Wildlife as Destructive

In addition to the mostly visible costs (economic, physical) which are often the focus of many HWC studies, there are considerable human costs of HWC that are often nonvisible, temporally delayed, and psychological (Barua et al. Reference Barua, Bhagwat and Jadhav2013; Ogra Reference Ogra2008). This section explores the kinds of destruction experienced by various community members in Laikipia and the difficulties they face in recovering physically, economically, and psychologically.

Many people in Laikipia perceive wildlife as destructive in relation to human safety, community infrastructure, and private infrastructure and resources. One farmer had his grain store broken into in March 2011 by an elephant that damaged the building and a fence, resulting in the loss of thirty-five of his fifty bags of maize. The equipment to rebuild the infrastructure cost approximately KES10,000 (USD100), and the value of his labor in the month-long project of reconstructing the building and fence was, as he put it, “priceless.” The incident also affected his mental health: “The damage is permanent. When I go to bed, I never sleep comfortably; I’m always waiting for elephants. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and I’m tired, I never rested, and I’m expected to work during the day, so my productivity goes down” (interview, Gatundia, Laikipia West, July 20, 2012).

A man whose farm is in close proximity to Rumuruti forest was charged by an elephant on his property in March 2010. His wife and a neighbor eventually succeeded in scaring it away with fire and yelling, but he suffered extensive injuries including a dislocated hip, a tibia/fibula fracture, and a lumbar spine compression fracture. While the KWS paid for the initial hospital fees, his injuries required regular medical check-ups for which he received no compensation; his family was unable to pay the fees and had to rely on the support of local social networks. Now he cannot physically tend to his crops and his wife has had to take on extra duties within the farm, leaving less time for her to care for the children (interview, Gatundia, July 21, 2012).

A teenager in the Gatundia area of Laikipia West was riding his bike along a road surrounded by maize crops and sheltered by a row of trees when an elephant charged from behind the trees, knocked him off his bike and throwing him into the ditch and adjacent crops. The boy managed to scramble away and call for help, but he related that the incident left him with severe neck pain and headaches, making it difficult for him to sit for long periods of time or to concentrate on his schoolwork. He has nightmares in which the incident repeats itself, is deprived of adequate sleep, and remains afraid of walking alone in potential dangerous areas (interview, Gatundia, July 20, 2012).

Many respondents in Laikipia reported that elephants had damaged their crops, mostly during the night, as other studies have found (see, e.g., Graham et al. 2010), although occasionally in the morning (see also Bond Reference Bond2015). One female maize farmer from Naibor, Laikipia East, stated that in an attempt to manage elephant predation she now cultivates a smaller area than previously, with the assumption that the more modest scale will provide less incentive for the elephants—or at least that her losses from predation will be smaller, which has turned out to be the case. Unfortunately, her usual strategy for recovering from her losses—which has been to sell some of her livestock in order to buy maize for replanting—has also been curtailed by the menace of livestock rustling in the area. She reported losing all of her (approximately) forty goats to people who appeared with spears and machetes on three separate occasions. Since her husband’s usual role was herding, he now had to look for other casual work, and she said that he is “physically well but not mentally well.” She believed that the rustlers were pastoralists who target the agriculturalists around Naibor, and the threat was sufficient to make her think of moving, as others have done (interview, Naibor, Laikipia East, Nov. 19, 2011).

Thus the loss of livelihood from HWC is compounded by the (often uninvestigated) loss of alternative livelihoods (e.g., cattle production), which results in both visible kinds of insecurities (e.g., food, economic, and livelihood insecurities) and more hidden costs (e.g., fear, nightmares, loss of identity and self-esteem). An employee of the Kenya Wildlife Service suggested that where the impacts of HWC are compounded by cattle rustling, people should be reliant on food relief: “They can ask for maybe . . . relief food. Because we don’t compensate maybe crop destruction, we cannot compensate goat raiding. . . . So it will just be survival for the fittest” (interview, Rumuruti, Laikipia West, Nov. 22, 2011). This rather candid comment suggests a solution to the visible impacts of loss of food but does not acknowledge the psychological or hidden impacts of this conflict or the livelihood contribution necessary for food security.

