by FlOrAl HAZArDS - University of Icelandluvs.hi.is/system/files/biblio/benediktsson-2015-geografiska_annaler... · leguminous plant of north American origin. Imported to Iceland

FlOrAl HAZArDS

© The author 2015Geografiska Annaler: Series B © 2015 Swedish Society for Anthropology and Geography

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FlOrAl HAZArDS: nOOtKA luPIn In ICelAnD AnD tHe COMPlex POlItICS OF InVASIVe lIFe

byKarl Benediktsson

BeneDIKtSSOn, K. (2015): ‘Floral hazards: nootka lupin in Iceland and the complex politics of invasive life’, Geografiska Annaler: Series B, Human Geography 97 (2): 139–154.

ABStrACt. Once established in new spaces, exotic plants not only impact the “native” biota, but also affect environmental poli-tics in often complex ways. this article looks into one instance of such politics: that of the nootka lupin (Lupinus nootkatensis), a leguminous plant of north American origin. Imported to Iceland in 1945 to stem soil degradation and recover vegetation, it soon became firmly established in Icelandic landscapes. Its spreading was actively assisted by human actors as part of fulfilling a mor-al duty to heal a land scarred by unsustainable past land use prac-tices. Changing perspectives in environmental management have brought about a radical reversal in the lupin’s status. It is now seen by many as a “floral hazard”, and has been declared an “invasive alien species” by the Ministry for the environment. new lines of defence are being established to curb its spread into the deserts of the central highlands. A polarized debate has ensued about the pol-itics of invasive life. Increased research by natural scientists has not led to any resolution. It is argued that such seemingly intracta-ble controversies cannot be resolved unless close attention is paid to the historical construction of values and moralities underwriting the production of the discursive communities involved. Conditions of radical uncertainty with the advent of the Anthropocene further complicate the politics of invasive life.

Keywords: invasive alien species, Lupinus nootkatensis, environ-mental politics, nationalism, discourse, Iceland

IntroductionJust as in other kinds of political tussles, many is-sues in environmental politics frequently seem to solidify in public debate into diametrically opposed positions from where it appears difficult to move to-wards any resolution. this is certainly common in disputes about invasive life – species that are con-sidered “out of place”. Such issues have become more and more prominent: with rapid environmen-tal changes and the phenomenal growth of transpor-tation in a globalized economy, the spatial mobility of organisms is greater than probably ever before. We all now live in what larson (2005) aptly terms recombinant ecosystems. the polarized moral politics of invasive life point to strong emotions and deeply held societal values at stake, influenced by particular histori-cal contexts as well as general ideologies. natural

scientists often posit themselves as the “natural” ar-biters in such debates, by virtue of their allegedly objective knowledge of the processes at work (lach et al. 2003; likens 2010). But such arbitration can be easier to achieve in theory than in practice. not only do the findings and recommendations of natu-ral scientists sometimes go against prevailing sen-timents in society, but different groups of scientists may come to very different conclusions, based on their differing value systems and disciplinary cul-tures (Sarewitz 2004). Hager and McCoy (1998) warn that simply assuming, without careful scien-tific testing, that introduced species have negative ecological effects may undermine the credibility of natural science in the eyes of the public. In addition, a more fundamental dilemma may preclude an un-equivocal settlement of such disputes on the basis of scientific facts, namely the uncertainties – eco-logical, social and ethical – that are increasingly acknowledged as part and parcel of environmen-tal management (Francis and Goodman 2010). For instance, as Bingham and Hinchliffe (2008, p. 83) observe:

nature […] no longer offers a stable category to which objects can be intuitively allocated […] It is neither a source of smooth facts which seem to speak for themselves […] nor an unchanging ground on which one might rely.

During the first weeks of 2011, one episode in a tus-sle of the sort outlined above took place on the pages of Icelandic newspapers. It centred on an introduced plant that has become ubiquitous in Iceland in recent decades: Lupinus nootkatensis, or the nootka lupin (Fig. 1). the reason was a proposal for a new legal framework for nature conservation by the Ministry for the environment. the draft legislation included some firm measures to combat “invasive alien spe-cies”, for the first time in Icelandic law. Prior to the drafting of the bill, a special working group had produced a report (nÍ and lr 2010) that outlined some urgent and quite drastic measures to curtail the

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spread of two invasive alien plants, namely Lupinus nootkatensis and Anthriscus sylvestris (cow pars-ley). In the lupin case, this represented a complete turnaround: a few years before the plant had ac-tively and enthusiastically spread by agencies of the state, companies and organizations, and the general public. It was now to become an officially declared planta non grata. no plant seems capable of stirring up such emo-tions among Icelanders as this legume. It has been lauded for its soil-improving qualities and loved for its bright blue flowers, but more recently also loathed for its proclivity to take over completely in areas where it has become established. two groups were most prominent in the 2011 media skirmish. One, consisting of ecologists, applauded the new proposal and argued unequivocally for controlling invasive aliens such as the lupin (Jónsdóttir et al. 2011). they spoke with urgency about the need to use all methods available for eradication. the other group articulated a completely opposite view (Sigurgeirsson et al. 2011). It included a good many forest scientists and professional gardeners, as well

as people from other backgrounds. they put their case in strong language, to put it mildly. As common in such disputes, accusations of xenophobia and rac-ism were brandied. In one particularly vituperative letter to the editor, the author – a forest scientist – poured scorn on ecologists and botanists by com-paring their views about how to deal with invasive aliens to the genocidal atrocities of the third reich (Gunnarsson 2011). It seemed that a complete dead-lock had been reached. this article presents an analysis of the history of the lupin debate in Iceland. I will investigate how the plant has played a part in the splitting of Icelandic society into two opposing camps when it comes to environmental management. I am especially inter-ested in the way in which ideas of nation and nation-ality have been woven into both the language and the practices associated with the lupin – on both sides of the debate. How is it possible to arrive at so differ-ent answers to the question as to what constitutes “good ecological citizenship” (cf. Barker 2010)? Does the discursive construction of species as inva-sive and alien help or hinder the formation of ethical

Figure 1. lupin near Skaftafell national Park, Southeast Iceland.Photo by Martin nouza.

