LA's water and history

Richard Frank recently posted at Legal Planet on "The Latest Chapter in Los Angeles’ Century-Long Water War With the Eastern Sierra’s People & Environment". Frank begins:

There LADWP goes again.

Recently the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power announced it was walking away from its longstanding obligation to provide Mono County residents and the environment with a tiny fraction of the water it transports from Mono County to LADWP’s urban customers in Los Angeles.  When efforts by county officials to resolve the dispute informally with LADWP failed, the County sued, arguing that LADWP’s unilateral action violates California’s most iconic environmental law, the California Environmental Quality Act (CEQA).  Earlier this year, a trial court agreed, ruling in the County’s favor.  The court found that LADWP’s decision to turn off the Mono County spigot without prior environmental review violates CEQA.  Now LADWP has chosen to appeal this adverse ruling to the California appellate court—where it is likely to lose again.

If LADWP’s action were an isolated incident, observers might well conclude that this is simply the latest chapter in California’s seemingly interminable water wars.  But it’s not.  To the contrary, LADWP has a sorry, 120-year history of treating the rural people and natural resources of the Eastern Sierra as a population to be exploited and an ecosystem to ravage.  Fortunately, the courts, state officials and environmental advocates have in the past repeatedly intervened to halt or moderate LADWP’s economic and environmental depredations.  Unfortunately, they need to do so again in order to stop LADWP’s announced water cutoff.

There's lots more legal history in this interesting and timely post.

Weir Pond, Eastern Sierras

Environmental law in Rome and beyond

For the Italian speakers among you (courtesy of the ESCLH blog): The Laboratory of Legal and Economic History at Università degli Studi "Magna Graecia" in Catanzaro will be holding a conference on "The environment between law and economics: a long journey from the Roman world to the contemporary age" on 3-4 December 2021. The program and links for remote participation are below and on the website Storia del diritto medievale e moderno.

The various reasons for killing wolves

Pieter Serwouters, Wolf hunting (1642)

The journal Environment and History just posted an article by Kristiaan Dillen, "The Various Reasons for Killing Wolves in the Fifteenth-Century Liberty of Bruges". The abstract:

In the fifteenth-century Liberty of Bruges, a rural castellany in the county of Flanders, a bounty system was established to promote the elimination of wolves. Prize money made the wolf not only an unwanted but also an actively tracked animal, a combination that resulted in its wholescale slaughter. Researchers who have previously examined these bounties believed that they were primarily part of a system of pest control. They did not realise, however, that the inhabitants who came forward to claim the bounty killed wolves not to clear the Liberty of Bruges of vermin but for entirely different reasons, which depended on the context in which encounters with wolves occurred. In this text, I use the records concerning the bounty system established by the Liberty of Bruges to understand the complex relationships between humans and wolves in this fifteenth-century castellany. I first introduce the long series of records; thereafter, I attempt to identify reasons for killing wolves in the Liberty of Bruges and the contexts in which such killings occurred.

And from the conclusion:

Was the establishment of the bounty system indeed a sign that the wolf was not wanted? Judging from the long series of data from the accounts of the Liberty of Bruges, we can conclude that killing a wolf often also meant the opposite, as doing so signalled noble status and provided additional income. Thus, it is not entirely correct to regard the slaughter of wolves merely as a form of pest control or, as it is referred to today, a type of ‘management hunt’. Wolves were unwanted but ostensibly respected. In contrast to the attitudes towards other animals, such as crows or pigs, which were kept out of fields or cities by means of a system of fines, not bounties, people’s behaviour towards wolves was not regulated and corrected.

Water as a common good

The indefatigable Patrick O'Donnell recently posted "Water as a Natural Resource, Common Good, and Commodity: A Basic Bibliography". This bibliography is one of many on topics of interest to readers of this blog, such as his bibliography on "Red and Green". 

Heinzerling on Lazarus

Sorry for the long silence - I hope I'll have some more time now to catch up on the blog.

Last spring Lisa Heinzerling published a review in the Michigan Law Review of Richard Lazarus's The Rule of Five: Making Climate History at the Supreme Court (Harvard UP, 2020). Heinzerling writes:

Let me start by saying that whoever chose the novelist Scott Turow as the lead blurbist for the book jacket nailed it. The book is crowded with ambitious lawyers, wise judges, tangled law, and stately courtrooms. There is a just cause and a triumphant outcome. There are heroes and antiheroes, with these judgments disguised but not hidden by Lazarus’s facially neutral thirdperson narrative. To top it all off, a courtroom scene serves as the dramatic climax. The book is, against all odds, a legal thriller.

