On the Front Lines of Conservation — The Struggles Faced by Ecological Professionals

the Editor says: Being caught between opposing forces, the constraints of existing frameworks and institutional structures — these are just some of the hardships that those on the front lines of conservation may encounter. Only by changing the status quo and breaking free from existing frameworks can Taiwan's ecological profession mature, and encourage more people to dedicate themselves to conservation work. Join BlueTrend as we explore the challenges faced by those working on the conservation front lines! This article is reprinted with the author's permission and was originally published in the Environmental Information Center.

If someone told you they had devoted their life's ambitions to ecological conservation work, how would you picture and understand what that non-conventional career actually involves? Do they spend their days moving between mountains and sea, immersed in "nature" and the world of plants and animals? Or do they chain themselves to the trunk of an ancient, towering tree to stop what they see as a ruthless corporation from crossing the line? Well, perhaps — but the reality looks more like a combination of both, seasoned with a generous helping of social reality.

The Conservation Front Line Is Not Deep in the Wilderness

On television, we see people trekking across remote terrain with instruments in hand, carefully tracking footprints, excitedly spotting a target animal, then rushing forward to catch it. This is the image most people are exposed to — one that shapes their understanding of conservation work. In reality, conservation operates much closer to the ground: it exists at the points where ecological systems and human development collide most violently. Those carrying out ecological conservation work bear an enormous internal conflict, caught between their original conservation ideals and the web of competing interests.

Ecological conservation delivers public benefit, but asking private interests to shoulder the costs is unlikely to generate widespread support — so government agencies typically take the lead in driving policy. Conservation corridor initiatives along the Central Mountain Range have long been a government priority, and in recent years these efforts have extended to plains and foothill areas as well. Yet the ecosystems most at risk are neither the pristine old-growth forests deep in the mountains nor the quiet rural paths — they are in areas where development projects and land use overlap: factories, housing, energy facilities, road maintenance, and river channelisation. Every one of these is closely tied to industrial interests, livelihoods, and public safety.

As a result, mechanisms designed to counterbalance development — such as the Environmental Impact Assessment Act and ecological review administrative regulations — emerged in response to growing conservation awareness and advocacy by civil society groups. In simple terms, these mechanisms require that before any construction project proceeds, an assessment of local ecosystems and species must be conducted (typically carried out by ecological professionals hired by private firms), and that the necessity and methods of construction be reconsidered in light of those findings.

This sounds comprehensive and reasonable — but is it really?

Nobody Throws Stones at Their Own Feet

Textbooks and the news constantly promote the value of conservation. So let's examine how society actually views ecology through the lens of "value" — in the most worldly sense of the word. From time to time I find myself in chance conversations with hikers and passersby in the hills and forests. After I tell them the name of a plant — usually a tongue-twisting, hard-to-remember one — about nine times out of ten their second question is: "Can you eat this? Make tea with it? Use it as medicine?" I usually have to sheepishly admit that, with a few exceptions, most of these plants are "useless."

It seems the gap between what ordinary people consider "valuable" and the goals of ecological conservation is quite wide. Most industries and transactions in society emerge from the interplay of supply and demand. The ecological survey sector, however, exists solely because policy mandates it. For the majority of entities involved, ecological conservation is a regulatory concession — there is no organic demand for it. What's more, the recommended protective measures for ecology invariably cut into developers' profits and increase construction costs. This zero-sum dynamic makes every step of the assessment process an uphill battle for ecological professionals.

I was once at a team meeting in a mountainous area in the northwest when a developer bluntly asked me: "Tell me exactly where those rare plants in the report are growing — we'll dig them up first." It sounds lawless, and it is — but these raw, brutal words genuinely exist in the world of ecological professionals. On a project in an eastern lowland area, the motivation to "conceal the bad, highlight the good" was expressed more obliquely: "Don't let word get out about these rare species." Diligence is a universally praised virtue — but if your diligence leads you to document a large number of sensitive and rare species, you may find you've caused others a great deal of inconvenience.

Under the current system, environmental impact assessments are funded by developers, who hire ecological professional teams to conduct surveys and submit reports — with the final written report submitted to the reviewing authority through the developer. This policy, which runs contrary to human nature, produces absurd results: nobody throws stones at their own feet, and the way ecological surveys are presented is subject to "adjustments" of varying degrees and forms.

Interference with ecological reports is not limited to the following methods:

1. The direct approach: Simply making sensitive species disappear from the report altogether.
2. The roundabout approach: Applying pressure through your superiors (or having superiors proactively pressure you themselves).
3. The teacher approach: "Instructing" you on how a "good" ecological report should be written.

Some developers, however, need not go to this trouble — because after enough friction, the ecological team may well begin to self-censor without any prompting. The methods for doing so include:

1. Skip thorough survey planning: reduce workload and lower the odds of finding rare species at the same time — shěng shì shì shěng (Taiwanese idiom: keep things simple, save yourself the trouble).
2. Since pressure is inevitable anyway, there's no point doing serious surveys or writing careful reports — just make sure the report looks airtight on the surface.
3. Producing "unsurprising" findings earns approval from all sides, and makes the service provider more competitive when bidding for future contracts — a smooth path to career advancement.

An older acquaintance of mine, upon hearing this description of the profession, immediately offered a terse four-character verdict: "You're blocking people's money." What a phrase — "blocking people's money." Without a genuine love for and commitment to ecology, how could anyone bear it?

Caught Between Opposing Forces

When an ecological assessment enters the review stage, the scrutiny of committee members can help clarify the logic and push developers toward more ecologically friendly practices. But beneath that seemingly constructive process lies a situation that is difficult to speak of openly — when a developer fails to adopt the ecological team's recommendations, and a committee member notices the ecological considerations are inadequate and raises objections, it is the ecological team itself that is put on the spot. This is a thankless cycle that every practitioner in the field has faced.