Wildlife as More Important than Humans

Most pastoral and farmer respondents claimed that the government, including the KWS, and other conservation organizations care more about wildlife than the human populations of Laikipia. As one pastoralist stated, “when a human is killed the government do[es] nothing, but when an elephant is killed they run like a horse” (group discussion, Dol Dol, Oct. 8, 2011). This statement was later included in the survey questionnaire, and 89 percent of respondents either agreed or strongly agreed with it (Bond Reference Bond2014b). Similar comments were expressed by other respondents. “KWS is more caring about the wildlife than the human being,” said a participant in a group discussion. “If a human being is killed by a wild animal then they never even turned up there, but if you kill an elephant today here, you’d see a helicopter. . . .” (Kanampiu, Laikipia West, March 28, 2012). According to another male farmer, “the issue here is that these animals, especially the elephants, are very important. I don’t know whether to the government or through the tourists, but the plight of the natives is usually ignored” (interview, Gatundia, Laikipia West, July 20, 2012).

An employee of the Kenya Wildlife Service stated that the mandate of the KWS is “wildlife security.” He acknowledged that human–wildlife conflict in Kenya was due partly to the lack of an effective land use policy and that “the policy of compensation is weak” (interview, Nanyuki, Oct. 7, 2011). But what he described as a “weakness” was viewed by farmers and pastoralists as a complete failure and as part of an implicit valuing of wildlife over humans. One farmer from Laikipia West whose son was killed by an elephant in their crop stated,

Other respondents concurred that the compensation process is slow, unless one is connected to elites who are able to exert their influence. One respondent in the Olmoran area of Laikipia West was attacked by a hyena while trying to scare it away from the chicken coop. The KWS transported the man to the hospital but otherwise has provided no compensation money and the household has gone into debt to pay the medical bills. He visits the KWS office but he said that the employees “muck [him] around” by telling him repeatedly “next week” (interview, Magadi, Laikipia West, Nov. 28, 2011). Another male farmer stated that “when they [elephants] come, they feed and we don’t get anything from government. . . . There is no compensation” (interview, Gatundia, Laikipia West, July 20, 2012).

A pastoralist from Laikipia West also highlighted the discrepancy between those who benefit from wildlife and those who are burdened with the cost, making the point that increased community involvement and benefits from wildlife management would lessen human–wildlife conflicts: “It is only that the community should be told that these things are important for us and this is how we’ll benefit, it will be OK. If they benefit you won’t have any problems” (interview, Nairobi, July 19, 2011). One civil society respondent, an employee of a wildlife NGO, echoed this, suggesting that the compensation scheme should be removed entirely and replaced with investment in communities’ sustainable livelihoods and related infrastructure:

This comment reflects the assumption that investing in community and agricultural development (both crop- and livestock-based) would build up the resilience of rural communities to HWC losses and alleviate their economic and marginalization. A similar point was made by another NGO employee, who suggested that compensation issues were a function of the lesser value placed on humans than on wildlife and that the issue of compensation would lose its relevance if the community itself became a beneficiary of the wildlife. “It is only possible to abolish compensation when you reconcile conservation with the [people’s] land rights” (interview, Nakuru, Dec. 5, 2011).

Wildlife as Pathways for Resource Capture

Another local narrative about HWC in Laikipia concerns the perceived function of wildlife as a pathway for resource capture—namely, the “capture” of land along with water sources and grazing areas. This narrative embodies historical grievances related to land grabbing and current conflicts over resource access, grounded in both the colonial era and the postcolonial resource grab. Many respondents stated that they have amicable relationships with privately owned neighboring conservancies, due to the opportunities provided for agistment of livestock, employment, schooling, and health care.^{Footnote 5} However, several respondents claimed to have strained relations with conservancies due to a perceived unequal distribution of resources accumulated by politically connected individuals.