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and responsible nature politics in the long run? What role does natural science play in these politics? Some answers will be sought to these questions. I ar-gue that analyses of invasive life need to be more at-tentive to the historically conditioned and fractured nature of the groups involved than often has been the case. Broad-brush categories of assumed stakehold-ers – such as “the public”, “the scientists/experts” or “the policy makers” – are not sufficient. In particu-lar, I want to draw attention to the fact that natural scientists also come into environmental politics with widely differing “structures of thought” (Buijs and elands 2013) just like members of the general pub-lic. Such structures can best be understood by exam-ining their historical development. Following a note on methodology just after this introduction, a short review of writings by social scientists about invasive alien species will be pre-sented. the story of lupin in Iceland is then told in a largely linear manner. the historical conditions preceding the lupin’s arrival in the country will be briefly clarified. the paramount emphasis put in the twentieth century on revegetation and forestry will then be discussed, followed by an analysis of the controversy that has arisen in the last quarter cen-tury. this is done by showing in some detail how the plant has been discussed in Icelandic media since its introduction. I then trace the emergence of groups that have coalesced around the opposite viewpoints. the example as a whole, I contend, may enhance our understanding of why such controversies about invasive life often become so intractable – a theme taken up in the conclusion.

On methodthe method employed here is a form of discourse analysis. Arts and Buizer (2009) identify four main meanings of the concept discourse, which partly overlap: communication; texts; frames; and social practices. Discourse as communication refers to al-most any exchange of views by whatever means, whereas the textual approach pays particular atten-tion to language and its interpretation. Discourse can also be seen as a frame that is shared by certain social groups, and which shapes how individuals express themselves and act, for instance in the context of pol-icy formation (Arts and Buizer 2009). Finally, the conception of discourse as social practices refers to a Foucauldian approach, where discourse is seen as ‘a complex entity that extends into the realms of ideol-ogy, strategy, language and practice, and is shaped by

the relations between power and knowledge’ (Sharp and richardson 2001, p. 195). I find the latter two conceptualizations – discourses as frames and as so-cial practices – especially useful. the analysis in this article makes use of (written) texts only, as manifes-tations of wider discourses that in this case have cer-tainly involved particular framings, practices and power struggles. Print media texts provide a good window onto how the lupin debate has evolved. to establish the contours of the debate, a sys-tematic search was made in the bibliographic da-tabase tímarit.is, which contains page-wise scans of most newspapers and periodicals published in Iceland since the nineteenth century. All Icelandic newspapers are found in this database as well as a great many magazines and journals. A search in the database simply returns each page where the search term is found. Further analysis requires careful scru-tiny of the individual pages found. the main search term used was lúpína, includ-ing inflected forms. the search period was 1850–2012. Also the search terms Lupinus and úlfabaun were used, the former being the plant’s botanical name and the latter an Icelandic translation of it, suggested early on as a local name for the plant. the search yielded some 97 occurrences of Lupinus, the first mention of which is from 1886. Only 15 hits were identified for úlfabaun, which has not become established in the language – despite the general Icelandic penchant for translating “alien” concepts. But the word lúpína, in its various declensions, was found in 1558 pages in the database. While the thrust of the analysis is qualitative, the high overall num-ber and the temporal distribution of the pages found indicate the intensity of the debate, especially since the late 1980s (Fig. 2). this extensive material was first scanned to get an overview. Selected writings were then picked out for closer analysis, including various news items as well as letters from readers. In the analysis, atten-tion is paid to the basic perspectives embedded in the use of certain concepts and strands of reasoning, and the way in which this discourse has not only led to the formation and reinforcement of certain social groups, but also been implicated in tangible material changes to landscapes and ecosystems (cf. Qvenild 2014). letters to the main national newspapers were found to be an especially rich source of information. For a long time, such letters were an important part of public debates in Iceland. With the recent advent of electronic media, the importance of newspapers for such discussion has diminished, however. Blogs,

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news-site commentaries and Facebook groups have brought their own discursive dynamics, which were also briefly examined in relation to the lupin debate.

Alien invasions in social territoriesFollowing Charles elton’s pioneering work in the 1950s (richardson and Pyšek 2008), invasion ecol-ogy (or invasion biology) has emerged as a vigorous subfield of biology. While the processes studied are biological, the issues at the centre of these concerns are profoundly human, however, as Mcneely (2011) points out. Biological invasions are usually brought about by humans having intentionally or uninten-tionally transported the invading organism; they tend to happen in habitats altered by humans; and the very definition of an invasive alien species of course implies a human judgement, as does the so-cial response devised to deal with it. In recognition of this entanglement with the social world, robbins

(2004) suggests that it is more appropriate to talk of invasive “sociobiological networks” rather than fo-cusing on individual invasive species per se. the social sciences and humanities have studied biological invasions from a variety of perspectives. Historical scholarship has described the processes of introduction of new species to new areas, not least species introduced for utilitarian purposes (Crosby 1986; Kull and rangan 2008). Histories of concern with particular organisms have been traced (e.g. Bailey 2011). Attention has also been paid to the social and cultural formation of attitudes and pub-lic perception of introduced species, as well as of the methods used to manage them (Starfinger et al. 2003; Gobster 2011). Similarities and differences between the general public and environmental man-agement experts have been identified (Buijs and elands 2013; Fischer et al. 2014). Finally, the mean-ing of concepts such as native and alien, with their implied geographies, has been subjected to intense

Figure 2. the varying intensity of the lupin debate in the printed media since 1945.Note: intensity is indicated by the number of pages where lupin is mentioned in the database timarit.is, as per author’s search for the period 1945–2012. Further explanation in the text.