One example: a construction project in the north ignored the urgent retention recommendations of the ecological survey personnel and excavated and destroyed a pond habitat for a protected freshwater fish species. The subsequent review meeting called for remediation measures, so the developer instructed the ecological team to increase their survey effort and explain the "reasons" for the species' apparent absence — in an attempt to catch the fish again after the fact. Needless to say, once the nest is destroyed no egg survives unscathed; this additional effort did not save a single fish, and only generated pointless extra work. The correct approach would have been to retain the habitat, pursue habitat compensation, or undertake ex-situ restoration — to preserve or make amends for the population and its habitat, rather than exploiting the contractor-client relationship to "instruct" the ecological team to increase survey effort as a way of deflecting blame for their own wrongdoing.

Interestingly, some developers go above and beyond in their ecological conservation planning and expenditure — outperforming other projects of comparable scale and purpose — yet do not necessarily receive proportional recognition during the overall review process. A professional team that provides a comprehensive set of ecological mitigation measures may find that this only results in the bar being raised substantially higher for their project. This is a genuine dilemma. Under such dynamics, those who act in good faith learn from their disadvantage and gradually adopt a more guarded approach — disclosing nothing beyond what is strictly necessary — which only reinforces developers' incentive to conceal problems and present a rosy picture.

Current regulations require that certain development projects invite civil society groups to participate in discussions, enhancing transparency and supplementing gaps in ecological surveys while providing isolated practitioners with some backup. However, for many lesser-known taxonomic groups or previously overlooked areas, it is not uncommon for a species or a unique ecosystem to be documented for the very first time through the ecological assessment process — by frontline practitioners. Sadly, because those practitioners are bound by a bewildering array of confidentiality clauses and punitive damages provisions embedded in project contracts and employment agreements, they are effectively silenced, and civil society groups are never given the chance to be informed. One has to ask: are these contractual arrangements — freely entered into outside the purview of the law — designed to protect nepotism and oppress the vulnerable, or to protect the public interest of ecological conservation?

The pressure does not come only from outside. The social circles of Taiwan's ecological community are small; the agencies and contractors you work with may be just around the corner the next time you turn into a hallway. Those lower in the hierarchy inevitably have to read the room. Supervisors who cannot withstand external pressure pass that pressure down to the frontline personnel responsible: "Why didn't you communicate this first?" — even when the other party had no intention of making improvements, which is what allowed the situation to escalate. Or: "How did XX civil society group find out?" — the panicked, accusatory tone suggesting that ecological survey results are the most valuable secret in the world. The impulse to cover things up, placing trade secrets and commercial interests above professional ethics, is in fact the most dangerous thing one can do to ecological conservation.

Last but most importantly: ecological conservation requires a fair allocation of resources. Given its fundamentally non-profit-generating nature, it is undeniable that resources allocated to the field are crowded out, contributing to the range of negative outcomes described above. While the work is idealistic and serves the public good, it still requires adequate resources to recruit personnel and build capacity, and appropriate conditions and environments to improve outcomes. Industries have long consumed natural resources and converted them into human benefit, fuelling the development of civilisation — it stands to reason that society should, in turn, redirect resources back into ecological conservation.

How to Avoid Repeating the Same Mistakes

Having heard these open secrets among practitioners, no one should be surprised to learn of incidents such as: "forest around a protected bat roost cave in the south destroyed by a solar energy project," "habitat of protected freshwater fish in a central Taiwan river channelisation project," or "a food plant habitat wiped out by an urban planning project in the north." Numb indifference will only allow matters to escalate. To prevent these events from repeating themselves, the following perspectives are offered as a starting point for discussion:

1. Drawing on Western environmental impact assessment practices, the ecological conservation professional assessment process should be made independent of the project developer, with a clear separation of funding sources, to prevent interference by stakeholders and resolve the various difficulties encountered by ecological professionals.
2. Establish a third-party audit mechanism, and prohibit — in any form — the restriction of lateral communication between ecological professional teams and civil society groups, so as to achieve joint oversight and mutual checks and balances.
3. Restrict the scope of what may be stipulated in project contracts and employment agreements, so as not to impede the transparency of survey data; give practitioners sufficient freedom of expression and space for objective interpretation; and combine this with improvements in environmental and professional ethics among industry players, to help improve the internal culture of the sector and the quality of data produced.
4. Recognise the public interest value of ecological conservation: the competent authorities should formulate required ecological conservation budget ratios for relevant development projects, to break the cycle of inadequate and inconsistent resource allocation.

Only by reflecting on the shortcomings of the current frameworks and institutions — and genuinely working to adjust and improve them — can our natural and social environments have any hope of progress. It is my sincere hope that the ecological profession in Taiwan will grow ever more mature, enabling humans and wildlife to thrive together, so that when future ecological practitioners are asked whether they would choose this idealistic career all over again, they will answer without hesitation: Yes, I do!

Related Links

• 【Prelude to a New Wind Farm EIA】"Trade Secrets" No Match for the Largest Marine Ecological Survey in History — EPA Takes First Step Toward Data Transparency
• Taiwan's First Comprehensive Marine Ecological Survey — Ocean Conservation Administration Launches Four-Year Programme, Hopes to Establish Basis for Conservation and Development
• Ecological Review Starts Afresh: Engineers Without Ecology Backgrounds Meet Ecologists Without Engineering Backgrounds
• Original article: Li Cheng-han / On the Front Lines of Conservation — The Struggles Faced by Ecological Professionals
• Environmental Information Center Website

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