Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found athttp://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=raag21

Download by: [Princeton University] Date: 06 January 2016, At: 19:21

Annals of the American Association of Geographers

ISSN: 2469-4452 (Print) 2469-4460 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/raag21

Rhizomic Resistance Meets ArborescentAssemblage: UNESCO World Heritage and theDisempowerment of Indigenous Activism in NewCaledonia

Leah S. Horowitz

To cite this article: Leah S. Horowitz (2016) Rhizomic Resistance Meets ArborescentAssemblage: UNESCO World Heritage and the Disempowerment of Indigenous Activism inNew Caledonia, Annals of the American Association of Geographers, 106:1, 167-185, DOI:10.1080/00045608.2015.1090270

To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00045608.2015.1090270

Published online: 10 Nov 2015.

Submit your article to this journal

Article views: 57

View related articles

View Crossmark data

Rhizomic Resistance Meets ArborescentAssemblage: UNESCOWorld Heritage and

the Disempowerment of Indigenous Activism inNew Caledonia

Leah S. Horowitz

Nelson Institute for Environmental Studies and School of Human Ecology, University of Wisconsin–Madison

This article draws on Deleuze and Guattari’s concepts of arborescent and rhizomic assemblages to examineencounters between large-scale conservation and grassroots resistance to industry. I explore how the UnitedNations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization’s (UNESCO) World Heritage listing of NewCaledonia’s reefs contributed to the demise of Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u, an indigenous activist group that had been target-ing a multinational mining project. I also interrogate how an assemblage’s form enables certain modalities ofpower while constraining others and how these differences in power modalities inform relationships betweentypes of assemblages. Mistakenly expecting assistance in protecting their coral reef from mining impacts,Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u relinquished the coercive power inherent to their rhizomic form in favor of participation inUNESCO’s arborescent structure via World Heritage “management committees”—a globally promoted, butlocally inappropriate, comanagement diagram that targeted local fishing activities despite an absence of overf-ishing. Thus, this article argues that rhizomic structures have unique means of influence, exercised through par-ticular modalities of power, which might be lost through cooptation into arborescent assemblages that exercisedifferent modalities of power and might employ locally inappropriate diagrams. Ultimately, conservation doesnot only result in the extension of state powers, as the literature has shown; as this study demonstrates, it cansurreptitiously support the extension of environmentally damaging industrial development at the expense ofgrassroots action. Key Words: conservation, Deleuze and Guattari, environmental governance, multinational mining,rhizome.

本文运用德勒兹和瓜塔里的树状与地下茎状凑组之概念, 检视大规模的保存与反抗工业的草根运动之间的交会。我将探讨联合国教科文组织 (UNESCO) 将新喀里多尼亚的暗礁列入世界遗产后, 如何导致一群长期对抗跨国矿业计画的原住民运动团体 Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u 的消亡。我同时探讨凑组的形式, 如何使若干权力样态成为可能, 同时限制了其他的权力样态, 以及这些权力样态的差异, 如何告知不同凑组类型之间的关係。Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u由于错误地期待能够接受保护其珊瑚礁免于矿业冲击的协助, 放弃了他们地下茎式的组织形式中所内涵的强制力量, 转而透过世界遗产 “管理委员会”, 参与至 UNESCO 的树状组织——该委员会是在全球进行推广、但却不适合地方的共同管理图像, 因其锁定在地渔捞活动, 但该地却无过渡渔捞的现象。本文因而主张, 地下茎组织具有特殊的影响方式, 并透过特定的权力样态施行之, 但若整合进行使不同权力样态的树状凑组中, 则有可能会消失, 并可能採用不适合地方的图像。最终不仅如同文献早已指出一般, 保存导致了国家权力的延伸༛本研究亦证实, 保存可能暗中支持破坏环境的产业发展之扩张, 并以草根行动的消亡为代价。 关键词： 保存, 德勒兹和瓜塔里, 环境治理, 跨国矿业, 地下茎。

Este art�ıculo se apoya en conceptos de Deleuze y Guattari sobre ensambles arborescentes y riz�omicos paraexaminar los encuentros entre la conservaci�on a gran escala y la resistencia que com�unmente se tiene con-tra la industria. Exploro c�omo contribuy�o el listado de los arrecifes de Nueva Caledonia hecho por el Patri-monio Mundial de la Organizaci�on de las Naciones Unidas para la Educaci�on, la Ciencia y la Cultura(UNESCO) a la disoluci�on del Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u, un grupo ind�ıgena que hab�ıa tenido en la mira de su acti-vismo a un proyecto minero multinacional. Interrogo tambi�en la forma como un ensamblaje habilita ciertasmodalidades de poder en tanto obstaculiza otras, y c�omo estas diferencias en las modalidades de poderinforman las relaciones entre tipos de ensamblajes. Al equivocarse sobre una supuesta ayuda para protegersus arrecifes coralinos de los impactos de la miner�ıa, el Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u renunci�o al poder coercitivo inherentea su forma riz�omica, a cambio de participar en la estructura arborescente de la UNESCO a trav�es de los“comit�es de manejo” del Patrimonio Mundial—un diagrama de coadministraci�on promovido globalmente,

Annals of the American Association of Geographers, 106(1) 2016, pp. 167–185 � 2016 by American Association of GeographersInitial submission, August 2014; revised submissions, February and July 2015; final acceptance, August 2015

Published by Taylor & Francis, LLC.

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

pero inapropiado localmente, enfocado contra las actividades locales de pesca a pesar de no existir unacondici�on de sobrepesca. Por eso, este art�ıculo sostiene que las estructuras riz�omicas tienen medios �unicosde influencia, que se ejercen a trav�es de modalidades particulares de poder, que pueden perderse a trav�es decooptaci�on en ensamblajes arborescentes que ejercen diferentes modalidades de poder y podr�ıan utilizardiagramas localmente inapropiados. En �ultimas, la conservaci�on no solo resulta en una ampliaci�on de lospoderes estatales, como se puede ver en la literatura; como este estudio lo demuestra, puede apoyar subrep-ticiamente la expansi�on del desarrollo industrial ambientalmente da~nino a expensas de las acciones debase popular. Palabras clave: conservaci�on, Deleuze y Guattari, gobernanza ambiental, miner�ıa multinacional,rizoma.

In early 2008, France awaited the United NationsEducational, Scientific and Cultural Organization’s(UNESCO) decision on whether to inscribe sec-

tions of the coral reefs of New Caledonia, a Frenchpossession in the Southwest Pacific, on the WorldHeritage List. Since 2002, Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u, an indigenousgrassroots organization (GRO) in New Caledonia, hadbeen resisting the planned disposal of effluent into thisreef system from a refinery being constructed by themultinational mining company Vale. These protestorsinsisted that their “watchword” was “no to the pipe,yes to UNESCO” (“Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u manifestera ce mat-in” 2008), claiming that the effluent diffuser, or “pipe,”was “an obstacle deliberately placed” by the company“against the inscription” (Comit�e Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u 2008).In July, the country celebrated the reef’s inscription onthe list, but activists were stunned to discover that thislisting stipulated no restrictions on the refinery’s oper-ations. Two months later, Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u signed a “Pact”with Vale in which they pledged no more resistance tothe mining project. This article explores the influenceof the World Heritage listing on the demise of Rh�e�eb�uN�u�u and, more broadly, how grassroots efforts to pro-tect local ecosystems from industry’s impacts could bequietly undermined by large, influential organizationsthat ostensibly share the goal of environmentalprotection.

Historically, protected areas simply constituted set-aside spaces, off-limits to communities who had reliedon resources within them. When the human rightsabuses inherent to this approach became clear(see West, Igoe, and Brockington 2006), the prevail-ing paradigm shifted in the 1980s toward comanage-ment, also called community-based conservation(CBC) or community-based natural resource manage-ment (CBNRM), which attempts to encouragelocal residents’ participation in conservation actions(Agrawal and Gibson 1999). Innumerable projectsfailed, often due to overstandardization of practicesand misunderstandings of local circumstances such as

legislative frameworks (Mayaka 2002), communities’aspirations (Campbell and Vainio-Mattila 2003),or the locally specific consequences of market incen-tives for conservation (e.g., Crow and Carney 2013).Nonetheless, despite challenges from resurgent protec-tionism (Hutton, Adams, and Murombedzi 2005),comanagement has enjoyed “exceptional longevity” asa theoretical framework for international conservationaction due to its “discursive capital” for marketing pro-grams to funders (Blaikie 2006, 1952). Meanwhile,comanagement measures putatively aimed at empow-ering local communities may actually be used to sur-reptitiously increase state control (Peluso 1992).Examples include rigid codification of traditionalresource use rules (Boelens and Seemann 2014), exclu-sion of local people from resource access (Hildyardet al. 2001), promotion of false stereotypes aboutindigenous environmentalism (Shah 2010), or resi-dents’ “reeducation” into “environmentally” and“politically literate subjects” whose behavior conformsto government expectations (Bryant 2002, 283).

Moreover, conservation initiatives mainly focus oncommunities and ignore the vastly greater threatsposed by industry (Wells and McShane 2004). Pro-tected areas often include “residual” spaces undesirablefor economic development such as mining, agriculture,and tourism, thus failing to protect the most valuableand vulnerable biodiversity in both terrestrial (Mar-gules and Pressey 2000; Joppa and Pfaff 2009) andmarine ecosystems (Edgar et al. 2008; Devillers et al.2015). Even areas protected on paper are vulnerable toofficial sanctioning of large-scale development projects(e.g., Bonta 2005). Governments desire economicdevelopment for their citizens; more perniciously, cor-rupt officials might receive personal benefits from thisdevelopment. Meanwhile, the biggest funders of con-servationist nongovernmental organizations (NGOs)include government agencies like the U.S. Agency forInternational Development, international financialinstitutions like the Global Environment Facility, and

168 Horowitz

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

intergovernmental organizations (IGOs) like theWorld Bank. Because these all rely on close ties tonational governments, NGOs’ abilities to decry gov-ernment corruption or inaction are severely limited(Chapin 2004). Moreover, many NGOs themselvesdepend heavily on funding from multinational corpo-rations, including those focused on resource extraction.Thus, they accept the presence of large-scale develop-ment within biodiverse zones and collaborate withgovernments, companies, or both toward “mitigating”the projects’ impacts (Duffy 2010). Instead of support-ing communities when they struggle against environ-mentally harmful projects, governments and NGOsend up targeting local residents for the much smallerscale activities in which they engage for their own sub-sistence and livelihoods. Ultimately, this results inneoliberalization processes, with “conservation andcapitalism,” rather than clashing due to incompatibleagendas, “allying mutually to reshape the world”(Brockington, Duffy, and Igoe 2008, 4).

