Introduction
Protected Areas: From Exclusion to Inclusion
IUCN defines protected areas as “A clearly defined geographical space, recognised, dedicated and managed, through legal or other effective means, to achieve the long-term conservation of nature with associated ecosystem services and cultural values” (Dudley, 2008, p. 8). Though historical and linguistic variations complicate cross-historical comparisons, systems aligning with this definition and terminology have existed for millennia.
As early as the 4th century BCE, Aristotle described forested areas under formal protection, governed by “recognised, dedicated” (Dudley, 2008, p8) legal frameworks, including appointed guards with “messes and guard houses … to promote security” (Aristotle 1321b, 1331b). This suggests protected areas predate the modern concept (Colchester, 2002; Jones-Walters and Čivić, 2013).
Historically, protected areas have often been established without local community consent (Hughes & Thirgood, 1982). In the 12th century, oppressive forest laws led to guards being named “hunters of men” (Young, 1979, p. 48). Such exclusion in land rights, decision making, governance and management, has repeatedly prompted conflict, displacement, and erasure of nature-cultural ties (Scheidel et al., 2020; Tauli-Corpuz et al., 2020).
Dispossession of territories, cultures, and livelihoods contributed to legends like Robin Hood (Knight, 2017) and helped shape foundational legal principles, notably the Magna Carta (1215), increasingly viewed as an early rights-based environmental instrument (Linebaugh, 2008; Robinson, 2020). Exclusion also undermines conservation’s long-term viability, as disenfranchised communities are less likely to support or sustain conservation efforts (Chaplin-Kramer et al., 2023).
A paradigm-shift toward inclusive decision-making and rights-based conservation emerged in the late 20th century (Berkes, 2004). The 1992 Rio Conference officialised its beginning, advocating local community inclusion in protected area creation and management (Kashwan, 2013). Progress has been uneven, with setbacks in the 1990s (Fairhead & Leach, 1998; Oates, 1999) and 2000s (Curran et al., 2009), though overall advancement is evident (Campese, 2009). This momentum continued in 2022 with the Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework, which upholds Indigenous and local community rights in protected area establishment, including via ICCAs and Territories of Life. Unlike earlier approaches which prioritised non-human features of nature (COP, 2022), the current framework includes humanity, affirming that “values and practices of Indigenous peoples and local communities are respected, and documented and preserved with their free, prior and informed consent” (COP, 2022, p. 5). This transformative approach rectifies historical unjust approaches and advances an equitable, more-than-human conservation approach.
Policy and Rights-based Approach to Protected Areas
International frameworks have progressively advanced inclusive conservation. Foundational instruments, including the International Labour Organisation (ILO)’s Indigenous and Tribal Populations Conventions, the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) (UNHCR, 2007) and the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services (IPBES) (Ahammad, et al., 2026), promote meaningful inclusion of diverse stakeholders (Raymond et al., 2022) and their worldviews on the environment. These underpin inclusive participatory decision-making in conservation, including gaining consent from communities affected by protected areas, notably through processes like Free, Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC).
The 2018 UN Declaration on the Rights of Peasants and Other People Working in Rural Areas (UNDROP) acknowledges “the need for greater protection of the human rights of peasants and other people working in rural areas” (UNHCR, 2018b). Together, these instruments affirm Indigenous and local communities’ rights to land and resources. IUCN’s 2020 Resolution 002 further institutionalised inclusion of communities in conservation (IUCN, 2020).
Development of a Rights-based Approach to Protected Areas
Putting the Last First
Theoretical frameworks on inclusive decision making, predate the paradigm-shift toward rights-based conservation policy and inclusive conservation. In the late 1960s, Freire’s seminal work Pedagogy of the Oppressed (Freire, 2000) promoted knowledge co-creation with marginalised groups. Arnstein’s Ladder of Participation (Arnstein, 1969; Figure 1) symbolised a hierarchy from tokenistic participation to full community inclusion, recently applied in an analysis on global inclusive conservation practice (Dawson et al., 2024).
The ladder of participation (Arnstein, 1969).
In the 1980s, Chambers advocated placing the poor and marginalised at the heart of development policy (Chambers, 1983), catalysing the participatory movement. Today, participatory practices span a spectrum from authentic co-production to extractive consultation (Reed et al., 2009; Smith, 2012; Cook, 2024; Dawson et al., 2024; Figure 2). From these works lessons can be learnt that aide translating participatory conservation theory into inclusive conservation practice.
