Multistakeholder Collaboration as Symbolic ... - SAGE Journals

COLLABORATION 10.1177/1056492603261042 JOURNAL Everett, 2004 ARTICLE Jamal OF /MANAGEMENT MULTISTAKEHOLDER INQUIRY / March ♦♦♦

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Multistakeholder Collaboration as Symbolic Marketplace and Pedagogic Practice JEFFERY EVERETT University of Calgary TAZIM B. JAMAL Texas A&M University This article focuses on the role of power in multistakeholder collaboration. It considers this form of organization from a nontraditional, Bourdieun perspective, which has the authors focus on the how of power and on the role of language in the constitution and the exclusion of voice. A case study—a collaboration convened by a scientific task force to resolve an environmental conflict in Canada’s Banff National Park—is introduced, and this is read off against a number of Bourdieu’s concepts, namely capital, field, habitus, and misrecognition, doxa, and symbolic violence. Through such a reading, the article offers insights into elements of both surface and deep-structure power. The article, by focusing on a science-driven, environmental multi-stakeholder collaboration, also challenges common-sense constructions of the environment and raises concerns over the presumed neutrality or nonpolitical nature of both scientific and economic discourse. Keywords:

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collaboration; stakeholder; power; tourism; national parks; environment; Bourdieu

he phenomenon of collaboration—of stakeholders engaging in an interactive process to act or to decide on issues related to a problem domain—has not gone unaddressed in the organizational literature. In fact, with the amount of attention given to the area, it would probably be reasonable to suggest that collaboration is now a distinct area of organizational study (cf. Gray, 1985, 1989; Hardy & Phillips, 1998; Hood, Logsdon, & Thompson, 1993; Huxham & Vangen, 2000; Lawrence, Phillips, & Hardy, 1999; Pasquero, 1991; Westley & Vredenburg,

1997; Wood & Gray, 1991). This is not to say, however, that the field coheres theoretically. Insights into collaborations are still the product of numerous and diverse perspectives, including, for example, stakeholder theory (cf. Freeman, 1984), network theory (cf. Powell, Provan, & Smith-Doerr, 1996), negotiated order theory (e.g., Nathan & Mitroff, 1991), Habermasian communications theory (e.g., Hazen, 1994), institutional economics (e.g., Pasquero, 1991), political economy theory (e.g., Benson, 1975), resource dependence theory (cf. Pfeffer & Salancik, 1978), contingency theory (cf.

JOURNAL OF MANAGEMENT INQUIRY, Vol. 13 No. 1, March 2004 57-78 DOI: 10.1177/1056492603261042 © 2004 Sage Publications

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JOURNAL OF MANAGEMENT INQUIRY / March 2004

Emery & Trist, 1973; Westley & Vredenburg, 1997), discourse theory (e.g., Lawrence et al., 1999), action research theory (e.g., Huxham & Vangen, 2000), and institutional theory (e.g., Lawrence, Hardy, & Phillips, 2002; Phillips, Lawrence, & Hardy, 2000). Nor is this to say that the work is complete. Still unanswered are numerous questions about these diverse organizational forms, their processes, structures, and linkages (Hardy & Phillips, 1998; Lawrence et al., 2002; Westley & Vredenburg, 1997). The incomplete nature of the work in the area of collaboration is readily apparent in the area of power, one of the collaboration’s most important, if not central (Hardy & Phillips, 1998; Phillips et al., 2000; Westley, 1995, p. 409) dimensions. Despite power’s centrality, this lack of attention should not be surprising because power is a taboo topic (Hardy & Clegg, 1996). Power is also, as a result of its many faces, a difficult concept with which to deal (Clegg, 1996). This is certainly a problem where one tries to fully define power, for this is an essentially irresolvable task (cf. Clegg, 1996). Power is multidimensional (Frost, 1987; Lukes, 1974; Phillips, 1997) and has many forms or faces, meaning the study of power requires a framework sensitive to this multidimensionality. In reviewing the collaboration-and-power literature, however, one sees that the forms of power studied have been quite limited in terms of scope and of relevance (Hardy & Phillips, 1998). There is a need, it seems, to consider alternative power frameworks and alternative ways of seeing the collaboration if we are to enrich our understanding of both this difficult concept and its effect on collaborative organization. In this article, our goal is to enhance the understanding of power’s role in the collaboration. To do this, we begin by discussing the two main theoretical frameworks with which we see the idea of collaboration and power most often allied in the literature, the resource-dependency and political-economy frameworks. Having briefly discussed the focal points of these frameworks, we then introduce and examine an alternative perspective drawn from the Weberianinspired work of French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu. This perspective is used to examine a collaboration convened to resolve an environmental conflict in one of Canada’s premier protected areas, Banff National Park. After this examination, we provide a discussion of the implications of our analysis for both collaboration and, more generally, organizations. In addition, we offer some suggestions for future research in this area.

COLLABORATION AND POWER According to Wood and Gray (1991), a collaboration occurs when a group of autonomous stakeholders of a problem domain engage in an interactive process, using shared rules, norms and structures, to act or decide on issues related to that domain. (p. 146)

The idea of the stakeholder is central both to the above definition of collaboration and to collaboration theory itself (cf., Gray, 1985; Gray & Hay, 1986; Westley & Vredenburg, 1997). Most simply, the stakeholder is someone or some group who has a stake or an interest in the outcome of the collaboration. Yet the stakeholder may also be viewed as someone or some group that is able to affect the achievement of the collaboration’s objectives (Freeman, 1984; Harrison & Freeman, 1999). In other words, the stakeholder may also be viewed as someone or some group with power over or with power to, to draw from Clegg’s (1996) terminology. This idea of having power over or power to is evident in collaboration research allied with resource dependency theory (Pfeffer & Salancik, 1978). In such work (e.g., Gray, 1985; Gray & Hay, 1986; Gray Gricar & Brown, 1981), uncertainty, expertise, money, and contacts are seen to affect the collaborative participant’s behavior and the collaboration’s outcome. Unarguably, these are important bases for power; however, and in keeping with the general critique levied at resource dependency theory (Frost, 1987; Hardy & Clegg, 1996), a focus limited to these bases may miss the bigger picture. This is because uncertainty, expertise, money, and contacts are indeterminate bases, endogenous variables that exist within a greater and a generally highly influential context, one that is capitalist, Enlightenment-based and class-structured (Horkheimer & Adorno, 1988). Another problem with collaboration-and-power research that relies on resource dependency theory results from that theory’s tendency to explain power in light of its role in integrating a field and in returning it to a presumed natural state of order or of consensus. This tendency results in the theory being seen as functionalist (Burrell & Morgan, 1979), and this needs to be questioned, for it might just as well be the case that power, mediated by collaborative organization, plays a role in preventing, not fostering, change.

Everett, Jamal / MULTISTAKEHOLDER COLLABORATION

A second important collaboration-and-power perspective, the political-economy perspective (e.g., Benson, 1975, 1977; Gray Gricar & Brown, 1981; Zeitz, 1980), does not suffer from this tendency to view power as indeterminate or as constitutive of a socalled natural ordered state. Rather, this Marxianinspired perspective suffers from a different limitation: It tends to force the collaboration analyst to see orderly relations as “controlled in the final analysis by more fundamental considerations of resource acquisition and dominance” (Benson, 1975, p. 235), resources here being defined as economic. The problem with this view, as Max Weber convincingly showed, is that there are other determinants of social life besides the economic. There are also political, legal, and religious spheres, and these may be just as important as the economic sphere in bringing about social change and historical development (Morrison, 1995). Weber also reminds us that there is a critical need to consider the process of rationalization, a process as power-full and societally shaping as its Marxian counterpart, commodification. If these caricatures of the dominant treatment of power in the collaboration literature are basically correct, it appears that there is a need to add to the corpus of research currently informing this field of study. There is a need to fill what one might refer to as lacunae—blank pages—in the study of power in collaboration. Although there are a number of alternative theories and bodies of research available for doing this (e.g., Hardy & Phillips, 1998; Hazen, 1994; Lawrence et al., 1999), we have an interest in one particular alternative, the Weberian-based (Lane, 2000) perspective of Pierre Bourdieu. Bourdieu’s sociological (e.g., 1989, 1990a) and anthropological (e.g., 1977) writings are extensive, and his concepts are based on a multitude of detailed empirical investigations. We think that these alert us to how power operates at both the surface and the deep-structure levels (Frost, 1987; Phillips, 1997). However, before looking at these levels, we need to briefly discuss Bourdieu’s general methodology and introduce our research site. BOURDIEU’S PRAXEOLOGY Bourdieu believes that a study of the structures of the social universe must be grounded in two parts: a social physics and a social phenomenology. This double reading is the basis for what Bourdieu calls a “social praxeology” (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992, p.

