular, environmental advocates along with Native Hawaiian cultural practitioners and kupuna, or elders, cited numerous examples in which state officials demonstrated apparent disregard for the environment through their decisions or lack of oversight. Examples included past resort and upscale housing developments along the Kona coast in which construction altered coastal ecosystems or resulted in the disturbance of ancient burial sites, petroglyphs, or sacred sites. Interviewees also alluded to controversy surrounding the 1994 filming of the movie Waterworld, in which the use of pyrotechnics and the construction of an artificial atoll on the sea bed was seen to create debris and excess noise in disregard for the pristine environment. Another controversy brewed in the late 1990s over a planned CO2 sequestration experiment that lacked consultation with local residents. These moments in history, etched in the memories of those involved in or attuned to such controversies, served to temper confidence that the state had the capacity to prevent potential negative impacts from future mariculture production. The state’s ability to serve as a steward of the ocean commons was questioned in yet other ways. Fishermen cited current limitations of the state in enforcing fisheries regulations and were skeptical of their ability to do any better with mariculture regulations, especially as budgetary woes continued to shrink local government.5 One editorial questioned the applicability of state Department of Health (DOH) water-quality standards originally based on human health concerns rather than marine life, as well as the fact that the state had regularly failed to enforce the standards due, at least in part, to

The case study suggests the value of looking beyond the formal regulatory framework and paying equal attention to the understandings and agreements forged in more informal venues—loosely defined as informal social contracts. The mariculture firm that successfully contained the controversy did follow the mandatory government reviews and public hearings. In addition, however, it invested a great deal of time in consultation with various community groups and Native Hawaiian organizations, along with other concerned individuals. This was accomplished through a number of scoping meetings, written communications, and numerous informal and face-toface discussions. The firm maintained a Web site where many documents were posted, including working and final copies of their environmental assessment, summary transcripts of meetings with community groups, pertinent studies and articles, and correspondence regarding their plans and environmental assessment. By contrast, the failed cases lacked the type of interaction necessary to develop mutual understandings and cooperative relationships prior to the formal hearings. This approach proved to be effective in addressing community concerns, not in definitively answering all of the questions posed to them but by demonstrating the firm’s willingness to work in partnership with community constituents—a critical strategy given the aforementioned uncertainties. In this way, the firm and local constituents began to forge informal understandings and agreements, the start of which was articulated in the discourse that unfolded in the various meetings and discussions that took place. If social contracts, generally speaking, define a set of mutual obligations that maintains a system of collectively conceived and enforced social arrangements, there were four elements that began to emerge in this particular case. These were (1) a place-based identity and shared values, (2) reputation, (3) trust, and (4) a norm of reciprocity. Firm principals emphasized a place-based identity along with the shared values among people who lived in that place. Their emphasis was on responsible stewardship over the ocean commons, referring to their eleven-year track record and commitment to Kona and the region. In their presentations and discussions, they sought to firmly establish their identity as fellow community residents equally committed to environmental stewardship and the welfare of local residents. In a viewpoint article published in a local weekly, they wrote, “My business

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partner and I both surf, fish, and dive along this stretch of coastline. We are accountable to our community, in a way that a large, foreign-owned venture never could be. . . . We are doing this in our very own backyard—isn’t that the essence of sustainability?” (Sims and Sarver 2003). In describing their approach, they stated, “We want to establish a precedent so that this industry can grow in a carefully-controlled manner, with maximum opportunity for community input.” Showing their empathy with area residents, they further stated, “If somebody else were doing this I would want to make sure they were really public and open about it.”7 But these claims would ring hollow if not accompanied by tangible actions that convince community members that the firm principals share values that are consistent with being a “local” resident. In addition to their track record of upholding environmental ethics, the firm principals were mindful of cultural protocols and demonstrated respect for those who raised concerns and opposition in the course of personal interactions and, just as important, by recognizing the local community’s right to know. More substantively, the firm showed a willingness to be flexible with their plans in response to some of the concerns, which included the withdrawal of their request for exclusive access to most of the leased area as they acknowledged the value expressed by some constituents of preserving the “ocean as the commons.”8 Supportive testimonies by prominent and reputable members of the community who vouched for the integrity of the two principals lent greater credibility to the substance of their claims. At the public hearing, a cross section of constituencies vouched for the entrepreneurs’ reputations, emphasizing the principals’ scientific expertise and history of upholding high social and environmental ethics. As one resident stated, “These developers should be applauded for the manner for which they have brought this project into the community. In my 40 years in this field, it’s rare to find a developer so open with their concept.” Said another, “These developers have sat in the presence of hundreds of interested people, in dozens of meetings, discussing even the minutest detail of this project.”9 Discussions and concrete actions in response to concerns raised in discussions began to secure some level of trust between firm principals and concerned constituents, the third facet of the emerging contract. To further anchor this trust, the firm specified a more detailed monitoring plan that included sampling and analysis by an impartial third party. They also committed to information transparency in monitoring. They stated at their hearing, “Because these results will be available locally, we as a company are going to be proactive in responding to any potential problems that may arise. It provides an incentive for us to initiate our own mitigating measures.”10 The firm’s efforts were positively received by the local residents,