Participation in all its forms (Atelier populaire ex-Eco).
However, participation grounded in a perpetuation of the same practitioner worldview or lacking institutional capacity to integrate community-driven decision-making (Edelenbos et al., 2017), risks becoming a disempowering façade, a “wolf in sheep’s clothing” (Ravanel, 2025), perpetuating injustice and dispossession of the past.
Free, Prior and Informed Consent
These evolving, global best practice, policies, theories, and methodologies come together in Free, Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC) (Colchester & Chao, 2014). Applied in diverse sectors, including extractive industries and conservation, FPIC engages communities that have tenure, user-rights, or cultural ties to land. Crucially, it fosters equitable agreements, not merely consent, and serves as a conflict-prevention tool, mitigating reputational, financial, and legal risks (Davis & Franks, 2014; Lehr, 2014).
FPIC is referenced in UNDRIP, International Labour Organization (ILO) Convention 169 (Lewis et al., 2008, p. 1), and endorsed by institutions like the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP, 2022) and the Convention on Biological Diversity’s (CBD) Global Biodiversity Framework. Though guidelines vary, particularly on the level of participation (“Free”), who is included (“Consent”), and when (“Prior”), all aim at inclusive rights recognition (Lehr, 2014, further examines the issues of FPIC).
Rights-based organisations maintain that FPIC’s “Prior” must be secured during the “conceptualization and design phase” (UNHCR, 2018a, Line 21). However, some conservation actors argue communities are unknown at the design stage, and so FPIC cannot be secured during these “conceptualization” phases. While this may be true for the extractive industries and new protected areas, it does not hold for protected area expansions, where ongoing management should already be engaged with communities.
FPIC’s “Consent” can also be problematic, particularly when formalised via written paper contracts, as cultural understandings of contracts diverge. One party may see contracts as fixed obligations while another as dynamic, based on shifting relationships, as exemplified in the relationship between “Big Men” and their clients in Vansina’s (1990) work on the Congo Basin.
Generally, FPIC should be iterative, allowing revisiting prior steps (Figure 3). However, the CBD Framework omits which guidelines apply to protected area establishment or expansion, which has created a critical policy-implementation gap, that this paper explores.
General steps in the FPIC process – modified using a two-eyed seeing and historical approach from the following sources (Colchester & Chao, 2014; FAO, 2016; IFAD, 2021; UNHCR, 2018a; UN-REDD, 2013).
Inclusiveness and a Two-eyed Seeing Approach
Inherent power imbalances can overshadow FPIC negotiations. Its success hinges on contextual sensitivity, including each community’s cultural heritage, historical trauma, worldviews (Shackleton et al., 2023) and what “Free”, “Prior”, “Informed”, and “Consent” mean to a given community. It also assumes that communities are inclusive with no hidden or marginalised groups within the community. Though Freire, Arnstein, and Chambers pioneered “putting the last first”, many practitioners still rely on Western academic methods, overlooking local methods like storytelling or divination.
To bridge these limitations, Mi’kmaw elders of Eskasoni First Nation, Canda, co-developed with academics the Two-eyed seeing approach (Bartlett et al., 2012), also called “horizontal” (Seniuk Cicek et al., 2021), seen as key in a decentralised FPIC approach (Szablowski, 2010). It values different scientific systems, that, when brought together, unlock innovative solutions.
While novel, the inclusion of diverse scientific systems, spans millennia: from the Ancient Greeks who integrated Mythos into Logos (Fisher, 1985) to modern frameworks like Snowden’s Cynefin decision making model (European Commission, 2021) and De Bono’s Lateral Thinking (1971). Such inclusion counters scientific silos (Tett, 2015) and fosters multidimensional problem-solving.
“Assumption-drag”, where unexamined premises distort interpretations and accumulate over time contributing to project failure (Ascher, 1999), is perpetuated when monocultural, siloed approaches clash with diverse local worldviews. One such assumption is language use, where technical terminology may have different interpretations between disciplines, but also between project staff and communities (Galenus, 216 AD). Even well-intentioned ideals like gender equality may provoke conflict if imposed unilaterally without taking into account cultural contexts (Bebey, 1976; Bikketi et al., 2016).
True inclusiveness requires bridging worldviews through shared, non-technical language, tailored to each community (Figure 4).
Examples of other world views on application of components of the FPIC process. Bear in mind that each community is different and so cannot be exhaustive.