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11; Everett, 2002). In a praxeology, the researcher first examines the field objectively by considering the distribution of material resources, determinant relations, and the forms of capital in the field. (We discuss these forms below.) The focus here is on the facts, that that can be observed, measured, and mapped (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992, p. 8). Consequently, the first stage of our research involved assessing the type and the amount of capital found in the Banff National Park collaborative field. For this, we used both documents and interviews as data sources. The former included general information and historical accounts (Bella, 1987; Hildebrandt, 1995; Lothian, 1987; Lowry, 1994; Nelson, 1979; Sandford, 1994; Searle, 2000) and reports (Office of the Auditor General, 1989, 1996; Parks Canada, 1990, 1994, 1997; Parks Canada Agency, 2000). The interviews involved 1- to 2-hour, open-ended discussions with 10 individuals directly involved in the collaboration (sector chairs and cochairs) and four experts in the field of Canadian national parks. The interviews with the members of the collaboration were conducted by one researcher, and the interviews with the park experts were conducted by another. With a focus on determining only facts, one can say little about the meaning that agents attribute to their material and symbolic surroundings. For this, we needed to move on to the second stage of the praxeology, its reading of the field’s social phenomenology. This subjective stage involves coming to terms with that that cannot so easily be measured, namely, “the symbolic templates of practical activities, mundane knowledge, subjective meaning, and practical competency” of those in the field (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992, pp. 7-9). Here, we wanted insights into the social actor’s understanding, so we asked questions concerning the things that the collaboration’s participants cared about, thought about, and wanted from the collaboration. The point of this move from facts (the objectivist phase) to understanding (the subjectivist phase) was to compensate for the objectivist reading’s tendency to “destroy part of the reality it claims to grasp” (p. 8), a tendency rooted in the fact that what the analyst sees as practice is really only the execution of the analyst’s preconceived model (p. 8). To complete this subjectivist phase, we observed the collaboration in action (24 of the 28 roundtable meetings), listened carefully to the collaboration’s participants, and went over the minutes of each meeting (250 typed, single-spaced pages). Our interviews

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then were focused not only on the facts but also the on participant’s feelings about and experiences with the collaboration. Similarly, with respect to the external experts influential in the field, we were concerned with both facts and experiences related to the field. In terms of the way we divided the research tasks, one member attended the meetings and conducted the in-depth interviews with the collaboration’s participants. The same member analyzed the interview transcripts and triangulated this data against notes taken during the meetings and against information found in formal reports and in news media. Each interview built on prior interviews, and the interviews were reexamined many times during the process of analysis and triangulation. The second researcher conducted the interviews with the park experts, and these interviews required travel to Canada’s federal capital, Ottawa. This same researcher also carefully examined the minutes of the meetings and the various documents mentioned above. The first researcher’s interview transcripts (sans identifiers) were then read by the second researcher with the specific aim of finding sections of text that were illustrative of Bourdieu’s concepts and ideas. This two-person reading of the field enhanced the reliability of our results because we had a means of assessing the “similarity of observations within the same time period” (Silverman, 1997, p. 145). This assessment was purely qualitative; each researcher examined the various data individually, and then discussions were held to come to a consensus on how to read this field. We also think that the two-person reading enhanced the validity of our results because of the particular composition of our research team. This was composed of a strong interpretivist, an adherent to the postpositivist (Prasad, in press) phenomenological perspective, and a strong conceptualist, who was particularly interested in how this research field would be read, a priori, through Bourdieu’s concepts and theoretical ideas. The tension that existed between our team’s interpretivist and conceptualist sides aided in the validity of our study because one’s emphasis on providing an emergent, multiperspective reading was weighted against the other’s emphasis on providing a more theoretically based reading. In fact, at times, it felt to the conceptualist member of the team that the interpretivist member was more of a research respondent than a researcher because the latter was constantly “refining the [former] researcher’s tentative results in light of the subject’s [perceived] reactions” (Silverman, 1997, p. 159). We do not wish to over-

emphasize our concern with the criteria of validity and of reliability, however, as we were equally concerned with another, more postpositivist research criterion: presenting our research in the form of a coherent and plausible narrative (Czarniawska, 1998; Van Maanen, 1988). In our praxeology, the two etic-physics and emicphenomenology readings were combined to provide insight into “individual strategies and acts of classification, the resilience of these strategies and acts, and the emergent, objective configurations these strategies perpetuate or challenge” (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992, pp. 9-10). This mixed reading was aimed at explaining “why and according to what principles the work of social production of reality itself is produced” (p. 10). It helped answer questions concerning the categories that social agents use in their construction of the social world, where these categories originate, and how these categories lead social actors to produce a particular social reality. In simple terms, we examined both facts and understanding to see how the two influence one another, how the objective world affects the subjective, and vice versa. The results of this mixed reading are reported in our analysis section below, but first, we need to introduce our research site. THE RESEARCH SITE Our research site was located in Banff National Park, a 6,640 square kilometer tract of rock, ice, and alpine, subalpine, and montane forest located in the province of Alberta in southwestern Canada. This park receives nearly 5 million visitors per year (Urquhart, 1998, p. 126) and contributes as much as $750 million annually to the Canadian economy (p. 145). There is a town site (Banff) inside the park containing some 7,500 permanent, and between 5,000 and 10,000 seasonal, inhabitants. Just outside the park, there is a rapidly growing town site (Canmore) that contains yet again that number of inhabitants and, some 120 kilometers distant, a city of nearly 1 million people (Calgary). With these numbers, it is perhaps not surprising to learn that development pressures have been strong in the park, with the consequence that more than $500 million in development permits have been issued in the park since 1980 (Corbett, 1994). It was within this context and in response to concerns about continued future development that a scientific task force was struck in 1994 by the federal minister responsible for Canada’s national parks (in


Canada, national parks are under the federal government’s jurisdiction). Known as the Banff-Bow Valley Task Force, this scientific task force set out to “focus on environmental, economic, and social issues within the watershed, and to provide a baseline for understanding the implications of existing and future development on the environmental and heritage resources of the Valley” (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995). As “a primary mechanism for the identification, analysis and resolution of issues for the Banff Bow Valley study area” (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995), a roundtable (i.e., a collaboration) composed of representative sectors was established by the task force. This roundtable constituted one key mechanism for public input into the process. According to the notes passed to the representatives of each sector, The Round Table, with support from each of the sectors, will provide recommendations to the Task Force on how specific issues should be resolved. The Round Table will be empowered to select an appropriate mediator, develop rules of conduct, establish a vision and goals for the study area, identify and prioritize issues, and develop recommendations to the Task Force on issue resolution. The Task Force will use Round Table recommendations that are founded on consensus as the basis for its final report to the Minister. (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995)

The collaboration was to be a highly participatory and cooperative process, which the task force referred to as an interest-based negotiation. Negotiating over positions was to be avoided; instead, the focus was to be on working together to package underlying interests into an agreement that best satisfied the concerns of all (for an elaboration on this approach, see especially Fisher & Urry, 1991; see also Cooperrider & Srivastva, 1987; Weisbord, 1992). The collaboration was convened 14 times between 1995 and 1996. Each of these meetings was a multiday affair, and each was generally held on a monthly basis. The negotiating agenda contained four main phases, which were to be discussed in the order of the following: Joint assessment: participants to determine whether the proposed roundtable approach is an appropriate means for identifying and for discussing concerns in the valley; Knowledge base: participants to review, discuss their information requirements, and, if agreed to, accept the State of the Valley Report;

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Vision, goals, and principals: participants to negotiate and, if agreed to, accept a vision statement, set of goals, and principles for the Banff Bow Valley; Issue identification: guided by terms of reference, participants to identify key issues; and Recommendations: explore interests and develop specific action plans and strategies aimed at innovative, practical solutions to the key issues.

The collaboration was ideally going to be composed of 16 representative sectors; however, one of the original sectors declined representation (the Province of British Columbia), another took part only as an observer (the government of Alberta), and two others attended only the initial meetings (First Nations groups). According to one task force member, the two First Nations sectors dropped out because they felt that their interests were better served elsewhere. Concerning the Province of British Columbia, the task force and the collaboration’s mediator tried to get this group to take part but were unsuccessful. This was unfortunate because logging and forestry impact the park along its western boundary, and the British Columbia government oversees this activity. The resulting collaboration included is outlined in Table 1. ANALYSIS Bourdieu’s concern with social reproduction, class antagonisms, and legitimacy (Lane, 2000) and his extensive fieldwork in the areas of education, sport, art, and culture (from the Kabyle in Algeria to the working class and the academics of France) have led him to develop a number of concepts. Reading our case study off against these concepts produces a distinctly Bourdieun read on the notion of power and on its role in the collaboration. However, we think it also alerts us to both the surface and the deep-structure elements of power (Frost, 1987; Phillips, 1997), the latter having received little attention in the collaboration literature. Our analysis is framed in light of these two types of power. In the first section, we examine the collaborative field to assess the group or groups that have the greatest decision-making authority and the greatest control over the collaboration’s routines or procedures (surface power). In the second section, we consider the management of meaning in the collaboration and the power of the system as it concerns this particular field (deep-structure power).