This article builds on understandings of govern-ment, NGO, and IGO conservation initiatives’ exclu-sive focus on the activities of local communities—albeit ignoring local realities—rather than on themuch greater threats posed by industry. I argue thatencounters between large-scale conservation andgrassroots resistance to environmentally destructivedevelopment could be productively analyzed throughthe lens of Deleuze and Guattari’s (1987) concepts ofarborescent and rhizomic assemblages. In what follows,I analyze UNESCO’s role in the demise of Rh�e�eb�uN�u�u. First, I build a theoretical frame by discussingwhat happens when rhizome and arborescence meetand exploring the role of trust in the cooptation thatoften results from the encounter of assemblages withseemingly compatible aims but in reality vastly differ-ent agendas and modalities of power.

Rhizomic Resistance and ArborescentAssemblages

Although the term is diversely defined and utilized,assemblage can be generally understood as a dynamic“gathering” (McFarlane 2009, 562) of “heterogeneouselements” (Anderson and McFarlane 2011, 124) that“emerge[s]” from the activity of humans and nonhu-mans; in the original French, agencement connects“the capacity to act with the coming together of things,”emphasizing potentiality and potency, both in flux(Braun 2008, 670–71, original emphasis). Deleuze and

Guattari (1987) contrasted the arborescent assem-blage, long the dominant form of political, social, andconceptual systems, with the rhizome. The arborescentmodel, characterized by bureaucracy, is hierarchicaland rigid, with decisions made at the top (representedby the tree trunk) and passed down to the roots, or“radicles,” with little room for autonomy of compo-nents or questioning of preset agendas; “any deviationfrom the norms” constitutes “an aberration” (AnsellPearson 1999, 197). This structure’s rigidity stiflesinteraction and innovation, especially from the bot-tom of the hierarchy:

The subordinate elements, once so arranged, are unableto “move” horizontally in such a way as to establish crea-tive and productive interrelationships with other con-cepts, particulars or models. . . . The tree is “fixed to thespot” and static. Any remaining movement is minimaland internal to the system rather than exploratory orconnective. (Stagoll 2005, 14)

In their operations, arborescent assemblages oftenapply diagrams. A diagram is an abstract “map of rela-tions between forces” (Deleuze 1995, 36), a general-ized framing of a problem and series of steps foraddressing it (De Landa 2000), that underlies andshapes functionality and can be translated from onecontext to another; for example, the “diagram ofsurveillance” operates within prisons, schools, and mil-itary barracks alike (Zdebik 2012, 7). More relevanthere, the comanagement diagram, a “predefined policyprescription,” provides a “global pre-packaged solutionto local problems” (Dressler et al. 2010, 12).

In contrast, rhizomic structures are loose, flexiblenetworks connecting heterogeneous elements in a“potentially infinite open system” (Ansell Pearson1999, 158). Like rhizomic plants, which spread andreproduce underground and horizontally, rhizomicassemblages are nonhierarchical and highly dynamic.Emphasizing diversity and experimentation, the rhizo-mic form is “a moving matrix” through which ele-ments can travel along “transitory and as yetundetermined routes,” with any part able to connectwith any other, “forming a milieu that is decentred,with no distinctive end or entry point” (Colman 2005,233–34). This flexibility can make rhizomic assemb-lages adaptable and resilient but also ephemeral.

A salient feature of the rhizomic assemblage is that itoccupies smooth space, in contrast to the arborescentassemblage’s striated space. Smooth space is open-ended,characterized by heterogeneity and infinite possible tra-jectories; it admits “the free movements of signs,

Rhizomic Resistance Meets Arborescent Assemblage 169

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

particles, bodies, territories, spaces, and so on” (Bontaand Protevi 2004, 151–52). This dynamic space ofnever-ending process exists in continual tension withstriating forces, such as States and other bureaucracies,which engage in “stratification, . . . overcoding, central-ization, hierarchization, binarization, and segmentation”(Bonta and Protevi 2004, 151). Striated space is mea-sured, counted, occupied, and “compartmentalize[d]”into carefully controlled “segments” (Bonta and Protevi2004, 154); it is “gridded,” confining movement to“preset paths between fixed and identifiable points”(Massumi 1987, xiii). Smooth space—“a field withoutconduits or channels”—thus implies freedom of com-munication among assemblages or “rhizomatic multi-plicities” (Deleuze and Guattari 1987, 371), whereasstriated space organizes, channels, and constrains thetransmission of information.

Although these contrasting models are useful forunderstanding a large range of phenomena, Deleuzeand Guattari emphasized that, empirically, they neverexist in “pure” form. Smooth and striated space exist“only in mixture”; although efforts are constantlymade to organize, control, and thus striate smoothspace, it is continually resisting these measures andreverting to a smooth state (Deleuze and Guattari1987, 474). Similarly, arborescent and rhizomic formscan hybridize, or one can become the other: “[t]hereexist tree or root structures in rhizomes; conversely, atree branch or root division may begin to burgeon intoa rhizome” (15). For instance, new social movements,and associated grassroots activism, are often character-ized as rhizomic as they form into “transnational advo-cacy networks” (Keck and Sikkink 1999), vastlyenabled and empowered by the “Internet age” (Cas-tells 2012). Activist networks, however, actually pos-sess both “arborescent and rhizomic tendencies”simultaneously, in dynamic tension, and might switchback and forth between leaning toward one or theother (Woods et al. 2013, 449).

Meanwhile, predominantly arborescent and pre-dominantly rhizomic assemblages may come into con-tact, as when activists challenge governments orcorporations. Often, the established institution willattempt to neutralize opposition by providing carefullycontrolled opportunities for challengers to expressconcerns within the institution’s own structure, in a“defensive mechanism” known as cooptation (Selznick1948, 34). Grassroots groups might be particularly vul-nerable to such processes, which can defuse activiststruggles (Horowitz 2015). Here, though, I examineanother type of cooptation, in which arborescent

assemblages putatively share the goals of rhizomicgroups—such as conservationist NGOs or IGOsencountering anti-industry grassroots activity—butinstead of supporting these struggles, absorb the resist-ers into their arborescent forms, in pursuit of anagenda amenable to governments and corporations.

Cooptation, and the relationships it involves, relyheavily on the subordinate party’s trust that the other(s)will collaborate toward what it perceives as shared goals.Mayer, Davis, and Schoorman (1995) identified threenecessary “antecedents” for trust: a belief in the trustee’sability (know-how in a specific area), benevolence (posi-tive intentions toward the truster), and integrity (adher-ence to shared principles). To this list I add a belief inthe other’s power; without this capacity, there is noneed for trust. (For instance, a newborn might trust hercaretaker, but the caretaker cannot be said to trust thehelpless baby.) The party with the greatest needs ordeepest concerns and high expectations of assistancemight turn to trust as a psychological coping mechanism(Sztompka 1999). Power differentials and differinggoals—inherent, to some degree, in all relationships—also mean that less powerful groups must “align” theirconceptualizations and approaches with those of morepowerful actors (Horowitz 2012) or risk having theirconcerns ignored (Mouffe 1996; Hillier 2000).

Differences occur in not only degree but also type ofpower. Allen (2003), emphasizing that power is not apossessed “thing” but a “relational effect,” outlined sev-eral “modalities” of power. Some modalities, includingauthority, seduction, and inducement, rely mainly onconvincing the other how to behave. Authority con-vinces through the legitimacy of the individual or insti-tution but therefore relies on recognition of thatlegitimacy, which requires continual maintenance.Seduction convinces through charm, attraction, andsuggestion, whereas manipulation involves deceptionthrough hidden agendas and inducement uses negotia-tion and persuasion. These all allow the possibility ofrefusal to comply. Other modalities, in contrast, punishnoncompliance, whether by subduing any resistance(domination) or threatening the use of force (coer-cion). Different groups might be positioned to exercisedifferent power modalities.

This article adds to our understanding of rhizomicand arborescent assemblages and how they interact byinterrogating how an assemblage’s form enables cer-tain modalities of power while constraining others andhow these differences in power modalities inform rela-tionships between types of assemblages. I also examinethe pitfalls, for grassroots activists, of trust in

170 Horowitz

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

institutions that they perceive as powerful, particularlywhen accompanied by the renunciation of a rhizomicform in favor of cooptation into an arborescent assem-blage. Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u, an indigenous activist group inNew Caledonia, held mistaken beliefs aboutUNESCO’s ability, benevolence, integrity, and power.When assistance in protecting their coral reef frommining impacts, which they had expected from arecent World Heritage listing, failed to materialize,rather than expressing disillusionment the group con-tinued to trust UNESCO to protect the reef and relin-quished their struggle in favor of participation inUNESCO’s comanagement diagram, through WorldHeritage “management committees.” Other commu-nity members, meanwhile, were deeply disillusionedand discouraged by UNESCO’s inaction; however,without support from either UNESCO or Rh�e�eb�u N�u�uthey felt profoundly disempowered. Ultimately, thisstudy argues that rhizomic structures have uniquemeans of influence, exercised through particularmodalities of power, that might be lost through defer-ence to, or incorporation into, arborescent assemb-lages that exercise different modalities of power andmight employ locally inappropriate diagrams. I explorethe implications, for grassroots resistance and environ-mental conservation, of such encounters.

