The fates of parks in modern America: five trends that will shape our future.

Following is the text of the Crawford Lecture, delivered by the author at NRPA's 2002 National Congress & Exposition, in Tampa, Fla.

As the 21st century begins, the issues surrounding parks and open space in the U.S. shift largely from allocation (how many acres and where) to stewardship (how to conserve and preserve those acres). Stewardship of land, whether it be farmland, parks, reservations, military bases, urban open space, suburban yards or wilderness, doesn't take place in isolation from the wider context of American society. To us Americans, land matters. We know it offers security, wealth, meaning and power. Whether it be sheep ranchers and farmers in the 1840s gunfighting over Idaho rangeland, Bloods and Crips in the 1980s street fighting over Los Angeles turf, or the U.S. Forest Service and the Natural Resources Defense Council court fighting in the 1990s over wildlife habitat, land is a source of pride and passion in American culture.

And to understand the future of parks in America--from the tiny community garden in Baltimore to the county parks of Idaho to the state parks of Florida and the vast national wilderness of Alaska--requires us to understand the relationship between land matters and broader American society. For the fates of parks in modern America are inextricably entwined with our history, culture, economy, politics and faith. How this broader, social context will influence land stewardship, and the consequences for park managers at all levels, is the subject of this Crawford Lecture.

Changes in the Land

Across the American landscape, there has been a singular transformation, begun after the Great Depression in the 1930s, that continues into the 21st century. The transformation, of course, is the shrinking of our rural landscape and the expansion of our urban landscape. Two pieces of evidence are illustrative.

From 1982-1997, U.S. cropland declined from 421 million acres to 408 million acres, a decline of 3 percent. Pastureland declined from 134 million acres to 120 million acres, a decline of 12 percent, while developed land increased from 75 million acres to 105 million acres, an increase of 40 percent.

At the same time, many of our nation's cities have physically grown--some at astounding rates. The 2000 Census shows that the average size of our top 100 cities is 168 square miles, three times their average size of 1950. Annexation is both a land-use trend and political strategy. For example, Jacksonville, Fla., is 758 square miles, 25 times its 1950 size. In 1950, Phoenix, Ariz., was the 99th most populated city and in an area of only 17 square miles; in 2000, Phoenix was seventh in population and covered 475 square miles. We meet here at the Tampa Convention Center on land that is part of this transformation. More than any single trend, it's this transformation of the American landscape that will provide challenges to the managers of our nation's parks.

My comments are organized around a set of key social and demographic trends. These trends create conditions that have significant influence upon the policy and management alternatives for using public lands, including parks at the local, county, state and federal levels. Five trends are important:

* Demographic change.

* Shifting public values.

* A transformation in American politics.

* The expansion of public involvement.

* New authority claims by the scientific community.

I'd like to discuss the implications of these trends to land stewardship, along with a series of predictions as to the fates of parks in modern America.

Demographics

The first key trend is the dramatic demographic change that's occurring, particularly in the American West. In the past 50 years, the population of the western U.S. has grown from 10 million to more than 50 million people; its proportion of the total U.S. population has tripled. The 2000 Census is revealing: five of the six fastest growing states are in the West. Population densities have increased near timberland, parks and wilderness areas. For example, the 20 counties including and surrounding the greater Yellowstone ecosystem, if combined, would represent the fastest growing state in the country. From 1990-2000, all non-metro counties grew 7.5 percent; in the West, the percentage increase was 17.2 percent; and non-metro counties near wilderness grew 24 percent. Nevada's sparse population is now doubling every 3.3 years.

The shift in numbers is associated with a change in the age structure of the population--as a nation we're aging, and selected areas of the country (such as the southwestern states) are attracting significant proportions of retirees. By 2025, 30 states will mirror contemporary Florida's demography. The ethnic composition of the general U.S. population is in flux, as people of color make up an ever-larger proportion of the total population. California has become the first state (excluding Hawaii) to have its white population be less than a majority. Hispanics have overtaken African-Americans as the largest minority group: the 2000 Census reveals that Hispanics are 12.5 percent of the population, while African-Americans are 12.3 percent. A significant portion of the West is Native American country; however, the Native American population has climbed marginally, and is still less than 1 percent.

The implications are significant. Increased population levels and densities will lead to higher demand for open space and park use, and growing ecological impacts from development adjacent to park ecosystems. County and state parks may be most affected, followed by federal lands. Speculation will fuel such development. In 1995, in Colorado's Roaring Fork Valley, in the Aspen area, one in five adults were licensed to sell real estate.

Political balances of power will change. Based on reapportionment resulting from the 2000 Census, the East lost seats in Congress, and the West gained new districts (two in Arizona, one each in California, Colorado and Nevada). Federal policy and funding will respond to this geographic shift in power.

