Speaking from the Field

Welcome to my personal research blog where I write about my encounters in Tanzania.

[speakingfromthefield]

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Speaking from the Field | Substack

Naomi. Substack gave me the handle "atavus spiritus" (ancestral spirit). Seemingly it fits. But I am also a critical thinker. An analyst. A

[speakingfromthefield]

Thoughts on the Arusha Manifesto - From then Until Now

When I first read Nyerere’s Manifesto on a relaxed afternoon after just having had very strong Tanzanian coffee in a hip coffee shop located in the same building as the Ngorongoro Conservation Office (outside of which the manifesto is displayed), I felt surprised. And intrigued. I took a picture. Then, I felt like I can pack my bags and leave Arusha, and my PhD project, behind. Upon giving it first read, the Arusha manifesto clearly eludes to the fact that Tanzania wants, even expects, outside intervention regarding nature protection. But the imposition of outside knowledge and best practices in Tanzania, especially regarding environmental governance in front of a (post)colonial legacy, is something I had meant to deconstruct and critique with my PhD project. However, now it turned out that the “father of the nation” as he is affectionately called (for good reason) by us Tanzanians, the Tanzanian champion and ”liberator of the people”, advocate of Tanzanian (intellectual) spirit and rebirth, explicitly invited outside expertise to protect cultural and environmental heritage. Hadn’t Tanzania, by the early 1960s, just emerged from a long and hard-fought struggle for self-rule? Weren’t the last British administrators barely out the door? And wasn’t the Zanzibar Revolution against the colonial Arab elite already simmering by 1963 and about to erupt in early 1964? But then I read the manifesto again. And again. And then, again.

Upon careful re-reading, it turns out that Nyerere speaks of the natural heritage of the African continent as a whole, and does not specifically refer to Tanganyika (as Tanzania was called back then). It may be that he tried to highlight nature conservation as a pan-African effort, and saw the environmental legacy of Tanganyika as belonging to all of humankind. Perhaps to him, this was not about local vs. foreign but about the importance of preserving the countries’ spectacularly rich eco systems, while also seeing the financial potential in the protection of these environments for all of humanity. Furthermore if there is great value in the preservation of these regions natural environments, the next questions rightly so will center around how this should be achieved. Nyerere didn't go into the particulars of the action process but any governmental policies, without a doubt, are also always a product of their time.

The early 1960s were a time of hope on the African continent. During the famous independence movements, many African leaders envisioned a future in which the continent could chart its own political, economic, and cultural course. A new African confidence and pride was ignited and African socialism, as articulated by leaders like Kwame Nkrumah, Patrice Lumumba, and Julius Nyerere, was seen as not only political but also philosophical in nature. Communal values, human dignity, and collective prosperity were envisioned to lead the continent into a new postcolonial period. This was also the birth of pan-Africanism, where ideas about shared responsibility, mutual aid, and interdependence between peoples and nations was a pursuit towards a new, modern African spirit. Environmental protection, then, could fit within this vision as something that transcended borders because the ecological richness of the continent was understood as a legacy and obligation shared across generations and geographies.

In Tanzania, the Ujamaa (”unity”, “community”) movement was Nyerere’s version of African socialism. At its heart was the belief that Tanzanians could develop not by imitating the capitalist West, but by reviving and adapting the community oriented spirit of traditional African village life. Ujamaa emphasised rural development, collective farming, self-reliance, and national unity. For Nyerere it was especially important that this unity was more important than tribal or ethnic divisions between the many different tribes of Tanganyika (this stood in stark contrast to the social policies of Tanzania’s neighbour Kenya of the same time. For a deeper dive into this interesting contrasting approach of two bordering nations, stay tuned!) The spirit of Ujamaa was anti-imperialist, and aimed at defining how Tanzanians thought about themselves, their future, and the role of the state. So within this logic, the protection of natural heritage might have been imagined not as an imported idea, but as expression of national pride and care, even if later on realised through international influence.

But this idealistic vision soon collided with the realities of global capitalism. It is important tp understand that by the 1980s, Tanzania, like many other postcolonial nations at the time was plunged into structural adjustment programs (SAPs) imposed by the World Bank and IMF. These integrations forced the country to liberalise its economy, cut public spending, and open up to foreign investors. The language of self-reliance was replaced by the logic of market efficiency. In the tourism and conservation sectors, this meant a turn toward private-public partnerships, international NGOs, and foreign donors. It slowly became evident that protected areas began to be managed not only by the Tanzanian state but by outside actors importing world views on how nature is best to be governed. This shift modified the public sector’s autonomy and left it vulnerable to be dependent or integrated into international donor schemes, metrics of success set by external actors. Most importantly to understand here is that the global capitalism era commencing the 80s, laid the foundations for a new market view of nature as a commodity to be priced, marketed, and sold with solid integration into an emergingly popular (safari) tourism sector.