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prompting one to testify that although the bad publicity from fish farms elsewhere caused him to be deeply concerned, he trusted that the firm’s principals will “have the power and the courage to stop if something starts happening that in any way is not good for the environment.”11 Last, one theme that was repeatedly raised in scoping meetings, public hearings, and individual interviews was the issue of reciprocity: how the community would benefit from a private mariculture enterprise that would reserve space in the open ocean. This point was particularly salient for Native Hawaiian advocates, as submerged state lands constitute “ceded lands” placed in trust for the benefit of the public, with the law specifically naming Native Hawaiians as a beneficiary group. Communal practices heavily influenced by Native Hawaiian cultural values were also important reference points in many of the testimonies and interviews, emphasizing that it was one’s responsibility to “give back to the land which gives life.” Through the extensive consultations and meetings, many in the community maintained hopes that the firm would truthfully explore ways to give back to the community in the way of training, fish restocking, community education, and protection of nearby koa, or traditional fishing grounds. References were made to the first established cage operation that now serves as a FAD to the benefit of local fishermen. The element that allowed the firm to proceed where other firms met local resistance was the establishment of informal social contracts. That is, where the reach of regulatory guidelines ended or where the state’s capacity was seen to be lacking, both entrepreneurs and public constituents reached for informal agreements to complement the formal ones to secure their vision and interests. While the process did not satisfy every concern, it is significant that none of the parties proceeded to hamper the project by requesting a contested case hearing and that relatively few who attended the subsequent public hearing raised objections. The degree to which mariculture entrepreneurs could demonstrate that they were capable stewards committed to sound environmental stewardship and willing to work in partnership with the local community garnered confidence among concerned groups that an adaptive management approach to mariculture development may be possible despite the formative state of mariculture regulation and weak enforcement capacity of the state.

䉴 Adaptive Management, Social Learning, and Deliberative Practice Planning can transform shared understandings, networks of relationships, and people’s capacity to organize for change (Healy 1999). Governance initiatives, including planning


processes, can reshape identities and generate new forms of social and cultural capital—capital that can be mobilized for the purpose of adaptive management. When stakeholders strike agreements outside of the regulatory process as to what one will or will not do under given circumstances, we can see the establishment of informal social contracts. As evidenced in the case of mariculture, informal agreements or social contracts began to emerge through the planning process, especially through smaller face-to-face group meetings. These informal contracts served to complement the limited range of formal rules regulating this new industry. The establishment of trust, reciprocity, and reputation along with a shared marker of identity laid the basis for informal agreements, enabling the social learning process to evolve while uncertainties still loomed. To be sure, there are both benefits and risks in relying on informal agreements to protect the “public interest” as articulated by various groups. Ideally speaking, informal agreements based on shared values or understandings can be a much more effective mechanism for the enforcement of mutually beneficial and environmentally sustainable development, particularly when long-term impacts are not altogether certain and regulatory mechanisms within state institutions are weak or inconsistent. A heartfelt accountability to a local population to “do the right thing” and to make timely adjustments in the face of unanticipated outcomes is a good start. Strong personal ethics and social contracts are not only key to best-management practices, but they also build a sense of partnership among members of the community—collaborative relationships that may prove beneficial to all parties as the firm and industry develop. A system of informal social controls, however, has its limits. While it is effective in close-knit communities, its applicability among most contemporary communities with more fluid boundaries is not yet clear (Meyer 1992). Parochial norms in these communities may also run counter to the interests of the society at large. In situations where communities are marked by inequality and difference, informal social contracts may privilege some groups without fully considering the impacts on others. Problems of intracommunity disputes, conflicts of interest, socioeconomic differentiation, and lack of technical knowledge could beset communities and undermine the quality of social relations upon which the system of social controls is maintained. Furthermore, the acceptance of development proposals based on informal understandings sets a precedent within the formal domain that may not be appropriate for all firms and localities. In the absence of a more developed regulatory framework, early permitting decisions may leave excessive discretion to future firms—firms that may not be equally

