Transboundary Risk Governance (The Earthscan Risk in Society Series)

TransboundaryRisk

Governance

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EARTHSCAN RISK IN SOCIETY SERIES Cover image: iStockphoto.com

Rolf Lidskog, Linda Soneryd and Ylva Uggla

with foreword by Alan Irwin

Transboundary Risk Governance

‘This is a thought-provoking, well-written and important book that will be an essential read for anyone whocares about transboundary risk governance.’Ragnar E. Löfstedt, Director of King’s Centre for Risk Management, King’s College London, UK

‘Transboundary Risk Governance deals with the most pressing issue of our age – how to create integratedregulatory practices adequate to problems which do not respect national boundaries. Drawing on casematerial across four different fields of regulatory attention – pollution, climate change, mobile phoneradiation and GM food safety – the authors ably demonstrate how complex uncertainties are framed bydifferent bodies and experts to make them governable as risks. This book spans the fields of politicalscience, public administration, international relations and risk and regulation studies, and is essentialreading for scholars and practitioners alike.’Michael Power, London School of Economics and Political Science

‘Yields a nuanced view of the various social factors and actors that shape the contemporary Europeanregulatory agenda, including the sensible conclusion that the state remains an important, although not theonly, actor in governing globalization … highly recommended for those who seek to better understand theeffects of globalization on national and international regulation.’Peter M. Haas, Professor of Political Science, University of Massachusetts, Amherst

‘This book has several strengths: it is not afraid to interrogate our most taken-for-granted processes (‘whymake rules?’); its four case studies are built around original and important research carried out by theauthors; but, above all, by bringing together the salient questions in regulation theory, discourse theoryand science and technology studies the book has been able to explore issues of environmental risk andregulation as subtle, ongoing and provisional social processes. We will need this understanding to createbetter environment–society relationships in the future.’Claire Waterton, Director of the Centre for the Study of Environmental Change, Lancaster University

This book focuses on a set of key questions relating to environmental regulation. How are activitiesregulated in a fragmented world where governments, corporations, NGOs and others influenceregulations in specific policy areas? How are complex and transboundary environmental issuesmanaged? What role does expert knowledge play in regulating these issues? What gives rules authority?In short, how do actors try to render an issue governable?

The outcomes of the author’s analyses include insights for policymakers, regulators and researchers intohow dominant frames are constructed, legitimate actors are configured and authority is established. Thisin turn exposes the conditions for, and possibility of, developing regulation, making authoritative rulesand shaping relevant knowledge in order to govern complex environmental risks.

Rolf Lidskog is Professor in Sociology at the Centre for Urban and Regional Studies, Örebro University, Sweden.Linda Soneryd is Associate Professor in Sociology and Researcher at the Stockholm Centre for OrganizationalResearch (Score). Ylva Uggla is Associate Professor in Sociology at the Centre for Urban and Regional Studies,Örebro University.

Risk / Environmental Policy

RolfLidskog,LindaSoneryd

andYlva

Uggla



EARTHSCAN RISK IN SOCIETY SERIES

Series editor: Ragnar E. Löfstedt

Calculating Political RiskCatherine Althaus

The Earthscan Reader on RiskEdited by Ragnar E. Löfstedt and Åsa Boholm

The Ethics of Technological RiskEdited by Lotte Asveld and Sabine Roeser

Facility SitingRisk, Power and Identity in Land-Use PlanningEdited by Åsa Boholm and Ragnar E. Löfstedt

Hazards, Vulnerability and Environmental JusticeSusan L. Cutter

The Perception of RiskPaul Slovic

Risk GovernanceCoping with Uncertainty in a Complex World

Ortwin Renn

Risk Management in Post-Trust SocietiesRagnar E. Löfstedt

Risk, Media and StigmaUnderstanding Public Challenges to Modern Science and Technology

Edited by James Flynn, Paul Slovic and Howard Kunreuther

Risk, Uncertainty and Rational ActionCarlo C. Jaeger, Ortwin Renn, Eugene A. Rosa and Thomas Webler

The Social Contours of Risk (Volumes 1 & 2)Jeanne X. Kasperson and Roger E. Kasperson

Social Trust and the Management of RiskEdited by George Cvetkovich and Ragnar E. Löfstedt