Implementation of Rights-based and Inclusive Approach to Protected Areas
Inclusive policies alone do not prevent community exclusion. Real-world cases, across sectors, such as Australia’s Juukan Gorge (Nagar, 2021 – extractive industries) and Myanmar’s Reef to Ridge (Woods & Naimark, 2020 – conservation), reveal FPIC implementation failures, despite the inclusion of FPIC process at the project design phase.
This raises urgent questions for conservation: Does FPIC truly disrupt the millennia of community exclusion from participating in the creation of protected areas, does it represent a genuine paradigm-shift? Or is it “social-washing” under new branding? The implementation failures in the above documented cases, as well as others give an opportunity to learn lessons on how to improve the FPIC process.
We report on a Gabonese case study, not as evidence of systemic failure of FPIC, but a as cautionary narrative. It shows how far conservation must go to internalise Freire, Arnstein, Chambers, and Mi’kmaw elders’ insights. Crucially, this case demonstrates that transformative inclusion in decision making, requires awareness of the biases associated with western world views, especially the artificial nature-culture divide.
Historical and Cultural Context of the Study Site and Its Protected Areas
The Batéké Ntsé as a System of Commons
The Batéké plateau in southeastern Gabon features grasslands and riparian forests that have formed upon ancient Kalahari Sands (Haddon, 2000). These grasslands have been maintained by traditional fire systems (Walters, 2015). This lived-in landscape has been inhabited for centuries by the Téké-Alima (Deschamps, 1962), a subgroup of the Batéké people, found in south-eastern Gabon, central Republic of Congo, and south-western Democratic Republic of Congo (Dupré & Pinçon, 1997).
Prior to colonisation, natural resources use was managed by customary chiefs (Vansina, 1973). Based on hierarchical lineages, the Téké-Alima organised their lands into territories (Ebouli, 2001), constituting a magico-political space in which the land chief maintained a balance between the spiritual powers of the territory (and the ancestors) and physical well-being, including the provision of food, through hunting and gathering, of the constituent villages.
The Batéké have a long history of lineage-based territorial organisation called Ntsé, (equivalent to territories, common lands, territories of life, depending on your two-eyed seeing perspective) (Ebouli, 2001; Walters et al., 2014), that define Batéké society and lineage identity, in a hierarchical system of commons. Sacred sites within each Ntsé serve dual spiritual and political roles, linked to the functioning of Batéké society. While each Ntsé is unmapped in the western GIS worldview, they are orally mapped, with each commons delimited by rivers, ridges, and rock outcrops, often with an accompanying story. The Batéké have governed the natural resources of this space through laws drawn up by each linage’s socio-political institution (Onkani).
Based on centuries of Téke’s reciprocal relationships with both the land and land-spirits (nkita), land governance has evolved that allow the Téké to work with their territory to ensure their well-being. Generations of Téké have learnt that by disrespecting land governance, that the land would no longer be as productive. Examples include customary fires managed on family-based lineage common lands, where, prior to the hunt, rituals were conducted to ensure success. Strict rules were enforced for the timing of these hunting fires, including strict fines for letting fires cross between commons. This governance forms a type of constitutionality (Haller et al. 2016), where communities are empowered to proactively negotiate, design, and legitimatise their own institutional arrangements for managing natural resources on their territory, where the adoption, and adaption over time, of rules to govern these territories continue to influence current processes (Walters, et al., 2021), aligning with Ostrom’s eight commons principles (Ostrom, 1990).
By diminishing the land chiefs role in land governance and the associated magico-political systems, colonialism eroded the traditional governance system, notably changing the land tenure system and related hunting and fire practices (Walters, 2015). Today, the governance of the Ntsé common lands, by lineage groups, persists in a reduced form. However, since most of the land in the current, and proposed expanded, Plateaux Batéké National Park (PNPB), is de jure state land, the de facto customary Batéké systems are not recognised by law or in the western conservation worldview. De facto governance is continuously applied while state law is applied the rare times when state institutions are present.
Historical, Serial Dispossession of Teke Commons
In the 1880s, the Batéké paramount chief, the Makoko, ceded ancestral lands to French traders (Sautter, 1966). Since then, the Batéké have been marginalised. Driven by economic interests (e.g. creation of concessions) and the centralisation of state power, colonial and post-colonial governments (1950s–60s) forcibly relocated villages to roadside settlements (Coquery-Vidrovitch, 1976). This commons-grabbing (sensu Gerber & Haller, 2021) resettlement nearly severed customary governance, which linked the Batéké to their land and its natural resources (Walters et al., 2015).