Further, because of the capture of these resources, pastoralists have been less able than the conservancies to bear the losses caused by wildlife. While stock loss is also an issue for the ranches, the ability to cope with the loss reinforces inequity. According to the wildlife NGO employee,

Many respondents commented that pastoralists should be allowed to graze their stock inside conservancies. This would increase the likelihood of disease and insecurity of endangered animals (from poaching), but they believe that large conservancies should look beyond their own interests. The employee of a wildlife NGO stated that “the lack of grass outside the ranch is . . . also the problem of the rancher because they will get challenged for their land, and they have a moral obligation to the people outside their ranch, seeing as though they have so much land” (interview, Nanyuki, Nov. 11, 2011). This comment has links to the concept of fairness of land distribution from both the colonial and postindependence periods, suggesting that ranchers have been able to access large tracts of land (through market processes or otherwise) where the average Kenyan has not. The use of this land to generate further income through wildlife management and tourism further stretches the inequities between elites and local communities, many of which have ancestral ties to Laikipia (e.g., the Maasai, see Hughes Reference Hughes2006). A private conservancy in Laikipia West was the target of arson in 2015, with the fires supposedly lit by surrounding communities to challenge the conservancy’s perceived power. The same conservancy has been hit by several fires since 2009, with conservancy leaders blaming pastoralists and pastoralists blaming others (Gakio Reference Gakio2015; Muchangi Reference Muchangi2015). The same conservancy was the site of a gunfire attack in April 2017 that left the owner wounded (Kean Reference Kean2017). Several respondents claimed that conservancies, on occasion, open their gates to release wildlife: they “let out some [wildlife] and lock the fence again,” said one pastoralist during a group discussion (Dol Dol, Laikipia North, Oct. 8, 2011). In one instance, a conservancy owner did this because he wanted to protect an acacia species on his property, the habitat of the Platus monkey, which tends to be destroyed by elephants. However, Waweru (Reference Waweru2016) argues that even without the opening of gates, conservancies are not always able to contain wildlife within their fences, with animals moving through them and raiding neighboring farms.

Land tenure and access to resources such as pasture and livestock are central issues in Laikipia, not only from a HWC perspective, but in terms of natural resource management, historical grievances, and conflict more broadly. A civil society informant involved in land policy stated that conservation lobbies are very powerful and fail to see the perspective of local people, namely the importance of land to their livelihoods (interview, Nakuru, Dec. 5, 2011).

Summary: Exploring the Hidden Impacts of HWC on Human Well-Being

The local narratives discussed above confirm what many scholars have found—that HWC affects the food and economic security of individuals and households (Naughton-Treeves 1998), although this impact is often difficult to quantify (Naughton-Treeves & Treeves 2005). The damage to crops from animal predators is significant, especially because it is often the staple foods, such as maize, that are most affected (Weladji & Tchamba Reference Weladji and Tchamba2003). In addition, various solutions that have been proposed—such as the provision of food relief for affected households, or the pursuit of alternative livelihoods—are not adequate. On the one hand, we agree with the conclusion of the U.N. Development Program that “people should be able to take care of themselves: all people should have the opportunity to meet their most essential needs and to earn their own living” (UNDP 1994:24). On the other hand, while some scholars state that coping strategies and alternative livelihoods are key for individuals and households to reduce vulnerability to human–wildlife conflict (see, e.g., Dickman Reference Dickman2010), these studies often don’t consider other processes within the rural context that also threaten these alternative livelihood strategies.

The impacts of crop loss and stock predation are compounded when farmers’ and pastoralists’ alternative livelihood strategies are also undermined by other conflicts, such as cattle rustling, or through institutional gaps such as insecure land rights and loss of access to resources. When HWC tends to be considered separately from other conflicts and processes within the rural context, its impacts remain partly invisible. Indeed, in relation to human–wildlife conflict, “context matters” (Stedman Reference Stedman, Decker, Riley and Siemer2012); as illustrated by the example of the female maize farmer in Naibor, the impact of the elephant raiding her crop was far more significant than the visible crop loss. The impact, in fact, was multidimensional, both visible and hidden: a loss of livelihood from maize production, and then the failure of livestock production as a solution to crop loss from elephants. This impact was further compounded by her husband’s need for medical attention and his loss of self-esteem as he had to transition from self-employment to seeking work elsewhere. Similar outcomes were seen with the farmers in Gatundia whose psychological trauma from encounters with elephants was ongoing and temporally delayed. Health insecurity from being attacked from wildlife may have implications for food and economic security through a person’s reduced capacity to pursue his or her livelihood, and as Gifford (Reference Gifford2007) notes, the psychological well-being of people affected by environmental disruptions will also have economic and political impacts. Traditional quantitative livelihood surveys, which are common in HWC research, do not capture the changes in dynamics and relations among household members or uncover the hidden impacts of HWC such as psychological trauma, fear, and illness. While studies have found that pastoralists in Laikipia are generally quite tolerant of large carnivores (Frank et al. Reference Frank, Woodroffe, Ogada, Woodroffe, Thirgood and Rabinowitz2005), this economic tolerance may mask the hidden costs of these losses on the cultural capital and habitus of a pastoralist community (in terms of personal and collective security), which is based on the livestock herd. This notion of cultural capital relates not only to the individual, but also to the cultural identity of the community.