The Tolerability of RiskA New Framework for Risk Management

Edited by Frédéric Bouder, David Slavin and Ragnar E. Löfstedt

Transboundary Risk GovernanceRolf Lidskog, Linda Soneryd and Ylva Uggla

Transboundary Risk ManagementEdited by Joanne Linnerooth-Bayer, Ragnar E. Löfstedt and Gunnar Sjöstedt

Trust in Cooperative Risk ManagementUncertainty and Scepticism in the Public Mind

Edited by Michael Siegrist, Timothy C. Earle and Heinz Gutscher

Uncertainty and RiskMultidisciplinary Perspectives

Edited by Gabriele Bammer and Michael Smithson


Rolf Lidskog, Linda Soneryd and Ylva Uggla

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publ ishing for a sustainable future

First published by Earthscan in the UK and USA in 2010

Copyright © Rolf Lidskog, Linda Soneryd and Ylva Uggla, 2010

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A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataLidskog, Rolf. Transboundary risk governance / Rolf Lidskog, Linda Soneryd, and Ylva Uggla. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-84407-791-5 (hardback) 1. Environmental protection--Baltic Sea Region. 2. Environmental policy--Baltic Sea Region. 3. Environmental law--Baltic Sea Region. 4. Environmental protection--European Union countries. 5. Environmental policy--European Union countries. 6. Environmental law--European Union countries. I. Soneryd, Linda. II. Uggla, Ylva. III. Title. GE190.B29L53 2009 363.7009485--dc22

2009009658

At Earthscan we strive to minimize our environmental impacts and carbon footprint through reducing waste, recycling and offsetting our CO2 emissions, including those created through publication of this book. For more details of our environmental policy, see www.earthscan.co.uk.

This book was printed in the UK by TJ International,an ISO 14001 accredited company. The paper used is FSC certified and the inks are vegetable based.

Contents

About the authors ixPreface xiForeword by Alan Irwin xiiiList of abbreviations xix

1 Regulating Risk in a Fragmented World 1 A regulatory renaissance? 1 Towards political destabilization? 4 Or towards political stabilization? 6 Towards cognitive destabilization? 8 Or towards cognitive stabilization? 10 Research design 11 Outline of the book 15

2 Making Rules and Shaping Knowledge 17 Making rules 18 Who make rules? 18 What should be regulated? 21 Shaping knowledge 22 Contested knowledge and epistemic authority 24 The shaping of agency in regulatory processes 26 Frames and narratives 27 Conclusion: Frames, actors and knowledge 29 3 Mobile Telephony and Radiation Protection: Regulating Risk or Local Self-Governance 31 Science and regulations on radiofrequency electromagnetic fields 33 The scientific controversy and its closures 34 International and European guidelines and recommendations 35 A common Nordic approach 37

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The controversy in Sweden: The meaning and scope of knowledge and rules 38 Testing the boundaries of the law and the precautionary principle 39 Precautionary debates at another arena 42 Concluding discussion 47 Notes 51

4 Oil Transport in the Baltic Sea: Environmental Protection and the Freedom of the High Seas 53 Regulation of the sea transport of oil and the notion of PSSA 54 The impact of tanker disasters 55 The PSSA guidelines 56 The designation of the Western European waters as a PSSA 57 The Baltic Sea as a PSSA 59 The PSSA process – a review 59 The Baltic Sea – a sea at risk 61 PSSA – a Swedish concern? 62 The role and scope of associated protective measures 64 Definition of actors, roles and competences 65 Concluding discussion 67 Notes 70

5 Climate Change Adaptation: Regulation under Formation 73 The framing of climate change and climate adaptation 74 International regulatory framework 75 Defining climate change: Distinctions, expectations and implications 77 The notion of adaptation 78 Climate change adaptation in Sweden 79 Climate change adaptation: A disregarded issue 79 The creation of an informal network 81 The Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability 82 Climate adaptation – actors, issues and responsibilities 84 The distinction between climate variability and climate change 85 The municipalities and climate change adaptation 86 Concluding discussion 87 Notes 89

6 Regulating Coexistence: The Creation of New Discursive Sites for the Battle over GM Crops 91 Regulatory developments in the EU and the turn towards ‘coexistence’ 92 EC recommendation: National rules for coexistence 95 Rationales behind diverging coexistence policies 97 The rationale behind Sweden’s proposed coexistence measures 98

