Conservation groups come and go. Why?

 

Over the past 20 years or so, I've been affiliated with at least a dozen environmental groups, and I've seen it happen several times. So has everyone who's been involved in the movement.

I'm talking about professionalization. It begins when a group of grassroots activists begins to feel overwhelmed. They can't keep up with the reams of data, hours of tedious meetings or the technical complexity of the issues they track. Then somebody dies and leaves the group a bundle of money, or one of the members hits the jackpot with a grant proposal. The solution is obvious to everyone: Hire professional staff.

At a small foundation devoted to a particular local river, we hired a part-time executive director. It began well enough: The executive director attended board meetings, listened to the members, and did a fine job of representing the group's interests to agencies and the public. Working only 20 hours or so a month, our director insisted that officers and board members stay engaged with particular issues.

A professional raised more money, leveraged the group's funds and garnered more grants. The executive director and fund-raiser became full-time, and they in turn needed help from a treasurer, secretary, newsletter editor and assistant.

Maybe the board members got lazy. With a professional staff, there was no longer a pressing need to stay personally informed and involved. Or maybe the professional staff developed its own agenda. Today, that group seems to have lost its focus, board members serve in name only, and the staff salaries are rapidly depleting the treasury. The first priority seems to be paying the bills and staff, not protecting the river.

Members and officers feel that they now work for the staff. At board meetings, the executive director runs the show and gives the marching orders, which is OK, since the officers don't want to be burdened with leadership. It's fine that their job is to raise money at the annual banquet, place calls to members and other potential donors, show up at public hearings to read scripted comments and sign their names to bulk-printed letters.

In other cases, over time, I've seen an insidious shift in a group's priorities. Chasing grant opportunities from special interests can lead to mission drift. I once belonged to a watershed group created to bring ranchers and conservationists together in order to keep more water in a river for an endangered native fish. But then the weeds took over. This group also began with just a part-time professional facilitator. Over time, the position blossomed into a full-time job, aided by a secretary and an intern or two. Weeds were a major concern for the ranchers, and initially it was easy enough for everyone to support a little weed-whacking coordination with agencies and local governments. Then the weed coordinator became a full-time position, and now the group puts a lot of energy into a major annual fund-raiser to buy herbicides (and fund the weed coordinator). There is never enough time, money or effort to go around. Last I heard, the group was advertising for a grant writer in hopes of keeping everyone employed. As in other groups, the staff makes the decisions, and board meetings are an exercise in passive listening.

One of the first environmental groups I helped form was determined to get a fair remedy at a local Superfund site. Another volunteer obtained a grant from the Environmental Protection Agency to fund an expert who could help us understand the technical issues. Over time, the experts came and went, and one of them discovered there was more funding for activities like a newsletter and a Web site. Soon, our expert and his employees were running the organization from his office 80 miles away. Board meetings consisted of said expert presenting an agenda of work items.

The few members -- including myself -- who disagreed with the new agenda were shunned. Heaven forbid there should be substantial, time-consuming argument and discussion at a board meeting. Heaven forbid that ideas should move from the membership up to the staff. The staff needed to "maintain a good working relationship" with agency personnel and with other groups -- even groups that were fundamentally opposed to our mission.

It becomes a pattern -- and eventually, disgruntled members like me move on. After a year or two of chill time, though, we become passionate about some new issue. Sooner or later, we join another grassroots group. Or maybe start a new one. Much like those tree seedlings, we hope to plant something that will bear good fruit, and not just turn into dead wood.

Pat Munday is an environmentalist in southwest Montana. He is currently researching the role of citizens in shaping Superfund remedies.

Anonymous
Jun 06, 2008 12:33 PM

The trouble with these non-profit conservation groups that start out so well-intentioned, is that they are inevitably taken over by out-of-state, usually Eastern or West Coast experts. Soon, they have alienated the locals who were/are effected by the issues driving the original organization, but by then are so firmly entrenched as to be untouchable.

 

You always see an evolution of board members and executive staff dazzled by their own importance, obsessed with hiring new staff ONLY if they have Ivy League pedigrees, speak in bureaucratic jargon, and hopefully have trust funds to sustain them in the high-rent districts of our West.

 

Look closely at certain advocacy outfits in the Greater Yellowstone region, and you will see that they have become self-perpetuating little empires dripping with snob appeal. Local experience and expertise is disdained, often because the new experts feel threatened by such realistic qualities. And they act perplexed when their local support base fades.

 --- Shep