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critical scrutiny (Warren 2007). Seen from a social constructionist angle, these and related concepts that form the core of invasion ecology are beset by se-vere problems of spatial and temporal demarcation. In addition, the frequent complaint by social scien-tists of inherent xenophobia has become a source of considerable irritation among ecologists (Simberloff 2003; richardson and ricciardi 2013). Of particular interest is the recent move in human geography and related fields towards a “more-than-human” approach (Whatmore 2006) or “multinat-uralism” (Bingham and Hinchliffe 2008; lorimer 2012). Influenced for instance by the flat ontology of latour’s actor-network theory (latour 2005) and the concept of hybridity (Whatmore 2002), such ap-proaches explicitly reject the dualistic separation of humans from nature. non-human organisms of all kinds are seen as co-creators – with humans, and even with non-organic things – of worlds that are forever under construction, as it were. this radically alters any account of species that cross boundaries and/or become invasive. It also gives us a lot to think about regarding the politics of invasive life, bring-ing to attention the interspecies interactions that take place (robbins 2004). For comparison with the Icelandic case, some previous analyses of the formation of public senti-ment and of the radical reversals that have occurred in prevailing sentiments towards particular species warrant special attention. thus Alderman (2004) pro-vides a fascinating account of the role of Channing Cope, a prominent media personality, in promoting kudzu (Pueraria spp.) in the south-eastern uS dur-ing the first half of the twentieth century. using a variety of morally forceful metaphors in his claims, Cope’s ceaseless advocacy for the kudzu had sub-stantial impact on attitudes towards this introduced plant. this contributed to its spreading throughout the region for purposes of farming as well as erosion control, with the active backing of public agencies. the positive sentiment gave way later, however, with kudzu eventually declared a noxious weed in the uS (Forseth and Innis 2004) and subjected to a host of eradication measures, including spraying with broad-spectrum weed killers. the history of tamarisk (Tamarix spp.) in the uS is somewhat sim-ilar. In this case, the scientific community has been instrumental in the forming of negative attitudes towards the species, which was originally intro-duced for soil conservation purposes (Chew 2009; Stromberg et al. 2009). Methods for controlling the spread of tamarisk have included the introduction of

a beetle as a biocontrol agent, which brings further ecological complications (Hultine et al. 2010). Also, looking at the history of black cherry (Prunus sero-tina) in central europe, Starfinger et al. (2003) iden-tify many competing storylines that have influenced attitudes towards the plant and led to different man-agement policies at different times. Changing views of Australian acacias (Acacia spp.) in South Africa have been analysed in similar ways (Carruthers et al. 2011). In all these examples (see also other articles in this issue, esp. ernwein and Fall 2015; Førde and Magnussen 2015; Head and Atchison 2015), cer-tain parallels can be seen with the history of lupin in Iceland, as will be shown. We will next look at the particular historical context that frames much of the lupin politics, and which to a large extent may ex-plain their current viciousness.

The sorry saga of Iceland’s vegetationWhile fond of presenting their country as the epit-ome of wilderness – of nature untouched by human interference, Icelanders themselves are very much aware that this is actually a complete myth. the story of land degradation has been told numerous times (e.g. A. Arnalds 1987; Ó. Arnalds et al. 2001), but a brief summary is appropriate here. It is a well established fact that soon after the settlement of the island in the ninth century ad, a process of intense ecological change started. the settlers brought with them plants and animals previously absent. A sub-sistence economy based on extensive grazing de-veloped. the birch woodlands rapidly diminished, making way for pastures. However, grazing pres-sures were beyond carrying capacity in many areas (Ó. Arnalds and Barkarson 2003). Deforestation, in large part for firewood and charcoal-making, also continued until the twentieth century. the volcanic soils being easily eroded, extensive soil erosion was the inevitable result. Cool climate during the little Ice Age (from the sixteenth to the nineteenth cen-tury) did not help. In some areas, catastrophic sand-storms also decimated a number of farms. With some notable exceptions (cf. Crofts 2011), this sad state of affairs seems to have been met by and large with resignation. But with increased re-search the scale of the problem became clear. In the early twentieth century most of the original birch woodland had been lost and only some 25 per cent of the country were fully vegetated (A. Arnalds 1987). Moreover, acknowledgement grew of the fact that the degradation was not solely, and not even

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primarily, caused by nature itself (i.e. volcanism and harsh climate); it had in large part been brought about by humans through unsustainable land man-agement practices through the ages. the significance of all this dawned on the na-tion, resulting in the establishment of the Soil Conservation Service of Iceland (SCSI, or landgræðsla ríkisins in Icelandic) in 1907 (Crofts 2011). this agency took on what seemed a Sisyphean task, but early successes in halting further soil loss in the southern lowlands proved that it was indeed pos-sible to do something about this. the plant species that proved most effective for stopping drifting sand was indigenous lyme grass (Leymus arenaria). Also during the late nineteenth and early twen-tieth centuries, ideologies of the enlightenment and the romantic movement in europe, coupled with growing nationalism and a drive for independ-ence from Denmark, changed the way in which Icelanders thought about the nature of their coun-try (Árnason 2005). romantic poets praised the pas-toral beauty of the countryside, while also mindful of the harsh and sublime character of its landscapes and climate. Along with awareness of a separate lan-guage and pride in a “golden” past of great literary achievements, the allegedly special characteristics of Icelandic nature became a focal point in Icelandic nationalism and struggle for independence. these ideologies carried within them an implicit tension between preservation and progress, which has sur-faced most clearly in the long-winded discourse about hydropower development (Karlsdóttir 2010). At about the same time as the establishment of SCSI, the first attempts at planting imported species of conifers – pines and spruces mainly – were be-ing gingerly made (Blöndal and Gunnarsson 1999). At first, forestry and soil conservation were seen as two sides of the same coin, but in 1908 a sepa-rate agency was created – Iceland Forestry Service (hereafter IFS, Skógrækt ríkisins). Ironically, most of the initial tree plantings were undertaken within the few remaining patches of native birch – areas where the vegetation resembled the supposedly original state prior to “the Fall” of the first settle-ment, and where land degradation was not an acute problem. Forestry became at least as much preoc-cupied with the production of wood as with halting erosion. the activities of IFS were in fact no less in-tertwined with nationalistic sentiments than those of SCSI: planting forests for eventual timber produc-tion was seen as contributing to the country‘s pro-ject of independence.

the intertwining of nationalism and nature is reflected in the establishment of a land restoration Fund (landgræðslusjóður) when Iceland became a republic in 1944. revegetation was declared a mat-ter of urgency for the citizens of the new republic. Again in 1974, when Icelanders celebrated a thou-sand years of settlement in the country, a sizeable fund called the nation’s Gift (Þjóðargjöfin) was set up for financing forestry as well as land resto-ration projects. In 1990, a nationwide programme of forestry for land restoration was launched, giv-ing a further boost to these activities. Also it is worth mentioning that during her time in office (1980–1996), the President of Iceland, Ms Vigdís Finnbogadóttir, made a strong association between her role as the head of the nation and the tasks of land restoration and forestry: symbolic tree plant-ing (albeit not of alien conifers, but native birch) became a standard part of her schedule when vis-iting the various communities around Iceland. All in all, as the twentieth century progressed, support-ing or personally taking part in land restoration ac-tivities came to be seen as a moral duty of every patriotic Icelander. the enormous “emotional in-vestment” in a national(ist) discourse of forestry is especially noteworthy.