Compensation Schemes

An exceptionally small minority of respondents in this study had received any compensation for injury, death of a family member, or loss of crop or livestock inflicted by wildlife, and even for those who had received compensation it certainly was not adequate. One respondent claimed that he knew of someone who had received compensation because he was able to use his network to lobby for his case, suggesting a local assumption that the likelihood of benefiting from institutional schemes is tied to privileged sociopolitical connections. Practical barriers and bureaucratic inadequacies also increase transaction costs for the rural poor in relation to filing compensation claims. This kind of burden, as well as the continual effort required to pursue compensation in terms of filling in forms and leaving the farm to visit the KWS office, reinforces the social differences or institutional inequality between the farmer or pastoralist and the elite bureaucracy (Barua et al. Reference Barua, Bhagwat and Jadhav2013; Bulte & Rondeau Reference Bulte and Rondeau2005; Jadhav & Barua Reference Jadhav and Barua2012). This can be seen in the case of the respondent from the Olmoran area who was repeatedly told to come back “next week.” For him, the time spent visiting the KWS office was time lost from pursuing livelihood and income-generating activities—a tradeoff that is not faced, for example, by bureaucrats or those who have socio-institutional networks to draw on. It should also be pointed out that previous schemes of compensation in Kenya were abandoned due to corruption and poor infrastructure (Frank et al. Reference Frank, Woodroffe, Ogada, Woodroffe, Thirgood and Rabinowitz2005; Western & Waithaka Reference Western, Waithaka, Woodroffe, Thirgood and Rabinowitz2005) and this research has not found evidence of an improved compensation system. Without such institutional improvements, increases in compensation amounts are unlikely to mitigate or lessen HWC.

Even compensation claims that are successful address only the visible and direct impacts of the incident in order to increase human tolerance for wildlife (Barua et al. Reference Barua, Bhagwat and Jadhav2013), and respondents spoke of the average compensation payment as so inadequate that it seemed to be a morally indefensible judgment regarding the value of a human life. While the new Wildlife Act aims to increase the compensation benefits for victims and penalties for poachers, the processes of developing the Act has been criticized for lacking transparency and genuine public participation (Gachanja Reference Gachanja2013; Kahumbu Reference Kahumbu2011). This has been the case, many claim, despite the promotion of decentralization in the Kenyan constitution and the guidance of scholars claiming that devolution of wildlife management and conflict resolution to the community level will assist in alleviating HWC (Western & Waithaka Reference Western, Waithaka, Woodroffe, Thirgood and Rabinowitz2005).

