Ecological Policy « Robert T. Lackey

Department of Fisheries, Wildlife, and Conservation Sciences

Oregon State University

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In disciplines such as environmental science, fisheries and wildlife management, and environmental management, I am concerned that the scientific enterprise has become captive to a particular worldview, a preferred policy preference — the idea that “nature knows best.” Worse, implicitly embedding this worldview into science can easily lead non-scientists into the trap of assuming that “Natural” is preferred to “Altered” from a policy perspective. This often-unrecognized policy preference is that the natural state of the environment is somehow inherently preferable to that altered by humans. Thus, some scientists conduct their scientific work under the assumption that untouched, natural ecosystems are inherently superior to those changed by human activity.

While this notion may seem intuitive (or even morally appealing), it transforms science from a reasonably objective tool into a subtle form of policy advocacy. Is it any surprise that many do not trust scientists (and the entire scientific enterprise) to “play it straight” concerning scientific information?

Let me be unambiguous: science should provide facts that help inform policy choices. Science should not have embedded opinions within its conclusions. However, in today’s ecologically-oriented policy debates, science is often misused or misinterpreted — sometimes even by scientists themselves. This misuse can influence decisions by blurring the line between scientific evidence and personal values.

The danger is real. Society does face many tough choices, and the policy tradeoffs are often highly contested. One well-known current example is balancing salmon policy priorities against hydropower baseload power. For such policy issues, it is crucial to distinguish between information rooted in evidence and that which is colored by personal belief. Without the clarity of clearly stated policy tradeoffs, science loses its credibility and its value as a neutral source of information.

So, what is science, exactly, and how does it differ from other sources of knowledge? At its core, it’s the pursuit of knowledge through systematic, reproducible methods. Science doesn’t imply right or wrong, nor what choice should be made — it only describes what is. Scientists, similarly, are those who gather and interpret this information. But having a scientific degree doesn’t automatically make someone’s opinions scientific. And scientists, like anyone else, carry personal policy biases and values that can unintentionally seep into their work.

Let’s explore how this happens using three contemporary examples gleaned from the scientific literature.

Example 1: Ecosystem Management

Ecosystem management implicitly aims to preserve or restore ecosystems, but it is often loaded with terms such as degradation, health, and impoverishment. These words imply or suggest that change or disturbance is inherently harmful and unnatural. Commonly, the line between describing reality and prescribing what should happen gets blurred. From a broad suite of possible policy choices, which one best meets society’s policy goals and has a good chance of meeting those goals? Terms commonly found in the ecosystem management scientific literature often imply that native species are simply assumed to be preferable (policy-wise) to non-native ones, even though that is a societal choice, not a scientific fact. Simply put, whether a species is considered harmful or beneficial varies depending on the policy context and public values, not a scientific principle.

Example 2: Notions of “Integrity”

The term ecological integrity often appears in environmental discussions. Technically, a “high” integrity ecosystem is typically filled with native species and minimal human disturbance. A purely technical definition in a scientific sense. But for most people, “integrity” implies goodness or high moral standards. Thus, this language subtly suggests that implicitly natural ecosystems are better, turning a purported scientific descriptor into a value judgment. If untouched ecosystems are seen as good, then any human impact starts to look bad, even when the science itself doesn’t support that conclusion.

Society may well choose to maintain ecosystems in a state unaffected by humans, but scientific inputs to making that policy choice should be policy neutral. Science should not subtly push society toward any particular state of that ecosystem.

Example 3: Ecological Restoration Goals

Ecological restoration presents another area where scientists may unintentionally fall into the trap of assuming that “natural is good” and “altered is bad.” What era should society aim to restore ecosystems — before European settlement, before industrialization, or some more recent period? Who should decide?

There’s no scientific answer to this; it is a choice based largely on values. Scientists can predict what will likely happen if a particular target is selected, but selecting that target is inherently political. Similarly, society may decide which species are more valuable or which habitats deserve protection, but those decisions should not be made under the guise of scientific neutrality.

The Slippery Slope of Policy Advocacy

Scientists don’t always realize when they’ve crossed the boundary from informing to advocating. It might be as subtle as the words they choose or the assumptions baked into their models. Once scientists (or their scientific information) start implying what policy should be — rather than informing choices with unbiased data — it risks scientists becoming just another voice in the policy advocacy arena. This damages public trust in science and undermines its usefulness in decision-making.

We must be vigilant. Objective science is essential in complex policy debates because it offers clarity in emotionally charged, politically divisive issues. When scientists let their values influence their presentation of facts, even unintentionally, they jeopardize the integrity of their profession.