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Table 1 Banff-Bow Valley Study—Roundtable Representation Sector

Participating Stakeholders

Alberta Government (observer only)

Representatives from Alberta Environmental Protection and from Alberta Economic Development and Tourism

Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force

Five experts who were primarily senior academics or who were primarily trained in the natural sciences

Commercial outdoor recreation

Skiing, biking, touring, guiding organizations, and so forth (e.g., Ski Banff/Lake Louise)

Commercial visitor services

Accommodations, restaurants, retail services, and so forth (e.g., Alberta Hotel Association)

Culture

Local and regional organizations and individuals

Federal government

Parks Canada (Banff National Park), Environment Canada, Western Economic Diversification, and so forth; First Nations—Siksika (this sector dropped out early in the process); Members of Siksika First Nations—Wesley (this sector dropped out early in the process) Members of Wesley Infrastructure or transportation; Transportation, utilities, and so forth (e.g., TransAlta Utilities, Canadian Western Natural Gas, or CP Rail); Local environment; Bow Valley Naturalists Society, Trout Unlimited, and so forth

Municipal government

Town of Banff, Town of Canmore, Lake Louise Advisory Board, M.D. of Bighorn, I.D. 9, and so forth; National environment; Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society, Canadian Nature Federation, and so forth; Park users; Steering Committee of more than 20 individuals and groups (about 28 listed at one point)

Social, health, and education

Community Services and Hospital Advisory Board, residents, and so forth; Tourism or marketing; Association for Mountain Parks Protection and Enjoyment, Banff/Lake Louise Tourism Bureau, and so forth

NOTE: M.D. = municipal district; I.D. = irrigation district.

Surface Power In an attempt to understand surface power in a field—of who has control over decision making and who has control over procedures or routines that ensure particular decisions are made (Phillips, 1997)—it is important to focus on the idea of capital and on who in the field has and does not have it. It is also important to extend the definition of capital to include more than just the economic and to see the field as encompassing more than just the collaboration. According to Bourdieu, it is important to consider the nature of the “networks of social relations, structured systems of social positions within which struggles or maneuvers take place over resources, stakes and access” (Oakes, Townley, & Cooper, 1998, p. 5). That is, Bourdieu asks us to consider the field, which, in this case, is not just the collaboration but rather the “totality of relevant actors” (DiMaggio & Powell, 1983, p. 149) concerned with the collaboration. This notion of looking beyond organizational boundaries, beyond the roundtable, is important, as one roundtable participant suggests:

We are kept busy in this process while the really big players in this park, the ski areas, the [big] hotels, they are in fact continuing to enjoy direct access to cabinet ministers, maybe the minister of this department, who knows.

According to another, You don’t participate if you’ve got some other way of accomplishing your objectives which I’m sure is why we don’t find big tourism in this process. They think that they don’t need to be.

Comments such as these point to the possibility that even though the collaboration was supposed to even out decision-making authority and the control over procedures and routines, surface power may still have been at work backstage of the collaboration. Bourdieu goes beyond seeing fields as singular, isolated entities. Rather, fields are multiple and, what is important here, hierarchically nested. This is to say that fields are to be viewed either in terms of the “widespread production of economic goods” or, inside of that, the “restricted production of cultural goods” (Wacquant, 1993, p. 134). The criteria for the


evaluation of achievement in these two types of fields are calculated differently, with the amount of one’s economic capital being the main criterion in the widespread economic field and the amount of one’s cultural capital being the criterion in the more restricted cultural field. This notion of cultural capital requires some explanation. What Bourdieu is referring to here are those things that, once possessed, give us status—things such as credentials, qualifications, specialized knowledge, even the ability to speak with ease in public. These are all forms of cultural capital. In our collaboration, the many conservation scientists, biologists, and ecologists forming the task force and the scientific advisory committees could be seen to possess ample amounts of the first three of these things. In our collaboration, the mediator and the chairs of the parks users, national environment, and tourism sectors not only possessed these, but they also possessed the ability to speak with ease; they also had a verbal mastery, an ability to confidently negotiate the magisterial discourse that often characterized the language of the collaboration. There were, of course, present those who possessed ample amounts of economic capital, a form that is more convertible, though more readily liquidated, than cultural capital. These were the members of the tourism, the commercial outdoor recreation, and the visitor services sectors. Of course, as sector representatives, they too had a good degree of cultural capital, though this was less a product of institutional credentials than it was a product of their having lived in the area for sometime; their cultural capital came from their knowing what it took to be a local in Banff (Sandford, 1994). These sectors, primarily the tourism and the commercial sectors, also appeared to have a good deal of social or of political capital because they, like the members of the federal sector (chaired by the superintendent of Banff Park), were part of a network that stretched from the Banff-Bow Valley roundtable collaboration to the chambers of the municipal council to, in some cases, Ottawa and the Parliament of Canada. However, it was the members of the task force that held the greatest amount of political capital in this field because it was they who were both mandated to report to and expected to stay in constant contact with the parks minister. Where cultural, social, or political capital is deemed legitimate by the members of a field, there is an accumulation of symbolic capital—the ultimate basis of power—the form that allows one to consecrate

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(Bourdieu, 1989, p. 23) and to impose “the legitimate vision of the world” (Cronin, 1996, p. 68). In the collaborative field, it was the field’s scientists who possessed the greatest amount of this, as could be seen by the dependency the collaboration’s members had on scientific expertise and on scientific information: If you heard me at the round table, . . . I’ve said many times you know, your scientific working group should be telling us. Not the other way around. You’re the scientists, you’re the biologists and ecologists. You should be telling us, not looking for direction from us. . . . I think that the task force has put too much emphasis on the round table itself. We’re not scientists.

According to another sector representative, What can happen from now until the end of April is getting the scientific body to step forward and make these very clear and unequivocal statements because what the task force needs is someone to back their recommendations up. And they need science to do that. They need the recommendations by consensus at the roundtable and they need the scientific body to do it so that the task force can move forward with their report and recommendations to the minister.

Bourdieu’s fields are occupied by the dominant and by the dominated, two sets of actors who attempt to usurp, exclude, and establish monopoly over the “mechanisms of the field’s reproduction” and the type of power effective in it (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992, p. 106). The dominant in the roundtable field—those with relatively abundant cultural, economic, and symbolic capital—included scientists, tourism industry members, the roundtable’s process managers (task force, mediator, and secretariat), and environmentalists (we will return to this latter group momentarily). The dominated—those who had less of the capital valued in this field—included the social, health, and education sector and the cultural sector. Both of these sectors were relatively quiet throughout the process, a point confirmed by an examination of the meetings’ minutes. The dominated also included the First Nations (aboriginal) sectors, which excluded themselves from the process after the third meeting. As a means of understanding more about the capital possessed by the dominant and by the dominated in this collaboration, it is instructive to examine the interest statements each sector was asked to prepare. Within these statements, one sees expressed important ideas and values, important because they give

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insight into what is deemed legitimate or consecrated in each of the respective sectoral fields. Starting with the more dominant sectors, we see tourism concerned with the uniqueness of the park, (implicitly) a product of the park’s two town sites and major rail and roadways. This sector’s interest also concerned enjoyment, satisfaction, scenery, and especially beauty. Concerns focused on rights and on needs for balance, revenue, development, education, competition, and impartial research. For another dominant member of the collaboration, the local environmentalists, there was ecological integrity, biological diversity, sustainability, ecological health, environmental protection, the life of the planet, and national-park values, a list similar to that of the national environmentalists. Yet another member, the park users, concerned itself with wilderness, protection, preservation, appropriate activities, affordable access, and community. This was quite different from the federal sector, the interests of which were based on a plurality, or broad array, of interests, an array that included everything from ecological integrity to tourism to public consultation. We heard from the task force itself, but its list was not a list of interests, for this sector was independent and impartial, so we heard this sector advocating a list of needs, desires, concerns, and hopes. These included such things as participation, integration, inclusiveness, and relationships, and a need for money, knowledge, awareness, and public accountability. The list also included a need for less suspicion, fear, and cynicism, self-interest, and population and global economic growth. From the less dominant members of the collaboration, we heard other interests. From the social, health, and education sector we heard of a need for balance (of population inflow and outflow and of quality of life), of a need for a mix of age/income groups, of a need for healthier growth, growth without human cost, and of a need for an accounting system that shows all associated costs—environmental, social, and economic. From the cultural sector we heard only of a need to protect culture and a need to recognize mountain history and heritage. Finally, from the First Nations sectors there were no formal interest statements submitted, but we can infer from the minutes of the collaboration that at least one of their interests was the halting of the exploitation of native culture that results from the sale of native drums, headgear, and so forth (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995, Meeting 3). Again, these lists of interests are instructive because each represents what the sectoral representa-