The age shift will be reflected in the kinds of outdoor activities that are pursued by the aging public, particularly in the accessible front country of our national parks and wilderness areas. The ethnic diversification is likely to modify the cultural meaning of parks in American society, and to confront managers with a plurality of park use styles, preferences and demands.

Shifting Public Values

The second key trend is the shifting of values of the American people. A long-term view of public concerns puts current environmentalism in perspective. From the 1950s on, the issues of economy, crime, employment and war dominated the American consciousness, with occasional periods of interest in environmental affairs. Contrary to the perceptions of most conservationists, only rarely within the last 40 years has the environment been among the top five issues of concerns to Americans.

And while some public opinion polls show heightened interest in preserving open space such as parks and wilderness, widespread consensus as to how to steward these resources isn't apparent. The lack of consensus is particularly strong in rural communities, though urban Americans are also divided. Traditional knowledge held by indigenous peoples is equally rich and complicated, and the over-simplification of Native American values relevant to land management does little to advance the role these values can play in understanding and managing public lands and open space.

A variety of movements in resource management are emerging, such as the fledgling strategy of ecosystem management and the reluctant shift from timber to tourism underway in small communities throughout the Pacific Northwest. These are essentially attempts to reflect or exploit the multiple values currently claimed for public lands. The range of candidate values is extraordinary. For example, in the 1980s, proposals for the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness in central Idaho ranged from "gridding" the wilderness with roads to immediate removal of all outfitter supply caches. Contemporary struggles suggest no let up in the clash of values; take, for example, the conflicting boosterism and self-doubt of "ecotourism" as a viable economic engine of rural development.

A values shift is also taking place within park agencies, particularly the federal agencies that manage national parks, forests and wilderness. Partly reflective of which political party is in power, and partly owing to the significant change in personnel that has occurred since the 1970s, the values held within these agencies are being rethought and revised. The change can involve struggle within and between administrations, agency leadership and generations, as well as employee revolt, legislation and redirection of agency budgets. Park issues struggle to be heard within the halls of Congress and at the tables where key agency decisions are made--and not with constant success.

The implications are complex. Public value for lands and parks may climb in the near-term, depending upon how it's presented to the public. The long-term outlook is less clear, as the consequences and costs of land stewardship become more apparent, and other pressing issues--anti-terrorism, employment, Social Security, health care, social justice, environmental quality of cities and the nation's food supply, defense, and so forth--take precedence. In many state legislatures, parks versus prisons is a real and necessary choice, as states grapple with an increase in service demands, unfunded mandates and loss of patience for taxes.

Agreement as to the specific values (and hence appropriate uses) of parks is unlikely, except among the ideologically committed or opposed. It's even less likely that environmental values will be stable over time, given the willingness of Americans to change their minds. Within park management agencies, the lack of consensus may both energize new ways of thinking and paralyze effective action, as one administrative generation dies out (retires) and another takes over leadership responsibilities, flexes its new-found bureaucratic muscles and makes its own errors.

A Transformation in American Politics

The third key trend is a transformation in politics, particularly but not exclusively at the federal level. The post-war politics of American civic institutions bear little resemblance to the efficient and polite democracy of our grade-school textbooks. The contemporary democratic regime (regardless of party) is significantly different from politics as practiced in previous historical periods. For example, the formation of "iron triangles," composed of agencies, legislatures and special interest groups, has extended far beyond the military-industrial complex that Eisenhower warned the nation about more than 40 years ago.

In addition, political action committees (PACs, authorized after the Watergate scandal in the 1970s) have dominated election funding and bought influence and votes. Special-interest politics has grown explosively. For example, in 1961, there were 365 registered lobbyists in Washington, D.C.; in 1987, there were 23,011. By 1996, legalized lobbying topped $100 million per month. In 2000, there were 4,499 PACs, according to the Federal Election Commission. PAC money contributed to federal candidates in the 1999-2000 election cycle equaled $260 million. The efficacy of recent campaign reform legislation is unknown, given the complex issues involved and the skill of party professionals.

Congressional rules have changed, with less emphasis on seniority and "home rule" (the political faith that locals know best). Party affiliation and loyalty has declined. "Watch-dog" organizations increasingly evaluate politicians' voting records according to narrow ideological concerns. Single-issue groups compete for and demand the attention of policy-makers.

The implications are significant. Park management in this new century, particularly at the federal level, will take place under a democratic regime characterized by growing special interest influence and increased power of the iron triangles of bureaucrats, politicians and lobbyists. Adversarial struggles for privilege will likely predominate, rather than shared commitment to civic responsibility. Home rule will weaken, with significant complications for states such as Alaska, which contains more than 50 percent of the nation's wilderness, or Idaho (where 68 percent of the state is federally owned).