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committed to the high standards of environmental ethics or to upholding the social contract in the informal realm. Reliance on informal agreements can also leave community constituents vulnerable to possible changes in firm ownership, ethical lapses, or demographic and political changes that could compromise the stability of trust relationships between parties to those contracts. For example, if another firm purchases the company or if new management is hired as the firm expands, those who made initial promises may not be the ones to implement later practices. Changes in the industry can cause operators to redirect attention away from community concerns or shift resources away from initial commitments. And unforeseen financial pressures can cause fledgling firms to abandon “best practices” in favor of more economically “efficient” ones. Planners therefore face a complex challenge of designing regulatory processes that would nourish the complement between informal agreements and formal regulatory codes in a changing political, economic, and social environment. Such a process would encourage the establishment of informal social contracts while ensuring that formal codes are not so “skeletal” as to leave important public concerns to chance. Regulatory frameworks can set into place social processes and lines of accountability that facilitate public learning and the maintenance of the system of social controls toward a shared vision as changes occur over time. Our analysis of the case at hand shows the critical role of informal deliberation at the local level so social learning can move forward. One way for planning to facilitate this process is by changing procedural and operational rules to support a shift from a largely adversarial civic culture to a more collaborative and cooperative one. Reforms can be as simple as not holding public hearings prematurely until most stakeholders have been able to engage in a fuller interchange of information and ideas. It also includes developing a set of guidelines for prospective mariculture firms, so that they can enhance the benefit of informal consultations with community groups— consultations that can encourage the establishment of shared values and mutual respect between firms, local organizations, and additional stakeholders. Through such exchanges, planners and policy makers in concert with stakeholders can better determine what combination of formal policy tools and informal agreements would be most desirable given the particular social, cultural, and environmental circumstances and agreedupon goals. If informal agreements are to serve as bases of adaptive management, they must be supported by the authoritative capacity of the state. Lee (1993) has argued that adaptive management must include joint oversight mechanisms. Given that the capacity of individual community members to oversee the implementation of this “field experiment” is limited, informal

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social contracts must be accompanied by clear regulatory sanctioning procedures. Another critical need is to increase the capacity of oversight agencies so that information and knowledge can be gathered and evaluated within an incentive structure that rewards timely adjustments in operations. In the case of mariculture, it also includes a more robust mechanism for impartial monitoring using dedicated resources, such as lease rents, to assure the routine collection and utilization of relevant information as part of an adaptive management regime. Our analysis underscores the value of exploring informal agreements in dealing with uncertainties, particularly when the formal institutions cannot implement adaptive management due to their real or perceived lack of capacity. By locating where informal agreements are sought, planners and policy makers are prompted to evaluate the adequacy of existing regulations, identify ways that formal regulations can be designed to sustain complementary informal agreements, and develop ways to support working partnerships among stakeholders to advance shared values and visions beyond the formal bounds of the polity. Social learning mechanisms built into the planning, permitting, and monitoring process may facilitate the inclusive deliberation of issues related to uncertainty and epistemology, accommodating historically marginalized voices in planning environments that value local knowledge. While traditional views of planning have not emphasized the informal social controls within the framework of deliberative democracy, in this age of greater uncertainty and cultural diversity, further discussion over the utility of such social contracts may be fruitful.

