Revolutionary Parks

Winner of the Alfred B. Thomas Award and sponsored by the Southeastern Council of Latin American Studies, Revolutionary Parks tells the surprising story of how forty national parks were created in Mexico during the latter stages of the first social revolution of the twentieth century. By 1940 Mexico had more national parks than any other country. Together they protected more than two million acres of land in fourteen states. Even more remarkable, Lázaro Cárdenas, president of Mexico in the 1930s, began to promote concepts akin to sustainable development and ecotourism. Conventional wisdom indicates that tropical and post-colonial countries, especially in the early twentieth century, have seldom had the ability or the ambition to protect nature on a national scale. It is also unusual for any country to make conservation a political priority in the middle of major reforms after a revolution. What emerges in Emily Wakild’s deft inquiry is the story of a nature protection program that takes into account the history, society, and culture of the times. Wakild employs case studies of four parks to show how the revolutionary momentum coalesced to create early environmentalism in Mexico. According to Wakild, Mexico’s national parks were the outgrowth of revolutionary affinities for both rational science and social justice. Yet, rather than reserves set aside solely for ecology or politics, rural people continued to inhabit these landscapes and use them for a range of activities, from growing crops to producing charcoal. Sympathy for rural people tempered the radicalism of scientific conservationists. This fine balance between recognizing the morally valuable, if not always economically profitable, work of rural people and designing a revolutionary state that respected ecological limits proved to be a radical episode of government foresight.

Thirty years after the fall of the Soviet Union, the 1917 Revolution still looms large: not only because Russians remain divided over whether the revolution arrived forcibly or inevitably and whether it was a colossally tragic or colossally generative event, but also because its social, cultural, scientific, and even moral residues remain everywhere in Putin’s Russia. Revolutionary Aftereffects looks at the ways in which 1917 has been and continues to be commemorated in Russia. Although post-Soviet Russia has emphasized its complete break with the past, this study of the memorialization and legacy of 1917 explores a fundamental continuity underlying an apparent discourse of discontinuity in post-socialist Russia. Contributors provide insight into the continuing reverberations of the revolution from a variety of disciplinary perspectives, including history and literary studies as well as heritage studies, anthropology, geography, and sociology. Collectively, these essays demonstrate the changing nature of the revolution’s memorialization in the Soviet Union and post-Soviet Russia and the ambivalence and contradictions within those narratives.

In Watering the Revolution Mikael D. Wolfe transforms our understanding of Mexican agrarian reform through an environmental and technological history of water management in the emblematic Laguna region. Drawing on extensive archival research in Mexico and the United States, Wolfe shows how during the long Mexican Revolution (1910-1940) engineers’ distribution of water paradoxically undermined land distribution. In so doing, he highlights the intrinsic tension engineers faced between the urgent need for water conservation and the imperative for development during the contentious modernization of the Laguna's existing flood irrigation method into one regulated by high dams, concrete-lined canals, and motorized groundwater pumps. This tension generally resolved in favor of development, which unintentionally diminished and contaminated the water supply while deepening existing rural social inequalities by dividing people into water haves and have-nots, regardless of their access to land. By uncovering the varied motivations behind the Mexican government’s decision to use invasive and damaging technologies despite knowing they were ecologically unsustainable, Wolfe tells a cautionary tale of the long-term consequences of short-sighted development policies.

"Into Russian Nature examines the history of the Russian national park movement. Russian biologists and geographers had been intrigued with the idea of establishing national parks before the Great October Revolution, but pushed the Soviet government successfully to establish nature reserves (zapovedniki) during the USSR's first decades. However, as the state pushed scientists to make zapovedniki more "useful" during the 1930s, some of the system's staunchest defenders started supporting tourism in them. In the decades after World War II, the USSR experienced a tourism boom and faced a chronic shortage of tourism facilities. Also during these years, Soviet scientists took active part in Western-dominated international environmental protection organizations where they became more familiar with national parks. In turn, they enthusiastically promoted parks for the USSR as a means to reconcile environmental protection and economic development goals, bring international respect to Soviet nature protection efforts, and help instil a love for the country's nature and a desire to protect it in Russian/Soviet citizens. By the late 1980s, their supporters pushed transformative, in some cases quixotic, park proposals. At the same time, national park opponents presented them as an unaffordable luxury during a time of economic struggle, especially after the USSR's collapse. Despite unprecedented collaboration with international organizations, Russian national parks received little governmental support as they became mired in land-use conflicts with local populations. While the history of Russia's national parks illustrates a bold attempt at reform, the state's failure's to support them has left Russian park supporters deeply disillusioned. "--