tives and their constituents see as legitimate, meaning that these are the goods that help these actors acquire symbolic capital in their respective fields. But it must be remembered that, following Bourdieu (1998a), these interests are only illusio, only investments in a game, albeit a very serious one (p. 76). For some stakeholders, the investments paid off. Some gained access to and moved freely within this symbolic marketplace, whereas others did not, as this less dominant participant observes: Interviewer: Do you feel that you’re listened to, that you’re heard? Are you comfortable? Respondent: Well, no, I think there are certain voices at the table for whom the volume is turned up just a little bit louder. And there are other voices at the table for whom the volume is turned down just a little bit lower, so then it’s a question of self doubt. Maybe I didn’t say it clearly. I thought I had said that. But it wasn’t until one of these louder volumed voices said it that it got through and got put forward. Interviewer: And why? Is it because they speak louder? Respondent: No I don’t think it is. I think it’s just that they’re given a greater, a clearer conduit through the mediator. I think the mediator picks up on certain voices. . . . [the] national environment, federal and tourist sector, municipal to a degree. Local environment.

This point about access and mobility supports Bourdieu’s assertion that in any given restricted field, certain cultural goods are more highly valued than others—they fetch a higher price in the symbolic market. In the field of Banff National Park, the most valued goods appear to be produced by two main types of cultural-goods producers. The first is composed of environmentalists, actors who produce romantic nature—goods, the production of which is rooted in the European romantic movement, and the philosophy of Rousseau and, later, of Thoreau and Leopold. The consumption of these goods, which is largely by spiritualists and self-propelled recreationalists, is manifest in the appreciation, interpretation, and espousal of a number of romantic nature metaphors, such as Benevolent Mother, Temple (Altmeyer, 1995), Eden (Cronon, 1996), Mother Earth (Hanson, 1996), and Place of Purity and Health (Rast, 1998). The environmentalists in this collaboration were quite clearly reform rather than radical (Tokar, 1997)—the national environmental sector represented two institutionalized, mainstream conservationist groups (the Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society and the Canadian Nature Federation), whereas the local environmental sector represented two local, mainstream environ-


mental groups (the Bow Valley Naturalists and Trout Unlimited). As an examination of the meetings minutes confirms, none of the statements coming from either of these sectors could have construed them as being anything other than mainstream. The second group of producers is composed of scientists and technical experts, actors who produce scientific nature—goods, the production of which is rooted in the European Enlightenment movement, modernism, and the philosophy of Descartes and Comte. The consumption of these goods, in contrast, is manifest in the appreciation, interpretation, and espousal of a number of scientific nature metaphors. Consumed primarily by other producers (i.e., scientists and experts), these goods include nature as Limited Storehouse (Altemeyer, 1995), Return of the Oppressed (Cronon, 1996), and once again, Place of Purity and Health (Rast, 1998). This latter metaphor of purity and health is particularly apt in the context of Canada’s national parks, where there is currently a powerful move afoot to protect and to enhance ecological integrity (cf. Parks Canada Agency, 2000). Important for both of these cultural goods producers, it should be said, is the provision of education about nature, how to relate to it, and how to act within it, where nature is conceived of according to any one or all of the above metaphors. It is important to stress that the most valued goods produced in this restricted cultural field are not economic. The production of those kinds of goods pertains to a different field, the widespread economic field—the field wherein production is not related to the production of texts celebrating the intrinsic value of parks or the importance of protecting their biodiversity but rather to the production of material wealth. This is in keeping with Bourdieu’s idea of nested fields: the cultural field, wherein the “economic world is turned upside-down” and wherein there is “a refusal of the commercial” (Bourdieu, 1983, p. 320), is nested within the economic field, wherein the focus is not on “production for other producers” but on “production for consumers” (p. 320). It is also in keeping with Granovetter’s (1985) argument, which suggests that economic fields are located within social fields. We are suggesting that cultural fields are nested within economic fields (following Bourdieu) and that these latter fields are located within social fields (following Granovetter). This is a different conception of nesting than is found in Starik and Rands’ (1995) wellknown integrated-web formulation. Their formulation sees the political-economic as nested within the

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cultural field. The difference, it appears, is a result of their equation of the social and of the cultural, which we see, on account of our field-specific definition of culture, as quite separate. It is crucial to our formulation that this field specificity be kept in mind. It explains why even a sector labeled culture may be excluded from the cultural field: The culture that the roundtable’s culture sector was concerned with, the human culture, was the wrong culture in this field; the culture of concern—the legitimate culture—was the culture of nature, as articulated through the above metaphors. Returning to our outer, economic field, we found in our collaboration two types of producers. These could be distinguished based on the location of their production. The first group, represented by members of the tourism industry, produces within parks themselves, as it is there that (primarily) aesthetic goods, such as views, wildlife sightings, and fragrant smells, are packaged and sold to tourists from around the world. The emphasis within parks is on the exchange of money for the opportunity to gaze on nature (Urry, 1990), to visually consume it (MacNaghten & Urry, 1998). The second type of economic-goods producer produces outside parks, and in Canada, this is a very broad group of actors. It is a group that tends to concentrate on the sale of natural resources, on commodities such as oil and gas, minerals, fish, grain, and forests. Unlike in the case of the members of the tourism industry (our internal producers of economic goods) external producers of economic goods concentrate on the exchange of money for the opportunity to physically consume nature. However, science is important for both these types of economic-goods producers, for science constructs and deconstructs scientific nature to provide ecological knowledge, which is used to both control and sell nature. Also, for both of these types of economic-goods producers, there is a single vision of the consumer: He or she is ostensibly any member of society, though, of course, only those with money will be allowed to either visually or physically consume these producers’ goods. Government is important for both economic- and cultural-goods producers. It helps the former commodify nature through its industry assistance initiatives and it helps the latter know and control nature through its scientific initiatives. This look at the nested set of fields, and at the types of capital found in them, completes our objective mapping of the collaborative field. Locating our two more dominant cultural groups (science and environment)

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Deep-Structure Power Natural Environment Society Economy of Tourism (Tourism Industry Members, Government)

Economy of Resource Production (Commodity Producers, Government)

Economy Culture

Culture of Science (Conservation Scientists, Government)

Culture of Nature (Environmentalists)

Figure 1: Hierarchically nested fields in Banff National Park.

within the restricted field, our two dominant economic groups (tourism and resource extraction) within the widespread field, and our state authorities (federal and provincial government) within both, we can proceed to diagrammatically represent the main actors in our collaboration (see Figure 1). This map highlights the fact that in this specific field, some goods did not fetch a high price. These goods included nonromantic and non–Enlightenment environmental goods, such as the First Nations sectors’ conceptions of environmental goods, and goods that cannot be visually or physically consumed, such as the social, health, and education sector’s messages about Banff’s homeless and about its unemployed. Having objectively mapped the collaborative field and having considered who has the most capital in it, we get an idea of who in this forum of shared decision making might have the greatest degree of control over decision making and over the “procedures or routines that ensure particular decisions are made” (Phillips, 1997). As it turns out, however, the dominant parties (i.e., tourism, federal government, and environment) appeared to dominate the decision-making process and the process’s procedures and routines in only a small way, at least according to our own observations and those of the people that we interviewed. This is to say that surface power did not appear to affect this collaboration in any substantive way, and nor, one supposes, should this collaboration have been affected by surface power in any substantive way. It was, after all, established for the purpose of mediating surface power, for the purpose of evening out decisionmaking authority and the control over routines and procedures in the park. To better understand the dynamics of power in this collaboration, it is necessary to consider deep-structure power and who had the greatest degree of control over the management of meaning.