Most importantly, previously technical decisions (such as delineating park boundaries and resource management practices) will increasingly be redefined by interest groups as political decisions, so these groups (in contemporary language, "stakeholders") can then demand participation. In counterbalance, non-governmental organizations (from national organizations such as NRPA to local "friends" groups) will emerge to monitor the government's management of public lands and waters, though these organizations will compete among themselves for funds, members, influence and control.

The Expansion of Public Involvement

The fourth key trend is the continual expansion since the 1960s of public involvement in public land management. Since that period, there has been a steady erosion in the power of the technical professional class; decisions formerly made by the forester on horseback or the park planner on foot now require public involvement hearings and comment periods. The Endangered Species Act is an instructive case relevant to federal lands. From the establishment in 1966 of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service's Committee on Rare and Endangered Species (without the required statutory authority), to the 1969 Endangered Species Conservation Act, the 1973 Endangered Species Act and its 1978, 1982 and 1988 amendments, the role of public input has been steadily expanded. In addition, public involvement in resource management has increasingly used the courts, including a now standard recipe of restraining orders, lawsuits and harassing counter-suits.

Again, the implications are complex. The increase in public involvement in park management decisions isn't necessarily a counterforce to the special interest politics just described, as it's relatively easy for special interests to co-opt the public process and claim legitimacy.

The erosion of technical spheres of control, as park managers move from decision-makers to technocrats acting out public decisions, is likely to be initially rejected by the expert class of park professionals that was created in the early 1970s, and is now in its second generation. Stakeholder management, rather than resource management, will become the key to park management. The courts will reluctantly, but forcefully, intervene when left no legal alternative, injecting an additional and inexperienced partner into public land affairs. Finally, graduates of current professional recreation and parks training programs are unlikely to have the necessary sociopolitical skills to operate effectively in the emerging new style of shared power.

New Authority Claims by the Scientific Community

The final key trend has to do with the changing role of science in America. Prior to the Manhattan Project that built the atomic bomb, scientists in the U.S. were largely impotent when it came to policy making. Since then, the scientific community has begun a 60-year expansion of its authority claim. Examples related to park resources include conservation biology (where leading scientists call for political advocacy as a scientific responsibility), and "sustainable forestry" (where scientists are involved in management of forest habitats).

The fast expansion of GIS (geographical information systems) is another example. With GIS, traditional cartography is replaced by an increasing technological fog of computer output, much of it unintelligible, difficult to decipher, graceless or a combination thereof. Maps have always been instruments of power, and the struggle over maps (note 2001's controversy over posting of Caribou data on the U.S. Geological Survey Web site for the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge) is a struggle for power over the resources inside the mapped and GIS'd lines.

In some cases, the scientific claims for authority may result in refined park management, as usable knowledge is translated into practical insights. In other cases, scientists will likely find themselves relegated to roles as "organizational pests" and viewed that way by managers. How far scientists can advocate specific park policies and maintain their credibility is unclear, as is the benefit of creating an expert class of "ecological mandarins" with power over public resources.

In addition, there's a documented rejection of science by large numbers of Americans, witnessed by such indicators as the growing creationist movement, an eroding faith in high technology and increasing congressional impatience with the scientific community (anti-terrorism research excluded). A different kind of science is emerging, in which peer review is expanded to include stakeholders, and stakeholders' involvement includes input on study design, data collection and analysis. Impacts upon the authority claim of "park scientists" are unclear, but real.

Looking Ahead

These key trends will have a significant influence on the stewardship of parks in the U.S. The meaning and value of parks is likely to be deeply challenged in the 21st century, as the rich complete their secession from the Union into gated communities, and the poor become isolated within enclaves of urban desperation. If concern for parks and open space becomes limited to a relatively small cadre of professionals, aficionados and current heavy users, their fates are uncertain. If preservation isn't made relevant to the wider American public--to the citizens of Tampa, Fla., South Tucson, Miami's "Little Havana," St. Maries, Idaho, Worcester, Mass., and East Harlem--preservation of park resources isn't assured. The same democracy that was instrumental at all levels in establishing our park systems can work to diminish them.

As in most cases of American public policy, abstract philosophies, scientific theories and absolutist ideologies will not be critical to the decisions that must be made, though their believers may wish it so. Rather, like the issues of globalization, environmental risk, AIDS prevention, homelessness, health care and international diplomacy, the critical questions will be: who benefits, who loses and who has the power to decide? For park stewardship, it isn't clear whether to be enthused or saddened by that prediction.

And the fates of parks may be our own.

Gary Machlis, Ph.D., is professor of forest resources and sociology at the University of Idaho and a visiting senior scientist with the National Park Service. The views presented in this article are of those of the author, and don't represent official policy or views of the National Park Service. Machlis can be reached at [e-mail].