The introduction of the Alaskan lupinlupins were first brought to Iceland in the late nineteenth century (Magnússon et al. 2003), a pe-riod of active experimentation with the importa-tion of novel trees and other plants. Several species were tried out, mainly for the purposes of ornamen-tal gardening. Lupinus nootkatensis was among the species first tried (Schierbeck 1886), but it did not receive much attention – and did not escape into the barren, rocky hills at the back of reykjavík. Following these first experiments, the nitrogen fixation capacity of lupins aroused some interest and trials were set up for assessing their potential for maintaining soil fertility. Several different spe-cies were tested, the nootka lupin apparently among these (Helgason 1911).1 the results of these exper-iments varied, but they were apparently not alto-gether convincing. With artificial nitrogen fertilizer becoming widely available in the 1920s, the interest for incorporating lupins into local farming systems waned. On the other hand, advertisements in news-papers from approximately 1910 onwards indicate that they had become a part of the home gardening scene, then at an incipient stage.

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All this was to change in 1945 when the then di-rector of IFS, Hákon Bjarnason, went on a plant col-lecting trip to College Fjord, Alaska. He came back with some new species of trees as well as two spoon-fuls of seeds from Lupinus nootkatensis and a small piece of rootstock. He had realized its role as a pio-neering plant in its native habitat, where it mostly oc-cupied a 3–4 m wide strip right at the forest’s edge, close to the seashore (Bjarnason 1952). Back in Iceland, the seeds and roots were planted in a then-unvegetated outwash plain in the central south. It did not take long for the nootka lupin to estab-lish itself in its new habitat. Over the next few years, Hákon Bjarnason worked actively to raise aware-ness of this apparent wonderplant by fellow forest-ers and the general public, with unswerving faith in its usefulness as an aid in both revegetation and for-estry. He wrote a number of articles for the newspa-pers, and in interviews he never failed to mention the unique qualities of the lupin. no worries about the plant’s preponderance to spread were present; indeed, this was precisely its appeal. He made much of the limited diversity of the Icelandic flora – which has relatively few vascular plant species compared with similar environments elsewhere (Kristinsson 2010) – and concomitantly stressed the need to en-rich it with whatever imported species that might grow in the country, to strengthen the foundations for productive use of the land (Hákon Bjarnason, quoted in Morgunblaðið 1955, p. 9):

the more diverse a country’s flora, the easier it is for the inhabitants of that country to survive. When we look at the rough and barren areas of this country, and consider the miserable poverty of its flora, we must feel a deep sorrow because of the poor state of the land and the difficulties in using it.

nearly all of his contemporaries agreed to this diag-nosis, and to the remedies suggested. the lupin was one of many species that were tried. But the pros-elytizing of Bjarnason and others who shared his enthusiasm about exotic plant species would even-tually give way to a more complex discourse.

The explosive growth of the lupin – and the lupin debate

At Þveráraurar2 […] a remarkable story is un-folding, which will perhaps have great signif-icance for the history of Icelandic flora. there

a beautiful plant from Alaska has colonised the land and provided the stony sand plain with life and colours. (G. Þ. 1954, p. 8)

until the nootka lupin was (re)introduced in 1945, there were only sporadic references to lupins in the printed media. this soon changed. Apart from the writings of foresters, journalists started to show interest in the plant and its remarkable abilities to thrive on totally barren ground. However, as Figure 2 clearly shows, the lupin debate really took off in the printed media in the 1980s and peaked in the mid-1990s. this coincided with growing concerns by conservationists and ecologists about the plant’s invasive traits. Several distinct themes or lines of argumentation can be identified in the discourse. roughly speak-ing, these can be divided into pro- and anti- lupin ar-guments, with several distinct and often interlinked themes prominent in each category (Fig. 3). An ex-amination of these themes reveals much about the evolution of the debate. For the first 40 years after the introduction of the nootka lupin for land restoration purposes, it seems that anti-lupin arguments were very rare, whereas a cluster of pro-lupin arguments is identifiable, usu-ally with utilitarian reasoning in the background. One of these is the “negative” argument referred to above, about the general poverty of the Icelandic flora and the moral duty to increase its diversity. But it was the physiological properties of the plant itself and its ability to thrive in denuded ar-eas which fascinated the proponents. this became clear soon after the first plantings, as the quote at the beginning of this section testifies. Soon more evi-dence came in from other areas which were under the custody of IFS, such as Vaglaskógur in north Iceland, one of the most vigorous remaining birch forests. the lupin was introduced there in 1965 to close some open cuttings alongside roads in the re-serve (Blöndal 1971). Contrary to concerns that the plant had little value for grazing due to its toxic-ity, the article stated that it had ‘only one enemy: the sheep, who think it is particularly good to eat’ (Blöndal 1971, p. 5). Adjoining Vaglaskógur was the area Hálsmelar, previously forested but subject to very severe deg-radation. Some rather unsuccessful attempts were made at revegetation by grass seeding and fertiliz-ing. the lupin changed this soon after its introduc-tion. Hálsmelar became a popular place to showcase the plant’s capacities to turn stony deserts into green