Deep structural (Frost, 1987) power implicates taken-for-granted values, traditions, cultures, and structures (Phillips, 1997). It implicates language, that “immense repository of naturalized preconstructions which function as unconscious instruments of construction” (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992, p. 241). It also implicates the common sense or doxa, the culture’s orthodoxy—those things which go without saying. Deep structural power implicates common sense because it is through common sense that one can manage meaning (Hall, 1988). This management of meaning may lead to an uneven distribution of capital in a field because certain forms of capital may be devalued simply through the changing of meaning of that capital. Where this is the case, symbolic violence is said to have occurred. Symbolic violence, a manifestation of deep structural power, can do what political and police violence can do, only it does it more efficiently (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992, p. 166). Symbolic violence is exerted through the order of things, through the logic of practice, and through complicity, suggesting that the symbolically dominated conspire and commit isolated treasons against themselves (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992, pp. 166-168). One such arena in which Bourdieu sees symbolic violence commonly being carried out is the education system, a system wherein those from the lowest income backgrounds typically fail to do well not because of some “natural” inability but because of their belief in some natural inability. Such students are convinced that they are lesser because they are under the illusion that the education system is open, equitable, and fair. They do not consider that their failure might be because they lack the proper linguistic capital, a form of capital that is inherited. Their exclusion, based on their objective assessment of their chances at success in the scholastic market, is an act of complicity, of symbolic violence. These ideas of complicity and of symbolic violence are at the center of Bourdieu’s conception of power. They also say something about his conception of human subjectivity or identity, which he calls the habitus. Habitus, the social actor’s “durably inculcated system of structured, structuring dispositions” (Bourdieu, 1980/1990b, p. 52), works in a dialectic fashion, as determinism and freedom, as conditioning and creativity, as consciousness and the unconscious (p. 55). To the extent that the individual is guided by this unconscious or fails to recognize the so-called true


nature of social structures, the individual may be complicit in his or her own domination. It is important to consider this complicity in both its symbolic and its material manifestations. The former concerns struggles over the management of meaning, power’s third dimension (Phillips, 1997). The latter, material manifestations, concern power in the system, power’s fourth dimension (Phillips, 1997). The following analysis takes us from this third to this fourth dimension, from power in action to power in conception (Frost, 1987). It takes us from symbolic complicity, which we call appeals, through a more material form of complicity, which we call acceptance, to a highly material act of complicity, which we call adoption. Appeals. There were numerous appeals made throughout the collaboration to things that go without saying, to naturalized preconstructions, or to doxa. Probably the most interesting of these concerned the idea of enjoyment. Commonly heard throughout the collaboration, this term is a subcode for hedonistic self-gratification. It is a term that resonates deeply with the members of today’s consumer culture. It was not surprising, for this reason, that the tourism-sector representative was the one who most often appealed to this notion and to this natural right of his constituents. Indicative of these appeals, we heard him argue the following: “[The Bow Valley] is a place for people to enjoy themselves” (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995, Meeting 14) and, “If a goal precludes me from doing my activity, I’m against it” (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1996, Meeting 21). Admittedly, the term was added to the park’s mandate more than a century ago, so he was right to argue for enjoyment, but then, so were many other terms, such as benefit, education, and the need to keep parks unimpaired. However, these terms were not nearly as important to this sector as was enjoyment. The environment sector did not resist these appeals to one’s need to enjoy oneself. This is perhaps because the term resonates (at least tacitly) with the members of mainstream Western environmental organizations (Tokar, 1997). Theirs is in many ways a hedonistic culture, a culture borne of the romantic ethic (Campbell, 1989), making enjoyment a part of their common sense as well. The important thing to note here is that enjoyment had appeal because it was an established part of the field’s doxa, meaning it had a power-full effect on the habitus of those in the field. Another naturalized preconstruction was the notion of heritage, a commonly mentioned theme that

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evokes ideas of place, history, and belonging. Common sense tells us that heritage should be preserved, left alone, and respected. However, it is fundamentally a conservative concept (Hewison, 1987), indeed, an essential concept, for it helps continue generating a natural reality principle for the tourism industry, a “reprocessing that serves the ends of mass consumer society” (Lukes, 1997, p. 159). This is why it was so important to members of the tourism and of the commercial sectors; why they said, “The tap could not be turned off” (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995, Meeting 12); why they stressed that “certain infrastructure is in place—we cannot deny its existence” (Meeting 9); why it was said that “people are here and will continue to come here” (Meeting 14); and why they pointed out, strangely, that the park was unique because it includes a four-lane highway (cf. the tourism and the commercial outdoor recreation sectors interest statements). There was a need to sediment in the collective conscious the unchangeable nature of Banff, its perceived inertia. Banff, as it existed at the time of the collaboration, was an inviolable starting point cemented in the common sense of the collaboration’s participants. Yet other things that went without saying were the needs for a balance between environment and economy and protection and enjoyment. These appeals are of particular interest when one considers the often political nature of dualisms. Dualisms are simplistic, cognitive constructions (e.g., up/down, back/front, and hot/cold—all useful tools with which to think and all communicative signs that help us understand reality). Yet they are more than this, for they also strongly determine the possibilities of what can be expressed. They often imply a relation of dominance, where one of the two terms signifies a more highly valued signified (Sandilands, 1999). This is particularly evident in the dualisms culture/nature, mind/body, man/woman, and, of interest in our collaboration, economy/environment and enjoyment/protection. In each, the prior term signifies the more highly valued signified. Each pairing is founded on an inclusive we and on an excluded they, a choice between either/ or, which is seldom, if ever, hard to make (for the we, that is) (Sandilands, 1999). Dualisms, by forcing a choice, mediate relations of domination, making them, in effect, highly political and highly worth looking at in the collaboration. Appeals founded on the economy/environment dualism were commonly heard. For example, there was the municipal sector’s spokesperson’s comment

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that “the goals for ecological integrity and the economy are two halves of a loaf” (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1996, Meeting 27) and later that “my sector said no ecological goals unless we have economic goals first” (Meeting 27). The same meeting heard the park superintendent (the federal-sector spokesperson) comment that “there is a need to see an equivalent level of detail from the economic [as well as ecological integrity] side” (Meeting 27, emphasis added). Even the national environmental sector accepted this binary division, stating, “The [ecological integrity and socioeconomic] goals need to be pure on both sides” (Meeting 27, emphasis added). With such a juxtaposition, and with acceptance of such a juxtaposition, talk of the utter dependence of economy on environment—of their de facto hierarchical nesting (shown previously in Figure 1)—becomes impossible. It is hard to suggest that the participants in the collaboration demonstrated complicity in their own domination simply by appealing to the common sense. This is because these particular common-sense constructions were not linked in any demonstrable way to behaviors or to actions in the field. They were simply appeals. The perpetuation of such ideas as heritage and as enjoyment may have been purely symbolic, simply part of the cooperative spirit of collaboration. The collaboration’s deep structural reliance on technical reason, however, appeared to have a somewhat more material basis. Acceptance. A reliance on instrumental and technical reasoning (Deetz, 1985) was evident in the participants’ general concerns with codification, calculation, and objectification. Acceptance of the need for the first of these (codification) was manifest in the general approval of the collaboration’s organizational structuring, which was based on the idea that distinct groups could and would represent distinct interests. The collaboration generally accepted the idea that a stakeholder group or that a representative could somehow articulate group interests (a difficult task especially for the social, health, and education and the cultural sectors), and where such an articulation or codification of interests was not possible, a person had little right to be present at the table. This is reflected in a statement by a member of the roundtable: I think one of the difficulties that we’re having at the table is that there are a couple of sectors that still haven’t figured out who they are, and that’s the culture sector and the social health and education sector. And I

think that’s really too bad because you know, I see the culture sector trying to decide whether they’re really just about history or whether culture is something more than history, which of course it is. And I keep thinking, boy, if they could really get it together, they’d have so much more to contribute here. Looking at this process as being a building process not a battle . . .

An acceptance of the need for codification was also evident in talk regarding the zoning of the park and the numerous separate studies that were part of the Banff-Bow Valley study. For example, we heard a parks planner present a talk on zoning and on the “need to have a legal description for an area to be defined as wilderness” (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995, Meeting 15). We also heard a conservation scientist (at the May 7 ecological workshop) point out that the four mountain parks (one of which is Banff) are “divided into 40 zones” or “functional units,” each of which receives “a number according to its food value in each month.” Along with this was an accepted need for calculation. This was manifest in the call for numerous separate studies that were to help guide the decisions of the roundtable. These included a historical-perspective project, a behavioral research study, a tourism outlook study, a management framework review, an ecological modeling and cumulative effects assessment, and a State of the Valley report. The scientists involved in these studies talked of, among other things, quality of experience (the six major components of which included novelty, hedonics (pleasure), interaction, stimulation, security and comfort, core security areas and linkage zones for grizzly bears, and dynamic modeling of wolves and of elk. Their purpose was “to appreciate how present conditions have developed as well as how conditions are likely to evolve in the future” (Dupuy, 1995). The collaboration’s need for objectification was somewhat different than its need for calculation, but it was no less powerful. Most of the participants wanted a controlled process, one in which emotions were quelled. Reflecting this need, the process manager said the following: The one thing you don’t ever allow to happen is that the discussions at the table get to such a point that emotions get out of control. If that happens, then you’re in real trouble because once accusations may be made at the table by one party or another, you can then destroy that confidence building, that consensus

Everett, Jamal / MULTISTAKEHOLDER COLLABORATION building that you’ve been working at for so long. So at all costs you don’t let that happen.

