The Karbonkelberg Reserve refers to a restricted zone situated within the Table Mountain National Park (TMNP) on the Cape Peninsula ( Figure 2 ). The Reserve ranges from Hout Bay to Oudekraal in the Western Cape and lies directly adjacent to the fishing community of Hangberg.

This Reserve provides a relevant example on the value of customary use rights when declaring an MPA. It also forms a unique example due to its proximity to the city of Cape Town. City planning during the Apartheid regime combined with natural resource zoning have both contributed to the exclusion of the Hangberg community from the MPA formation process. Although the TMNP MPA was only formed in 2004 (DEAT, 2004), the Karbonkelberg Reserve had been previously designated as the Hout Bay Lobster Sanctuary, which was made a restricted zone in 1934 (van Sittert, 1994). Although the harvesting of West Coast Rock Lobster has occurred in the Hout Bay and Karbonkelberg areas for centuries (van Sittert, 1994), the impact of the Karbonkelberg Reserve on the local community was further exacerbated by the Apartheid Group Areas Act. The 1950 Act zoned the town of Hout Bay as a ‘White’ residential area and designated the Harbour area for ‘Coloured’ occupation (Isaacs, 2006) forcing many residents to move to the non-white designated area where many of the traditional fishermen still occupy today. The inclusion of the Karbonkelberg Reserve in the TMNP MPA in 2004 further perpetuated the Apartheid era exclusion which directly ignored the Hangberg community’s rights to access traditional fishing grounds (Sowman et al., 2011). Furthermore, this exclusion persists even though commercial fishing vessels are allowed into the area in March every year (Hauck, 2009). A lack of meaningful engagement with the Hangberg community (Sowman et al., 2011) combined with the economic circumstances that most of the community members find themselves in means that fishing has continued, albeit illegally, with no effective way to monitor and police catches (Omari, 2007). Further exacerbating the situation is the force with which the community is met – rather than engaging with the community, the response has been to increase policing, fines, and the confiscation of equipment (Omari, 2007; Sowman et al., 2011). In a post-Apartheid city that still sees huge segregation along race and class lines, the criminalisation of the Hangberg community further calls into question their sense of settlement and belonging which is already made visible by the public displays of conflict between residents and law enforcement over the decades-long housing crisis (Piper et al., 2021).

As Africa’s oldest MPA, the Tsitsikamma National Park (NP) (also referred to as Tsitsikamma MPA) provides crucial insight into the challenges and complexities of trying to achieve the 30x30 targets in the context of South Africa. Situated on the border of the Western and Eastern Cape Provinces in the Koukamma Municipality, the Tsitsikamma NP covers a 60km stretch along the coastline ( Figure 3 ).

The ecological context and complex management history are outlined in Table 1 . There are two key dimensions that the Tsitsikamma case reveals. The first challenge is a failure to address diverging objectives. The second challenge involves the need to balance and consider rights, access, and equity issues in relation to conservation efforts in South Africa. A key challenge confronting South African conservation efforts is the need for balancing social, economic and ecological objectives (Muhl et al., 2020). Ecological objectives linked to higher economic benefit (i.e. tourism and the idea of a ‘pristine wilderness’) are almost always the driving concern in South African marine conservation (Muhl et al., 2020). However, the link between ecological health and adjacent community livelihoods, cultural needs and social benefits are often overlooked. For example, in the Tsitsikamma NP, the purpose of conservation has long been a source of misinformation, with limited communication with coastal communities and decreased benefits resulting from the closure of marine areas historically used for harvesting culturally important food sources (Faasen and Watts, 2007: Muhl and Sowman, 2020).

The lack of meaningful engagement with conservation decision-makers has led to a perceived failure of the managing authority to consider community needs (cultural, social, and economic) (Mann-Lang et al., 2021). One of the key questions is whether targets and challenges are aiming to protect nature through closure and exclusion of people or through managing areas and people as an enclosed system. This ultimately requires participants in the South African conservation community to focus issues of rights and access. In the Tsitsikamma NP, the exclusion of certain groups from long-held traditional areas that were previously accessed for livelihood and cultural benefits has been a fundamental reason for the ongoing contestation and compliance challenges. The creation of the MPA has created poaching in a place where people historically used to sustainably coexist with nature. Local fishers consider customary access to the area for harvesting resources a right, while park authorities perceive local fishers to be trespassing and fishing illegally (and therefore fishers are labelled as “poachers”) (Muhl and Sowman, 2020). The outcome of this is that a failure to deal with issues of rights and access leads inevitably to a widespread perception that conservation continues to be a colonial practice and one that leads to illegitimate intervention (Mann-Lang et al., 2021).