That doesn’t mean scientists do not care about value-driven policy questions. Some enter the environmental and natural resource fields because they feel deeply about nature and conservation, but that passion must be separated from the factual analysis they offer. Science informs what’s possible and what the consequences might be — it does not decide what is right.

A Call for Clarity

Ultimately, the push for “natural is better” reflects a cultural or policy bias, not a scientific truth. Both pristine and altered ecosystems have value depending on societal goals. Science should not steer those goals — it should help society understand the options and outcomes.

In a well-functioning democracy, good science provides the foundation for informed choices driven by the wishes of the citizenry. The scientific enterprise is not the final word but rather an input. And to be useful, scientists must be a trusted, impartial voice. To help preserve that trust, science must remain neutral, accurate, and transparent. If the boundary between scientific evidence and policy advocacy becomes unclear, society risks losing the very thing that makes science valuable in policy deliberations.

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Author Info: Robert T. Lackey <Robert.Lackey@oregonstate.edu> is a professor of fisheries at Oregon State University, where he teaches a graduate course in ecological policy and mentors graduate students. He was previously deputy director of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency’s 350-person National Environmental Research Laboratory in Corvallis, Oregon, from which he retired in 2008. He has also worked on assignments in Washington, DC for the U.S. Department of the Interior and the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.

Robert T. Lackey

Earlier this month, a colleague asked me if anything had changed in the twenty years since the publication of my op-ed about the prevalence of “delusional reality” regarding the future of wild salmon in California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia, and Idaho. He added, “perhaps you would write the paper differently today?”

To provide some context for my answer, here is a slightly edited version of the piece published in 2001 in Fisheries, the professional magazine of the American Fisheries Society:

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Are we professional fisheries scientists collectively guilty of encouraging delusions about the possibilities of restoring wild salmon to the Pacific Northwest?

In my informal discussions with colleagues, most conclude that the likely scenario for wild salmon numbers (even assuming implementation of any of the hotly debated “restoration” proposals) is a continuing long-term downward trajectory in California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia, and Idaho.

A fundamental basis for this sobering conclusion is that the Pacific Northwest’s human population (including British Columbia) will almost certainly grow dramatically through this century — from the current 14 million to between 40 and 100 million. Predictions of population levels a century from now are contentious, but I have yet to find anyone who disputes the presumption that there will be many more people in the region by the end of this century. Whether the number will be 40, 60, 80, or 100 million is contested, but the population will be several times higher. A cursory examination of regional data depicting historical human population density/development and wild salmon distribution/abundance reveals a stark negative relationship.

Speaking as a scientist, and not as an advocate of any policy position or option, the assumed future level of the region’s human population is simply a factor (policy driver) to be considered in evaluating the future of wild salmon. Given the predicted human population increase, the overall, long-term, downward trend in wild salmon abundance is nearly certain unless there are spectacular changes in the lifestyles of the region’s inhabitants. But, apart from equivocal polling data, opaque political rhetoric, and grand statements of intent, there is little tangible evidence that most people are willing to make the substantial personal or societal changes needed to restore large runs of wild salmon. I contend that the future of wild salmon is not hopeless or foreordained, but society has collectively shown scant willingness to adopt the policy choices necessary to reverse the long-term downward trend in wild salmon.

Thus, after considering ecological and societal context, most colleagues conclude, usually “off the record,” that by 2100 wild salmon in the Pacific Northwest will consist of mere remnants of pre-1850 runs. None of the species likely will become extinct by 2100, but many stocks or populations will have disappeared, and those that remain will have small runs incapable of supporting appreciable fishing without technological interventions such as hatcheries or artificial spawning channels. To visualize the most likely future, we only need to look at the remnant anadromous salmonid runs in the eastern United States, continental Europe, and the Asian Far East, especially China, Japan, and Korea. At one time, each of these regions supported thriving populations of wild salmon. They no longer do, nor is there any likelihood they will in the foreseeable future.

As society’s fisheries experts, do we perpetuate the delusion that the Pacific Northwest will (or could, absent pervasive lifestyle changes) support wild salmon in significant numbers — given the current trajectory of the region’s human population growth coupled with most individuals’ unwillingness to reduce substantially their consumption of resources and standard of living? It is not our role as scientists to assert that society should make the changes necessary to restore wild salmon, but our implicit public optimism about restoring wild salmon perpetuates an avoidance of reality. Intended or not, we end up misleading the public.

Let me illustrate with a personal example.