䉴 Appendix: Inventory of Issues Raised in the Public Process Property Rights Konohiki rights and kuleana lands Native Hawaiian gathering rights and koa Use of ceded lands Principle of exclusivity—ocean as the “commons” User conflict—Fishing User conflict—Recreational Harbor congestion and wear Comparison to limits on nets and traps for fishers (“double standard”) Knowledge capital and loss of validity of local knowledge Procedural and Policy Issues Accessibility of hearing location and format Lack of public awareness of ocean leasing Use of lease rents and benefit to community Oversight of ocean leasing for mariculture Fear of uncertainties

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Future zoning Multinational corporate backing vs. local firm (real or perceived) Expansion of industry Monitoring and enforcement of regulations and conditions Environmental assessment or environmental impact statement requirement Nature and depth of community consultation Scale of the project Environmental Impacts Whales, dolphins, Kona crabs, and other marine animals Potential impact of natural disasters Water quality Impacts on coral reefs Bacteria and disease Potential need and impact of antibiotics Escape of fish Attraction of sharks Benefit of fish aggregating devices Taking of juvenile stock Revival of wild stock Disturbance of viewscape Immeasurable environmental impacts Native species Impact of feed production on the food chain Economic Issues Market competition and impacts on fish prices Local vs. export market Cost of insurance Cost and supply of fry Cost and supply of feed Need and cost of security Increased seafood supply for local consumption Access to jobs and training “How does community benefit?” Entry of others into the industry Idea of food security and increasing self-sufficiency Social and Cultural Issues Integrity of entrepreneurs View that entrepreneurs will take their concerns seriously and is trustworthy Communication between entrepreneurs and rest of community Shared values and vision Willingness of entrepreneurs and residents to resolve problems cooperatively Educational potential of new technology Identity of fishermen and community Social protocols for getting “permission” from the public Scientific expertise among entrepreneurs


Authors’ Note: This article is based on work supported by the National Science Foundation under Grant No. SES-0218270 and the University of Hawaii New Economy Grant Program. We would like to thank all who shared their thoughts with us during the interviews conducted for this research. We appreciate comments on earlier drafts of this article from Kem Lowry, the reviewers of JPER, and its editor, Karen Christensen. Thanks also to our research assistants Camille Kalama, Kali Fermantez, Leslie McLees, and Jennifer Crumley. Any opinions, findings, and conclusions or recommendations expressed in this material are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the National Science Foundation or the University of Hawaii.

䉴 Notes 1. Mariculture operations must comply with state and federal regulations that include the Fish and Wildlife Service regarding the impacts on endangered species and marine mammals, the Coast Guard regarding the impacts on navigation, and the Environmental Protection Agency and the Hawaii Department of Health regarding the impacts on water quality. 2. Various interviews with authors (2001-2003). 3. Nvivo data analysis software by QSR International Pty Ltd was used to code transcribed interviews, public hearings, editorials, and select articles. 4. The state Department of Land and Natural Resources was overseeing a study of environmental impacts, including cumulative impacts to the benthic environment surrounding the first established cluster of cages off the Ewa coast of Oahu. Study results were not publicly available at the time of this writing. 5. Officials within the State Division of Aquatic Resources acknowledged that many rules of capture fisheries are flawed and impossible to enforce. 6. Two testimonies by fishermen claimed that there are currents in and around Kawaihae Harbor in an inland direction toward the harbor that influence the circulation of nutrients and fish spawning grounds. One feared that placement of the cages might interfere with the current’s flow. 7. Interview with authors (February 2003). 8. Except for the area inside the cages and two small floating cages for nursery and harvesting purposes. 9. Oral testimony presented by a local resident to the Board of Land and Natural Resources in response to CDUA HA 3118, Board of Land and Natural Resources, Kona, Hawaii, May 27, 2003. 10. Presentation by Neil Sims at the public hearing in relation to CDUA HA 3118, Board of Land and Natural Resources, Kona, Hawaii, May 27, 2003. 11. Oral testimony presented by a local resident to the Board of Land and Natural Resources in response to CDUA HA 3118, Board of Land and Natural Resources, Kona, Hawaii, May 27, 2003.

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