The Hluleka MPA is one of the smallest in South Africa, located along the Eastern Cape’s Mpondoland adjacent to the Hluleka Nature Reserve. The MPA covers an area 41km² with a 4.5 km coastline that extends 6 nautical miles offshore (Emdon, 2013; Sowman and Sunde, 2018; De Villiers, 2021; Fielding, 2021) ( Figure 4 ).

During the 1920s and 1930s, the state sought to conserve natural resources by introducing laws and restrictions that subsequently dispossessed local communities from access to forest and marine resources (Emdon, 2013; Sowman and Sunde, 2018). The Hluleka community’s access to marine resources was not affected by these laws in the 1920s due to the district magistrate’s support of the coastal community (Emdon, 2013). The magistrate refused to place marine resource restrictions on the community when concerns over future overexploitation arose, recognizing the value of fishing and harvesting to the coastal community and acknowledging that fishing was an activity that was passed down generations (Emdon, 2013). However, this changed once the Sea Shore Act No. 21 of 1935 was passed and resulted in the forced removal of families along the Hluleka coast. The Act forbade people from living near the high-water mark and limited access to marine resources (Emdon, 2013).

In 1976 the Hluleka Nature Reserve was officially proclaimed. While community consultation prior to the declaration of the reserve offered resistance, authorities made promises of job opportunities, continued fishing and harvesting in the Reserve, a 10% cut in Reserve profits, and forest management training, to gain the community’s vote (Emdon, 2013). The promises were not met, and the terms around access to the Reserve tightened leading to arrests and physical assaults from the rangers (Emdon, 2013). This resulted in 450 households forcefully removed (Sowman and Sunde, 2018). However, it was in 1991 (Mann-Lang et al., 2021) when the reserve’s coastline was declared as a MPA under the Transkei Fisheries Regulations that the community first highlights negative impacts from marine conservation. For example, overnight Reserve guests had fishing rights while the adjacent community lost these rights (Emdon, 2013). These restrictions also coincided with the shift in the political economy in the Eastern Cape. During this time there was increased reliance on marine resources as an alternative livelihood because of the retrenchment of many migrant workers. When the MPA was declared as a no-take zone in 2000 this severely impacted the community’s livelihoods (Sowman and Sunde, 2018). As such, the Hluleka MPA case study highlights how hasty decision-making neglected the socio-economic needs of a community that could have benefited from engagement and inclusive decision-making.

De Villiers (2021) highlights the disconnect between various stakeholders. Local community members are recorded as not understanding the value of the MPA from an ecological perspective but being open to hearing more from researchers in this regard (p. 265). The author also discusses how the MPA was proclaimed based on top-down decisions with no engagement of the local communities and no real research basis. Currently, the relationship between local communities and conservation authorities is contentious as community members continue to harvest and fish within the MPA, and the authority issues fines in response.

The Mngazana Estuary forms the boundary between Caguba Traditional Authority in the north and the Gomolo Traditional Authority in the south ( Figure 5 ). The five surrounding villages of Magcakini, Cwebeni, Nkwilini, Kunonyonga, and Mqaleni are the communities that derive likelihoods from this estuary.