The strained relations between government wildlife managers and communities, and communities’ anger over their marginalization and perceived subjugation, can be seen in the arson attacks on the conservancy in Laikipia West (Brockington Reference Brockington2004; Scott Reference Scott2008). In general, animosity between KWS/conservancies and communities stems from a perceived lack of respect for the communities which, when coupled with historical grievances regarding land, reinforces their perception that they are marginalized and considered as existing on the periphery of mainstream society. When considered from a human security perspective it highlights the restriction of the freedom to live in dignity (Tadjbakhsh & Chenoy Reference Tadjbakhsh and Chenoy2007). This marginalization perception is also fueled by dominant and perpetuating narratives by elites of pastoralists as “backward” (Bond Reference Bond2016), an attitude seen locally as a form of neocolonialism (Garland Reference Garland2008), especially because many of the conservancy owners in Laikipia are European, and some of them have remained on the land owned by their family since the colonial period. The comment quoted above from an employee of a wildlife NGO who suggested building a greenhouse decorated with pictures of wildlife is a good example of the lack of respect underlying such ventures—what Büscher et al. (2012) describe as the appropriation, misrepresentation, and spectacle of neoliberal conservation. The greenhouse was proposed as a way of promoting local livelihoods and simultaneously promoting local tolerance of wildlife damage as a trade-off for improved livelihood options. Yet the fact that a representation of an elephant on the side of a greenhouse would mostly remind its users of the reason for their loss of crops, not to mention their lack of direct compensation, was obviously not considered by this NGO representative. The suggestion also assumes, of course, that all locals whose livelihoods had been damaged by wildlife would be able to access the greenhouse—or would want to.

Land

Many studies have found that a contributing factor in HWC is the settlement of human populations in wildlife migratory corridors (Granados & Weladji Reference Granados and Weladji2012)—or rather, the movement of people into previously unsettled areas as wildlife recolonize parts of their range (Dickman Reference Dickman2010). Yet in the Kenyan context the push factors contributing to this human resettlement are not only human population growth, but also deeply politicized matters of land tenure as well as cultural changes in resource use (Knickerbocker & Waithaka Reference Knickerbocker, Waithaka, Woodroffe, Thirgood and Rabinowitz2005).

Recent studies within political ecology have focused on the role of land alienation or changes in resource access, management, and use for environmental purposes—processes referred to as “green grabbing.” These studies often use analytical frames of “primitive accumulation” or “accumulation by dispossession” to investigate the changes in relationships between resource users and owners, often with implications for greater social inequity (Fairhead et al. Reference Fairhead, Leach and Scoones2012). Recent studies of wildlife conservation and tourism highlight that government policies have facilitated the accumulation of resources by powerful elites under the guise of conservation, and have even used violence to enforce these laws or policies (Benjaminsen & Bryceson Reference Benjaminsen and Bryceson2012; Mkutu Reference Mkutu2015). In the Kenyan context, Matheka (Reference Matheka2008) shows that conservation and land are inextricably linked and that each arena is highly politicized.

Kenya has a history of land grabbing from the precolonial period through the present. In 1904 the British East Africa company made a controversial agreement with the Maasai of Laikipia which caused them to move (at gunpoint) to the current Maasai Mara to make way for the “White Highlands” in central Kenya (Hughes Reference Hughes2006). In the postindependence period large tracts of land were grabbed by successive presidents and political elites, in the process laying the foundation for future grievances with ethnic dimensions (Oucho Reference Oucho2002). Recent land appropriation through narratives of conservation is taking place within the context of an ambitious development vision (Vision 2030) for northern Kenya combining oil and gas exploitation and related transport infrastructure. The planned transport corridor will also pass through Laikipia County and has already led to competing land claims and resulting conflict between pastoralists and conservancies (Mkutu & Wandera 2016; Mkutu Reference Mkutu2017). Thus land appropriation is being interpreted within an already politicized and sensitive context of insecurity and uncertainty about the “foreignisation” of space (Letai Reference Letai2011; Zoomers Reference Zoomers2010).

Our respondents noted what they perceived as an undercurrent of hegemony in the various narratives of conservation linked to land tenure and resource access. They perceived global conservation groups as holding powerful influence over the government, while the government is more interested in the opportunities afforded through these conservation links than in the well-being of rural communities, which largely bear the costs associated with wildlife. Within Kenya, wildlife conservation has largely been developed in recent years through conservancies, either as private or communal operations (KWS 2013). In Laikipia, while many of these private conservancies are perceived as playing a positive role in the community through the provision of education and medical services in addition to employment opportunities, some conservancies are perceived negatively as vehicles for resource capture by the elite (Bond 2014). The conservation of wildlife on large tracts of land, some of which can be traced directly to the colonial period, is seen as a tool for the elite’s retaining of their land rights, which otherwise could be open for contestation under clauses in the new constitution that challenge foreign ownership (Mkutu & Wandera Reference Mkutu and Wandera2013).