In 2002, Gabon created 13 national parks (Quammen, 2003) at the recommendation of western conservationists who based their recommendations on the advice of Chris Wilks, a forester (Wilks, 1990), including the Plateaux Batéké National Park (PBNP). The creation of the park was to conserve rare fauna and the ancient savanna ecosystem not found elsewhere in Gabon (Wilks 1990). Though no physical resettlement occurred (Curran et al., 2009), access to hunting, fishing, and sacred sites was restricted. PBNP was created at a time where global norms on inclusive decision-making with communities, and community rights, were still nascent. Later conservation efforts attempted to restore community governance, but bypassed customary authorities (Walters et al., 2021).
In 2019, Gabon proposed expanding protected areas around PBNP (CAFI, 2019; Figure 5), aligning with CBD Target 3 (formerly Aichi Target 11). The reasons for this extension were to include “intact” forest, forest salines (opening where animals graze), reinforce cross-border conservation, and protect the savanna from agro-industrial expansion (CAFI 2019). The project acknowledged the necessity of FPIC, to conform to global standards, recognising that applying FPIC in Gabon would be innovative for the region (CAFI, 2019, p. 27). To this end they planned to hire a dedicated FPIC consultant (ANPN, 2021), whose terms of references stated:
“In the first phase of the project, the consultants will be responsible for carrying out participatory mapping to identify village use zones, including villages in negotiations to define the boundaries of the proposed protected areas, the regulations governing access to these parameters, and the conduct of the free, prior and informed consent process” (our translation (ANPN, 2021).
Proposed extension of PBNP and study area, Gabon (Map: Julia Walker, Olivier Hymas based on CAFI, 2019, p. 68).
However, this FPIC position was advertised only after socioeconomic studies and mapping had begun in the Batéké Plateaux, undermining “Prior” consent.
By comparing the creation of the PBNP in 2002 with that of the proposed expansion in 2022, the aim of this study is to a) understand how the park staff included local communities, and their worldviews, into discussions on expansion of the protected area into the customary territories, b) how FPIC, community knowledge and history were used and c) how the local communities perceived the proposed expansion.
Methods
This study draws on decades of collaborative relationships with Batéké Plateau local communities. These long-term friendships have been vital in facilitating our research, including selecting trusted research assistants and interviewees who are well-positioned to provide insights into the FPIC processes.
We focused on five villages that would be impacted by the protected area expansion: Saaye, Lewou, Ekouyi-Mboma, and former Kebiri residents now in Ekouyi-Mboma, with the village of Kebiri now being uninhabited (Figure 5). The maximum populations of these villages are 50. Bifane Ekomi has since expanded this study to other Batéké villages in the entire proposed park expansion area.
To capture the complexities of the FPIC processes, we used a mixed-methods approach including, semi-structured interviews, comparative open-ended questionnaires and participant observation of the interaction between park staff and the community. The research was conducted between July to September 2022, a holiday period when many community members return to their villages.
The research was conducted mainly in French, embedded in local storytelling traditions (Tachine et al., 2016). Methods were tailored to the preferences and needs of each person, including informal chats with women, who felt both unheard and not valued, while village elders preferred oral transect interviews, walking us through their lands while orally sharing their perspectives. This surfaced the “silent voices” missed in workshops or formal interviews (see also Haller et al., 2016).
We conducted 51 interviews, including 11 conservation organisation representatives, 22 resident villagers, 18 diaspora members who live in cities. Before the survey, each potential participant was met so that a time could be organised to carry out the survey. At the same time, we briefed the potential participant on the objectives of the study, that anonymity and their right to withdraw was guaranteed, and that we would request their consent from them at the time of the survey. This allowed the participant time to reflect, and discuss with others, before giving consent.
To quantify responses, we used a comparative questionnaire with a 3-point visual scale, to assess the degree of community involvement in the 2002 park creation and the ongoing, 2022, expansion process. In cases where participants did not have direct experience of the 2002 park creation, this part of the questionnaire was not used.
Following the comparative questionnaire, semi-structured narratives were used to explored in-depth insights into the participants experiences of the park’s creation and expansion, using prompts to explore their understanding of the proposal, perceived advantages and disadvantages, when they learnt about the proposal and awareness of the FPIC process.