The Swedish process for deciding on coexistence measures 99 ‘Trust in numbers’ and the shaping of relevant knowledge 101 Questioning the rationale behind the proposed safety measures 102 How to improve public involvement and ensure consumer choice 105 Concluding discussion 107 Notes 109

7 Co-producing Frames, Actors and Knowledge 113 Characterizing the regulatory fields studied 114 Frames and controlling narratives 118 The construction of agency 122 Establishing epistemic authority 125 Concluding discussion 131

References 133

Index 147

CONTENTS vii

About the Authors

Rolf Lidskog is professor of sociology at the Centre for Urban and Regional Studies, Örebro University. His research interests include environmental policy and politics at the international and national level, especially the role of expertise in environmental politics. Lidskog has recently published pieces in Environmental and Planning C, Environmental Sciences, Journal of Risk Research, Local Environment, Sustainable Development and Space and Polity.

Linda Soneryd is associate professor of sociology and research director at Score (Stockholm Centre for Organizational Research). Her current research focuses on experiments in public deliberation/public consultations in the fields of science and technology. Recently conducted studies include investigations into the ongoing public consultations on nuclear waste siting in Sweden, a dialogue project on mobile phones and health risks, and the formulation of rules for coexistence between GM, conventional and organic crops. Soneryd is currently published in the journals Science, Technology & Human Values and Public Understanding of Science.

Ylva Uggla is associate professor of sociology and researcher at the Centre for Urban and Regional Studies, Örebro University. Her current research concerns environmental politics and regulation. Central issues are the interplay between science and policy, and the handling of uncertainty in decision-making processes. Empirical objects are climate change adaptation, sea transport of oil and intervention in natural biological systems. Uggla is currently published in the journals Marine Policy, Futures and Journal of Risk Research.

Preface

Environmental problems are increasingly understood as transboundary matters, transcending borders of nation state, as well as borders between experts and citizens, the public and private sectors, and formal regulation and informal rule-making. Furthermore, environmental problems are increasingly understood as risks, as complex and ambiguous phenomena associated with great uncertainty. Also, traditional top-down ways of managing environmental problems are becoming more and more obsolete, as governance is seen as a more feasible and efficient way to handle transboundary risks. This creates the point of departure for our work with this book on transboundary risk governance with its key question: How can transboundary risks be made governable?

Five years ago, we started the project ‘Risk Regulation in Late Modernity’. By investigating different approaches and studies on risk regulation, we gradually developed a perspective on risk regulation ready to put into operation in empirical analysis. Linda Soneryd has been responsible for all the data collection and analysis of Chapters 3 and 6, and Ylva Uggla for Chapters 4 and 5. Rolf Lidskog wrote the first versions of Chapters 1 and 2. We have all extensively commented and revised these chapters and co-authored the final chapter.

Colleagues have read and commented on earlier versions of individual chapters. We would in particular like to thank Olivier Borraz (Centre de sociologie des organisations, Paris), Magnus Boström (Department of Life Sciences, Södertörn University), Ingemar Elander (Centre for Urban and Regional Studies, Örebro University), Anders Johansson (Department of Technology and Social Change, Linköping University) Mikael Klintman (Research Policy Institute, Lund University), Göran Sundqvist (Centre for Technology, Innovation and Culture, Oslo University) and Åsa Vifell (Stockholm Centre for Organizational Research). The comments offered by an official from the Swedish Board of Agriculture on one of the empirical chapters were also much appreciated. We are also grateful to the anonymous reviewers for providing constructive comments on an earlier version of the manuscript, and to Kelly V. Olsson for checking the language. We

xii TRANSBOUNDARY RISK GOVERNANCE

also extend our thanks to the Swedish Research Council for a grant that made this project possible.

Rolf Lidskog Linda Soneryd Ylva UgglaCentre for Urban and Stockholm Centre for Centre for Urban and Regional Studies Organizational Research Regional StudiesÖrebro University Stockholm University/ Örebro University Stockholm School of Economics

28 February 2009

Foreword

Alan Irwin

Transboundary risk governance operates at the meeting (or collision) point between what can be presented as five globalizing forces. Firstly, we encounter the political imperative to lower national barriers to free trade and the movement of goods. Secondly, there is the international call for a more scientific and ‘evidence-based’ approach to issues of risk and harm. Thirdly, a series of global social and environmental challenges has emerged: with climate change currently the most prominent. Fourthly, there is much social scientific discussion concerning the potential fragmentation of nation states in the face of powerful cross-national organizations (not least industrial corporations) and the rise of new political networks. Fifthly (but certainly not finally; this list could be substantially extended), many commentators note the ease with which knowledge, ideas and information now flow across national boundaries – creating new possibilities, but also new challenges, for current organizations and operating principles.

