The Zapovednik Principle

Between the cover story on gold (did you know all the gold ever mined in the history of the planet would only fill two olympic swimming pools?) and a sobering examination of endangered species in America, this month's National Geographic has a small article by David Quammen on Russia's Kronotsky Reserve.  Quammen happens to be one of my favorite writers, a personal hero really, and though the story is short, and perhaps dwarfed by the spectacular photos, it brings up  a few interesting concepts.  

The Kronotsky Nature Reserve is a volcanic area on the Kamchatka Peninsula (a region all too familiar to Risk players the word over, gateway to the conquest of North America!).  The reserve harbors a fairly large and stable population of brown bears, as well as a network of geysers, calderas, and hot springs, and by all accounts, as well as the beautiful photos, the area is breathtaking, and breathtakingly unique.  For this reason the Russians have designated the Reserve a 'zapovednik': a national park so protected that access is restricted to all save a handful of scientists and wealthy tourists.  Essentially, the Russian's deem the Kronotsky region too fragile, too ephemeral, to even risk the transformative, some would say destructive, consequences of human visitation.  It's the sort of dramatic step that could only be taken by a culture with a tradition of strict top down control, such as the former Soviet Union. 

It's an intriguing theory.  And one that's wholly un-American (not that that's necessarily a bad thing).  We as a nation approach nearly everything with a democratic demand for freedom, and equal and unreserved access.  It's in our very character that we demand the tangible proof of our actions.  Yet unfortunately, this attitude is in direct conflict with our efforts at wilderness preservation.  Snowmobiles race through Yellowstone, cars wind through Glacier National Park on the Going to the Sun Road.  While use is curtailed in many state and federal parks, the concept of designating an entire wilderness area completely off limits to humans (or nearly so) is nearly unthinkable for our nation.  The zapovednik, as pure a means of preservation as can be hoped for, is not an idea Americans would be likely to accept.

And perhaps they shouldn't.  On the face of it, the concept of designating our country's more pristine and untrammeled spaces verboten seems like a terrific idea, at least for the flora and fauna of the regions.  But there is a crucial flaw with this line of thinking.  As much as I am an earth-first sort of individual, one has to acknowledge that today, and in the future, the wild and natural places of the world continue to exist solely because we humans allow them to.  We have crossed the thresh-hold from living as a species in nature, to living as a species with nature.  If we as a people reconsider our choices for even a minute, there is no reason Yosemite or Denali or the Everglades would even continue to exist.  They could all very well be subdivisions or oil fields in the blink of an eye (and we sure came close with the Arctic Wildlife Refuge and the Bush administration, may crows peck his eyes).  These places, bastardized though they may be, all exist because we want them there, at least enough of us do.

At that is the flaw of the zapovednik: it could not work in a democratic nation, at least not in one at current levels of education and appreciation.  As it exists, it's an elitist system, allowing access only to the fortunate few, but even if it was off limits to every single living soul, what sort of investment would people really have in it?  The knowledge alone of how special a place a preserve might be seems like cold comfort to a society used to getting instant gratification.  Although National Parks and wilderness areas may be a shade of their one time authenticity, at least visitation allows people to have an investiture in their nature.  It's the sort of sacrifice we have to live with; a bear or a wolf is of little use to people unless it can be seen and photographed.  But, even if that's the best we can do, it's certainly better than nothing at all.  And unfortunately, that's a very real alternative.