Zooming out, it is evident that we are still in this time period. Tanzania's conservation landscape today is not neutral, sovereign nor apolitical. So back at the trendy coffee house, I sit back down at my tiny table and take a moment to think. The caffeine has finally hit and I reflect on the words of one of my interview participants from a few days ago, a retired Tanzanian tourism expert who has been keeping an eye on the country’s wildlife protection and tourism sectors. He describes tourism in his country as inseparable from wildlife protection and natural resource management, which he views as an uncomfortable merge:

“To most politicians, they think the product we have here {is wildlife}… to them tourism is wildlife. They cannot differentiate between wildlife and tourism. (…) It would have been better if we had a ministry of tourism and the ministry of natural {resources} as two different ministries.”

If we are to understand Tanzanian tourism as synonymous with wildlife and natural resource protection, the country’s safari industry and the power dynamics it enflicts on wildlife and nature management become much more evident. With this insight, I pack up my bags and leave the cafe.

[speakingfromthefield]

Carbon in Tanzania: Is it still necessary to “help” local communities help themselves?

One of the central questions my PhD project explores is whether recent carbon credit schemes involving the Hadzabe hunter-gatherer community are truly benefiting them—or whether they reproduce older patterns of inequality. Does the future of conservation in Tanzania depend on Western best practices rooted in productivity and market based solutions? Must non-Western countries continue to be integrated into Western economic logics and so-called “green” development frameworks to preserve their environments?

In 1961, as Tanzania stood on the brink of independence, its first president “Mwalimu” (”Teacher”) Julius K. Nyerere delivered a speech at a symposium on the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources in Arusha. His words would later form the basis of the Arusha Manifesto:

“The survival of our wildlife is a matter of grave concern to all of us in Africa. These wild creatures amid the wild places they inhabit are not only important as a source of wonder and inspiration but are an integral part of our natural resources and our future livelihood and well being. In accepting the trusteeship of our wildlife, we solemnly declare that we will do everything in our power to make sure that our children’s grandchildren will be able to enjoy this rich and precious inheritance. The conservation of wildlife and wild places calls for specialist knowledge, trained manpower, and money and we look to other nations to co-operate with us in this important task - the success or failure of which not only affects the continent of Africa but the rest of the world as well.”

To me, this statement was visionary in its regional solidarity and environmental foresight. It framed conservation as a Pan-African responsibility, with international cooperation envisioned as supportive rather than directive, upon invitation. Furthermore, I read the manifesto as Nyerere envisioning Tanzania to lead the way in protecting its natural heritage and not to follow directions. More than six decades later, however, my fieldwork seems to show a different reality.

Between 2022 and 2025, across several of my research locations in northern Tanzania, I’ve noticed that most conservation initiatives and, more recently carbon offsetting NGOs, are spearheaded by non-locals—predominantly European or North American actors operating exclusively in Tanzania or East Africa. Many of these initiatives are led by charismatic individuals who first came to Tanzania through internships, research projects, or volunteer programs and later founded NGOs or social enterprises aimed at “helping” protect the country’s biodiversity.

These people often come from academic and professional backgrounds in biology, ecology, or conservation science—fields shaped by deeply embedded Euro-American epistemologies and world views.... In their admiration for Tanzania’s landscapes, they see something endangered—by climate change, local land use, or government "inaction"—and feel called to intervene.

Over the years, through both academic research and personal experiences within the tourism and conservation sectors, I’ve seen these organizations gain significant influence. But this growing presence raised uncomfortable questions within me: Why is conservation in Tanzania still not locally led? Why and how do Westerners come into the position to dominate big decision-making processes and innovative practices within the country?

Despite well-meaning intentions, the structure of these projects often mirrors colonial logics. Local communities are hired as staff but rarely define the mission. Foreigners, not Tanzanians, own the ideas, secure the funding, and decide how nature should be protected and how profits from it (like carbon credits) are distributed.

Organisations such as Carbon Tanzania, for example, proudly feature local teams on their websites. But a closer look reveals that the organisation remains Western-led. This distinction matters. It reflects a deeper issue: it uncomfortably reminds me of “white savior” model and an implicit assumption that African communities lack the knowledge to steward their own lands or envision ecological futures. Local sovereignty seems to be positioned in opposition to outside expertise.

I agree that nature conservation is important and needed. Tanzania faces various environmental pressures: climate change, large-scale land acquisition due to complex power dynamics, declining biodiversity, and shifting agricultural patterns driven by population growth and the country’s focus on agriculture through its policies. And I do not deny that many NGOs are achieving results or contributing positively to mindful environmental land use. But I ask: Why is Tanzanian leadership so often invisible in these projects? Why are bottom-up initiatives so rare? And how does this fit into bigger, global dynamics?

If conservation efforts aim to restore ecosystems and ensure sustainable futures (remembering Nyerere’s words), they must also allow local actors, Tanzanians, to be the driving forces and authors of their own futures. Tanzanian communities, whether pastoralist, agricultural, or indigenous, for example, have long held ecological knowledge and adaptive strategies. Why are they not given the resources or institutional support to lead? Why are they being led?