As this book persuasively suggests, risk governance does not operate in a territorially defined world or in a context that is either politically or cognitively stable. Indeed, and to take the key question that runs through the following chapters, the issue becomes one of how transboundary risks can even be made governable. How can institutions get hold of the issues when (to steal a simile from Ulrich Beck) they seem inevitably to slip like loose sand through their regulatory fingers? Who has the capacity to lead when the objects of risk governance can be so easily destabilized in the face of competing knowledge claims, alternative issue framings and shifting political alliances? In this situation also, risk governance cannot be understood as simply responding to a series of external challenges, but as engaging in the active definition and construction of those challenges. Would climate change even exist as a global issue without global institutions to define, frame and enact it in a global manner?

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What is perhaps most remarkable in this situation is that national political and institutional discussions can appear strikingly resistant to change (we could describe this as ‘resilience’ if we wished to make the same point more positively). While social scientists call for a radical reappraisal of the relationship between scientific evidence and public policy-making, the institutional tendency in the nations of Western Europe, North America and elsewhere is still to ‘gather the facts’ and to present these as the sole rational basis for policy. Despite long-standing criticism of ‘technological fix’ approaches to societal problems, faith that energy demands, food availability and environmental challenges can be tackled in this way seems as unshakeable as ever (at least among certain sections of society).

Perhaps more profoundly, and despite several decades of scholarship in this area, the official assumption is still predominantly that risk governance is at its heart a ‘technical’ problem: a matter for best scientific advice, to be kept at arm’s length from the policy and political agenda. Closely coupled to this belief can often be found the assumption that societal discussion of the risks of energy systems, genetically modified foods or mobile phones is fine in itself, but should not get in the way of scientific and technological progress. While nanotechnology, stem cell research and synthetic biology raise deep social, ethical and political questions, they also represent – at least potentially – new markets for goods, patents and services, and new possibilities for science-led innovation.

These issues become all the sharper when one adds into the governance mix another tendency discussed in this book: the increasing enthusiasm (especially in Europe) to advocate both science-based regulation and some form of public engagement. As the following chapters relate, this has been an important character-istic of recent Swedish debates. However, the meaning, the framing and (not least) the purpose of ‘engagement’ are by no means obvious in this context. Putting aside (temporarily) normative questions of what democratic and accountable risk governance ought to be, we are faced with the challenging question of how wider engagement can be brought into practice within current institutional processes, which characteristically operate in accordance with very different assumptions. The question then is not just ‘what is public engagement for?’, but also ‘public engagement how?’.

This is not to argue against the principle of active citizenship, but rather to note that raised levels of democratic involvement will probably lead to a deeper challenge to current institutional practices – and have further-reaching consequences – than is recognized by those who currently seek to govern risk. Among these challenges we could include the difficulty of balancing global governance processes with demands for democratic involvement that characteristically assume a local or national sphere of control (do we even know what ‘global risk democracy’ would look like?). Inevitably also, there is the question of how to reconcile citizenship engagement with expert knowledge.

Some sense of the democratic and governance challenge ahead can be gleaned from a brief consideration of the climate change case. Among all the voices lobbying

for and against ‘climate action’, the calls for further scientific study, the economic assessments of the costs and benefits, the diplomatic wranglings and false starts on the way to the next new treaty, wider groups of citizens can (when they are not entirely overlooked) appear very silent and apparently passive. Meanwhile, evidence from qualitative research plausibly suggests a distantiation between the interpreted contexts of everyday life and general exhortations that ‘we’ should modify our behaviour in climate-friendly ways: cycling not driving, less air travel, lower energy usage.