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fields. Once again, Hákon Bjarnason (1983, p. 30) articulates, this time about the benign influence of the lupin on other species: ‘Many plant species grow under the cover of the lupin, invisible while the lu-pin provides cover, but if it is mown […] the ground emerges wholly green from underneath’. the nitrogen-fixing abilities of the lupin are nearly always mentioned in the pro-lupin articles. these characteristics were well recognized in the early twentieth century, as discussed previously, but they take on an increased importance in the post-war discourse. Since the late 1980s, a very common met-aphor used to describe the plant’s virtues is that of the “fertilizer factory”, highlighting the self- sufficiency of the lupin in contrast to grass species that were also used for restoration. this blends into economic con-siderations, which have also very much been part of the pro-lupin battery of arguments. understandably so: given the extent of Iceland’s land degradation problem, turning things around with means such as aerial fertilizing and seeding of grasses had seemed much too costly to be practical. the lupin seemed to offer a much more economical way to do this. this strand of economic reasoning in the pro-lupin argu-ments was present from the first writings, but it got more room in the late 1970s as Icelanders were dis-cussing how to make the most of the money allo-cated in 1974 to forestry and land restoration. economics of scale were also important. SCSI started to investigate large-scale seed production. Mechanized harvesting of lupin seeds from fields

established for this purpose was started in 1987 (A. B. S. 1987). this greatly increased the possibilities for using the plant for land restoration purposes. the lupin seed harvesting was so successful that in 1993, SCSI was able to export some of its seed – and to Alaska at that (Lögberg–Heimskringla 1993), which was very good indeed for the purposes of public re-lations: this was like selling the proverbial sand to Sahara. lupins are often used as garden plants. the beauty of the nootka lupin’s flowers is often men-tioned by those who write in the papers about its pos-itive qualities, but usually more in passing than being a major part of the reasoning. thus, a mention is made in 1963 of its “decorative” value for the hills around reykjavík previously (Morgunblaðið 1963, p. 1):

this summer, lupin seed was aerially sown for the first time in this country. It was sown in the wind-denuded rocky hills of Heiðmörk […] the lupin now expands on its own accord and deco-rates many of the hills that were totally devoid of vegetation.

the lupin was clearly seen as a pioneer plant. Its as-sociation with forestry was clear in the beginning. It was not thought of as an end in itself, but sup-posed to create conditions for trees to thrive. When it started to be used more extensively for land resto-ration (as opposed to forestry), the expectation was that it would soon make room for other plants in a natural succession, leaving behind a nitrogen-rich

Figure 3. Clusters of arguments for and against the lupin.Source: based on author’s analysis of texts from the timarit.is database.

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soil. Also it was expected to improve the conditions for birdlife. Gradually therefore, from the 1940s to the 1990s the lupin became both popular and pervasive in any talk about restoration and/or forestry. As this project gained momentum, with its implicit and often explicit association of nature with nationalism, planting lupin and conifers became for many Icelanders a tangible way to display their care for their own country. In the 1970s and 1980s, more or less everyone was enrolled in the project. local land restoration societies were formed. Boy scout groups lent a hand and sowed lu-pins (and planted trees) in some areas. In Heiðmörk – a forestry and recreational reserve just outside reykjavík – planting days were held, with municipal buses used to transport volunteers from the city. the epitome came perhaps in 1990, when SÁÁ – a national nGO that runs a treatment centre for al-coholics and drug addicts – teamed up with SCSI in a campaign to raise awareness for both causes (Þjóðviljinn 1990). through the campaign, SÁÁ also raised funds for their task – an equally Sisyphean task perhaps as that of revegetating Iceland. Volunteers went door-to-door and sold a little elf-like figure with a tall conical hat, under which two small seeds were to be found in plastic bags; one birch seed and one lu-pin seed. ‘Healing the land’ – a phrase much used by SCSI3 – was thus explicitly linked to the reparation of the personal damage done by drugs and alcohol. these were two noble causes that nobody could seri-ously question: possible subject positions had seem-ingly been firmly defined in and by the discourse.

From wonderplant to invaderIt seems, however, that some sceptics were pre-sent all along. Already around 1960 objections were raised to the widespread planting of conifers (Guðmundsson 1960; Sæmundsson 1961). Such concerns gradually gained ground and were ex-tended to include the lupin. In 1968, the director of IFS, Hákon Bjarnason (1968, p. 5), found himself having to defend the policy he had been instrumen-tal in formulating:

A few men have recently expressed the opinion that importing conifers damages Icelandic na-ture. this would destroy views and be contra-ry to Icelandicness. they argued for growing Icelandic birch instead […] But the birch grows so slowly that it will not suffice for any substan-tial wood production […] the Siberian larch

[…] grows six times faster than the birch […] What sane person would deal with a merchant whose prices were six times higher than those of the next merchant? Must we not conduct our business with Mother nature as economically as possible?

this is rather straightforward utilitarian reasoning, with human–nature relations conceptualized as a simple economic relationship and those who had aired a contrary opinion about forestry in Iceland brushed off as irrational. Hákon then continues (Bjarnason 1968, p. 5):

And why should we not use lupin from Alaska for areas where the topsoil has been total-ly lost, where it is so difficult for Icelandic plants to spread that it takes them decades to re- establishing the vegetation cover? the lupin spreads rapidly on its own accord, accumulates nitrogen and forms fertile soil in a few years. At least it saves us the use of expensive fertilizer. the import of such species as these two shows clearly that if Icelanders want any sense in their cultivation, this is the path to follow. Fantasies about imagined beauty and the virginal state of Icelandic nature must give way to common sense.