This mixed-method approach, with several communities, allowed us to triangulate data (Heesen, et al., 2019), and so avoiding assumption-drag based on a single method, single participant, or our own assumptions (Cracco, et al., 2024).
Results
Participant Observation
“When we launch a communiqué it’s really to invite the whole community… (the youth and the women?) … everyone… it’s not like the system in West Africa where sometimes when you bring people together, if the men are there the women will keep quiet, they don’t speak… here it’s completely different”. Conservation actor (2022).
Community members informed us that park staff held meetings with the community, during which they were given the opportunity to voice their options on park expansion. However, no safe spaces were created for marginalised (women, youth) or alienated (hunters) sub-groups of the community, where they could also voice their views. As a result, their perspectives remained under-represented. Urban-based villagers, despite ongoing connections to the territory, were also excluded.
Comparative Interviews
Figure 6 compares perceptions of villagers, diaspora, and conservation staff on the consultation process during the 2002 park creation and 2022 park expansion. In 2002, all groups agreed that communities were not consulted, that community needs had not been considered and community knowledge unused. According to one conservation actor:
“When we talked about the project, we first let the communities know that at the creation we did not have your point of view, we did not consult with you, and that this time we want to do things right. We want you to be involved, that you tell us yes or you tell us no, to what we want to do. The extension project is not already sealed” (2022).
Comparative graphs between 2002 (left) and 2022 (right). Blue represents the community and orange represents protected area staff and conservation staff.
One conservation actor noted that the 2002 the consultation was overshadowed by fear, remarking that “from the feedback we get, the people have a certain fear…of the past. If they have that, things have not necessarily gone well in the past” (2022).
In contrast, for the 2022 expansion, views are mixed. Most agree communities were consulted and their knowledge considered. However, there are discrepancies in perceptions on inclusive decision-making on the question of access to the proposed protected area expansion. 86% of conservation staff believe that the communities were involved in shaping access rules while 73% of communities disagree (Figure 6).
Over half of community respondents felt excluded from natural resource rule-setting in the proposed protected area expansion (e.g., hunting/gathering). Conservation staff were also divided on this, some thought the communities were involved, others were not sure.
One striking finding was that communities fondly recalled a 2002–2005 NGO worker who regularly visited, listened, and integrated their worldviews. For the community, this was a form of good practice, a practice they wished current staff would emulate.
Open-ended Semi-structured Narratives
Community’s Narratives
“Would be better that the park stays far from the village”. Community resident (2022).
During the open interviews, the communities largely perceived the 2022 consultation as aiming to extend the existing park, with continued restrictions on hunting and access. Conservation staff, however, envisioned a community-managed area with permitted access.
“The original boundaries made sense”. Community resident (2022).
Issues commonly raised during interviews, with various community members, was the wish to retain the current park boundaries, the need to consult extended kin before making any decisions on park expansion and the assertion that the territory is theirs. Many spoke of their poor relations with park authorities leading to frustration.
“When they come to give us the meetings, they say, if you agree or disagree the president has already given the okay”. Community resident (2022).
One recuring perception that the community participants felt, was that their input was symbolic. They supposed that the decision on the park expansion had already been pre-approved by higher authorities including the president and chiefs.
“Women don’t like to talk too much when men are speaking”. Community resident (2022).
Women indicated the difficulty speaking in mixed-gender settings, voicing deep concerns on park expansion linked to future access for their children to lands and resources.
“The original idea of the parks was the environment and the people”. Community resident (2022).
The socioeconomic situation of the communities inevitably was discussed. In 2002, communities accepted the park in exchange for promised economic development. Twenty years later, with closed schools, closed dispensaries and crumbling roads, they see only decline in their livelihoods and the infrastructure.
“Personally, I do not agree with the park proposal. Because that is where we live, that is where you can find our old villages, our sacred places”. Community resident (2022).
Based on the experience of unfulfilled development promises following the 2002 park creation, the community participants spoke of their scepticism in the 2022 park expansion. They were unclear of benefits that they would gain but had a clear understanding of the associated cost in terms of loss of hunting, fishing, and farming.
The community participants were clearly confused between the park expansion and other separate conservation initiatives which included re-introduction of lions, elephant fences, community transport and anti-poaching.
“[The Park] it is so that people can go and visit. But until today, even XXX has tried to tell the park authority, can we, … can we have … just one visit? Categorically, they said no. Why? It is our home. The park is implanted on our property …. Even the elites of this department cannot have access”. Local government (2022).