This estuary contains the third largest mangrove forest (118 ha) in the country.The local fishermen collect bait from the mangrove swamps and the livestock from the surrounding villages are grazed here (E. Mtambeki, 2021, pers. comm.). Communities are dependent on resources harvested from the mangrove forest to meet livelihood needs. Resources include building materials for housing, food, bait, and firewood. The current levels of harvest are considered unsustainable (Rajkaran et al., 2004) although these demands are now declining (Mtambeki 2021, pers. comm.). Reconciling demands with sustainable use limits might prove to be challenging. The estuary is not formally protected although an Estuarine Management Plan has been drawn up for the Mngazana Estuary system ( Figure 5 ) (DEA, 2015). This management plan was an effort to engage and involve local people in the management of the estuary and its mangroves. It was largely motivated by the need to create economic incentives for communities surrounding the Mngazana mangroves to sustainably manage the forest and income generating opportunities (Lewis and Msimang, 2004) through canoe tours and beekeeping. The bees here are mainly dependent on mangrove flowers creating a unique kind of honey. Management plans on communal land are often associated with projects to motivate communities to protect nature. These act as an incentive for conservation activities that the community is expected to do.

Kosi Bay is located within the iSimangaliso Wetland Park which also contains the iSimangaliso MPA ( Figure 6 ). The Kosi Bay system consists of several coastal habitat types ( Table 1 ) and a unique four-lake system ranging from marine to freshwater lakes.

Due to its high biodiversity and habitat richness, the Kosi Bay system, and the iSimangaliso Wetland Park as a whole, was granted UNESCO World Heritage Site status in 1999. However, formal conservation in areas within the boundaries of iSimangaliso has existed for over 100 years, and the nearby St Lucia Nature Reserve is one of the oldest protected areas in Africa, having been established in 1895 (IWPA, 2011). One of the reasons for the progressive creation of protected areas within and around the boundaries of iSimangaliso Wetland Park is the need to protect increasing populations of hippopotamuses, sea turtles and black rhinoceros within the system (IWPA, 2017).

The people of Kosi Bay have a long history of weaving together their livelihood strategies using coastal resources, engaging in activities such as fishing, harvesting indigenous forest products, eco-tourism, and agriculture for centuries. However, in the post-Apartheid era (after 1994), the area has been subject to intensified multi-scalar conservation interventions governed through instruments such as a UNESCO, the Ramsar Convention, a state-designated MPA, and a state-designated terrestrial forest reserve. This had become an issue of contention due to the mismatch between conservation expansion plans and rural development plans that are meant to uplift the livelihoods of people (Mbatha, 2018). Marginalization due to Apartheid policies and exclusionary conservation governance processes and practices is still widespread in these areas. For instance, the National Development Plan of South Africa (NPC, 2012) seeks to eradicate poverty and promote food security and development in rural areas of South Africa. Simultaneously, the government’s conservation targets are increasing, while the demarcation of new MPAs and the existence of old ones largely affects the same rural coastal communities. This therefore creates conflict between conservation and development goals, which is an issue that is prevalent in the Kosi Bay case.

Multi-scalar and plural conservation governance in Kosi Bay has implications on local livelihoods because the rural coastal community not only resides adjacent to an MPA, but also exists within and adjacent to a UNESCO world heritage site, a Ramsar site and a Coastal Forest Reserve. The plurality and overlap of these conservation governance arrangements creates ambiguity and confusion about governance mandates and livelihood rights (i.e. fishing rights) (Mbatha, 2018). Furthermore, part of the MPA exists where there is an ongoing land claim by a local customary structure that represents people in the community who were forcibly removed from coastal land during apartheid. Due to these forced removals, local people lost physical access to the marine environment that is important for their livelihoods, and spiritual and cultural wellbeing.

These issues remain key challenges in Kosi Bay, as there are ongoing conflicts between local people and conservation authorities, as local people perceive conservation governance processes and practices to be exclusionary and not accommodating to their social, economic, and cultural wellbeing. This is exacerbated by the fact that the establishment of the MPA and World Heritage Site is often stated as an economic benefit to communities with the influx of tourism and with increased training and capacity development (Odendal and Schoeman, 1990, IWPA, 2017, Mbatha, 2018). However, benefits are not equally shared with local communities still receiving income based on informal roles as guides, fishing aides, and vendors. There is no real stake in the park and thus no input regarding management of resources.

