particularly clear in the nineteenth-century animal welfare movement, the upper
and middle class supporters of which were all dependent on animal exploitation
in some way: “so many of the men and women who supported it—from
sportsmen and vivisectionists to cattle ranchers and owners of carting
agencies
—were connected to professional, industrial and recreational activities
involving animals” (223). It is unsurprising, then, that “more complex
interpretations of animal welfare
” were unable to develop (223).
Likewise, we also find this tension represented in the wildlife
conservation movement. Tina Loo
asserts: “To observers in the late nineteenth
and early twentieth centuries, there was little doubt that wildlife populations
were declining. Nor was there much question about the reason for that decline.
Extinction was a by-p
roduct of expansion” (16). Yet, the government showed
little
concern, there was no “crusade” for wildlife as there was later in the United
States, and nor did public champions come forward to lead the cause (Foster 3-
4). In addition to this tension between exploitation and protection, a number of
other factors seem to have stalled progress, as Janet Foster explains:
An uninhabited frontier, the myth of superabundance, an era of
exploitation and lack of knowledge about wildlife, the political climate of
the National Policy and the division of powers under the British North
America Act
—all of these factors and attitudes within the government
and among Canadian people generally, obstructed and delayed the
advent of wildlife conservation in Canada. (12)
Allmark-Kent 85
In America, Yellowstone National Park was established in 1872 to preserve
wilderness and wildlife; when Canada first reserved ten acres of land in Banff in
1885, it was to “preserve a valuable natural resource that could be exploited in
the interests of the gov
ernment and railway” (20). Two years later when Banff
Hot Springs was protected as the country’s first national park, it was not a
wildlife sanctuary but a tourist resort (20, 25). Moreover, J. Alexander Burnett
explains that, although Canada continued to establish national parks and there
was even a “flurry of activity” in this area by the end of the century, the nation’s
efforts to protect wildlife remained “rudimentary” (7). This would start to change
in the early years of the twentieth century, however, as public interest in this
was on the rise and the back-to-nature movement was taking hold in both
Canada and the United States.
Significantly, Burnett makes a brief interlude in relating the history of the
Canadian Wildlife Service to detail the contributions made by Seton and
Roberts:
“Among the most influential participants in this popular groundswell
were Ernest Thompson Seton and Charles G.D. Roberts” (7). He notes that the
stories of
both of these “keen outdoorsmen,” positioned “wildlife sympathetically
in the public consci
ousness;” although he specifies that Seton was the “serious
naturalist” and “active lobbyist for conservation” (7-8). Moreover, not only does
Burnett make these connections between their writing and efforts to encourage
public concern for Canada’s wildlife, he also reveals their collaborations with
Americans. For instance, he lists Seton and Roberts as key figures
—amongst
John Macoun, John Muir, and Jack Miner
—in a group who strongly influenced
the signing of the Migratory Birds Convention in 1916. As spokesmen for this
unofficial, but powerful, coalition of naturalists, writers, hunters, and scientists
from both sides of the national border, Seton and Roberts worked to “replace
Allmark-Kent 86
the frontier myth of limitless wildlife,” and “succeeded in arousing public opinion
to a degree that commanded the respect of political leaders in Canada and the
United States” (29). Again, although Burnett echoes the attitudes of Polk and
others by describing the wild animal story as “the most Canadian of literary
genres” (7), it is clear that Seton and Roberts were not representing
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