New Caledonia and the World HeritageBid

New Caledonia is a particularly appropriate site toexplore the impacts of activists’ relationships withlarge-scale institutions on grassroots resistance toindustrial development. This Pacific archipelago is abiodiversity hotspot with exceptionally high numbersof endemic species that are severely threatened, espe-cially by mining activity (Richer de Forges and Pascal2008; Kier et al. 2009). Administered by France since1853, New Caledonia has a population of approxi-mately 269,000 (Institut de la Statistique et des �Etudes�Economiques Nouvelle-Cal�edonie 2015), composed ofseveral ethnic groups, primarily Melanesians known asKanak (40 percent) and people of European ancestry(29 percent; Rivoilan and Broustet 2011). Mined since1874, New Caledonia currently hosts more than thirtyactive mine sites (Direction de l’Industrie des Mines etde l’�Energie 2012), some run by locally based entrepre-neurs and others by multinational corporations.Grande Terre, the main island, is estimated to possessnearly 25 percent of the world’s nickel reserves

(“Inco’s new PAL” 1999) and is the second largest pro-ducer of ferronickel and fifth greatest source of nickelore (Lyday 2006). Besides an existing refinery, twoothers are in progress. Vale’s Southern Refinery proj-ect, at first named Goro Nickel and now officiallycalled Vale Nouvelle-Cal�edonie, is located at thesouthern tip of the main island (Figure 1) and useshydrometallurgical technology. In this procedure,never before implemented in New Caledonia, acidunder pressure leaches nickel and cobalt from the ore,with effluent discharged into the sea. Operations areprojected to reach full capacity in 2015, despite delayscaused by acid leaks in 2009, 2010, 2012, and 2014(both the first and most recent of which devastatedthe local freshwater ecosystem) and the effluent dif-fuser’s rupture in 2013 (Pitoiset 2014).

Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u, a group led entirely by Kanak, wasformed in 2002 to focus on the Southern Refinery.Although not entirely opposed to the mining project,these protestors had concerns about its potential envi-ronmental impacts, particularly on the marine resour-ces on which the local population depends forsubsistence and livelihood. Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u, and the vil-lagers they represented, were especially concernedabout what was popularly known as “the pipe,” the dif-fuser that would transport waste products, includingneutralized sulfuric acid and dissolved metals, into theHavannah Canal, where local people fish. They werealso concerned that Kanak would not benefit ade-quately from employment with the project, as evi-denced by the company importing Filipino workers forthe construction phase. Believing that local residentsneeded to keep an eye on the project, they named thegroup Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u, “eye of the country” in the indige-nous language Num�e�e.

For six years, Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u leaders initiated a series ofactions including pamphlets denouncing the company’sactivities, public meetings at local villages, open letterssent to political leaders, legal action in the courts (inAllen’s [2003] terms, all forms of inducement), and block-ades of the construction site (coercion) that turned intoviolent encounters with armed police. In early 2008, Valebegan laying the submarine pipeline for its effluent dif-fuser, sparking fresh protests and blockades, especially atnearbyOuen Island (Figure 1).

In September 2008, however, four Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u lead-ers, twenty-five customary authorities, and two GoroNickel representatives signed a Pact for SustainableDevelopment of the Far South [of NewCaledonia] (here-after the Pact). Through this agreement, themining com-pany committed to creating both a corporate foundation

Rhizomic Resistance Meets Arborescent Assemblage 171

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

to fund local development initiatives and a ConsultativeCustomary Environmental Committee composed ofsenior male customary authorities who could recommendfurther studies, to recruiting and training ten local youthas “environmental technicians,” and to an extensivereforestation program. In exchange, Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u mem-bers committed to “assert their point of view not throughviolent or illegal actions, but by dialogue” (Vale Inco,Conseil Coutumier de l’Aire Drub�ea Kapume, and Com-it�e Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u 2008). They thus renounced their coer-cive power, the only modality that had succeeded inattracting much attention. Although this result was over-determined by a multitude of factors (Horowitz 2012,2015), here I examine the role ofWorld Heritage inscrip-tion in undercutting antimining resistance.

Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u was predominantly a rhizomic struc-ture, with a loosely defined membership base overwhich the group’s leaders had little control; youngmen identifying with the group would camp togetheron village outskirts and engage in acts of vandalismand harassment against fellow villagers without theleaders’ sanction. Other local residents and urban acti-vists would join in actions such as blockades or providesupport by supplying food, without identifying as groupmembers. The GRO’s focus was also flexible andadapted quickly to changing circumstances, such asthe laying of the pipeline. In 2008, some leaders were

even elected to office at the municipal level under theRh�e�eb�u N�u�u label, but the group denied havingbecome a political party. The protestors operatedlargely through underground meetings and activitiesand sought connections via the Internet with sympa-thizers as far away as Europe, Canada, and SouthAmerica. The group also possessed certain arborescentcharacteristics, however. Although not hierarchicalper se, it was largely led by a small core with a charis-matic leader, Gabriel (pseudonym), widely recognizedas the driving force behind its operations, who did notalways consult other members before acting on theirbehalf. When the pact was signed, many Rh�e�eb�u N�u�umembers and sympathizers were deeply shocked,claiming that this had occurred behind their backs,and blamed Gabriel for having betrayed them.

UNESCO, in contrast, is a strongly arborescentassemblage, with a clear organizational structure,bureaucracy, and hierarchy. UNESCO was founded inthe aftermath of World War II, with the intention ofworking to prevent future warfare by countering nar-row nationalism and the ignorance of other peoplesand cultures in which this is based. In 1972, UNESCOadopted the Convention Concerning the Protectionof the World Cultural and Natural Heritage. Thistreaty, ratified by (as of 2015) 191 states, outlines theprocess for requesting sites’ inscription on the World

Figure 1. The Vale Nouvelle-Cal�edonie project area.

172 Horowitz

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

Heritage List and the preservation required for remain-ing on the list. This list, like UNESCO, benefits fromglobal recognition and the authority this implies andcan induce states to protect their listed sites throughthe promise of international status and additionaltourism. By 2015, the list contained 779 cultural sites,197 natural, and thirty-one mixed properties. TheWorld Heritage Committee is composed of representa-tives of twenty-one states, elected by a GeneralAssembly. In deciding whether to inscribe sites on theWorld Heritage List or move them to the List ofWorld Heritage in Danger (“Danger List”) due to risksoutlined in Article 11(4) of the Convention, Commit-tee members solicit, but are not obliged to take, advicefrom NGOs or IGOs, which can thus attempt toinduce states and UNESCO to heed their warningsbut have no means of coercing them to do so. For nat-ural sites, the advisory NGO is the InternationalUnion for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN).

Like other conservation initiatives, the World Heri-tage program has faced accusations of excluding localcommunities. According to the UN Special Rapporteuron the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, indigenous peoplehave “expressed concerns over their lack of participa-tion in the nomination, declaration and managementof World Heritage sites, as well as concerns about thenegative impact these sites have had on their substan-tive rights, especially their rights to lands and resources”(Anaya 2012, 9). Worrying that such complaints were“clearly damaging the reputation of UNESCO as aninstitution committed to furthering respect for humanrights, cultural pluralism and intercultural under-standing” (International Work Group for IndigenousAffairs 2013, 9), UNESCO and its advisors adopted thelanguage of “rights-based approaches” (IUCN, Interna-tional Council on Monuments and Sites, and Interna-tional Centre for Study of the Preservation andRestoration of Cultural Property 2014). They insistedthat “[m]anagement and protection of such sites musttake place according to the rules, laws and customs ofthe indigenous peoples concerned” (Disko 2012, 17).This decentralization appeared to embrace a more rhi-zomic approach to conservation. Like other conserva-tionists, however, rather than tailoring each project tolocal realities, UNESCO sought a prescriptive coman-agement diagram, producing a white paper thataimed “to serve as a firm step” in providing “a full‘prescription’ for how to address the many challenges ofensuring community engagement in World Heritage”(UNESCO 2014, 10). This article examines the ramifi-cations of applying this diagram inNewCaledonia.

New Caledonia possesses the world’s second longestbarrier reef, 1,500 km long. Fishing pressure is low andnot considered a major threat; the primary source ofpollution is mining activity (David et al. 2010). Theproject of obtaining World Heritage inscription forthe reef as a natural site was first conceived by localenvironmentalists, mainly urban-based and of Euro-pean heritage, as a coercive means of protecting NewCaledonia’s reefs by stopping the mining projects thatwere threatening them. They submitted a dossier toUNESCO in 2001, requesting inscription of the entirereef system; however, as this dossier was missingimportant sections and did not have the required sup-port from the State Party—France—it was rejected.At that time, the idea of requesting World Heritagelisting for the reefs was opposed by many local politi-cians, who feared that it would inhibit economicdevelopment. They manipulated some Kanak villagersinto turning against it as well, convincing them thatthey would lose their fishing rights. In 2004, however,a new political party came to power that, although stillanti-independence, was somewhat less politically andsocially conservative. Viewing World Heritage inscrip-tion as not a “brake” but an “asset for development”(�Elodie, personal communication, 12 June 2012), inthe hope it would attract additional tourism, they tookup the dossier, commissioned extensive studies, andresubmitted it to UNESCO in 2007. The followingyear, it was accepted and New Caledonia’s reefs wereadded to the World Heritage List.

A fundamental change had occurred, however:New Caledonian politicians had chosen to submit a“serial nomination” of six “marine clusters”(Figure 2), claiming that the remaining areas werealready degraded or part of mining concessions andtherefore not eligible for inscription. Interestingly,though, Vale Nouvelle-Cal�edonie ended up righton the edge of the Great Southern Lagoon marinecluster, with its refinery’s effluent diffuser spillinginto the buffer zone (Figure 3).

I have conducted fieldwork in New Caledoniasince 1998 and began studying the Southern Refin-ery project in 2006. This article is based on inter-views conducted, usually in French, betweenAugust 2010 and August 2012 (mainly June–August2012), both in New Caledonia and by telephone,with fifty-one stakeholders including thirty-eightlocal residents as well as government officials, grass-roots activists, and employees or former employeesof UNESCO and IUCN. I also reviewed documentsfrom Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u, New Caledonia’s Southern

Rhizomic Resistance Meets Arborescent Assemblage 173

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

Province,1 UNESCO, and IUCN. To reduce therisk of identification, I use pseudonyms for all inter-viewees and also refer to both UNESCO andIUCN representatives as World Heritage experts.All translations are mine.