All this novelistic drama, however, comes with costs. The costs are a deficit in critical judgment and a surfeit of gender traditionalism. The deficit in critical judgment manifests in Lazarus’s unalloyed reverence for the Supreme Court and apparent resistance to critiquing its work. This reverence is most vividly on display in the book’s descriptions of the Supreme Court building and its contents. The entire building becomes, in Lazarus’s narrative, a kind of reliquary: every object the justices touch, from pewter mugs to leather chairs to spittoons, takes on some larger and quasi-sacred meaning. The politics that otherwise stalk the city in which the Court sits do not, we are made to infer, darken the doors of this special building. And a frank acknowledgement of the gendered character of the men’s-club atmosphere of the Court is lost in Lazarus’s romanticizing.

*****

The book’s deficit in critical judgment, now paired with unspoken gender traditionalism, also surfaces in its treatment of the human dramas of Massachusetts v EPA. Lazarus’s account is blind to the subtle gender dynamics of the case and, most troublingly, to his own reenactment of them. Lazarus selects as his cast of characters “five guys,” as he calls them, and “a gal,” as he calls me. His account of the five guys’ roles in the case uncritically accepts their version of events and then distorts it by fixating on and amplifying the conflicts that arose during this high-stakes litigation. In Lazarus’s rendering, the contributions and sacrifices of the female lawyers, including my own, recede to make room for the men.

There's lots more here - worth reading. 

Roman roots of modern approaches to water law

Ella Hermon recently posted "Perspectives on the history of water management: ancient roots of modern approaches". It's a very short piece but filled with references to her publications in French on Roman law issues such as flooding, integrated management, riparian ecosystems, and more, for instance her article "La culture juridique romaine de gestion résiliente du risque d’inondation", published in Index in 2020.

Ecological consequences of Spanish colonialism

Last year's The Americas published an article by Christopher Woolley, "'The Forests Cannot be Commons': Spanish Law, Environmental Change, and New Spain's Council on Forests". The abstract:

This article examines the sylvan political ecology of late colonial New Spain and the colonial government's attempt to address deforestation through the Council on Forests, the first body in the kingdom's history dedicated to the conservation of natural resources. Drawing primarily from the corpus of documents produced by and remitted to the council, this article gives a trans-regional perspective on colonial forest use and argues that the Spanish crown's usurpation of indigenous communities' eminent domain over forests was the first step in a process that over centuries progressively severed the cultural ties that bound communities and forests by converting common-pool resources into open-access commons. The catastrophic mortality of the Spanish invasion was the second step, which rendered conservation measures seemingly unnecessary among both woodcutters and officials. But it was during the eighteenth century that older Habsburg notions of protectionism intersected with economic and political changes associated with Bourbon rule to further compel this cultural severance. While previous works have studied the ecological impacts of mining, ranching, and flood control, this article moves beyond the study of a single industry to suggest some of the larger ecological consequences of Spanish colonialism.

Forest in the Sierra Juarez, Oaxaca, Mexico (credit: Prsjl)

Soviet water law

"And Defeat Drought", by Viktor Govorkov (1949)

Both Central Asian and Soviet water law are underexplored in the English-language literature, so I was excited when a friend recently pointed me to an article by Beatrice Penati in the Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, "Continuities and Novelties in Early Soviet Law-Making about Central Asian Water". The article uncovers not only generally unknown histories of water law, but new jurisprudential angles as well. Instead of the abstract, here's an excerpt from the introduction (notes omitted):

The present essay explores the definition of the water rights and water-related obligations of the peasants vis-à-vis the Soviet State. On one level, this study highlights the very high degree of continuity in both personnel and goals between pre- and post-revolutionary “lawfare” in the field of Central Asian water rights and water usage. It also shows how, although Bolshevism offered a solid ideological justification for the supremacy of State rights, it was not easy for this personnel to codify the State-centric approach to water governance in the new Soviet context. As the reader will discover, this is more the story of attempts to regulate, than of effective regulation.

The close observation of these attempts reveals how, in the field of water rights, one could find examples of two opposing situations: a stratification of formal regulations none of which was considered as ultimately binding, and texts that bound even in the absence of a formal sanction. This begs a few further reflections: first, one can ask whether this disorder was deliberately used as a tool of Soviet power, as argued recently by Christian Teichmann, also writing about Soviet irrigation in Central Asia. Second, one must reconsider what made a law in the light of socialist legal theory, thereby nuancing the notion that socio-economic change (here, in the field of water rights) originated from State decisions.

By analysing systematically what inspired and stymied these attempts at the regulation of water, this essay contends that early Soviet “lawfare” about Central Asian water—especially efforts at systematic codification premised on the supremacy of State rights—was constrained by two factors. The first, in continuity with the colonial period, was the persistent idea that indigenous water systems were ultimately impenetrable to outside observers: due to their supposed “irrationality” and “primitiveness”, these systems had been (and still were) regarded as both economically inefficient and impossible to reform, to the point that concessions to “custom” had to be made even after the consolidation of Soviet rule. The second, new factor was the early Soviet de-colonisation imperative, understood here (following Georgii Safarov) as both liberation from the relics of settler colonialism and from those “exploitative elements” which Russian imperialism had supposedly nurtured. This ideological option marked a profound discontinuity with the Tsarist regime in Central Asia, by defining the perimeter of the experts’ legislative initiative. That this factor was ultimately decisive is shown, by contrast, by the fact that socio-economic realities in the field of water and land rights were reshaped more by revolutionary initiatives, than by systematic efforts to change water laws. Despite (or because of) the proliferation of texts, drafts, and commissions, effective transformation did not require more (or more careful) law-writing, but for the Soviets and Party to invest other power resources (e.g. propaganda, coercion, financial means) to achieve a degree of social mobilisation in favour of radical reforms.