This confusion extended to the different role of various state and NGO conservation staff (Ecoguards, Water and Forest Ministry park and conservation organisations staff) and their jurisdiction. This confusion was aggravated by the conservation staff going beyond their jurisdiction, such as Ecoguards stopping local community hunters when they are outside the protected area.1 This led to eroding community trust in conservation actors overall.
Park Staff Narratives
“Maybe we can persuade them to give up these areas … even when we negotiate, even if the population at some point agrees, that doesn’t mean they’ve agreed wholeheartedly”. Conservation actor (2022).
Interviews with park and conservation staff (Figure 6) revealed that, while they felt that the current park expansion consultation was undertaken in an inclusive fashion, the lack of consultation during the initial 2002 park creation, undermined the current process. Some staff feared that if communities did not consent to the park expansion, the decisions might be imposed on them.
“We can sense their fear, fear to talk … in certain villages, there is information that we did not get during the mapping meetings with the communities”. Conservation actor (2022).
Despite being in regular contact with the community, interviewed staff, engaged in outreach and social science, felt marginalised by their hierarchy, Only being listened to during crises in the relationship between the community and the park.
In the event of the park expansion into sacred areas, participating park and conservation staff views on access to these sacred areas diverged sharply. Some staff suggested that members of the community would have to ask permission from the conservator to visit a sacred area and would be escorted by Eco-guards. Other staff suggested that it would be the park staff who would need to ask permission from the community to enter sacred areas in an expanded park.
Discussion and Conclusion
The on-going PBNP expansion has been complex and contentious, driven by entrenched assumptions and opposing worldviews. This discussion examines the challenges of opposing views on the history and land governance of the area, and how this impacts the FPIC process and the wider implications for conservation efforts in the region.
Assumption-drag and Ideological Landscapes
Effective decision-making by PBNP has been hindered by “assumption-drag” (Ascher, 1999) stemming from different worldviews that were persistently overlooked. Avoidable difficulties in park expansion could have been mitigated if constitutionality and an undisciplined, two-eyed seeing, approach (Bartlett et al., 2012) had been undertaken.
The perspective of the Gabonese park staff involved in the park expansion2 is influenced by Western worldviews, focused on the protected aera and biodiversity. Few of these staff had grown up in the area, or with the customs of the Batéke. Their worldview is at odds with the lived experiences of the Batéké community who were affected by the original park creation and its possible expansion. The community worldview includes a magico-political space, community identity, the role of land chiefs in land governance, growing human-wildlife conflict, the history of land-tenure dispossession and fear that further park’s expansion will exacerbate the continual decline of the area.
This mismatch exemplifies Foucault’s concept of heterotopia, a space where multiple, conflicting realities coexist (Foucault et al., 2003; Grabbatin & Rossi, 2012; Hymas, 2016). With its historical legacy and differing worldviews, the Plateau Batéké landscape embodies such a heterotopia, making any FPIC process challenging.
This history of transfer of land governance from customary governance institutions to western governance systems, results in a weaking of community constitutionality (Haller et al., 2016) while undermining natural resource governance. This has placed the community in the precarious situation of entering a FPIC process without strong voices that could represent their worldviews, including defending their natural resource governance upon which some continue to base their livelihoods.
Opposing World Views – Legacy of Loss, Oppression and the Meaning of Participation
The Batéké Plateau’s history is defined by repeated dispossession, loss of land, access to natural resources and access to sacred sites. This commons-grabbing legacy, including forced relocations in 1950s and 1960s, and the creation of the PBNP in 2002, has left the communities wary of the current park expansion. The unfulfilled development promises, from the 2002 park creation, has further eroded trust, leaving them sceptical of the proposed expansion’s benefits. If the communities are to trust an FPIC process, that is not top-down, then all their worldviews must be understood and integrated.
However, while park staff are aware of past shortcomings of the 2002 park creation, they have not fully acknowledged that it is part of a longer history of land dispossession and so, undermining the inclusive and trust making benefits of the FPIC process.
Opposing World Views: Land Governance, Management, Tenure and Commons
The proposed park expansion encompasses areas long governed under customary commons systems, where sacred sites form integral parts of a magico-political landscape. The Batéké worldview treats these sites as socio-political centres, not merely spiritual spaces, as a Western worldview would (Thorley & Gunn, 2007). A rough Western analogue is the UK’s Palace of Westminster, home of the UK parliament, a site where ritual and national governance converge, mirroring the Batéké fusion of the sacred and the political.