Comanagement: A Locally InappropriateDiagram

Part of UNESCO’s “World Heritage mission” is to“[e]ncourage countries to . . . ensure the protection oftheir natural and cultural heritage” (UNESCO n.d.).To encourage the protection of New Caledonia’sreefs, it was necessary to determine the threats tothem; certain threats would be easier to address thanothers. Although grassroots activists had expectedUNESCO to address the primary threat to the reefs,mining activity, UNESCO officials could exert noreal power, and felt no responsibility, to pressure thegovernment to take such action. Therefore, ratherthan addressing threats from mining projects,UNESCO’s representatives and advisors applied a“comanagement” diagram, encouraging the govern-ment to focus on local communities, a much easiertarget of interventions.

Exclusive Focus on Local Fishing Practices

Responding to accusations of their exclusion oflocal people, World Heritage experts insisted on thecreation of management committees in which com-munity representatives would participate in decisionmaking to protect the marine environment. Inresponse, Southern Province government officialsmade extensive efforts to inform communities aboutthe inscription, helped form the management com-mittees, and organized numerous committee meetingsin communities scattered across the province. Thus,UNESCO demanded employment of an inclusivecomanagement diagram that had emerged in conser-vation praxis. They failed to recognize, however, thatthis diagram was inappropriate to local circumstances.First, it was limited by the dominant diagram of theFrench legal code. Second, it applied only to themanagement of fisheries, whereas fishing pressureposed little threat. Indeed, it completely ignored, andwas powerless to address, local people’s main concern,the threat posed by the refinery’s effluent. Thus,UNESCO’s attempts to make resource managementmore decentralized, hence rhizomic, actually disem-powered local communities by ignoring localspecificities.

Figure 2. Marine clusters of New Caledonia’s World Heritage Property. Light blue areas represent the property, medium blue the marinebuffer zones, and dark orange the terrestrial buffer zones. Source: Reproduced with permission from New Caledonia’s Southern Province.(Color figure available online.)

174 Horowitz

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

As a government official explained, “Under Frenchlaw, it’s impossible that it be them, in the middle of thevillage, who decide what can be done at sea” (Jean,personal communication, 25 November 2011). Theproblem reflected contradictory resource managementdiagrams, formal versus informal (Teuli�eres 1991; seeHorowitz 2004, 2008). Under customary Kanak marineresource management, particular fishing and shellfish-gathering areas were reserved for particular clans, andcertain species, such as turtles, were reserved for specialoccasions such as weddings and funerals. Kanak fishers,a loose rhizomic assemblage, implemented these rulesby informally monitoring each other’s behavior; whenethnically distinct outsiders tried to fish in their territo-ries, they might be chased off at gunpoint. Within thestriated space of the French legal code, however, rulesalways had to be equally applicable to all; resourcescould not be reserved for specific groups or events.Implementing this legislation, though, was problematic,as it met with hostility: “They consider that the

Environmental Code is the white people’s rule; it’s notapplicable for them” (Jean, personal communication,25 November 2011). Seeking to avoid confrontation,regulators often turned a blind eye to minor infractions.The UNESCO inscription raised pressure to increaseenforcement, however, and punishments were becom-ing more stringent. Ultimately, the dominant legal sys-tem, true to its hierarchical arborescent nature, did notallow for compromise with the Kanak resource manage-ment diagram: “The management committee proposes,the Southern Province disposes” (Jean, personal com-munication, 25 November 2011).

Nonetheless, both government officials and WorldHeritage experts admitted that in very large measure,the lagoon was not overfished; as a World Heritageexpert explained, research had shown that due to lowfishing effort, largely resulting from low populationdensity, it was only “in very localized areas that there’sany threat to the fish.” Instead, “where they see risksto the marine ecosystem is outside the World Heritage

Figure 3. The Great Southern Lagoon marine cluster. Light blue areas represent the property, medium blue the marine buffer zone, andorange the terrestrial buffer zones. The gray line near the top of the buffer zone represents Vale’s submarine pipeline (thinner line) and efflu-ent diffuser (thicker line). Source: Map reproduced with permission from New Caledonia’s Southern Province. Pipeline and effluent diffuserimage added from Goro Nickel (2007). (Color figure available online.)

Rhizomic Resistance Meets Arborescent Assemblage 175

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

property, in areas where there is very much impactfrom the mining.” Although the Vale project posed a“potential risk,” at the current time there was “no evi-dence in the property itself of any degradation,” andthe World Heritage experts had been “satisfied” withthe company’s “mitigation strategy” (Claude, personalcommunication, 25 June 2012).

In other words, neither fishing nor the refineryposed any clear and immediate danger to the inscribedsite, in the experts’ or government’s view; however,stubbornly following their comanagement diagram, allWorld Heritage–related efforts were focused on localfishers, yet blind to their true concern: reining in themining project. This irony did not escape local resi-dents; one expressed bafflement that “the sameinstitutions” could prohibit flushing out octopus withacid squirts—“at a small scale, eh?”—yet, right nearby,permit a refinery that used vast quantities of acid underhigh pressure and thus presented the risk (subsequentlyrealized) of high-volume acid spills (Pierre, personalcommunication, 23 July 2012).

“Hypothetical Stuff”: Who Should Address MiningImpacts?

At issue here was the question of who had thepower and the responsibility to protect the reefs fromthe mining project. Like a hot potato, each party triedto pass this responsibility to the next. Largely, this wasbecause UNESCO lacked the power that activists hadbelieved it possessed—as an antecedent for their trustin the agency—to pressure the local government tocontrol or halt environmentally damaging miningactivity. Although, as a UN agency, UNESCO seemedpositioned to exercise political and financial influenceover the states, the very fact that it was composed ofgovernment representatives, operating within a strictlyhierarchical arborescent structure and a striated, hencerestricted, scope of action, sharply limited its ability toexert this pressure. Local GROs, in contrast, as rhizo-mic assemblages, were unconstrained by ties to anygovernment or corporation; however, this also equatedto a lack of political or financial power, which theyattempted to counter by seeking assistance from moreinfluential NGOs and IGOs. Yet, ultimately, thedeferral of responsibility came full circle, back to theactivists who had initiated it.

As described earlier, the idea for the World Heri-tage inscription had originated in the 1990s with acti-vists, mostly urban-based and of European heritage,who were concerned about the proposed refinery.

Unable to gain traction with the local government,they sought alliances among Australian Greens whohad successfully fought logging and hydroelectricdevelopment in Tasmania by securing World Heritagestatus for a large swath of that island. In 1999, activistsconvinced the president of the newly formed Custom-ary Senate to send a letter to French president JacquesChirac and UNESCO offering New Caledonia’s reefs“to the world.” When the French government finallysubmitted the request for inscription in 2007, theseactivists were disheartened by the fact that mining con-cessions had simply been cut from the proposed prop-erty and that instead of becoming a “consciousness-raising exercise,” the inscription had been manipulatedto promote tourism and politicians’ “egos” (Christophe,personal communication, 25 June 2012). Others, how-ever, still held out hope. In early 2008, a petition circu-lated requesting that Vale suspend placement of itseffluent diffuser until UNESCO’s decision. While theUN agency deliberated, banners flew over the capital,Noum�ea, bearing the question, “Goro pipe orUNESCO?” Soon, the answer clearly became “both,”as the reefs were inscribed on the list with no restric-tions on the refinery’s operations.

UNESCO, in turn, deferred responsibility for evalu-ating and monitoring the reefs to its advisor, IUCN,and both organizations made it clear that responsibilityfor protecting the reefs from mining lay squarely withthe French government. In any case, UNESCO wasconcerned only with World Heritage property itself,defined by the boundaries proposed by the host govern-ment. Thus, as an expert explained with some frustra-tion, “a threat to the environment” was not the same as“a threat to the World Heritage property; these are twodifferent issues, and people have been mixing them up alot” (Claude, personal communication, 25 June 2012).The mine site was not within the property, although itseffluent diffuser emptied into the buffer zone. The gov-ernment had extended the buffer zone to encompass thediffuser at the request of a World Heritage expert whonoted the area’s “features of interest” and felt that it wasimportant not to “duck the issue” of mining just becauseit was “too difficult” (Camille, personal communication,29 June 2012). Government officials agreed that,although they could not include project infrastructurewithin the proposed property itself, due to the pledge ofthe International Council on Mining and Metals(2003) not to operate in World Heritage sites, theycould include the diffuser within the buffer zone to “putpressure on the company” (Cochin 2008). UNESCOdid not provide clear guidelines, however, as to how a

176 Horowitz

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

buffer zone should be managed. When I asked whatactivities would be acceptable within the buffer zone,one expert replied, “I don’t deal in hypothetical stuff”(Camille, personal communication, 29 June 2012).Another agreed that “there is no very specific regulationrelating to any World Heritage buffer zone” (Domi-nique, personal communication, 16 August 2012),which was left to the host government. UNESCO’sOperational Guidelines specify that a buffer zone is “anarea surrounding the nominated property which hascomplementary legal and/or customary restrictionsplaced on its use and development to give an addedlayer of protection to the property” and the governmentshould provide a “clear explanation of how the bufferzone protects the property” (UNESCO 2011).UNESCO, though, inscribed the reefs despite the factthat France’s dossier made nomention of how the bufferzone would be protected. This doublespeak did not passunnoticed by local residents, who remarked that as thecompany’s effluent diffuser was in “the buffer zone, thatmeans they can release whatever they want” (Oscar,personal communication, 13 July 2012), or observedthat “they forgot about the currents” that would trans-port effluent from the buffer zone into the property(Odilon, personal communication, 26 July 2012).