Instead of asking how international NGOs, conservation good practices and sustainable land use initiatives can "help" Tanzanian communities and the countries environment, perhaps the more urgent question we could ask is what do Tanzanians actually want?

To read more about nature conservation in Tanzania and its history click here.

[speakingfromthefield]

on land, loss and silencing

a few days after my departure from another field visit to lake eyasi, shopo hadza, one of my main research collaborators and guides, himself part of the Hadzabe community, reached out to me and to his social media following with the following message:

”Today I am reporting sadness from Home. The Hadza community has lived in their historical area for over a hundred years in the Mandegau area, Qangded-Mang'ola village. Today, the land tribunal have given Mr. Msemo a one-sided victory. The case went to Msemo to sue the child and his mother believing that suing son and her mother, it coukd be easier to him to win a cas.-where due to the right to life and poverty the family didnt appear before a court. And in the end the case was decided on one side. Dear friends and friendly organizations, we are asking for your help in anything so that the community can open a case and issue a quick stop order. sorry for any erros i mean typing error. I am skacking right now and i cant even do anythings (…)”

as an activist for his community, shopo shared emotional news of a recent land conflict affecting fellow Hadzabe: a portion of their ancestral land in the mandegau area of mang’ola has been claimed by a local farmer in form of a private dispute. this was followed by a legal case in which the targeted Hadza family—a mother and child—were taken to court on the premise of unlawful occupancy. furthermore, the Hadza family was absent from the hearing. their unfortunate absence helped the farmers case and the outcome was, for now, one-sided. when i asked a friend and interview participant on why the Hadza family did not show up to the court hearing they told me “because they are afraid”.

i believe this is not an isolated event and most probably not the first nor last of its kind on Hadza ancestral lands. it is an example of small, accumulative acts through which the processes behind dispossession come to light—not always through violence, or forced evictions (as has been seen in the Loliondo evictions of Maasai people in the Ngorongoro Conservation Area) but also through slow and systematic processes: misrepresentation, inaccessible institutions, and legal mechanisms that rarely account for the lived knowledge or relational cosmologies of those who have been on the land the longest.

nevertheless, land in Tanzania cannot be “owned”. so then what does it mean to have lived in a place for generations, and still be asked to prove belonging or have to fight for the right to exist on the land within the space that you already perceive as your “home” ? - Here I deliberately omit the word “country” or “Tanzania”, because I am not sure if the Hadza people see themselves as Tanzanians. What does “home” mean to them? and what does it mean to be Tanzanian? To be in the political, geographical terrain which resulted out of a colonial census? Do my research participants feel part of this nation state, this bordered space with its own constitution, history and land governance structures?

returning back to the land dispute of mang’ola, even more questions seem to arise. What does it mean when the absence of a people in the judicial process of a land dispute—due to material hardship, or fear—is used to justify the erasure of a community’s claim? this legal case invites us to look beyond the surface, to question the structural patterns behind the story. the subtle traces of exclusion and the way legal systems continue to prioritize documentation over embodied knowledge, property over relation, visibility over presence.

the hadza of mang’ola have now opened a court file to prevent further development on the land, and another to initiate a legal case against its invasion (for example by mang'ola's ever groing settlement of sedentary farmers such as Mr. Msemo). but time, as always, is not neutral, nor does resistance come free of charge. so far several Hadza have driven to the district capital karatu for multiple days in a row, to appear, organize, and gather the financial resources needed to make a stand for their claim of land, to defend on behalf of their community.

if the landscape of resistance is physical, legal, and temporal, here we see a rupture between ways of knowing. between a legal imaginary in which land can be owned, sold, and bordered—and another in which land is not an object, nothing to have to ask permission for, but a permanent memory, a right that transcends time, but nevertheless is still contested.

in essence, this story is applicable to many realities. many versions of it unfold across different geographies, with similar asymmetries regarding access, representation, and human rights. and yet, this story is unique to its local circumstances in tanzania. to the structures (and histories) within the tanzanian legal system regarding land ownership and rule of law, of representation and (human) rights.

the outcome of this case may set a precedent of how land struggles are handled in the future in the surrounding areas of mang’ola, on Hadza land, and perhaps across northern tanzania because the legislative decision in the case can show both local and national priority of land rights of indigenous people.

i share these thoughts not as a researcher alone, but as a critical mind and as someone asking: what are we willing to notice beyond the surface? what kinds of knowledge are believed in, seen as legally “relevant” and which are dismissed? what structures, in their multiplicity, lie behind the right to land, legitimacy of ownership and why?

Translated from Swahili to English:

Order: All people living in the area where Mr. Christopher Msemo built, are ordered to move out of this area within 14 days. Anyone who refuses will be forcibly removed.

(Picture credit: Shopo Hadza, facebook)

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