Imposing permits and Eco-guard oversight to enter the expanded park would fracture Batéké governance and further erode their society. Ignoring the sacred bond between community, land, and spirits severs their connection to the territory, effectively “killing their society” (Walters et al., 2024).
The distinction between land-grabbing and commons-grabbing is critical. Land-grabbing removes community land, commons-grabbing removes not only land but also the embedded culture, customs, governance, and management practices, practices developed and refined over centuries (Gerber & Haller, 2021; Klieman, 2003). This deeper dispossession erodes autonomy, cultural heritage, territory of life, and biodiversity and so replaces a millennia-old, proven land-use system with a protected area governance system introduced in Gabon in the 1930s, (Walters et al., 2016), whose long-term efficacy remains unproven.
Current conservation, in Gabon and the wider region, prioritises a millennium-old Western conservation framework (Hughes & Thirgood, 1982; Littlewood, 2002; Rollason, 2012). Yet two-eyed seeing, horizontal, conservation initiatives of self-recognition of commons and territories of life, which acknowledge local worldviews of these socio-magico-political spaces, are gaining momentum in Africa and have been initiated in Gabon, notably in the Massaha community (Massaha, et al. 2026). These offer equitable conservation grounded in local worldviews.
Divergent Views on the Consultation Process of Protected Area Expansion
Opposing worldviews, between the communities who will be impacted by the park expansion and protected area staff, shape how each perceives the park expansion.
Both communities and park staff agree the 2022 expansion process is more inclusive than the 2002 park creation. Despite efforts to foster collaboration, staff note persistent fear among communities, with communities remaining reluctant to voice concerns. This represents an indicator of the divergent views of consultation and the park.
The interviewed senior conservation staff view the 2022 expansion as being co-designed with local communities. In contrast local communities view the 2022 extension as a continuation of the same restriction on resource use and access as the existing park, and so do not welcome it. In some villages outside the study area, but part of the proposed expansion, this view has manifested in open resistance to the expansion, even though they have previously heavily invested in conservation.
While divergent views between the communities and staff are expected, internal divisions within protected area teams have also emerged, resulting in contradictory approaches to manage local community access for any future expansion.
Using FPIC from the Beginning of the Consultation
Had UN FPIC guidelines been followed, requiring engagement “as soon as possible” after identifying impacts on Peoples and Local Communities (UNHCR, 2018a), many issues surrounding the park expansion could have been avoided. Instead, FPIC contracts were finalised only after socio-economic studies and mapping had begun, with no dedicated FPIC personnel assigned to guide implementation. With multiple teams conducting studies without first informing communities of the expansion’s process, community apprehension is to be expected.
Given that Gabonese protected area agencies, local and national, have maintained contact with these communities since the park’s 2002 establishment, the cited justification for delaying FPIC, uncertainty over impacts on the community, is untenable.
UNDP, as implementing partner, bears particular responsibility. Its own guidance insists FPIC “should begin before project approval” (UNDP, 2022, p. 9), and precedents like Myanmar’s Reef to Ridge project (Woods & Naimark, 2020), in which they were involved, should have compelled early community integration during the design phase, especially as the proposal has been publicly available on the internet since 2019 (CAFI, 2019).
The deviation from international norms could suggest that FPIC was treated as performative, “inclusive conservation” social-washing, rather than a transformative process aligned with current conservation inclusive good practice. More likely, it reflects a broader gap between theoretical inclusive good practice and implementation, as shown in the WWF rights violations review (Pillay et al., 2020). Notably, Gabonese agencies themselves acknowledged FPIC’s application would be innovative for Gabon (CAFI, 2019, p. 27).
However, FPIC implementation failure carries consequences for local communities and their territories. Lacking bargaining power (Gerber and Haller 2021), and prevalent top-down policies (Walters et a. 2024), the Batéké communities are sceptical of the inclusive process, feeling that they are powerless to reject the expansion project.
Theoretically, FPIC requires an interdisciplinary approach, blending legal and social sciences to secure inclusive consent (UNDP, 2022). In practice, it demands a nuanced, adaptive process attuned to local, historical, social, and political contexts, an “undisciplined approach” (Robinson, 2008), where decades of lessons learnt through “wisdom of experience” and intuition, or gut feeling based on local contexts (Reiners and Lockwood, 2010), can outweigh rigid, step-by-step application of theoretical process, and models, which are removed from the local context, and so prone to assumption-drag. Ascher’s work on comparison success rate of management-based on models versus management-based on many years of practitioner experience, demonstrates that when information is lacking gut feeling based on local contexts may be more effective (Ascher, 1978).
