Brendan Brady
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For years, the guardians of Sorng Rukavorn forest have drifted through
the muted greens and grays of the underbrush in their saffron robes. In
the far north of Cambodia, the monks live in what should be peaceful
isolation, but all too often they have had to fend off incursions on
this land. Using their authority as holy figures,
they've turned away illegal loggers — among them, they say, armed police
and soldiers — as well as local officials who have tried to wrestle
control of the public land to parcel it out for their own profit.
Now the monks are looking for backup. They plan to institutionalize
their communal ownership of the forest and shared profit from its
44,479-acre (18,000 hectare) bounty by demarcating it an international
ecological asset. Sorng Rukavorn is one of 13 community forests
spreading over 168,032 acres (68,000 hectares) in Oddar Meanchey
province that is being registered as a bank of carbon credits. Under
this nascent international tool of climate-change mitigation referred to
as Reduced Emissions from Deforestation and Forest Degradation (REDD),
governments and companies in industrialized nations can pay developing
countries to cut carbon emissions on their behalf by not cutting trees.
Deforestation accounts for roughly a quarter of greenhouse-gas emissions
from human activity, according to the U.N. Trees and plants absorb the
gas — produced by a number of natural and man-made processes, from the
combustion of fossil fuels by factories, cars and volcanic eruptions to
the flatulence of livestock — and are therefore essential to balancing
its levels in the atmosphere.
Though the science of climate change is mostly new to the monks of Sorng
Rukavorn, the importance of preserving nature is fundamental. Forests
have always figured prominently in the imagination of Buddhists. "It was
under a tree that Buddha was born, meditated, achieved enlightenment
and passed away," says Tha Soun, a 42-year-old monk who has modeled his
lifestyle after his deity, spending much of his time in ritualized
performances under Rukavorn's canopy. Tha recalls times several years
ago when Sorng Rukavorn would receive regular visits from police and
soldiers who were engaged in illegal-logging rackets. "We have had
success in protecting this land because we are monks," says Tha, adding
that lay Cambodians are much more vulnerable to harsh retaliation for
confronting authorities. "If they wouldn't stop, I would jut take their
chain saws and weapons."
Most of Cambodia's forests have not been quite so blessed. Cambodia's
forest cover has declined 22% over the past two decades, according to
the U.N. The destruction would have been much worse if the government
hadn't canceled most logging concessions at the turn of the century. At
one point during the 1990s, nearly 40% of Cambodia's total land mass was
signed over to loggers, according to the London-based NGO Global
Witness, which the government banned from working in Cambodia after it
published a detailed report in 2007 linking high-ranking politicians as
well as members of the military and business community with illegal
logging. The government has vehemently denied that report's findings,
but its commitment to maintain protected areas continues to be called
into question. The English-language newspaper the Cambodia Daily
recently reported that from Feb. 1 to April 1, Prime Minister Hun Sen
approved 17 concessions granting agribusinesses rights to exploit some
424 sq. mi. (1,100 sq km) in 10 protected areas across the country.
For the residents of Somraong district in Oddar Meanchey, the illicit
auction of public resources has left them ever shrinking space to take
their livestock to graze and harvest forest products, including fruit,
honey and traditional medicine. As that has happened around the country,
the value of a forest like Sorng Rukavorn, which is accessible to all,
has become clearer, says Choun Chun, a resident who volunteers for a
village committee that, in cooperation with the monks, oversees the
forest. "If we cut down the trees, there will be nothing for the next
generation, and we will have ruined ourselves."
Much devastation has been visited upon the area already. Oddar Meanchey
became a stronghold of the Khmer Rouge after a Vietnamese invasion
ousted the fanatical revolutionaries in 1979. Khmer Rouge leaders and
their depleted militia held out here against the new regime until the
late '90s, funding their campaign by selling timber to dealers in
neighboring Thailand. The area has since opened up to the outside world
but remains depressed, with poor infrastructure and few economic
opportunities. Pact, the NGO that has facilitated the carbon credit
application process for the province's community forests, says the
revenues will fund development initiatives, including the building of
roads, schools and hospitals, and support local employment. (See pictures of the rise and fall of the Khmer Rouge.)
Leslie Durschinger, managing director of Terra Global Capital, the San
Francisco–based company that is marketing Oddar Meanchey's carbon
assets, anticipates that the forests could garner as much as $50 million
over the course of 30 years (the typical duration of a REDD contract).
First, however, Oddar Meanchey's carbon assets must be jointly validated
by the Verified Carbon Standard and the Climate Community and
Biodiversity Standard, both third-party carbon auditors, as well as
attract a buyer. For now, the revenue remains theoretical: clean
technologies, renewable energy and technology transfers earn credit as
offsets in legislated carbon markets, but REDD has yet to gain official
currency.
The European Union Emission Trading System — which, with tens of
billions of dollars in annual trade, is the largest mandatory carbon
market — has placed a moratorium on considering REDD credits until 2020.
The fledgling California Compliance Market, one of a handful of
American state bodies to regulate carbon emissions in the absence of
federal laws on the matter, is the only public compliance body in the
world that has committed to accepting REDD credits. The U.N.'s proposed
international REDD system was outlined in CancĂșn last December during an
annual climate-change summit, but disagreements about how it should be
funded prevented the mechanism from being implemented. Member states
will meet again in December, in Durban, South Africa, to try to push
through a binding REDD program.
Critics of REDD argue that forest fires and illegal loggers make avoided
deforestation credits an easy bank to rob. "We've had so many
credibility questions with the carbon market [in general] ... so
something like REDD needs time to get off the ground before it should be
included" in carbon compliance markets, says Sanjeev Kumar, a climate
and energy policy specialist based in Brussels for E3G, a sustainable
development nonprofit group. There are also significant and legitimate
concerns about the allocation of REDD revenue in a country like
Cambodia, which Transparency International routinely ranks among the
most corrupt governments in the world. Cambodia, like many countries,
requires that revenue earned from state land be funneled through the
government.
For now, Oddar Meanchey's carbon credits will be offered on a voluntary
market driven by governments and companies hoping to establish
themselves as ecologically conscious or anticipating future compliance
requirements. Vann Sophanna, a high-ranking official in the government's
Forestry Administration, says state-sanctioned REDD contracts for the
forests will empower residents to confront loggers by putting the full
weight of the state's authority on their side. "Villagers can have those
who try to destroy the forest — even if they are police, soldiers or
forestry administration officials — arrested," he says. "We will enforce
the law." But it's precisely the role of the government that leaves
residents in doubt. "The money might go to the people, or it might go to
corrupt officials," said 58-year-old Kuy Thourn, a village leader. "We
will find out."
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