Mann-Lang et al. (2021) discuss in greater depth the research and analyses surrounding economic gains and losses associated with MPAs along the South African coast. The authors highlight a lack of research with only a few studies documenting long-term economic gains for local users. While the economic gains associated with MPAs remain largely unrecorded, the exclusion of community input and expression regarding perceived gains remains problematic. For example, a long-term economic gain is not always considered a tangible benefit by community users who sometimes face more immediate issues of food security. Reporting on a long-term gain is thus not synonymous with community inclusion or perceived benefit. McClanahan et al. (2005), in their paper on the perception of MPA management in Kenya highlight the discrepancy in government and local peoples’ opinions on the economic benefits of MPAs. Using examples from small-scale fisheries management and coastal mining sectors, Mbatha (2011), and Mbatha and Wynberg (2014) demonstrate that perceptions of benefits to local communities held by those in power in natural resource use governance are usually different from perceptions of local communities about what benefits should entail to whom, and when. The mismatches between managers and local communities about what benefits entail is usually a result of poor governance processes The failure of MPAs to provide equitable and fair economic benefits is highlighted in the literature, with emphasis on the need for MPA governance processes to be fair, equitable and participatory if they are to enhance local perceptions of benefits, and increase economic, job and development opportunities for marginalized coastal communities (Bennett and Dearden, 2014b; Charles et al., 2016; Abukari and Mwalyosi, 2020).

Conservation conflicts can be defined as “situations that occur when two or more parties with strongly held opinions clash over conservation objectives and when one party is perceived to assert its interests at the expense of another” (Redpath et al, 2013). A community-conservation conflict thus specifies a conflict between conservation objectives and local communities. Conservation objectives can be represented by management authorities, researchers, or government departments. Community-conservation conflict often drives unregulated and illegal activity which in turn leads many conservationists and ecologists to call for stricter top-down enforcement (Baynham-Herd et al., 2018) possibly creating an unsustainable positive feedback loop. This is seen in South African protected areas, where priority is given to conserving and monitoring ecology with little insight regarding the translation of ecological processes into social benefits (Kirkman et al., 2021). Often biodiversity monitoring research and reports deliver a message to tighten top-down control with no insight into the social structure around these protected areas as is seen in the recent case of a Dwesa-Cwebe study (Bullock et al., 2021). While there is undoubtedly immense value in these studies which highlight the success of MPAs, presenting findings without context of historical inequality further perpetuates the narrative that local communities are a threat to biodiversity and that top-down enforcement must be the solution. Despite the physical top-down control, illegal fishing will most likely continue in the park, further driving conflict between enforcement authorities and local communities. Similarly, in Hangberg, the community is frequently at loggerheads with local authorities, with the conflict often turning violent from both sides (De Greef, 2014). This type of conflict further serves to ostracise the community and complicates community perceptions of MPAs with both ‘poaching’ for sustenance and as an act of defiant protest occurring in some of South Africa’s MPAs (Schultz, 2015; Isaacs and Witbooi, 2019).

A combination of historic forced removal, current top-down regulation of protected areas, and lack of integration of traditional and cultural knowledge in MPA governance leads to a continued sense of loss. MPAs that are associated with the exclusion of local people in their design, implementation and governance tend to result in loss/erosion of rights, way of life, material assets, culture, identity, traditional practices, local knowledge and human-nature interactions between local people and resources (Bennett and Dearden, 2014a; Christie et al., 2017; Sowman and Sunde, 2018). The ideals embodied by strictly top-down regulation - and the impacts thereof - are acutely illustrated in the literature (Sunde and Isaacs, 2008; Emdon, 2013; Sunde, 2014; Mbatha, 2018; Sowman and Sunde, 2018; Muhl, 2019; De Villiers, 2021). These studies find that where community participation is referenced, this participation is generally “instrumental”, meaning that communities are expected to participate in the implementation of management initiatives but generally have no say in the designing and implementation of the initiatives. All these authors go on to list the clearly-documented costs to local communities including loss of livelihood, expulsion from traditional fishing grounds and living spaces, as well as violations of human and community rights.