That objectivity was desirable was also evident in the opening statement of the minister in charge of Canada’s national parks: I am extremely pleased to be here to inaugurate the round table discussions concerning the Banff-Bow Valley study. I have great confidence in these proceedings. These proceedings are independent in nature. They reflect an open, objective and cooperative approach to decision making. (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995, Meeting 1)

We think the collaboration’s approval of the need for objectivity is related to the perception among its participants that the collaboration was somehow unaffected by power. The notion of objectivity does imply, after all, the apolitical or the amoral. At first, we were confused as to why the participants did not see the collaboration as firmly embedded in the widespread economic field because money is so ubiquitous and because it is, in fact, the park’s prime ecological variable (Harvey, 1998). When we considered Bourdieu’s (1983) point that social actors tend to misrecognize their embeddedness in the economic field and in the field of power (p. 354), we began to understand why the importance of the economic field and why the importance of power was systematically denied in the collaboration. Comments such as the following became clearer: The fact that there’s a whole bunch of dollars produced in this park doesn’t threaten my values or my way of looking at the world in any way.

The tourism representatives’ disinterests in and even aversion to any substantive discussion of the commercial also began to make sense. Although the terms business and economy were mentioned, these representatives were much more inclined to focus their arguments on aesthetic intention, on the need for the individual Canadian to be able to enjoy oneself in that beautiful place, Banff. The systematic denial of power seemed to be related to the perceived or to hoped-for neutrality of the task force, roundtable mediator, and roundtable process itself. In respect to the first, efforts were made to cultivate the idea that the task force members were representative of only the public interest. The summary report reads as follows:

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When [the task-force members] arrived in Banff National Park, in July of 1994, we saw what most visitors see . . . [but then, after listening to] scientists, entrepreneurs, environmentalists, and generations of Canadians . . . what we saw, behind the seemingly endless forests and remote peaks, concerned us. (“Banff-Bow Valley,” 1996, p. 4).

The task force even went so far as to suggest that its members came from diverse backgrounds (“BanffBow Valley,” 1996, p. 5), even though the group exhibited dominant traits; that is, even though it was comprised of all–White, primarily male (80%), highly educated (and thus fairly affluent), English-speaking individuals. The mediator too, it seems, saw himself beyond the influence of power. Also well educated (he was a lawyer), White, English-speaking, and male, one of this individual’s main responsibilities was to remain objective or impartial in all contacts with sectors (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995, Appendix B). One can say that he succeeded in this only if one’s definition of impartial excludes the active promotion of the myth of the neutral, power-free collaboration. He actively promoted shared decision making, interdependence, and cooperation, and he steered discussion away from any mention of the historic, structurally based power differences that characterize the field. In fact, in 28 meetings, the word power appeared to be mentioned only once. This seeming disinterest with power and this lack of concern regarding the embeddedness of the collaborative field within both the economic field and the field of power alerted us to a somewhat contradictory situation. Science was expected to save the day in the collaboration, yet it could not because science is premised on an appearance of disinterestedness (Bourdieu, 1998a), on an interest in not taking a position. This meant that not only did the collaboration from the outset purge itself of the potentialities to be derived from the nonrational—that is, debate regarding the morality or the purpose or meaning of parks (the collaboration’s instrumental development of an appropriate-use filter aside)—it also purged itself of any true potential for action regarding parks: The collaboration’s outcome had to uphold the status quo because science, as a culture, is expected to remain nonjudgmental, nonpartisan, and silent, like a eunuch presiding over a harem. Again, this paradox went more or less unnoticed, as this brief comment from a participant suggests:

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JOURNAL OF MANAGEMENT INQUIRY / March 2004 It’s very frustrating that the scientific community doesn’t take a firmer stand on these issues and say no unequivocally, this is wrong.

The collaboration, through its simultaneous reliance on science and the emasculation of any potential for decisive, scientifically based action, was affected by a deep-structure form of power. This form, power in conception, is not as easily observable as is power in action (Frost, 1987). Yet it is more enduring and perhaps nowhere more subtle than in the collaboration’s adoption of legalistic discourse and in its efforts to produce a vision. Adoption. In a collaboration, where participants gather to “engage in an interactive process, using shared rules, norms and structures, to act or decide on issues related to that domain” (Wood & Gray, 1991, p. 146) there is a sense of a scholastic market. There is learning, there is supervision in this learning, and there is self-exclusion—a choice “between duplication and the acceptance of exclusion” because there is a certain “linguistic and cultural capital which the system presupposes and consecrates” (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1977, p. 99). That a certain linguistic capital was presupposed was frustrating for some. One marginalized participant expressed the following: Trying to understand [the mediator’s] jargon and language . . . I don’t understand his language very well. I find that he reframes and redefines the question too many times.

The same participant also said the following: There’s just way too much lawyer talk at the table. When you look at the lawyers, the four corners of the table that they get their jargon going and it’s, we need Leslie [ex-mayor of Banff]. . . . I found Leslie absolutely brilliant at being able to bring those words under control and stating it plainly.

A scholastic market also “extorts the essential while seeming to demand the insignificant” (Bourdieu, 1977, p. 95). Insignificant may not be the most appropriate term in the case of this roundtable, for what was demanded was, first, consensus, and second, a vision statement—a document that would outline a vision for the future of this cultural artifact known as the park. As it turned out, neither consensus nor the vision were without pedagogic effect, for both became the main focus of the participants’ energies, as one marginalized participant in the process observed:

When the scope and rules of process and procedure were being set up, I thought, oh gosh, we’re taking so much energy, so much time to put this huge scaffolding up. We’re going to have this monolithic skeleton and no meat anywhere. We’ll have exhausted ourselves just trying to get to the point. And we may have done with the vision now, we may have exhausted ourselves.

Another observation went thusly: The vision statement certainly had consensus. The wording was very carefully crafted, and hours and hours were spent, as you well know, in terms of putting that all together, and there was considerable pride when it was finished, that they had achieved something of real substance. . . . What I think we got into in the end on the issues was part exhaustion.

Transmission of a deeper understanding concerning consensus and vision was not on the collaboration’s agenda. Instead, there was an artificiality of discourse in the vision statement, a discourse the purpose of which seemed more than anything to be aimed at maintaining a social distinction between those who have been initiated into the artificial discourse (i.e., the White, First World, and overwhelmingly male legal professionals, scientists, industry members, and environmentalists) and those who have not (First Nations, cultural, and social sectors) (Robbins, 1998). Over time, we came to view the vision statement as a logocentric device (following Derrida), one devised and prescribed to satisfy the phallic myth that writing can save us from our greatest (masculine) human fear of letting go (following Cixous) (cf. Cooper, 1992). Compliant with this myth, the logocentered vision statement made the roundtable lawful, secure, and prudent. It made objectivist reason and rationalism public, but it did not further intuition or hermeneutic understanding (Gadamer, 1976) in the field, which is to say that it did not address the essential issues of meaning, the folk-essences of a White, First World conception of nature and of a rationalistic ideal of objective science. Rather, as a result of the disproportionately large amount of time spent on crafting the document—on sorting out, for example, the differences between a vision, goal, strategy, objective, value, principle, and so forth (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995, Meeting 16)—the vision statement may well have even militated against certain changes sought by some sectoral representatives. Yet of course, as Bourdieu would have us make note, all of the representatives of the roundtable were complicit in the


development and the preparation of this statement, in carrying out, that is, the necessary pedagogic work. DISCUSSION None of what we have said to this point suggests that the lessons in this pedagogic arena were invariably bad. Indeed, many learned that there was a serious problem with the park’s ecological health, and all were exposed to the diverse concerns and points of view of the various sector representatives. But how far even these beneficial lessons of collaborative learning (Daniels & Walker, 1996) will ultimately go needs to be considered. As one participant suggested, In terms of personal growth, it’s been an immense privilege. And it’s a privilege that’s not shared and can’t be between the people who are actually at the table and the people who are even immediately behind them, let alone the people who are represented by the steering committee people in the sector. . . . [The experience] doesn’t go beyond the individual level.

There was a belief that this collaboration would result in much needed change. Even the minister in charge of parks appeared to hold much promise for the collaboration. As one participant pointed out, [The minister] was saying very loud and clear that whatever the task force recommended he was going to take very seriously. Before the roundtable even existed. So at that point, we were saying, oh my gosh, these task-force people we’ve never met before are going to make some recommendations that are going to be taken very seriously.

And to be sure, the actors in this field were not cultural dopes; rather, they were intelligent and committed individuals. This is reflected in one participant’s observation: We need to be tackling the broader implications of tourism. . . . It’s linking business practices to the environment. It’s linking our lives to the environment. It’s linking our whole lifestyle, consumption patterns to understanding the consequences of what we’re doing.