As for any threats to the property itself, UNESCO’sonly recourse was to signal a possible removal fromWorld Heritage status by placing it on the DangerList, which could result in “humiliation” for the hostgovernment (Maxime, personal communication, 18June 2012)—a form of negative inducement throughsocial pressure but not true coercion. As an intergov-ernmental organization, though, UNESCO itself washighly vulnerable to political pressure. World HeritageCommittee members had “shifted from being archaeo-logical and environmental experts to almost exclu-sively state-appointed ambassadors and politicians,” ina context of nations’ intense “backstage lobbying”(Meskell 2014, 221). IUCN officials expressed frustra-tion that recently, “probably less than half” of theirrecommendations had been included on the DangerList (Dominique, personal communication, 16 August2012; see also Meskell 2014); threats from “majorinfrastructure projects, the extractive industry andproperty speculation” were repeatedly ignored (IUCN2012). Meanwhile, IUCN itself was not immune tooutside influence and had been criticized for partner-ing with corporations, including a five-year collabora-tion with Shell launched in 2007.

Short of the threat of removal, rarely applied,inscription included a “voluntary international

environmental agreement” with “no addedenforcement,” and “UNESCO has no role in man-agement” (Claude, personal communication, 25 June2012). Thus, UNESCO relied exclusively on the(toothless) authority implicit in its international legit-imacy. This authority was conditional on recognitionfrom nation-states—which, lacking a rhizome’s resil-ience, UNESCO could not afford to alienate.Although the organization had been lobbied by Kanakand environmental grassroots groups who hoped tosecure its assistance in stopping the Vale project, and“there was a lot of support for local indigenous people,moral support,” UNESCO was unable to becomeinvolved in “the political stuff” (Maxime, personalcommunication, 18 June 2012). Hence, World Heri-tage experts pointed to their lack of coercive power toaddress threats from mining, through either directmeans or indirect pressure, and identified governmentsas possessing that responsibility.

Both experts and government representatives also,ironically, pushed responsibility for taking actionagainst mining back onto the very activists who hadfirst sought inscription as a means of limiting its dam-ages. A World Heritage expert claimed that theinscription was something the local community could“turn to” if they felt the reefs were being degraded, bycontacting the government or an NGO. There was,however, no direct conduit to the World HeritageCommittee: “It would be a fair old stink before it gotto UNESCO—but I suspect they get the press cuttingsanyway” (Camille, personal communication, 29 June2012). Government representatives, meanwhile,expressed certainty that what had helped convinceUNESCO to inscribe the property was the fact that “ifthere’s an impact, there’s inevitably a reaction fromthe communities and blockade of the refinery; overhere, it’s pretty quick” (�Elodie, personal communica-tion, 12 June 2012). Thus, each party relied on protes-tors, the only ones who could exercise coercive powerthrough forceful resistance, to be the first to respond toany mining-related impacts. But what effect had theinscription had on local communities’ and GROs’resistance to the mining project?

Undermining Resistance

The reefs’ inscription had not strengthened localcapacity to raise concerns about harms from mining;in fact, just the opposite. Neither the official request,the management committees’ structure, nor the

Rhizomic Resistance Meets Arborescent Assemblage 177

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

management plans created in collaboration with thecommittees allowed for any coercion of Vale (or anymining company) to alter its operations. Meanwhile,the inscription reduced many community members’anxieties about the refinery’s environmental impactsand assured them of what they perceived as the vigi-lance of a powerful ally, reducing the perceived needfor their own direct action against the company.

“Reassure and Convince”: Illusions ofEmpowerment

As discussed earlier, the selected sites carefully maderoom for planned mining activities; an activist claimedthat President Chirac had only announced the WorldHeritage bid once all companies had been “assured thattheir mining activities would not be harmed” (Christo-phe, personal communication, 25 June 2012). Indeed,UNESCO had not made any demands on mining com-panies; a government official confirmed that despitethe inscription, Vale “didn’t make any changes to the[mining or refining] process, that’s certain.” Justifyingthe mining project’s presence on the edge of the WorldHeritage property “wasn’t easy, but more so when itcame to the communities than when it came toUNESCO,” as local residents, not the experts, hadbeen “the main people to reassure and convince”(�Elodie, personal communication, 12 June 2012).Next, the management committees had been organizedby the Southern Province’s Environment Department,which has no jurisdiction over mining. A Vale repre-sentative attended each committee meeting to“respond” to concerns by providing information (Jean,personal communication, 25 November 2011) butwithout any means for the community to pressure thecompany to change its practices. Indeed, many man-agement committee members were also members of theConsultative Customary Environmental Committee,funded entirely by Vale, or l’Œil, an “observatory”charged with monitoring the project, which receivedhalf its funding from Vale. A government official sawthis overlap as positive—“communication is muchquicker” (Jean, personal communication, 25 November2011)—despite a clear conflict of interest. Meanwhile,Vale sponsored local marine-related development proj-ects through its Corporate Foundation, including onOuen Island, where it financed a whale lookout andtwo walking tracks, in time for the seasonal arrival ofwhale-watching tourists, some of whom might havebeen attracted by the World Heritage listing. A man-agement committee member expressed appreciation for

this assistance yet was concerned it might constitutecooptation—an inducement to acquiesce, or a type ofseduction: “I wonder if we can go against Vale even ifit’s Vale that pays for everything” (Oscar, personalcommunication, 13 July 2012).

Despite offering no substantive opportunities forpressuring Vale to improve its environmental practi-ces, and indeed providing opportunities for Vale toproduce counterincentives to any pressure, the inscrip-tion gave many government officials, communitymembers, and activists a sense of reassurance thatVale “had better be even more careful” (Jean, personalcommunication, 18 July 2012) due to UNESCO’sinternationally recognized authority. Government rep-resentatives had used this logic in their attempts toconvince local residents to support the inscriptionrequest despite the presence of Vale’s effluent diffuser:

[W]e were confronted of course with Goro Nickel’s infa-mous pipe, and there wasn’t a single meeting at which weweren’t reminded of that point. That pipe was a thorn inour side, very difficult to remove. I told people that theymustn’t confuse things, and to think of the World Heritageinscription as a tool, an additional arm in the pressureplaced on the company to respect certain conditions, nowbeing watched not only at a local, regional, or evennational level but, indeed, international. (del Rio 2009, 37)

Although many villagers expressed uncertainty as towhat the inscription truly signified, they hoped that theadditional surveillance would make Vale pay attention.One local resident thought World Heritage status would“prevent the refinery from going overboard” by imposing“an obligation not to send all their filth into the lagoon”(Odilon, personal communication, 26 July 2012).

The fact that UNESCO was an international orga-nization indicated that it was more powerful and could“pressure the company at the global level” (Yves, per-sonal communication, 27 July 2012). This was particu-larly important as many villagers sharply felt their ownpowerlessness:

We’re at the bottom of the ladder. . . . They’re betterplaced to do something; as for us, we can’t. (Odilon, per-sonal communication, 26 July 2012)

Having the inscription meant “we know we’re not goingto fight all alone” against damage to the marine ecosys-tem (Fr�ed�eric, personal communication, 10 July 2012).Indeed, local residents felt “very proud” to havereceived the attentions of an authoritative interna-tional organization (Alain, personal communication, 8August 2010). This led to a sense of empowerment;

178 Horowitz

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

some management committee members declared thatwhenever they noticed any pollution, they would “warnthe authorities” (Edmond, personal communication, 23July 2012), who then told the mining company to “becareful with the lagoon”—action the government hadonly taken “since the inscription” (Eug�ene, personalcommunication, 13 July 2012). Other communitymembers expressed increased trust in the provincialgovernment whose employees they now regularly sawmonitoring fishing activities or taking water samples.Several felt that they could drawmedia attention to anypollution, take the company to court, or call on theWorld Heritage Committee. In other words, manage-ment committee members recognized that they hadrenounced the nonhierarchical, rhizomic structure ofRh�e�eb�u N�u�u in favor of incorporation, albeit at thevery bottom rung, into UNESCO’s arborescent assem-blage. Following Mayer, Davis, and Schoorman’s(1995) antecedents for trust, outlined earlier, they didso in the expectation of UNESCO’s benevolence andintegrity, as well as of the agency’s power.

Some management committee members had anexaggerated sense of the power the World Heritagelisting granted them, however. Several mistakenlybelieved that UNESCO had promised, or authorizedthe committee, to “shut down” the refinery if theynoticed any pollution (Laurent, personal communica-tion, 19 July 2012). As one member explained, “If any-thing gets out of control, we’re counting on UNESCOto give us a hand to remove that pipe, or I don’t knowwhat” (Denis, personal communication, 9 July 2012).Another was certain that UNESCO would “have toreact” if pollution occurred, by “using its weight, alongwith the people here”: “There’s no point placing thewhole site as heritage, from up there, and then notreacting; that’s meaningless” (Odilon, personal com-munication, 26 July 2012). They were thus unaware ofthe limits of UNESCO’s powers and of the limits of itswillingness to exercise these limited powers, as out-lined previously. Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u members had their ownpower modality, authority as indigenous people (seeHorowitz 2015), but transferred this authority awayfrom supporting their resistance efforts, toward bolster-ing UNESCO’s management committees.

“If It Hadn’t Been for UNESCO”: FromRadical to Radicle

Government officials and Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u leaders haddifferent interpretations of the linkage between World

Heritage inscription and resistance to Vale’s opera-tions. A government official noted that efforts tosecure community acceptance of the World Heritagebid had been difficult at first because of concerns overthe effluent diffuser:

[Community members] said, “But how can you talk aboutWorld Heritage and preservation? You, the local govern-ment, you’re imposing a pipe on us that’s going to dumpout shit.” (Jean, personal communication, 25 November2011)

In his interpretation, the provincial government hadneeded to wait until community members had“accepted” the diffuser before they could “rediscuss”the creation of World Heritage management commit-tees. Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u leaders had a precisely oppositeinterpretation of this sequence of events. Before theinscription, community members, with Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u’ssupport, had insisted that the effluent diffuser would“not be accepted without the prior consent of the cus-todian clans of the marine spaces,” and set the WorldHeritage listing as a condition for the possibility of“resubmitting the question to the customary clans”(Comit�e Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u 2008, 5). A Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u leaderlater explained,

If the heritage hadn’t been inscribed, we would havesaid, “There’s a danger,” or, “The danger is insur-mountable.” From the moment it was inscribed, we said,“There’s the international community, the company hadbetter not tell them a pack of lies, and anyway we havethe possibility of calling upon the international eye ifthere are any impacts.” (Gabriel, personal communica-tion, 16 September 2010)

Thus, instead of acceptance of the diffuser leading toacceptance of the World Heritage inscription, Rh�e�eb�uN�u�u leaders claimed that, conversely, World Heritagestatus had convinced them to accept the diffuser; ifUNESCO was willing to tolerate it, they reasoned, itcould not pose a serious threat. One leader explained,“If it hadn’t been for UNESCO, we would haveopposed [the mining project]; we would have contin-ued the struggle” (Maurice, personal communication,31 July 2012). They thus failed to recognize thatUNESCO exercised authority but had no coercivepower over Vale.