For earlier Imperial Russian water law in Central Asia, see here. 

Sustainability and the history of knowledge

The Journal for the History of Knowledge recently published an article by Sebastian Felten, "Sustainable Gains: Dutch Investment and Bureaucratic Rationality in Eighteenth-Century Saxon Mines". The abstract:

A late-eighteenth-century encounter between Dutch merchants and cameralist Saxon officials is used to argue two related points. First, the history of knowledge can help us rethink hierarchical power structures like the Saxon mining bureaucracy. Mine owners had a right to information and could not be forced to pay contributions, which meant that mining officials were solicitous in sharing knowledge, fretted about investors’ favor, and took their desire for revenue into consideration. These observations directly challenge the traditional absolutist image of the Saxon mining bureaucracy. Second, the history of knowledge can help explain how certain rationalities (that is, combinations of means, ends, and values) came into being. Saxon officials sought to situate short-term income and expense in a success story that spanned decades and centuries. Informed by the concept of Nachhalt (sustainability), Saxon officials saw profit even in mines that lost money. This kind of sustainability thinking is best explained via the archival practices of the mining bureaucracy: officials collected information from yield sheets and local lore in order to calculate long-term outputs, to speculate about untapped deposits, and to disburse as little profit as possible. When the Dutch eventually understood this rationality, they withdrew. Saxony’s early modern mining bureaucracy was dismantled by liberal reforms in 1850s, but its peculiar brand of sustainability, aiming to extract resources at almost all costs, likely survived the dawn of industrial capitalism as young engineers and administrators became versed in it at the Freiberg Mining Academy.

For a different take on the origins of German sustainability thought, see Peter Sand's post here. 

Star vaulting on the ground floor of the Saxon Mining Office, Freiberg
(photo: Norbert Kaiser)

The inevitable empire of nature?

The new journal LawArt. Rivista di Diritto, Arte, Storia / Journal of Law, Art and History just posted its first issue (as an aside, we've now counted 63 active legal history journals!), including an article by Nader Hakim, the English title of which is "A Legal Picture of Nature: Legal Discourse or the Aesthetics of Truth. An Example from the Heart of 19th Century France" (the article is in French). The crux of the article (with help from Google Translate, notes omitted):

Sculpture of Charles Demolombe,
Caen, c. 1910

Charles Demolombe (1804-1887), famous professor of civil law in Caen, Normandy, lets us see a picture in which nature holds a place that is significant and quite symptomatic of the legal discourse of his time. From the outset, in fact, the reader encounters nature very frequently when reading the famous Cours de Code Napoléon. Nature seems made up of "all that exists, not only the objects which can become the property of man, but even all that, in nature, escapes this exclusive appropriation." Nature is thus opposed to human activity, it forms the backdrop for actions or the landscape within which law is played out.

However, far from being an objective reference to the physical-chemical world alone, nature is mobilized to integrate into the discourse not only biological life or physical forces but also essences and values. It is then natural what the author, in this case Charles Demolombe in our example, declares as such. One might think that nature is this thing external to the human will and which is imposed on everyone, objectively, but it is not.

Of course, we meet this mysterious and irresistible force, this force majeure considered an "inevitable empire"* of nature. Of course, tangible or immovable property or even men and women have undeniable physical properties. Things and people, the objects of the jurist's discourse, indeed exist. In reality, we can easily see that the law and jurists choose from what is objectively “natural” or physical-chemical, that which they will qualify as “nature”. In a way, the law has the last word because it chooses among the constraints of nature those that it wants to admit and if necessary extend, and those that it simply ignores.

* In a note here Hakim cites from Demolombe (vol. X, no. 5) a passage on the law of alluvion that resonates with a recent paper of mine (for a collection edited by Hakim on "Nature as a Norm"...):

As if the rivers and rivers needed the permission of the legislator, to roll their waters according to the mysterious and irresistible movements which carry them along! As if this empire, or as we still say, this absolutism of running waters were not the work of nature itself, an inevitable empire, of which the legislator would seek in vain to dispossess them; whereas its only claim can be to regulate the consequences as equitably as possible. We must therefore recognize that there is a force majeure here, a force often capricious and undoubtedly blind, regarding which the laws cannot always right the wrongs or repair the injustices.