‘Common sense’ was thus pitted against misguided nationalism and romanticism. Already in 1968, therefore, signs of the extremely polarized dis-course about the lupin later were evident. the first direct evidence in newspapers of scepticism towards the nootka lupin is found in the late 1970s. For in-stance, in a gardening column in Morgunblaðið in 1977 the author discusses the value of lupins – other than L. nootkatensis – as garden plants, but strongly warns readers of planting the Alaskan species in ar-eas where it could take over native vegetation (Ó. B. G. 1977). In the late 1980s new voices and types of reasoning appear in the printed media, articulated by a new generation of people with expertise in na-ture conservation and protected areas management. In 1989 a ranger who had worked at two national parks puts the case for an approach to nature that is very different from the structures of thought which underwrote the land restoration and forestry cam-paigns (Jóhannesson 1989, p. 15):

Great and irreversible damages can be done to nature with the cultivation of lupin and planting of foreign trees, or drying of bogs and conversion

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of hills into hayfields; activities for which relent-less propaganda has been driven by public and semi-public agents.

the writer is most concerned with such activities taking place within national parks and other pro-tected areas. lupins had been planted as early as 1954 at Bæjarstaður (Jónsson 1994), which came part of Skaftafell national Park more than a decade later. this was to become an important site of con-frontation in the 1990s, as explained below. they had also been planted in the 1950s in Ásbyrgi, the “crown jewel” of Jökulsárgljúfur national Park which was designated in 1973.4

Jóhannesson’s comments signify a new stream of ideas that was making inroads into Icelandic nature debates. From the 1970s, the moral prem-ises of conservation in Iceland had gradually been changing. Aesthetics, romanticism, or plain nation-alism as the basis for conservation had given way to knowledge from ecology and other natural sci-ences, influenced by a growing international eco-logical movement (Waage 2013). Hence it was becoming possible to argue what had been almost unthinkable before – that “green” did not neces-sarily equal “good”. these views gradually gained moral ground. their adherents put great emphasis on nature being allowed to develop according to its own principles, but concomitantly an implicit sharp separation of nature from culture is found in these arguments. In 1992 the nature Conservation Council (náttúruverndarráð), responsible for the manage-ment of protected areas, decided to try and rein in the lupin at Bæjarstaður, within Skaftafell national Park, by mowing it when in bloom. this being a la-bour-intensive task, cadres of conservation vol-unteers were enlisted. the director of the Council (quoted in Morgunblaðið 1992), explained the ra-tionale thus:

We only have two national parks in the coun-try, and it is important to keep their appearance as the legislation intends it to be. national parks are areas where natural vegetation should devel-op according to its own laws. Over there, man has intervened drastically and therefore we are obliged to stem this process.

the move was strongly backed by ecologists, influ-enced by growing international concerns about inva-sive aliens and a parallel development of the science

of invasion ecology. In a letter to Morgunblaðið, one of them brings up the persistent idea of equilib-rium in nature. She writes that it is ‘totally unneces-sary to destroy the balance of the ecosystem in such places [i.e. national parks] with imported species which we might be unable to control as time passes’ (Jónsdóttir 1992, p. 16). this attempt at eradication proved decisive for the lupin debate. In 1992 and during the next years, while the experiment at Skaftafell lasted, there was an outpouring of opinions (cf. Fig. 2), many commentators using strong language to make their point. For example, a forest scientist asks a rhe-torical question: ‘Is it enough that some self-ap-pointed team turns up at the office of the nature Conservation Council and gets a free permit to “slaughter” the lupine?’ (Jónsson 1992, p. 17). Another commentator uses the metaphor of op-pressed people under occupation: ‘I send the un-derground resistance movement of the lupin my heartfelt greetings and hope it will conquer the slashers of the nature Conservation council and start growing again next spring’ (Sveinbjörnsson 1993, p. 10). Predictably, a linkage was also made between racism and the opposition to lupin. Having dis-cussed the evils of racism in general at some length, the author of a newspaper column makes a link to the invasive species debate (Ólafsson 1992, p. 3):

luckily, antagonism towards alien immigrants here has been minimal, but some odd voices have been heard. they remind me somewhat of the voices of those who cannot stand lupin be-cause it is not Icelandic […] Such opinions can-not be taken seriously. All plants that are intend-ed to vegetate our harsh country are good and should be welcome.

Another commentator asks, ‘Who has more right to be granted the right to stay, and full civil rights, than someone who easily adapts to the environ-ment and does the job he was asked to do very well?’ (Haraldsson 1992, p. 15). For their part, those who supported the erad-ication experiments sometimes resorted to strong words also. In an editorial column in the newspaper Tíminn in 1992, which carries the uncompromising headline ‘nature raped’, various environmental is-sues are discussed and the lupin in Skaftafell taken as example. the editor comes out strongly for the eradication of lupin within the park, although he

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acknowledges its value in some other settings. He alludes to ignorance of those who are against the experiment in Skaftafell: ‘Many a misunderstand-ing occurs when ignorant people start interfering with nature, for profit or for beautification, or sim-ply because of their interest in cultivation’ (O. Ó. 1992, p. 4). A parallel was made to another inva-sive alien species – of an animal kind – that had become almost universally loathed (Jóhannesson 1992, p. 15):

What the lupin and the mink have in common is that they came to Iceland with people […] [the main worries] are about the lupin making in-roads into delicate vegetation – heathlands and moss-clad lava fields – doing immense dam-age to these diverse biological ensembles. But we know precious little of how the lupin be-haves in Iceland and should therefore not un-dertake large projects with unforeseeable con-sequences […] regrettably, rather few people have teamed up against the cultivation of lupin, yet at least, but understanding is growing of na-ture conservation and of how important it is to preserve Icelandic nature from Christmas trees and “plant mink”.

the species referred to is the American mink (Mustela vison), which had been brought into the country in the 1930s for fur farming but soon es-caped and spread throughout most regions. But the author also uses the opportunity to attack conven-tional forestry where conifers were used extensively. Articles such as this added fuel to the acrimonious relations that had at this stage developed between forest scientists and ecologists. In the early 1990s, therefore, what had seemed like a broad consensus about the need to revegetate Iceland with whatever means available, and estab-lish “proper” forests by planting imported species in any place where these might grow, had given way to a strongly antagonistic discourse about these par-ticular issues – and in more general terms about the politics of nature. no wonder perhaps that in 1992, another newspaper editor complained of the lack of clear moral messages regarding the land and its treatment. In his editorial, titled ‘Ideals all mixed up’, he concludes that ‘[t]he nation has to decide what shall be up and what shall be down in forestry, land restoration and protection, and conservation of nature’ (Kristjánsson 1992, p. 14).

