Conservation's Shadow: When Protecting Land Threatens Our Communities

Whether you're in Paris, Montreal, or New York, this story touches the core of our African heritage. In Senegal and Liberia, a troubling paradox emerges: conservation efforts threaten the very ecology they claim to save. Behind the noble commitments of the Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework – protecting 30% of land by 2030 – lies a darker reality. The expansion of protected areas often becomes an instrument of exclusion, pushing our rural communities off their ancestral lands while extractive industries advance under the guise of green development. Consider Sapo National Park in Liberia, that jewel of West Africa's forests. Created in 1983 on the colonial model of 'fortress conservation,' it prohibited access to local populations while promising economic benefits that never materialized. The civil war drove people to seek refuge in the park, reviving old farms and practicing subsistence hunting. Then, in 2003, the state expanded Sapo's boundaries, citing ecological integrity concerns. For bordering communities, this was betrayal: their livelihoods restricted, their expectations dashed. Today, Sapo spans 1804 km², dotted with artisanal mining camps. As a young miner says, 'The benefits we get from mining are here in our hands, but we keep waiting for these tourists who never come.' Boundary expansion and the growth of artisanal mining are inextricably linked – one fueling the other in a cycle of mistrust and degradation. Proposals to militarize the park to restrict human mobility ignore the social and economic relationships woven around these activities. This dynamic isn't isolated. In Senegal too, we observe rural communities transgressing historic national park boundaries, driven by the expansion of protected borders and the encroachment of mining industries. Two global trends converge in West Africa: soaring demand for gold, bauxite, and iron ore, and the rapid expansion of protected areas. Together, they create overlapping resource frontiers where extraction and conservation align ideologically in a neoliberal vision treating nature as commodity. Mining companies have become key funders of conservation, supporting parks, offset markets, and environmental programs – thus greening their operations in shareholders' eyes. But the heaviest price falls on our local communities. They bear the burden of land dispossession, restricted resource access, and mining degradation. They are the ones who will remain, sustaining these landscapes long after this wave of capital abandons the scene. The global biodiversity alliance pushes for the 30×30 goal, noble in the face of failed global climate efforts. Yet in Africa, where per capita protected land often exceeds that in developed economies, this expansion has a dark underbelly. Our national conservation histories shape local engagement, and parallel processes in countries with radically divergent postcolonial histories offer a cautionary tale. It's time to rethink conservation's future – not as exclusion, but as inclusion of those who've known and cherished the land since time immemorial.