Given divergent worldviews, it could be that the only reliable FPIC process is one led by the community (Doyle, et al, 2019), supported by two-eyed seeing capacity building and, where needed, strengthening traditional governance systems, such as through constitutionality (Haller, et al., 2018).
Suggestions for Improving FPIC Processes
Guided by action research, this study prioritised timely feedback to local and state actors. Recommendations were shared with protected area managers, conservation organisations, and communities during the study and post-2022. Some of the key suggestions follow.
Pause the Consultation Process and Increase Trust
To address mistrust and information gaps, pause the consultation. Adopt a relational, long-term strategy (Büscher & Fletcher, 2019), grounded in two-eyed seeing, to understand Batéké society’s historical, political, cultural and social dynamics, including past dispossession and the magico-political landscape.
Include stakeholders at local, national, and global levels. Consider internal village and family actors, going beyond conventional gender and youth stakeholder groupings. Though this raises short-term costs, broader inclusion reduces long-term expenses, legal risks (Davis & Franks, 2014), project termination risk, loss of multimillion-dollar grants (Woods & Naimark, 2020), senior staff dismissal (Nagar, 2021), and biodiversity loss (Chaplin-Kramer et al., 2023).
Transparent, two-way communication between field staff and institutional leadership is essential, enabling low-ranking staff to relay community concerns and ensuring recommendations inform institutional planning (Edelenbos et al., 2017).
FPIC and Capacity Building
A clear, local context-sensitive FPIC process, aligned with international guidelines (Accountability Framework initiative, 2019; FAO, 2016; UNDP, 2022; UNHCR, 2018a) is essential. Ideally, communities should design and adapt the FPIC process themselves.
For staff this includes identifying community traditions linked to governance and management, which could be as simple as identifying trees under which people sit during customary decision-making events.
Integration of Traditional Chiefs
Traditional chiefs must be formally integrated into protected area governance and management, in line with CBD Article 8(j) (CBD, 2024) and the Akwé: Kon Guidelines (CBD, 2004).
Alternative Models to Parks
The CBD increasingly recognises alternatives to conventional protected areas that align with Target 3, 30 × 30 objectives. Notably community-based Other Effective Area-based Conservation Measures (OECMs) and customary management of lived-in landscapes can also be recognised through the UN ICCA Registry as Territories of Life (ICCA Consortium, 2021). Exploring these alternatives with staff, makes them aware of them. While exploring these alternatives with communities, fosters trust, ownership, and conflict reduction (Davis & Franks, 2014).
However, such inclusive alternatives represent a paradigm-shift in conservation worldview, with conservation relinquishing top-down control and acknowledging that Western science does not hold all answers. This means trusting bottom-up constitutionality processes (Larsen et al., 2022) and, especially, horizontal two-eyed seeing approaches, to see if, in certain situations, they may yield better outcomes. Such a paradigm-shift also challenges the CBD’s current strategy, requiring it to embed diverse worldviews in core decision-making, and associated events, and not relegate them to peripheral working groups like Article 8(j).
Consider Local Development Based on Local Realities
It is broadly accepted that communities should receive compensation for their role in conservation. However, local development must go beyond generic global templates, such as “alternative livelihoods” programs (Wright et al., 2016), and be rooted in the specific realities of each community. Achieving this often requires partnering with inclusive development specialists who can assess the feasibility of proposals from both staff and community perspectives, taking into account local social, cultural, and economic conditions (Hymas, 2016).
Be Prepared for a Long Process
If the preceding steps are followed, then it is possible to return to the community with a clear, co-management orientated approach that can implemented through an FPIC approach (Kujirakwinja, et al. 2019). Although these processes require time, the long-term benefits of a well planned and thoroughly consulted protected or conserved area far outweigh the short-term costs often imposed by donor timelines or global targets costs (Davis & Franks, 2014; Woods & Naimark, 2020). Time invested in relationship building in conservation can only bear to serve both conservation and communities.
Use of Artificial Intelligence
Artificial Intelligence (mostly as supplied in Microsoft Word) was used in this article to correct spelling and grammar. At no time was it used to produce the ideas or the structure of this article.