A few years ago, I completed a manuscript that assessed the future of Pacific Northwest wild salmon for the Salmon 2100 Project. Any assessment dealing with salmon always stimulates scientific and policy debate, but my primary conclusion was:

“The near-certain growth in the human population in the Pacific Northwest through this century, coupled with little indication that most people will accept the enormous lifestyle changes necessary to perpetuate, much less restore, wild salmon, means that restoring “fishable” runs of wild salmon in California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia, and Idaho is a policy objective that is not likely to be achieved.“

Most of the several dozen fisheries scientists who reviewed the manuscript accepted the conclusion as realistic, even intuitively obvious, but the following were typical reactions to the overall message:

These people were not challenging the human population trajectories presented in the manuscript. They accepted the population growth trajectory and the continuing unwillingness of most people to make the sacrifices necessary to reverse the downward trend in wild salmon. There is, of course, a possibility that society will collectively adopt “voluntary simplicity” as a dominant lifestyle, but most readers did not expect such a change to transpire on a large scale. Even so, the message, they argued, would be better received if it was cast in more upbeat terms.

“The message is correct, but it is too pessimistic.”

“You need to look for a way to tell the story more optimistically.”

“Such a pessimistic message is not fair to all those fisheries biologists in the trenches trying to do their best to save salmon.”

How can assessing the future of wild salmon be concurrently acknowledged as accurate and too pessimistic? Should it not be a hallmark of fisheries scientists to provide realistic predictions of the future rather than either pessimistic or optimistic ones?

As expected, many reviewers offered the usual arguments about the relative importance of commercial, recreational, and Indian fishing, dams and their operation, agriculture, forestry, urbanization, roads and right-of-ways, pollution, changes in the climate of the ocean and atmosphere, competition and predation from exotic species, predation by marine mammals and birds, and various concerns about hatcheries and commercial aquaculture. However, the overall conclusion of nearly all reviewers did not differ significantly.

Most fascinating was the recurring suggestion, even a plea, to “lighten up” and be more optimistic and positive in assessing the future of wild salmon. I had written the article to be blunt, direct, and realistic, and I avoided both pessimism and optimism. How could reviewers conclude that the manuscript was realistic in content and conclusion, but at the same time encourage me to abandon realism and honesty in favor of optimism — a suggestion that would mislead all but the most astute readers?

Several reviewers suggested that if my objective in writing the article was to help save wild salmon (it was not), then the accurate, realistic message would leave proponents dejected. This common sentiment is captured by:

“You have to give those of us trying to restore wild salmon some hope of success.”

Conversely, a few veterans of the salmon wars confessed their regret over the “optimistic” approach that they had taken during their careers in fisheries, and they endorsed the “tell it like it is” tactic. They felt that they had, especially early in their careers, given false hope about the effectiveness of fishways, hatcheries, and their agency’s ability to manage mixed stock fishing. I was left with a feeling that many professional fisheries scientists have been, and still are, subtly pressured by employers, funding organizations, and colleagues to “spin” fisheries science and policy realism to accentuate optimism.

Other reviewers took professional refuge in the reality that senior management or policy bureaucrats define the priorities — and thus research questions and topics — often resulting in narrow, reductionist scientific information and assessments. Rarely are fisheries scientists empowered to provide “big picture” assessments of the future of salmon. Whether inadvertent or not, such information often misleads the public into endorsing false expectations of the likelihood of the recovery of wild salmon.

For many of us, such implicit optimism is a healthy, rewarding way to go through life. Is adopting unfounded “professional” optimism a harmless adaptive behavior of little import? After all, “think positive” slogans are a hallmark of many self-improvement programs. What is wrong is that optimism does not convey what is happening with wild salmon, and it allows the public, elected officials, and fisheries managers to escape the torment of confronting triage.

Fisheries scientists should be realistic and avoid being either optimistic or pessimistic. This professional stance does not covertly argue in favor of an “imperative” to save wild salmon regardless of society’s cost, nor does it necessarily support a “defeatist” strategy. Such choices should be made by an informed public that is aware of the difficult tradeoffs. Restoring wild salmon is only one of many competing, important priorities, and the public is entitled to be accurately informed about the long-term prospects of success.

It is easy to find comfort in debating the nuances of hatchery genetics, evolutionarily significant units, dam breaching, salmon barging, selective fishing regulations, predatory bird control, habitat restoration, atmospheric and oceanic climate, and unintentionally mislead the public about the realities of the situation with wild salmon. As discomforting as it may be to disclose the future of wild salmon relative to society’s apparent values and preferences, our most helpful contribution as fisheries scientists is providing information and assessments that are policy-relevant but policy-neutral, understandable to the public and decision makers, and scrupulously realistic about the future. Otherwise, we squander our professional credibility to become acolytes of delusion.