Research – but no resolutionthe exchanges in the early 1990s were based on strong convictions, but little research into the ac-tual effects of the nootka lupin on the environ-ments into which it had been transplanted. Previous research had been strongly utilitarian, concerned with issues such as how the plant could be most ef-ficiently propagated, whether it had any value for grazing animals, and how it increased the nitrogen content of soils (A. Arnalds 1979). In the 1990s and the early years of the twenty-first century, increased emphasis was put on ecological research: the lupin’s impact on other plant species, animals and soil char-acteristics. Gradually, knowledge of the plant’s be-haviour in the ecosystems of Iceland has increased. Simultaneously its explosive spreading has become all the more obvious. A major research project was launched by the Agricultural research Institute (rannsóknastofnun landbúnaðarins) in 1993, aimed at finding out whether the lupin would give way to other species over time, and how it behaved in already vegetated land. the results were summarized in a local natu-ral science journal some ten years later (Magnússon et al. 2003; cf. Sigurðsson and Magnússon 2004). the scientists found that the lupin does not only col-onize eroded and unvegetated areas: it can in fact easily take over heathland vegetation, pushing out much smaller and less vigorous native plants and thus leading to an overall decrease in biodiversity. In dwarf-scrub heaths, the blueberry (Vaccinium myrtillus) and bilberry (Vaccinium uliginosum) are among those plants that often give way to lupin – a fact that has become of increasing concern to many. regarding whether or when it would eventu-ally yield to other plants, the research was not en-tirely conclusive. the scientists found considerable variation from one site to the next, but pointed to the relatively short history of the plant at most sites – from 8 to 33 years when the data were collected (Magnússon et al. 2003). But they also found that the plant built up a long-lived seed bank in the soil, which complicated the task of managing its spread (Sigurðsson and Magnússon 2004). Other biological research also yielded some in-teresting results. Sigurðardóttir (2004) investigated the lupin’s impact on earthworms in soils. She found a substantial increase in the number of earthworms within lupin patches, earthworms being of funda-mental importance to soil formation processes as well as being important source of food for many bird species. More recent research has found that

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the impact on invertebrate life and avifauna is pos-itive (Davíðsdóttir 2013). regarding the latter, it should be noted however that lupin patches are un-suitable habitat for waders and heathland birds, in-cluding some that are considered in decline globally, whereas some more common species find it suitable. Among those negatively affected is the european golden plover (Pluvialis apricaria), but about half the global population nests in Iceland (Davíðsdóttir 2013). this bird holds a special place in the Icelandic national psyche and many people lament its disap-pearance from heathlands overtaken by lupin. In short, while contributing substantially to knowledge of its behaviour and impact, increased research has not led to any obvious conclusions re-garding the lupin’s desirability (or lack thereof). It has thus not resulted in anything resembling a res-olution of the debate. Participants have been able to pick and choose from the results what suits their cause (cf. Sarewitz 2004). the issue remains centred not on natural science, but on ideology, power and politics of nature, each side of the discourse making its own strong claims to truth. Overall, though, the position of anti-lupin ac-tivists has been strengthened by natural science re-search, which has been reflected in recent policy statements. In a White Paper on nature conservation issued in 2011, the invasive alien species problem received considerable attention (Óskarsdóttir 2011). the fundamental question of what is alien is taken up, albeit not really problematized. Actually these categorizations have shifted a little. the nature Conservation Act from 1999 (Alþingi 1999), which provided the first legal definition of ‘native species’, stipulated that this category included only those species numbered and described in the 3rd edition of Flora Islandica (Stefánsson and Steindórsson 1948), considered an authority on the subject. this was changed in 2011. Icelandic citizenship of plants is now granted by a group of experts who prepare a special list that is issued as an Annex to a regulation based on the Act (umhverfisráðuneytið 2011). Any plant not on this list is by definition considered alien. the exact grounds for making these judgements are not made clear – in fact, as Warren (2007) has dis-cussed at length, the assumptions about what consti-tutes native or alien species are often made without much critical and reflexive scrutiny, it seems, in con-servation politics. the last bouts of exchanges on the lupin issue, including those referred to at the beginning of this article, have been no less marked by antagonism

than the exchanges in the 1990s. On the contrary, the increased recent attention to invasive alien spe-cies by the environment Ministry and its agencies has upped the ante. the recommendations of the Working Group mentioned at the beginning of the article included the complete removal of lupin from highland areas above 400 m a.s.l., using all availa-ble means, notably including the use of glyphosate-based herbicides such as Monsanto’s well-known roundup (nÍ and lr 2010). this was seen by many as a rather drastic measure. Many people concerned with environmental matters in general were not comfortable with the prospect of extensive spray-ing with herbicides in the highlands in the name of environmental management. needless to say, this proposal did not in any way serve to settle the con-troversy – on the contrary, it fanned the fires. the discussion is now carried on not only in the printed media; the recent rise of social media has provided new platforms for continuing a con-frontational discourse. Facebook groups have been formed around each position. the lupin Killers group was formed in 2010, and states its concern in no uncertain terms (quote from Facebook): ‘We protest that the lupin is allowed to ride roughshod over our berry-picking grounds and demand imme-diate action to eradicate it!’ Apart from publishing this demand, the activity of this group seems to have been minimal. not so with the Friends of the lupin, which had nearly 1100 members in late 2013. It was formed in direct opposition to the proposals by the environment Ministry’s Working Group. the fol-lowing statement is found on the group’s site (quote from Facebook):

never has it been more necessary for the friends of the lupin to stand united against non- objective proposals […] for destroying and eradicating lu-pin in europe’s least vegetated country. At the same time as Icelanders should unite in an ef-fort to greatly increase land restoration and for-estry in order to restore long-lost qualities of the land […], the environment Ministry intends to spend taxpayers’ money and energy for uproot-ing the lupin and “reclaim” the eroded barrens and erosion escarpments. We protest this insan-ity and will react by supporting the growth and spreading of the lupin as best we can. We know that the lupin is in itself a land restoration plant and, when its job in improving the soil is done, it gives way to other vegetation.

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there is very lively interchange on this group’s site, much of it less than moderate and some down-right spiteful towards those on the other side. the most vocal of the contributors – and often the most strident in tone – are some of the forest scientists who rallied against the lupin eradication project in Skaftafell in the early 1990s.