These losses have been recorded specifically for the Dwesa-Cwebe community (Sunde, 2014; Sunde, 2016), Tsitsikamma communities (Muhl, 2019), and Kosi Bay communities (Mbatha, 2019). In Kosi Bay where the issues of land claims remain unresolved, loss of ownership is compounded by the World Heritage status of the park where local communities say they were not consulted in the World Heritage process and that protection and regulations are for the benefit of international tourists (Mbatha, 2018). Documentaries created by local filmmakers also highlight community perceptions, perhaps more directly, than official records. An examples includes 'Hluleka' (Janna, 2020), a documentary directed by Jamila Janna, which explores the Hluleka MPA from the perspective of the Hluleka community, including harvesters and fishers. Another example includes 'Removed' (Loubser, 2020), directed by Loren Loubser, which highlights the Apartheid-era forced removal of the Redhill community. This community is still unable to reclaim their land which is now officially protected by SANParks and falls within the TMNP.

This loss of ownership stretches into a perpetuation of pre-democracy exclusive research and management practices. This includes not requesting permission from traditional leadership, ignoring the social or human component of ecosystem and conservation models, and dismissing traditional knowledge. The Karbonkelberg Reserve is a prime example, where a local small-scale fishing community has been excluded from fishing an area that has been part of their lives for centuries while commercial fisheries are allowed to harvest in the area, based on a pre-democracy designation that itself was based on opinions of the South African Food Canners Council. Although governance has changed for the country, the exclusive laws remain.

A critical issue that emerged across all case studies is the need for further engagement. A key need for community engagement, specifically, emerged in our case studies. Community engagement is selecting a representative group of people to identify issues that affect their well-being over a period of extended time (International Association for Public Participation, quoted in VAGO, 2015). Engagement has been widely endorsed internationally as contributing to trust and leading to improved management in academic and policy circles (Reed, 2008; Sayce et al., 2013; Gaymer et al., 2014; Sterling et al., 2017). Considerations for effective community engagement requires: (1) considering who is involved, (2) recognising agency (do they want to be included), and (3) providing opportunity and access (Day, 2017). The complexity surrounding engagement is illustrated in Kosi Bay, Hluleka and the Tsitsikamma where unsettled and ongoing land claims require ongoing communication not just with local leaders but also land claimants and resource users (e.g. fishers). For communities such as Hangberg, the issue of agency requires careful and considered engagement. Fishers who have been previously policed and fined may be wary to engage, requiring a steady commitment that leads to concrete changes in how the area is being managed to address fishers’ concerns.

Reflecting on who is engaged and selecting a representative group will better capture the interests, needs and concerns and provide an entry point to better understand conflict and risk. However, engagement is not limited to only community engagement. For example, in Mngazana, the five adjacent communities are driving the conservation process and there is a need for management and support for mangrove protection that requires engagement with ecologists, biologists and conservation managers for a conservation plan. Often such management plans are drawn up without meaningful engagement between ecologists, policy makers, communities, and technical stakeholders. Adams et al. (2020) provide a framework for estuarine research, restoration and management and propose a socio-ecological systems approach where both ecological indicators and social indicators are continuously monitored to assess success in reaching defined targets. This certainly encourages a more inclusive approach as opposed to the current research and monitoring practices in most of South Africa’s MPAs and coastal systems in general. Meaningful and inclusive engagement at all stages of the process ( Figure 7 ) helps create opportunities and builds relationships between individuals and groups based on shared interests. While lack of capacity and time-constraints can hinder engagement, successful protected area management hinges on long term, ongoing commitment and communication that allows for trust-building between groups that ultimately leads to more effective and harmonious conservation management (Ban and Frid, 2018; Cvitanovic et al., 2018; Dehens and Fanning, 2018).

Stewardship is defined by Bennett et al. (2018) as “the actions taken by individuals, groups or networks of actors, with various motivations and levels of capacity, to protect, care for or responsibly use the environment in pursuit of environmental and/or social outcomes in diverse social–ecological contexts”. Stewardship is the promotion of human-environment interactions for guiding sustained and constructive environmental protection (MEA, 2005; Díaz et al., 2015).