Vale touted the inscription as an authoritativeendorsement of their operations as ecologicallybenign:

UNESCO chose, with full knowledge of the facts, toinscribe New Caledonia’s lagoons on the World Heritage

Rhizomic Resistance Meets Arborescent Assemblage 179

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

list. . . . In all the conversations with the chieftainships,even Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u, we felt that our interlocutors werewaiting for UNESCO’s position. . . . Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u mem-bers were very happy about this confirmation [fromUNESCO]. The dialogue is very constructive now. Theyare even more reassured about the environmental realityof the project. (“Goro Nickel: Tous d’accord pour letuyau” 2008)

Neither party observed that the two experts whohad inspected the proposed site had training in,respectively, marine ecology and coastal environmen-tal management; neither was a specialist in miningimpacts, and both had simply relied on informationthe company provided them. These “experts” had thusused their authority to grant Vale and its diffuser anenvironmental legitimacy based in mistaken percep-tions of and trust in their own expertise. In part, thiswas inadvertent; the protestors had simply assumedthe experts were capable of evaluating risks from themining activity. Neither expert had fully disclosed tolocal residents the limits of his or her qualifications,however, resulting in mistaken beliefs in the experts’ability, an antecedent for trust. Even if inadvertently,this manifested a modality of power: manipulation.

Moreover, as attention focused on the refinery’s liq-uid effluent, the air pollution it would generate—andthe impacts this would have on the reef and on localresidents—were largely ignored. The refinery relied ona coal-fired power plant expected to release 550,000metric tons of CO2 annually (Gouvernement de laNouvelle-Cal�edonie 2009). CO2 is associated withboth global warming and ocean acidification, whichconstitute the primary threats to corals, particularly inthe Western Pacific where New Caledonia is located(Couce, Ridgwell, and Hendy 2013). Additionally,burning coal releases mercury, a known toxin formarine organisms including corals (Bastidas and Gar-cia 2004) and a toxin and teratogen for humans. Arecent study showed that mercury levels in New Cale-donian seafood were generally low, but high concen-trations were found near the long-standing coal-firednickel refinery in Noum�ea; those levels were “of partic-ular concern” for human consumption, especiallygiven local populations’ extreme dependence onmarine resources for subsistence (Chouvelon et al.2009, 338).

Meanwhile, not everyone was reassured. Many com-munity members, particularly women and youth,expressed shock and anger at the pact’s signature. Sus-pecting that Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u leaders’ mouths had been“closed with money,” one management committee

member noted that the leaders were “with us now, onthe heritage management; they’re not interested inthe nickel [refinery] anymore.” He was certain that “ifthey had continued, the refinery would not have beenput in place” (Odilon, personal communication, 16July 2012). In other words, they were deeply disap-pointed by the fact that Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u had chosen toabandon its rhizomic, radical resistance and alloweditself to be coopted, subsumed as a radicle ofUNESCO’s arborescent structure, through member-ship of management committees—a tiny element atthe very bottom of the giant hierarchical assemblage,with no power to address mining activities.

As a corollary of this structural shift, activists lostthe relatively smooth space of Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u’s rhizomicassemblage and the open communication this had rep-resented. Its leaders were well-known communitymembers who, not being members of first-occupantclans, lacked high social status. They were soapproachable that villagers could even—as some didafter the pact’s signature—shout at them while bran-dishing machetes. UNESCO, in contrast, representeda highly striated space, with strict protocols and chan-nels for transmitting information. As a hierarchicalarborescent assemblage, its leaders were inaccessible toconcerned villagers. Although some were confidentthat any message they hoped to convey would eventu-ally “pass up the chain all the way to UNESCO”(Fr�ed�eric, personal communication, 10 July 2012),others were confused about which, if any, path wasavailable to them in navigating the agency’s striations:

I know they [UNESCO] have power, but I don’t knowwhat I have to do to call upon them to tell them thatthis refinery must be closed down. (Ruth, personal com-munication, 9 July 2012)

Thus, many local residents, including managementcommittee members, remained unconvinced that theinscription had reduced the associated impacts andrisks. One committee member expressed frustrationthat, with the effluent diffuser, and erosion from themine site, the lagoon “was classified [inscribed] but it’sas if they didn’t classify anything” as “it doesn’t protectanything.” Predicting that “the coral will die with themud from the mine” and worrying that “we’re sendingour children to suicide” from contaminated seafood,he lamented that “if there’s a harmful effect on thereef, we’ll raise the alarm, but too late—we alwaysreact after the accident” (Aim�e, personal communica-tion, 9 July 2012). Another explained that the inscrip-tion “doesn’t reassure me,” despite being on the

180 Horowitz

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

management committee: “It’s as though I’m nothingcompared to that [refinery]; . . . I’m like a butterfly or acaterpillar—you fall in the bowl of acid and that’s it”(Ruth, personal communication, 9 July 2012). Someprotestors explicitly blamed UNESCO for its approvalof the Vale project. A Kanak activist recalled:

We thought UNESCO would react and block every-thing, the refinery, that they would see that it was bad,that they would have used a sort of blackmail, that theywould have said, “Either the classification, or the refin-ery, but not both, we can’t classify with the refinery.” Butit was just the opposite, and that wounded us deeply.(Ernest, personal communication, 25 July 2012)

Clearly, these local residents felt discouraged by whatthey perceived as abandonment by the assemblages,both rhizomic and arborescent, whose support they hadsought: Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u, UNESCO, and also their electedrepresentatives. Noting the “paradoxical and incom-prehensible” fact that local politicians had supportedboth refinery and inscription, another committee mem-ber wondered, “Does that ease their conscience, oncethe heritage is classified?” (C�eline, personal communi-cation, 3 August 2012). After the pact’s signature, asRh�e�eb�u N�u�u ceased its opposition, many villagers sankinto a sort of frustrated fatalism, recognizing that theironly power—coercion based in direct action—relied onlarge numbers of protestors acting together:

We accepted having the refinery here; now we have tolive with it. We can fight, if there are a lot of us—but ifwe’re only three or four doing the work, we won’t suc-ceed. (Aim�e, personal communication, 9 July 2012)

Conclusion: The Trouble with Trees

This article has examined what can happenwhen rhi-zomic GROs turn to arborescent institutions to assistthem in their struggles against industry. Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u,targeting Vale’s refinery, expected that the addition ofNew Caledonia’s coral reefs to UNESCO’s World Heri-tage List would prevent the company from releasing itseffluent into the marine environment. They believedthat UNESCOpossessed the technical expertise to eval-uate impacts from Vale’s diffuser and the power andmotivation to take necessary actions to conserve thereef. These beliefs, antecedents for trust, led the GROleaders to count on UNESCO’s assistance. UNESCOinscribed the property without stipulating any restric-tions on mining activity, however, instead applyinga globally promoted, but locally inappropriate,

comanagement diagram that targeted local fishing activ-ities despite an absence of overfishing. Meanwhile, theWorld Heritage experts who briefly visited NewCaledo-nia lacked the expertise to evaluate Vale’s operations,and the agency itself lacked the mandate, and the politi-cal will, to pressure the government to impose any addi-tional demands on the company. Nonetheless, ratherthan continue their flexible and dynamic rhizomic strug-gle, Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u chose to trust UNESCO to protect thereef and allowed itself to be coopted into the agency’srigid, hierarchical arborescent assemblage, renouncingthe smooth space of direct action in favor of participa-tion in the striated space of management committeesthat UNESCOhad demanded.

Partly, then, Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u’s demise resulted from amisunderstanding of the degree and modalities ofpower (authority, coercion, inducement, etc.) of eachorganizational model, arborescent and rhizomic. Rhizo-mic structures are dynamic, mobile, flexible, and—cru-cially—free of the constraints inherent to rigidhierarchy or to dependencies on powerful institutionssuch as governments. This allows them coercive powerthrough threats of violent resistance. They lack exten-sive resources, recognition, or authority, though, andthus often exert limited influence. Arborescent struc-tures, in contrast, often possess vast material and finan-cial resources, their authority is widely recognized, andthey have the potential to wield great influence. Theyare severely constrained, however, by both their inflex-ible structure and their dependencies on other arbores-cences. Like most arborescent institutions, includingall IGOs and many NGOs, the World Heritage Com-mittee worked closely with—indeed, was composed ofrepresentatives from—national governments. This pro-vided it with great potential, theoretically, for politicaland financial influence over these governments, yet inreality severely limited the agency’s scope for exertingthat influence, as each state was guided by strategicrather than environmental agendas. Thus, UNESCOofficials, while expressing personal sympathies forRh�e�eb�u N�u�u’s concerns, felt unable to engage with thegroup explicitly or to address their anti-industrydemands, viewed as too “political.” UNESCO was thusa recognized authority and could offer inducements buthad no means of coercion, even indirectly throughrelationships with activist groups.

In renouncing its rhizomic form in favor of incorpo-ration into an arborescent hierarchy at its very bottomrung, Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u neglected to recognize, and thuslost, the key advantage of the rhizome: the freedom torespond to mining-related risks with coercive protests.