Conclusion: floral hazards, nationalism and (natural) sciencenature is not what it used to be – or rather, not as it used to be imagined to be. In the Anthropocene, na-ture is much more fluid and uncertain than previ-ous imaginings gave room for (robbins and Moore 2013). It is perhaps no wonder therefore that inva-siveness often engenders so heated politics of na-ture. Yearley’s (2006, p. 12) observation is relevant here: ‘risk anxieties and nature worries in contem-porary societies come not principally from un-controlled natural events but from the unintended consequences of human interventions in nature’. the rising wave of concern with invasive life must be understood in this light. Some commen-tators (e.g. Brown and Sax 2004; Colautti and richardson 2009; Davis et al. 2011) have called for a more objective approach to these matters, includ-ing discarding subjective terms about the geograph-ical origin of species and paying more attention to the actual impact they have on the biota where they make inroads. larson (2007) offers a different as-sessment: pointing to the inexorably moral nature of these controversies he argues that careful attention to the subjective values underlying different posi-tions holds more promise for their resolution. In this article I have attempted to understand how such values are articulated through discourse – which includes not only verbal and textual com-munication, but also involves the establishment of common structures of thought and practice, and the setting of limits of proper and indeed possible action. However, discourse analysts have some-times underplayed the potency of alternative dis-courses. this comes across clearly in the story told here. until the late 1980s, the lupin was hailed as a wonderplant that would at last enable Icelanders to tackle the enormous problems of land degradation. then, in just a few years, the discourse of biodiver-sity remade the plant into a floral hazard: an invasive intruder that posed a severe threat to the native biota. the result is fractured politics of invasive life that appear stuck in some very deep ruts. the plant’s own

characteristics and agency – its striking appearance, vigour, and proclivity to spread – have produced two diametrically opposed discursive communities (cf. everts 2015), resulting in unproductive trench warfare and name-calling rather than meaningful dialogue. Interestingly, natural scientists play key roles on both sides. the reasons have much to do with the circumstances surrounding the lupin’s introduc-tion, as I have shown. It was foresters who intro-duced it and most enthusiastically contributed to its spread. the immensely influential – but uncompro-mising and sometimes confrontational – director of IFS set the tone during his long reign. Present-day foresters and forest scientists have to a large degree, it seems, taken up his view of the (natural) world without much questioning and have little tolerance for alternative viewpoints. underlying their posi-tion is an unswerving conviction that they are do-ing the country good with their forestry activities. Whereas forest scientists often accuse their oppo-nents of nationalism and xenophobic views, forestry in Iceland was itself founded on utilitarian nation-alism. Forestry came to mean the planting of “real” forests, producing usable timber. Anything that threatens to destabilize this utilitarian view of nature therefore provokes extremely hostile reactions. the question in the minds of many foresters is: if lupin is defined as generally undesirable, will coniferous tree species be next? In fact, planted conifers – most notably Pinus contorta, or lodgepole pine – have al-ready started spreading on their own accord, as the author has personally observed in southeast Iceland. turning to the biologists and ecologists on the opposite side of the debate, one indeed finds the na-tionalist imagination at work there also, with fre-quent references to “Icelandic” plants and birds, and of course implicitly with the very use of terms such as native and alien. nature conservation in Iceland has been associated with nationalism for a long time. But this is a contentious matter: following a confer-ence presentation where I discussed this association, a prominent figure in Icelandic nature politics con-tacted me in private to dispel any such suggestions. that person was adamant that no hint of national-ism was present in the minds of the ecologists who were campaigning against invasive alien species; it was all simply about (objective) science and interna-tional obligations for maintaining biodiversity. this lack of reflexivity is unfortunate: as larson (2007, p. 948) has remarked, ‘[i]nvasion biologists specif-ically need to reflect upon the meaning of scientific

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objectivity in their field’. they cannot insist on a monopoly on “objective” truth claims that can serve as the basis for normative policy. Controversies of this kind will not be solved sim-ply by more science – more emphasis on “evidence-based” environmental policy (cf. likens 2010), or more effective communication of scientific findings to the public in order to counteract an information “deficit” (cf. Besley and nisbet 2013). this is not to deny the immense value of natural science research for understanding the processes at work, but such un-derstanding alone does not address the reasons for why the controversy has become so intractable. As this example has shown, natural scientists unavoid-ably come to their research with varying ideologi-cal and historical baggage or structures of thought (Buijs and elands 2013), which permeates their work as well as the interpretation of its findings. In cases like this, the scientific community cannot effectively take on the role of arbitration (Sarewitz 2000, 2004). In general, as Sarewitz (2004, p. 399) notes,

there is no reason why environmental controver-sies must be highly “scientized.” even if science brings such a controversy into focus […] the controversy itself exists only because conflict over values and interests also exists […] pro-gress in addressing environmental controversies will need to come primarily from advances in political process, rather than scientific research.

this, however, requires a form of open and inclusive discussion about invasive life, for which substantial preparation work needs to done if it is to be effective. Advances in this regard most certainly require more input from critical social science and humanities, in addition to natural science. Acknowledgement of the “multinatural condition” (lorimer 2012) of the Anthropocene and the challenges it engenders is es-sential. Invasive life controversies are not so much about something out there called nature, but rather about the complex relationalities that connect the human and the nonhuman.

Acknowledgementsthe research on which this article is based has been presented at conferences in Iceland and Germany. the lively exchange with the audience at these oc-casions has yielded much to the article. the author thanks Jonathan everts for valuable comments and two autonomous reviewers for their constructive

critiques and hints to some very relevant literature. Special thanks are due to the editors for their me-ticulous reading and suggestions for improvements. I take full responsibility for any errors that may remain.

Karl BenediktssonDepartment of Geography and TourismFaculty of Life and Environmental SciencesUniversity of IcelandIS-101 ReykjavíkIcelandE-mail: [email protected]

Notes1. Spelled Lupinus Nutcaensis in a report about the trials

(Helgason 1911, p. 235).2. the outwash plain where the lupin brought from Alaska in 1945

had been planted.3. In Icelandic: Græðum landið. the verb græða has in fact many

meanings: to heal; to revegetate; to make a profit.4. Both locations are now part of the large Vatnajökull national

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by FlOrAl HAZArDS - University of Icelandluvs.hi.is/system/files/biblio/benediktsson-2015-geografiska_annaler... · leguminous plant of north American origin. Imported to Iceland