Further, members of the collaboration did notice its shortcomings. As one participant noted, I’m not convinced that we’ve even got around to clearly agreeing on a definition of the problem, and I think that’s something that’s plagued the table from

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the beginning, which is that I’m afraid that there are still some people at the table who say it’s still beautiful out there. And it is. It is still beautiful out there, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s entirely healthy.

In respect to the idea that objectivity needed to be questioned, one participant noted the following: [The process managers are] people who don’t understand the need for people to be emotional. That we can’t all be sterilized in our language at all times. We can’t always be completely objective.

Finally, in respect to the need to categorize people and to place them under a sectoral label, the same participant suggested the following: Something about the roundtable that does bother me is that you’ve got these sectoral hats, and you’re putting round pegs in square holes or square pegs in round holes, and it makes it sound so clean and neat. . . . When you’re one community, you have many different conduits into that community . . . as you’re listening to the dialogue at the table, I’ll know exactly what another individual is expressing. I’ll be empathizing and then I’ll be thinking in my head, “Is that where I’m supposed to be with my sector’s point of view?”

We too believe, like the collaboration’s participants, that technical reasoning and instrumental rationality do offer important benefits. The monitoring of ecological indicators, for instance, allows one to contest claims that beauty in a park necessarily implies an ecologically healthy park (this point was made in the May 6 Ecological Workshop). The roundtable process can also be used as a means of combating the tyranny of the majority, a consideration when one hears the tourism sector representative say, “I don’t want a roundtable process for every issue. . . . I need an open, participatory process” (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1996, Meeting 27). Such a comment seems to imply that this sector ’s interests might best be supported in some other, less democratic way. But then, it may also be fair to say that much of the needed changes will be thwarted by the sheer power of the doxic understanding that characterizes this field. A particular notion of nature, one void of people and valued for its intrinsic (environmentalist), regenerative (scientist), and exchange value (business owner), went unchallenged. The ultimate focus was on writing, not dialogue; on rationality, not change; on order and consensus, not disruption or chaos—those

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things that are said to actually characterize nature. There was an attempt to force the alien (for Western culture) concept of consensus decision making on members of the collaboration. The result, as one participant observed, was the following: When you get two people that are too ideologically apart, you’re never going to get full agreement, but what you might be able to get is some frank discussion and negotiation that leads to a solution. Let’s understand what it is. It is a compromise. It’s a compromise of his position versus my position. This concept of it being a consensus is, well, it’s frankly BS. What it is, it’s a compromise. Now the environmentalists don’t want to use that word because they don’t want to have the appearance of ever compromising.

True consensus takes time, and for issues as important as those facing Banff, one could see consensus requiring years of discussion. However, such a long period of time was never going to be acceptable to those who either convened or participated in this collaboration. As one participant observed, The minister has always said the task force will report by June of 1996. And this will not be one of those things, one of those government things, that drags on. . . . He’s got a lot riding on this in terms of his credibility as a decisive kind of person.

Time in this collaboration was doxic time, a taken-forgranted type of time embedded in a rationalistic narrative that avoided the jarring juxtaposition of consensus objectives and predetermined timelines and resource budgets. Consider this comment from a participant in another sector: It’s been made very, very clear that the June deadline is simply not negotiable. And I don’t know what’s magic about that. . . . And we’re, I’m just really worried that we’re at the point in the process where, well, I think we are at the point of the process where we’re going to have to decide, okay, are we going to do a bunch of stuff in half-ass fashion or are we going to do one thing and try to do it well? . . . With respect to the State of the Valley report, we’ve decided that we’re going to do it in a half-ass fashion. And that’s, I guess, constrained by reality such as cost and time, but I think it’s unfortunate.

Bourdieu notes that those in the field with the most capital reproduce, unconsciously, the conditions most conducive to the accumulation of those individuals’ most preferred forms of capital. It is not surprising,

then, that one important outcome of the collaboration was a call for more science and an increased focus on what might be best viewed as the new scientist’s burden (Lélé & Norgaard, 1996), ecological integrity (Parks Canada Agency, 2000). Arguably, the most important cultural good (re)produced in this collaborative field, this new form of knowledge has the potential to reproduce a hierarchy to the advantage of scientists. This is because most members of the field, although recognizing ecological integrity as legitimate, have little working knowledge of it (Grenfell & James, 1998, p. 23). What seemed to be ignored or unrecognized in this environmental collaboration was that the meanings afforded to the discourses of beauty, nature, wilderness, and biodiversity are neither natural nor universal; rather, they are what Bourdieu would call cultural arbitraries. In this field, the most valued of these cultural arbitraries belonged, as we have said, to those possessing the dominant habitus, a park habitus based on the romantic- and Enlightenment-nature metaphors noted earlier. What we need to stress is that this park habitus appears to correspond to a particular group, one comprised of White, middle- and upperincome, English-speaking males, a group hardly representative of Canadian society at large. Unrepresented by this group were the cultural arbitraries of the two First Nations sectors, groups that spoke of the spirits of four-egged creatures, of looking ahead five generations of the principle of spirituality, of Mother Earth, and of harmony (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995, Meeting 3). These groups, in this field, accumulated little symbolic capital with these discourses, for these groups’ natures do not resonate with a nature discussed in terms of its enjoyment potential (tourism and commercial sectors), its potential to help people find their place (Stephen Legault, at the May 6, 1996, ecological workshop), or its potential numbers, impacts, habitat loss, habitat fragmentation, or statistics (task force). This is not to say that the First Nations sectors had no cultural capital in this field, for they did and still do. First Nations capital is conspicuously present in the artifacts, legends, and souvenirs to be found in the interpretive centers, historic sites, and shops in the park. But this type of capital is difficult to profit from, for objectified in this field is a dead or dying culture, a culture that has little relevance or currency in today’s global world (Prasad & Prasad, 2000). The continued irrelevance of this culture is just one consequence, we think, of the symbolic violence that occurred in this field.


Similarly, as noted earlier, the social, health, and education and the culture sectors had much lower influence and power in the process. Part of this can be attributed to the newness of these two sectors. Unlike the national environment and the infrastructure/ transportation sectors, to name two of the better organized and established sectors, the social, health, and education and the culture sectors had not been mobilized and oriented toward ensuring that there was a clear understanding of what their sectors represented. But like First Nations, much of this lack of influence also had to do with their lack of economic, linguistic, and cultural capital. To their disfavor, the activity bases of the social and of the cultural groups are net consumers of public monies, not net contributors, as is (often) the case with businesses in the tourism, service, and transportation sectors. Moreover, social and cultural groups are less likely to be represented by wellheeled rhetoricians, as is the case with business groups. And social and cultural groups tend to represent lower income Canadians, unlike the business, park user, and even environmental groups, which support the interests of highly educated, mobile, and comfortable Canadians. This too was misrecognized in the collaboration, with the potential effect that Canada’s poor will continue to be seen as more or less irrelevant in this field. Although the First Nations, the social, health, and education, and the cultural sectors were marginalized in the process because of their lack of symbolic capital, other groups were excluded from the process because of their lack of capital. One such group was the media, a group critical to how the public judges the fairness of collaborative processes and thus whether process recommendations become implemented. Despite the media’s power, they could not be legitimately included as formal members of the process because they, like the scientific community, are seen to be objective and disinterested, as not having a legitimate stake in the process. Their role could only be that of observer, even though they may not have been so disinterested. This is similarly the case with other interests that were not directly articulated in the process. For example, both the process mediator and the task force itself had a good deal of symbolic capital riding on the outcome of the process, on whether consensus was achieved. In fact, so important was it for the task force to achieve consensus from the roundtable that all other considerations may have been subordinate to it. As one participant mentioned partway through the process, those entrusted with the study were “hell

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bent for victory. . . . I mean, they’re going to succeed.” This again raises questions concerning the mediator’s proclaimed impartiality (Banff-Bow Valley Study Task Force, 1995, Appendix B) and concerning the task force’s ability to see Canada’s national parks through everyone’s eyes (“Banff-Bow Valley,” 1996, p. 4), though, to be fair, the task force’s interest statement did focus on integration and inclusion. The point here is that everyone, even those deemed impartial, had significant stakes—significant capital to be won and lost—in this process. One might also wonder why Canada’s influential citizens taxpayer groups were not represented. Groups such as these affect Parks Canada’s ability to adequately fund and manage the parks program, a program that is being forced, like so many other public-sector programs, to do more with (a great deal) less (Searle, 2000). Although the issue of representation is important, we do not want to belabor this rationalistic focus on groups or on sectors and on their presence or absence. We do want to ask, however, why some groups seem more important than others and why there is an orthodox understanding of what constitutes a legitimate stakeholder. We also want to highlight how, on account of this collaboration, issues such as these might continue to go on being misrecognized and how, on account of this collaboration, symbolic violence will continue to occur. CONCLUSION In this article, we introduced and empirically examined an alternative collaboration-and-power perspective, one based on the work of Pierre Bourdieu. His perspective alerts us to both the surface and deepstructure aspects of power in collaboration, aspects that have hitherto received little attention in the main corpus of collaboration literature. He has us ask questions about the social production of reality and about the categories that social agents use in their construction of the social world. In respect to this social production, we necessarily pointed to the Weberian notions of domination and of rationalism. Indeed, in this environmental collaboration, there were the dominant and the dominated, and rationalism infused the collaboration. Order was critical, emotion unwelcome, nontechnical and vague talk unheard. Sectors were expected to represent logical, well-defined interests. Consensus was to be achieved. There was a cultural arbitrary that related to particular ideas of nature