Local stewardship has been written about extensively as evidenced and documented by Bennett et al. (2018) as “community-based conservation (CBC), community-based management (CBM), community-based natural resource management (CBNRM), Indigenous and community conserved areas (ICCAs), integrated conservation-development projects (ICDPs), locally managed marine areas (LMMAs), (Berkes, 2004; Cinner and Aswani, 2007; Jonas et al., 2014; Riehl et al., 2015; ICCA Consortium, 2022). In practice, local stewardship in South Africa is often challenging in the marine landscapes due to a strong biodiversity focus and the non-emergence of co-management initiatives (Barendse et al., 2016; Cockburn et al., 2019). As a result, communities are either excluded and fined rather than engaged (see above examples) or the complexity of the socio-ecological system is ignored (Barendse et al., 2016; Cockburn et al., 2019). The need to promote local stewardship is ever pressing in the context of ecological decline and Mngazana provides a crucial example of local community protection and stewardship over an estuarine system that requires government support. An increase in government support that fosters stronger socio-ecological and environmental stewardship would lead to visible community benefits (i.e. protection of estuarine resources for sustainable use) and enforcement of rules that are community-led.

Our focus on local stewardship also aligns with an increasing emphasis on centering local communities and resource users in conservation and environmental management policies, programs, and practice globally. As these examples show, locally oriented stewardship practices, policies and programs have emerged in fisheries, agriculture, forestry, protected areas, wildlife, ecosystem service, and water management across rural to urban environments.

Environmental stewardship is a valuable and holistic concept for guiding productive and sustained relationships with the environment that can lead to solutions where both communities and conservation benefit.

Place-based knowledge is defined as the intimate knowledge that locals have of their “community and the surrounding areas both in terms of the natural landscapes, local culture, and values” (Shamah and MacTavish, 2009). This knowledge is gained from the exploration of the place and the interactions with the land and other community members (Shamah and MacTavish, 2009). Traditional ecological knowledge is defined by Berkes (1993) as “a cumulative body of knowledge and beliefs, handed down through generations by cultural transmission, about the relationship of living beings (including human beings) with one another and with their environment”. The exclusion of traditional ecological knowledge (TEK), local knowledge, and Indigenous knowledge in MPA planning, design, implementation, and monitoring results from a lack of meaningful engagement with communities. Further, with the sense of loss of ownership from the communities and lack of strong environmental stewardship, as highlighted in the previous sections, valuing place-based knowledge (PBK), TEK, and cultural practices linked to the ocean, is a necessary step towards inclusive MPAs.

For the sustainable use of coastal resources PBK as well TEK should be documented and included in conservation goals. For example, in the case of the Hangberg community, existing traditional fishermen have PBK which would be useful for mitigating conflicts, re-evaluating economic goals, and improving future management of the TMNP MPA. Similarly, in the case of Tsitsikamma, Hluleka and Kosi Bay, the traditional and cultural values tied to the coastal environment have been neglected – due to forced removals and loss of access - and require stronger recognition in all aspects related to MPAs. Restrictions and access to resources influenced by PBK should be community led, as many communities in Africa implemented management practices before the intervention of scientists (Mathooko, 2005). For example, it was tradition for fishermen from Hluleka to exclude juvenile fish from their catch (Janna pers. comm., Hluleka and Janna, 2020). Disrupting the idea that researchers and scientists are the only stakeholders with knowledge that is beneficial to local and Indigenous communities’ wellbeing, or that researchers are entitled to extract knowledge from local communities without acknowledging them (Davidson-Hunt and O’Flaherty, 2007) is fundamental in preventing further marginalisation of these communities in decision-making. In 2021 a court interdict was granted against Shell’s exploratory seismic survey off the South African Eastern Cape coastline. While the first interdict was dismissed based on inadequate supporting information, small-scale fishers and the local coastal communities continued to quietly add their voices and work together with researchers to gather a solid body of evidence against the social and ecological impacts of seismic exploration (Mail and Guardian, 2021). The community-led second interdict was granted and bears testament to the dedication of local communities to protect their resources. In 2022 the small-scale fishers from the west coast of South Africa won another interdict, this time against the Australian company Searcher which planned to conduct a seismic survey along the coastline (Mail and Guardian, 2022). These examples perhaps show that while scientific knowledge is valuable, a strong synergy between TEK/PBK and scientific knowledge is required (Mathooko, 2005) where coastal and Indigenous communities are concerned ( Figure 7 ).