Rhizomic Resistance Meets Arborescent Assemblage 181

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

Meanwhile, it gained none of the resources or author-ity of the arborescence, in fact relegating its ownauthority, resting on the legitimacy imputed to indige-nous people’s concerns, to support UNESCO. In join-ing World Heritage management committees, Rh�e�eb�uN�u�u leaders hoped to forge powerful alliances but infact gained no leverage over mining activities, as thegovernment department organizing the committeeshad no jurisdiction over mining. Management com-mittee members, meanwhile, had no direct access toUNESCO and thus could not appeal to it for supportin the face of threats from the mining activity. Othercommunity members, still anxious about the refinery’simpacts, felt deeply disempowered without the supportof either UNESCO or Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u. Meanwhile, therestructuring of radical activism into a radicle compo-nent of an arborescent assemblage allowed for mutualdeferral of responsibility. Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u activists, nowmanagement committee members, assumed thatUNESCO—with far greater technical expertise andinternational clout than they—would protect the reefit had inscribed as a World Heritage site. Conversely,both UNESCO and government representativesexpected activists to be the first to take direct actionagainst any mining-related incidents, without provid-ing any conduit for community members to pass theirconcerns up through UNESCO’s hierarchy.

Thus, this study demonstrates that rhizomic assemb-lages can exercise power modalities (e.g., coercion andforms of authority) that arborescent assemblages mightlack. It further suggests that in interacting with rhizo-mic assemblages, arborescent institutions seek to applydiagrams, whether or not appropriate to local circum-stances. This might involve absorbing activists intotheir own hierarchical structure, relegating them to a“radicle” position without decision-making capacityand thus stripping them of their coercive power whilecoopting their indigenous authority. Concomitantly,this article explores the pitfalls of relying too heavilyon an institution perceived as powerful and trustworthybut that might possess its own agenda and could be con-strained by its very form. Here, the trouble lay with mis-placed trust based in mistaken assumptions aboutUNESCO’s ability, benevolence, integrity, and power.Thus, this study points to the need for grassroots acti-vists to be aware of the political constraints and agen-das of arborescent organizations from whom they mightseek assistance or support. It also suggests that institu-tions such as UNESCO should respond to local realitieseven if this means jettisoning generic diagrams.

Ultimately, this article points to the political andsocial dimensions of ways that conservation can endup supporting environmentally damaging industrialdevelopment by not only ignoring but, even inadver-tently, undermining communities’ struggles to protectthe very ecosystems the conservation initiatives target.In other words, conservation does not only result inthe extension of state domination, as the literature hasshown; it can lead to the surreptitious extension ofcorporate reach at the expense of grassroots action, asthis study demonstrates.

The World Heritage program, like any large-scaleinitiative of an influential arborescent assemblage,does have the potential to achieve its stated goals—here, conservation of important and threatened areasof land or sea. Indeed, the Tasmanian WildernessWorld Heritage Area, the original inspiration for theNew Caledonian bid, has preserved Tasmania’s tem-perate rainforests from logging and hydroelectricdevelopment for more than thirty years (see Hay andEckersley 1993; Crowley 1999; Russell and Jambrecina2002). Ultimately, though, the success of such initia-tives relies on political will at the very top of the arbo-rescence: the federal and local governments. NewCaledonia’s politicians clearly had a developmentalistagenda and viewed World Heritage inscription as ameans of attracting tourism rather than inhibitingmining. Future research could examine cases in whichgrassroots groups focus advocacy efforts not on seekingsupport from IGOs or NGOs, constrained by theirpolitical and financial dependencies, but rather on tar-geting the sources of these dependencies—often gov-ernments—while maintaining the independence frompolitical constraints that their rhizomic forms allow. Itwould also be useful to examine arborescent–rhizomicrelationships from different perspectives, such asthrough institutional ethnographies of the arborescentorganizations, which might allow a deeper and moresympathetic understanding of the constraints theirforms impose.

Acknowledgments

I am deeply grateful to the residents of Ouara, Unia,and Vao for their hospitality and to all intervieweesfor their time. I am indebted also to Rob Fletcher andthree anonymous reviewers for their insightful com-ments that greatly improved this article. Any errorsare solely my responsibility.

182 Horowitz

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

Funding

Research for this article was funded by the CentreNational de Recherche Technologique “Nickel et sonEnvironnement,” Hawai’i Pacific University, and theNational Endowment for the Humanities. Theresearch was conducted under Rutgers University IRB#10–616M and Hawai’i Pacific University IRB#560411062.

Note

1. Although the property’s marine clusters are locatedin all three provinces, this article focuses exclusivelyon the Southern Province.

References

Agrawal, A., and C. C. Gibson. 1999. Enchantment anddisenchantment: The role of community in naturalresource conservation. World Development 27 (4): 629–49.

Allen, J. 2003. Lost geographies of power. Malden, MA:Blackwell.

Anaya, J. 2012. Report of the Special Rapporteur on therights of indigenous peoples. United Nations GeneralAssembly, A/67/301, New York.

Anderson, B., and C. McFarlane. 2011. Assemblage andgeography. Area 43 (2): 124–27.

Ansell Pearson, K. 1999. Germinal life: The difference andrepetition of Deleuze. London and New York: Routledge.

Bastidas, C., and E. M. Garcia. 2004. Sublethal effects ofmercury and its distribution in the coral Poritesastreoides.Marine Ecology Progress Series 267:133–43.

Blaikie, P. 2006. Is small really beautiful? Community-basednatural resource management in Malawi and Botswana.World Development 34 (11): 1942–57.

Boelens, R., and M. Seemann. 2014. Forced engagements:Water security and local rights formalization in Yan-que, Colca Valley, Peru. Human Organization 73 (1): 1–12.

Bonta, M. 2005. Becoming-forest, becoming-local: Trans-formations of a protected area in Honduras. Geoforum36:95–112.

Bonta, M., and J. Protevi. 2004. Deleuze and geophilosophy: Aguide and glossary. Edinburgh, UK: Edinburgh Univer-sity Press.

Braun, B. 2008. Environmental issues: Inventive life. Prog-ress in Human Geography 32 (5): 667–79.

Brockington, D., R. Duffy, and J. Igoe. 2008. Natureunbound: Conservation, capitalism and the future of pro-tected areas. London: Earthscan.

Bryant, R. L. 2002. Non-governmental organizations andgovernmentality: “Consuming” biodiversity and indige-nous people in the Philippines. Political Studies 50:268–92.

Campbell, L. M., and A. Vainio-Mattila. 2003. Participa-tory development and community-based conservation:Opportunities missed for lessons learned? Human Ecol-ogy 31 (3): 417–37.

Castells, M. 2012. Networks of outrage and hope: Social move-ments in the Internet age. Cambridge, UK: Polity.

Chapin, M. 2004. A challenge to conservationists. WorldWatch November–December:17–31.

Chouvelon, T., M. Warnau, C. Churlaud, and P. Bustamante.2009. Hg concentrations and related risk assessment incoral reef crustaceans, molluscs and fish fromNewCaledo-nia.Environmental Pollution 157 (1): 331–40.

Cochin, C. 2008. La mine peut-elle gener le lagon [Can themine disturb the lagoon]? Les Nouvelles Cal�edoniennes 14March. http://www.lnc.nc/article/environment/la-mine-peut-elle-gener-le-lagon (last accessed 28 September 2015).

Colman, F. J. 2005. Rhizome. In The Deleuze dictionary.Revised ed., ed. A. Parr, 232–35. Edinburgh, UK: Edin-burgh University Press.

Comit�e Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u. 2008. V�e�e e gu�e—v�e�e r�e�e y�e—djiidjar�u—2008 [Our word—Sacred day]. Noum�ea, NewCaledonia: Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u.

Couce, E., A. Ridgwell, and E. J. Hendy. 2013. Future habi-tat suitability for coral reef ecosystems under globalwarming and ocean acidification. Global Change Biology19 (12): 3592–3606.

Crow, B., and J. Carney. 2013. Commercializing nature:Mangrove conservation and female oyster collectors inThe Gambia. Antipode 45 (2): 275–93.

Crowley, K. 1999. Lake Pedder’s loss and failed restoration:Ecological politics meets liberal democracy in Tasma-nia. Australian Journal of Political Science 34:409–24.

David, G., M. Leopold, P. S. Dumas, J. Ferraris, J.-B. Her-renschmidt, and G. Fontenelle. 2010. Integratedcoastal zone management perspectives to ensure thesustainability of coral reefs in New Caledonia. MarinePollution Bulletin 61:323–34.

De Landa, M. 2000. Deleuze, diagrams, and the genesis ofform. Amerikastudien/American Studies 45 (1): 33–41.

del Rio, G. 2009. Les lagons cal�edoniens acteurs de la cit-oyennet�e avec Isabelle Ohlen [The Caledonianlagoons, stakeholders in citizenship with IsabelleOhlen].Mw�a V�e�e 63:32–43.

Deleuze, G. 1995. Foucault. Minneapolis: University ofMinnesota Press.

Deleuze, G., and F. Guattari. 1987. A thousand plateaus:Capitalism and schizophrenia. Minneapolis: University ofMinnesota Press.

Devillers, R., R. L. Pressey, A. Grech, J. N. Kittinger, G. J.Edgar, T. Ward, and R. Watson. 2015. Reinventing resid-ual reserves in the sea: Are we favouring ease of establish-ment over need for protection? Aquatic Conservation:Marine and Freshwater Ecosystems 25 (4): 480–504.

Direction de l’Industrie des Mines et de l’�Energie. 2012. Lessites d’activit�e du nickel en Nouvelle-Cal�edonie 2012[Active nickel mining sites in New Caledonia 2012.]http://www.dimenc.gouv.nc/portal/page/portal/dimenc/mines_carrieres/mines (last accessed 24 February 2015).

Disko, S. 2012. World Heritage sites and indigenouscommunities: The importance of adopting a humanrights-based approach. In Community developmentthrough World Heritage. World Heritage Papers No. 31,

Rhizomic Resistance Meets Arborescent Assemblage 183

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

ed. M.-T. Albert, M. Richon, M. J. Vi~nals, and A. Wit-comb, 16–26. Paris: UNESCO.

Dressler, W., B. B€uscher, M. Schoon, D. Brockington, T.Hayes, C. A. Kull, J. McCarthy, and K. Shrestha. 2010.From hope to crisis and back again? A critical historyof the global CBNRM narrative. Environmental Conser-vation 37 (1): 5–15.