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and of wilderness—ideas represented in a certain way and ideas that may have acted as essential ingredients in the maintenance of existing social relations (Harvey, 1996). In respect to the categories that social agents use in their construction of the social world, it was apparent to us that the origin of these categories could be found in the (logocentric) discourses of our collaboration’s three most dominant sectors: (White, male, First World) science, business, and local or national environmentalism (in that order). The origin could be found in these discourses because these groups possessed the most symbolic, political, cultural or economic capital—that is, power. These actors had discursive legitimacy (Hardy & Phillips, 1998; Phillips et al., 2000). They were given the legitimate right to name, and they did so with linguistic ease. The origin of the categories that social agents use in their constructions of the social world could not be found in the discourses of the marginalized, which is unfortunate because it is within those discourses, one must suppose, that there resides important possibilities, alternatives, and avenues in need of exploration. Our article informs an understanding of powerand-collaboration theory, even power-and-organization theory, by bringing to bear in an empirical situation many of Bourdieu’s concepts, the most important of which in any discussion of power is capital. Capital, for Bourdieu, is not solely the product of money; it is also the product of qualifications, knowledge, linguistic ease, centrality in a social network—really, any one of a number of things. Capital is simply that which “makes participants successful” in their field (Lawrence et al., 1999, p. 499). It is important to note that Bourdieu’s relativistic ideas of capital and of field do not make his approach relativistic. For Bourdieu, the economic is always an invariant and a critical source of power, just as language (especially linguistic dualisms), objectification, calculation, and codification are also invariant and critical sources of power. Furthermore, Bourdieu’s capital is not benign, for it typically has violent effects. The current logic of the market, for example, is leading to a tyranny of the market (Bourdieu, 1998b), while objectification, calculation, and codification are occluding intuition of the practical sense (Bourdieu, 1990a)—that local understanding that is so critical to maintaining a viable relationship with the natural environment. This makes Bourdieu’s read on collaboration different from that of a resource-dependency interpretation, for his read is explicitly prescriptive,

normative, and moral. And unlike the politicaleconomy interpretation, Bourdieu’s is much more attentive to symbolic power and the management of meaning. It focuses squarely, in fact, on this deepstructure element of power (Frost, 1987; Phillips, 1997). This is not to say that the relativism implied in his notions of capital and of field is not problematic, however. Trying to suggest that one person or group has more capital than another in a given field is in fact quite problematic when neither the exact characteristics of the form of capital nor the boundaries of field are specified. Yet an equivalent set of problems arises the minute one actually specifies capital and field, for the act of specification excludes as much as it includes, omits as much as it permits, and creates an absence for every presence. This is why a double reading is so useful; the benefits of the etic-physics reading can be combined with those of the emic-phenomenological reading to offset the weaknesses of both these approaches. In respect to the contributions of our article, we think it builds on yet also tempers Westley and Vredenburg’s (1997) suggestion that the solution of (global) metaproblems is “aided by the development of a transnational culture based on managerial technique, technology, and scientific rationality” (p. 395). On one hand, we have seen how, in our collaboration, managerial technique and scientific rationality helped span cultures, namely, those of environment and of business, and how they helped move the collaboration toward a kind of consensus. Yet we have also considered how managerial technique and how scientific rationality may lead to the “forgetfulness of central human needs” (Deetz, 1985, p. 122), such as those respecting the members of the First Nations, the social, health, and education, and the cultural sectors. Because this collaboration was science and management driven, managerial technique and scientific rationality fetched the highest prices in the symbolic marketplace; they were central to the accumulation of capital, and became, in effect, the market’s gold standard. Because this collaboration was not people or locally driven, local knowledge and understandings fetched only paltry sums in the market. Thus, we would add to Westley and Vredenburg’s (1997) observation that the solution to (global) metaproblems may be aided and at the same time hindered by the development of a transnational culture of managerial technique. Our study also responds to Deetz’s (1985) largely unanswered call for empirical examinations of the


way in which certain interests become universalized. It also answers his call for studies that examine the underrepresentation of ordinary people, indigenous groups, and nonhuman actors. In responding to these calls, we see that collaborations need to be viewed with a good degree of skepticism. Collaborations may open dialogue and affect change (Hardy & Phillips, 1998) through their effect on the “shared rules, norms and structures that characterize the interorganizational domain in which they occur” (Lawrence et al., 1999, p. 313), but they may also limit dialogue and change where they rely on common sense, those doxic understandings that, as Bourdieu points out, are always arbitrarily imposed by those with the right kind of capital. In respect to the implications of our article, we think that these extend beyond environmental collaborations and even beyond collaborations themselves. We think our article, through its highlighting of the importance of deep-structure and especially symbolic power, has implications for the study of organizations more generally. It points to the need to attend to the management of meaning and to the power of the system, manifest in this organization’s concern with taken-for-granted notions (enjoyment and heritage), dualisms (economy and environment and enjoyment and protection), rationalistic ways of thinking (codification, calculation, and objectification), and symbolic exercises (the preparation of a vision). More practically, it points to the need for organization members to be concerned with the subtleties of power and with how they might be complicit in its operation. This, in turn, is cause for the organization members to ask, What is going on here? Why am I saying this? Why is she saying that? What reality are we constructing with this discourse? Who is here? Who is not here? Who is silent? Who is vocal? For collaborative practitioners, more specifically, such an approach implies a different style of facilitation, one that is more reflective and based on deep discussion. It implies an approach that is highly attentive to meaning, as Lawrence et al. (1999) would point out. Future research into collaboration and power that adopts a Bourdieun perspective should focus on a number of elements. First, it would be worthwhile to compare a number of environmental collaborations to identify any parallels in the kinds of capital present in collaborative fields. Does the most valued capital tend to be economic, or is it cultural, as in the culture of scientific (objective) nature or in the culture of romantic (subjective) nature? Such studies would be particu-

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larly useful in understanding how environmental collaborations become institutionalized without losing their transformative potential (Westley & Vredenburg, 1997) and how these organizational forms come to shape, or not shape, the institutional field (Lawrence et al., 2002; Phillips et al., 2000). Such comparative studies on organizational capital could also be carried out in respect to general organizational research. Together, such research would help in establishing new generalizations, or universals (i.e., orthodoxy), in the area. Second, it is worthwhile to further consider the individual discursive strategies of social actors in these fields, something we have not considered in any great detail here. For Bourdieu, social actors always adopt unique strategies, though these strategies are constrained by the structures (capital and habitus) of the field. Which strategies work best in social actors’ struggles in this context? How and to what extent might the strategies of the mediator or the task force chair affect the field? An ethnographic inquiry might also be undertaken to consider the views that mediators and that conveners of collaborations have regarding the notion of power. Westley and Vredenburg (1997, p. 391) have observed that conveners of collaborations can play an important role in addressing power disparities (specifically by reinforcing persons with low formal status), so it would be worthwhile to hear conveners themselves speak on the subject of power. What form or face of power are they typically alert to? Do they see power’s different forms or faces? Do they see power inhering in managerial technique and in scientific rationality? Are they concerned with the management of meaning or deep, systemic power? Third, given that the many forms of capital are valued differently in different collaborations, what are the possible outcomes? In the collaboration that we have examined, it is too early to tell what the outcome will be and what effect, for example, the vision statement will have. How might the outcome of a dialogueoriented collaboration differ from that of a rationalistic, logocentric one, such as was the case here? Are there collaborations where native North American cultural capital (loosely defined) is truly valued and scientific cultural capital devalued? If so, what were the outcomes? In pursuing such avenues of inquiry, insights into power and collaboration may be expanded beyond those gained using more traditional approaches.

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JEFFERY EVERETT is an assistant professor in the Haskayne School of Management at the University of Calgary. His research interests are in the areas of organizational accountability, professional ethics, environmental accounting and auditing, and management education. TAZIM B. JAMAL is an assistant professor in the Department of Recreation, Parks, and Tourism Sciences at Texas A&M University. Her main research areas are community-based tourism planning and impact management, and multistakeholder processes for addressing environmental and sociocultural conflicts.