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OK, now back to the question initially posed to me — has the policy and scientific landscape for wild salmon changed over the past twenty years? To answer bluntly . . . nothing substantive has changed from what I described in 2001. In short, the simple, direct answer is, “No.” As I observe the political and policy landscape in 2021, the article could have been written today.

The policy drivers are fundamentally the same. And further, there is no indication that the major salmon policy drivers — and the public’s overarching competing policy priorities — have changed over the most recent two decades, nor does major change appear imminent.

Speaking as a scientist, this situation is not “good” or “bad,” it just “is” — but this reality should be conveyed accurately to policy makers and the public.

For fisheries scientists, the answer should not precipitate either joy or sorrow, but rather it is simply a reality — a reality that scientists should present to policy makers and the public in an even-handed, understandable, candid, and honest manner.

No delusional reality. No conspiracy of optimism. No wishful thinking. Defend reality.

Robert T. Lackey

Several years ago, toward the end of my career with the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, one of the “outreach” staff in Washington, DC, telephoned me in Corvallis and posed a question: “In science, why isn’t the notion of ecosystem health a useful metaphor to convey scientific information? I see the metaphor used all the time.”

When I provided a long-winded, complicated, technically rigorous answer, the staffer was obviously disappointed. Evidently, he was looking for something simple and clear-cut. I then asked, ever so diplomatically, to provide a brief written answer that could be published in the EPA internal blog. What follows is an edited version of what was submitted.

Very young children have a habit of asking innocent, but thorny questions. My grandson, however, has reached an age where innocence no longer passes for an excuse for his questions; he knows enough now that his questions reflect the traits of a budding intellectual troublemaker.

A case in point: here is my answer to his question about the increasingly popular term: ecosystem health.

“Grandpa, in school today in my science class, we talked about healthy ecosystems. My teacher says that when we are not feeling well, we go to a doctor to find out how to get healthy. If I have a sick ecosystem, she says that I should go to a scientist to find out how to make the ecosystem healthy. Dad says you are a scientist, so what is a healthy ecosystem?”

It is a good question and one that I, as a research scientist who has worked on such issues for over 40 years, should be able to answer with ease.

This seemingly straightforward question, however, does not have a simple answer. Further, the answer requires a clear understanding of the proper role of science in a democracy.

First, how is a person to recognize a healthy ecosystem? Many might identify the healthiest ecosystems as those that are pristine. But what is the pristine state of an ecosystem? Is it the condition of North America prior to alterations caused by European immigrants, say 1491? Or perhaps it is the condition of the land sometime well after the arrival of immigrants who came by way of the Bering land bridge, say 1,000 years ago? Or maybe it is the state of North America prior to the arrival of any humans, say more than 15,000 years ago?

Ultimately it is a policy decision that will specify the desired state of an ecosystem. It is a choice, a preference, a goal.

Scientists can provide options, alternatives, and possibilities, but ultimately in a democracy, it is society that chooses from among the possible goals.

For example, a malarial-infested swamp in its natural state could be defined as a healthy ecosystem, as could the same land converted to an intensively managed rice paddy. Neither the swamp nor the rice paddy can be seen as a “healthy” ecosystem except through the lens of a person’s values or policy goals.

Once the desired state of an ecosystem is specified by someone, or by society overall through laws and regulation, scientists can determine how close we are to achieving that goal. They might even offer some approaches that might better achieve the goal. Ultimately, though, it is society that defines the goal, not scientists. One person’s sick ecosystem is another person’s healthy ecosystem.

So, the answer to my grandson’s provocative question is that human health is not an appropriate metaphor for ecosystem health. There is no inherently “healthy” state of ecosystems except when viewed from the perspective of societal values.

Pristine ecosystems (e.g., wilderness watersheds, Antarctica, uninhabited tundra) are certainly very different than highly altered ecosystems (e.g., farms, city parks, harbors) but neither a pristine ecosystem nor a highly altered ecosystem is scientifically better or worse — just different.

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Robert T. Lackey

Tag Archives: Ecological Policy

How Do Scientists Lead People into the Trap of Assuming that “Natural” is Preferred Policy-wise?

Defending Reality — Revisiting Two Decades Later

Is Ecosystem Health a Useful Metaphor in Science?

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