Duffy, R. 2010. Nature crime: How we’re getting conservationwrong. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

Edgar, G. J., P. F. Langhammer, G. Allen, T. M. Brooks, J. Bro-die, W. Crosse, N. De Silva, et al. 2008. Key biodiversityareas as globally significant target sites for the conservationof marine biological diversity.Aquatic Conservation: Marineand Freshwater Ecosystems 18 (6): 969–83.

Goro Nickel. 2007. Overall site plan on aerial view. Unpub-lished map. Noumea, New Caledonia: Goro Nickel.

Goro Nickel: Tous d’accord pour le tuyau [Goro Nickel:Everyone in agreement for the pipe]. 2008. Les Nou-velles Cal�edoniennes 11 July 2008. http://www.lnc.nc/article/economic/goro-nickel-tous-daccord-pour-le-tuyau (last accessed 28 September 2015).

Gouvernement de la Nouvelle-Cal�edonie. 2009. Le sch�emade mise en valeur des richesses mini�eres de la Nouvelle-Cal�edonie [Overview of plans for the development ofNew Caledonia’s mineral wealth]. Noum�ea, New Cale-donia: Gouvernement de la Nouvelle-Cal�edonie.

Hay, P., and R. Eckersley. 1993. Tasmania’s Labor-Greenaccord 1989–91: Lessons from Lilliput. EnvironmentalPolitics 2 (1): 88–93.

Hildyard, N., P. Hegde, P. Wolvekamp, and S. Reddy. 2001.Pluralism, participation and power: Jointforest management in India. In Participation: The new tyr-anny?, ed. B. Cooke andU. Kothari, 56–71. London: Zed.

Hillier, J. 2000. Going round the back? Complex networksand informal action in local planning processes. Envi-ronment and Planning A 32 (1): 33–54.

Horowitz, L. S. 2004. R�eserver sa place: D�efinitions kanakdu concept de «r�eserve» de ressources naturellesvivantes [Reserving one’s place: Kanak defintions ofthe concept of “reserving” living natural resources]. InLes Aires prot�eg�ees insulaires et littorales tropicales, ed. J.-M. Lebigre and P. M. Decoudras, 141–48. Bordeaux,France: CRET.

———. 2008. “It’s up to the clan to protect”: Cultural heritageand the micropolitical ecology of conservation in NewCaledonia.The Social Science Journal 45 (2): 258–78.

———. 2012. Translation alignment: Actor-network the-ory, resistance, and the power dynamics of alliance inNew Caledonia. Antipode 44 (3): 806–27.

———. 2015. Culturally articulated neoliberalization: Cor-porate social responsibility and the capture of indige-nous legitimacy in New Caledonia. Transactions of theInstitute of British Geographers 40 (1): 88–101.

Hutton, J., W. M. Adams, and J. C. Murombedzi. 2005. Backto the barriers? Changing narratives in biodiversity con-servation. Forum for Development Studies 2:341–70.

Inco’s new PAL. 1999.Mining Journal 333 (8555): 340.Institut de la Statistique et des �Etudes �Economiques Nou-

velle-Cal�edonie. 2015. Recensement [Census]. http://www.isee.nc/population/recensement (last accessed 23February 2015).

International Council on Mining and Metals. 2003. “No-go”pledge signals new era of collaboration with the conserva-tionmovement. ICMMNewsletter 2 (4): 1–4.

InternationalUnion for Conservation ofNature (IUCN). 2012.No “danger listing” for four natural World Heritage sites—against IUCN advice. International news release, 29 June2012. http://www.iucn.org/media/news_releases/?10279/No-danger-listing-for-four-natural-World-Heritage-sites—against-IUCN-advice (last accessed 24 February 2015).

International Union for Conservation of Nature, Interna-tional Council on Monuments and Sites, and Interna-tional Centre for Study of the Preservation andRestoration of Cultural Property. 2014. World Heritageand rights-based approaches. Report from workshop,Oslo, Norway.

InternationalWorkGroup for IndigenousAffairs. 2013. Inter-national expert workshop on the World Heritage Con-vention and Indigenous Peoples, Copenhagen, Denmark.

Joppa, L. N., and A. Pfaff. 2009. High and far: Biases in thelocation of protected areas. PLoS ONE 4 (12): e8273.

Keck, M. E., and K. Sikkink. 1999. Transnational advocacynetworks in international and regional politics. Interna-tional Social Science Journal 51 (159): 89–101.

Kier, G., H. Kreft, T. M. Lee, W. Jetz, P. L. Ibisch, C. Now-icki, J. Mutke, and W. Barthlott. 2009. A global assess-ment of endemism and species richness across island andmainland regions. Proceedings of the National Academy ofSciences of the United States of America 106 (23): 9322–27.

Lyday, T. Q. 2006. The mineral industry of New Caledonia.In U.S. Geological Survey minerals yearbook, ed. U.S.Geological Survey, 17.1–17.2. Reston, VA: U.S. Geo-logical Survey.

Margules, C. R., and R. L. Pressey. 2000. Systematic conser-vation planning. Nature 405 (6783): 243–53.

Massumi, B. 1987. Translator’s foreword: Pleasures of phi-losophy. In A thousand plateaus: Capitalism and schizo-phrenia, ed. G. Deleuze and F. Guattari, ix–xv.Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Mayaka, T. B. 2002. Wildlife co-management in theB�enou�e National Park-Complex, Cameroon: A bumpyroad to institutional development. World Development30 (11): 2001–16.

Mayer, R. C., J. H. Davis, and F. D. Schoorman. 1995. Anintegrative model of organizational trust. The Academyof Management Review 20 (3): 709–34.

McFarlane, C. 2009. Translocal assemblages: Space, powerand social movements. Geoforum 40 (4): 561–67.

Meskell, L. 2014. States of conservation: Protection, politics,and pacting within UNESCO’s World Heritage Com-mittee.Anthropological Quarterly 87 (1): 217–43.

Mouffe, C., ed. 1996. Deconstruction and pragmatism. Londonand New York: Routledge.

Peluso, N. 1992. Rich forests, poor people: Resource control andresistance in Java. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Pitoiset, A. 2014. Nouvelle Cal�edonie: Un nouvel arret quitombe mal pour l’usine Vale [New Caledonia: A newstoppage that’s bad news for Vale’s refinery]. Les �Echos8 May 2014. http://www/lesechos.fr/08/05/2014/lesechos.fr/0203485716014_nouvelle-caledonie---un-nouvel-arret-qui-tombe-mal-pour-l-usine-vale.htm(last accessed 28 September 2015).

184 Horowitz

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16

Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u manifestera ce matin avec la Codefsud[Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u will demonstrate this morning withCodefsud]. 2008. Les Nouvelles Cal�edoniennes 29 March2008.

Richer de Forges, B., and M. Pascal. 2008. La Nouvelle-Cal�edonie, un «point chaud» de la biodiversit�e mon-diale gravement menac�e par l’exploitation mini�ere[New Caledonia, a “hotspot” of global biodiversity, seri-ously threatened by mining exploitation]. Journal de laSoci�et�e des Oc�eanistes 126–127:95–112.

Rivoilan, P., and D. Broustet. 2011. Recensement de la pop-ulation 2009 [Population census 2009]. Synth�ese, Insti-tut de la Statistique et des �Etudes �Economiques Nouvelle-Cal�edonie 19:1–4.

Russell, J., and M. Jambrecina. 2002. Wilderness and cul-tural landscapes: Shifting management emphases in theTasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area. Austra-lian Geographer 33 (2): 125–39.

Selznick, P. 1948. Foundations of the theory of organiza-tion. American Sociological Review 13 (1): 25–35.

Shah, A. 2010. In the shadows of the state: Indigenous politics,environmentalism, and insurgency in Jharkhand, India.Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Stagoll, C. 2005. Arborescent schema. In The Deleuze dictio-nary. Revised ed., ed. A. Parr, 14–15. Edinburgh, UK:Edinburgh University Press.

Sztompka, P. 1999. Trust: A sociological theory. Cambridge,UK: Cambridge University Press.

Teuli�eres, M.-H. 1991. Melanesian and European sys-tems of marine resource management in New Cale-donia. Resource Management and Optimization 8 (3–4):167–77.

United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organi-zation (UNESCO). 2011. Operational guidelines for the

implementation of the World Heritage Convention. Paris:UNESCOWorld Heritage Centre.

———. 2014. Engaging local communities in stewardshipof World Heritage. World Heritage Papers No. 40,UNESCO, Paris.

———. n.d. World Heritage: Mission. http://whc.unesco.org/en/about/ (last accessed 24 February 2015).

Vale Inco, Conseil Coutumier de l’Aire Drub�ea Kapume,and Comit�e Rh�e�eb�u N�u�u. 2008. Pacte pour und�eveloppement durable du Grand Sud [Pact for the sus-tainable development of the far south]. Noum�ea, NewCaledonia: Vale Inco Nouvelle-Cal�edonie.

Wells, M. P., and T. O. McShane. 2004. Integrating pro-tected area management with local needs and aspira-tions. Ambio 33 (8): 513–19.

West, P., J. Igoe, and D. Brockington. 2006. Parks and peo-ples: The social impact of protected areas. AnnualReview of Anthropology 35:251–77.

Woods, M., J. Anderson, S. Guilbert, and S. Watkin. 2013.Rhizomic radicalism and arborescent advocacy: A Del-euzo–Guattarian reading of rural protest. Environmentand Planning D: Society & Space 31:434–50.

Zdebik, J. 2012. Deleuze and the diagram: Aesthetic threads invisual organization. London: Continuum.

LEAH S. HOROWITZ is an Assistant Professor with a jointappointment in the Nelson Institute for EnvironmentalStudies and the School of Human Ecology at the Universityof Wisconsin–Madison, Madison, WI 53706. E-mail: LHor-owitz@wisc.edu. Her research addresses ways that socialrelationships and networks shape grassroots engagementswith environmental issues, including climate change, min-ing, and urban and rural biodiversity conservation.

Rhizomic Resistance Meets Arborescent Assemblage 185

Dow

nloa

ded

by [

Prin

ceto

n U

nive

rsity

] at

19:

21 0

6 Ja

nuar

y 20

16