In many cases, government oversight is being evaded altogether. Letai (Reference Letai2011) discusses various claims by Kenyans that small plots of land within larger conservancies are being sold to foreigners without the knowledge of the relevant government authorities. These claims have not been confirmed, though it is undeniable that many conservancies in Laikipia operate tourism enterprises for luxury travelers who often pay for their holiday in their home countries, thus bypassing the Kenyan tax authorities (Letai Reference Letai2011). While community conservancies reinvest a percentage of earnings into community development such as education bursaries, these communal benefits do not offset individual costs of living with wildlife (Walpole & Thouless Reference Walpole, Thouless, Woodroffe, Thirgood and Rabinowitz2005), and an unequal portion of the benefits is diverted via endemic channels of corruption to elite members of the community. The establishment of community conservancies on contested land, with support of outsiders unfamiliar with the local context, can also exacerbate local conflict dynamics and lead to unintended consequences (Holmes & Brockington; Peluso Reference Peluso1993) such as conflict over land tenure (Greiner Reference Greiner2012). Therefore, when an elephant raids a crop or a hyena takes a goat and that animal has come from a large conservancy, the cost to the farmer or the pastoralist is greater than the visible impact to their economic, food, or livelihood security. The cost of further marginalization is hidden. HWC investigations, therefore, need to consider the sociopolitical contexts within which these conflicts are embedded and the impacts these have on human well-being.

“Wildlife Security”

An increasingly studied area of conservation political ecology concerns the role of security personnel and the military in conservation—so-called “green militarization” (Duffy Reference Duffy2014; Mkutu Reference Mkutu2015). Peluso (Reference Peluso1993) notes that under the guise of conservation, many states use violence to appropriate resources and attempt to build legitimacy. This violence often involves killing poachers without trial (Peluso Reference Peluso1993), a form of wildlife security that has become increasingly militarized in recent years. In Kenya, members of the National Police Reserves (NPR), who are voluntary peacekeepers, are armed by the government to respond to incidents of crime such as stock theft, although they are not remunerated and are not usually given any form of uniform or identification. In recent years, conservancies within northern Kenya have worked collaboratively with the national government to promote “wildlife security” through the use of NPRs as wildlife “scouts.” These NPRs are still armed by the government, but they are paid by, and accountable to, the conservancies as part of a public–private partnership. Approximately nine thousand NPRs operate in the Rift Valley province of Kenya (Mkutu & Wandera Reference Mkutu and Wandera2013), of which approximately two hundred and seventy-nine armed scouts are in Laikipia. These scouts are also engaged in other community policing, such as tracking raided livestock. One of our respondents claimed that while scouts are supposed to use their weapons only “with reasonable force” and are not supposed to kill, but only to immobilize their target, they are allowed to kill poachers who are “resisting arrest.”

This legitimizing of scouts’ use of force within a context rife with illegal arms use, insecurity, conflict, and cattle raiding (Bond 2014; Mkutu Reference Mkutu2008) is troubling. Cattle raiding is a highly politicized, complex, and sensitive issue in northern Kenya (Bond Reference Bond2014b; Greiner Reference Greiner2013; Mkutu Reference Mkutu2008; Schilling et al. 2012) and with claims that NPRs are armed through illicit markets, using Community Development Funds (CDF), and with no management by any legislature, the potential for these groups to be corrupted or co-opted by private militias is even more alarming (Mkutu & Wandera Reference Mkutu and Wandera2013). While a survey of pastoralists and farmers in Laikipia found that they prefer NPRs to regular police because NPRs are perceived to be more trustworthy, there were also concerns that these NPRs use their weapons to propagate rather than solve crime (Bond Reference Bond2014b; Mkutu & Wandera Reference Mkutu and Wandera2013). Thus programs supposedly designed for the provision of “security” perpetuate the exact opposite, with intended or unintended implications for conflict, violence, and insecurity in the region. Indeed, the term “wildlife security” betrays the underlying objective of protecting wildlife rather than humans as well as the premise that force is a legitimate method for preserving this security.