The point is not to portray a set of wider publics in opposition to those who summon us to ‘take the planet seriously’. Instead, the suggestion is that individual citizens and social groups are likely to have a more nuanced assessment of the cross-cutting demands of daily existence (transporting a family in cities with poor public services, visiting relatives ‘back home’, living up to social and cultural expectations concerning lifestyle, valuing certain ethical principles as a parent and citizen) that can sit at some distance from the blunt advocacy of sweeping changes. This is certainly not to argue that citizens ‘know best’ about climate change. However, it does point, on the one hand, to a potential ‘democratic gap’ in current approaches to risk governance (a gap which might have serious consequences for future action in this area) and, on the other, to some of the significant difficulties of maintaining governance legitimacy faced with ‘destabilizing’ issues of this type.

Nevertheless, transnational risk governance is not simply a challenge to political institutions but also to the social sciences themselves. As Rolf Lidskog, Linda Soneryd and Ylva Uggla argue in considerable depth, meeting this challenge will necessitate a fresh perspective on how dominant frames of governance are created, legitimate actors are configured and epistemic authority established. In presenting these matters as being about governance rather than simply government, the suggestion also is that analysis needs to be open to the identification and exploration of new forms of identity-building and agency that extend beyond the traditional administrative locus of ‘decision-making’. However, in developing new perspectives, we should not forget older frameworks and approaches, including concepts of ‘unpolitics’ and non-decision making.

Certainly, global risk issues are open to critical scrutiny in terms of what is significantly not discussed as well as what is. Might it be that the designation of climate change as a ‘global’ issue detracts from a more localized consideration of the contexts in which environmental destruction is brought about and enacted? How might the dominant portrayal of the climate debate as taking place at a rarefied political level, based on high-level scientific assessments and in some kind of exchange with international pressure and lobbying groups, serve to marginalize citizen voices and concerns? Implicit judgements and unchallenged frameworks can be found lurking also within the language of risk and uncertainty. What is it that makes climate change predominantly a ‘risk’ rather than a ‘quality of life’ debate? Is it possible to present ‘uncertainty’ as involving substantially more than a temporary lacuna to be steadily corrected by the accumulation of scientific

FOREWORD xv

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knowledge? What would it mean to have a genuinely democratic discussion of these issues? Where indeed might such a discussion commence and in what (and whose) terms?

The provocation being presented here to social science is not simply to replicate the categorizations and working principles of transboundary risk governance as they have come to be defined in established practice, but to bring new insights, imaginations and possibilities to the discussion. The following chapters reveal that Lidskog, Soneryd and Uggla have responded creatively to this challenge while also maintaining a much-needed attention to empirical contexts, including mobile phone safety, marine oil pollution, climate change adaptation and genetically modified crops. I very much hope that their explorations – based in the Swedish context but extending far beyond that – will inspire others to develop this emergent field even further.

In conclusion, let me throw out three thoughts and challenges that I see as significant to future research and practice in this area. The first concerns the relationship between the governance of transboundary risks and matters of economic competitiveness and innovation. While these are often separated in both academic analysis and governance practice, the challenge here is to consider their dual and mutually constitutive relationship. Certainly, we can only make full sense of contemporary governance concerns against the backdrop of international trade and development: genetically modified foods and marine oil pollution illustrate this point in their different ways. Equally, and taking one of the many insights from this book, ‘regulation is innovative: it invents new things, draws new borders and opens up new spaces for action’ (p113). Just as science and policy in this area co-produce one another, so too do governance and the (broadly defined) markets. Regulation is indeed innovative and not just for the development of regulation itself but also for new products and processes. At the same time, markets shape governance forms – and this should not be forgotten.

The second challenge, which for me runs through the following chapters, is both to consider social science as a provocation to practice, but also practice in this area as a provocation to social science. To take the latter point first, this means being open to new frameworks of identity and meaning so that, for example, the standard toolkit of ‘governance’, ‘citizenship’ and ‘politics’ is both capable of, and vulnerable to, redefinition, recalibration and reconfiguration as a consequence of exposure to these empirical explorations. Since social scientists can be as obdurate as any other social actor in clinging to their frameworks of identity and meaning, this provocation is also something to be consciously nurtured and developed. Put differently, social scientists can make the choice to view all this as ‘business as usual’ so that climate change (to use that challenging example one last time) is just an extension of what has previously been encountered with acid rain, the regulation of industrial chemicals and indeed international trade agreements. Of course, the argument for novelty can always be overstated (and for a historian very little is truly new) but an awareness of this should not blind us to the significance of what

is being discussed here. As the authors remind us, the borders of society, science and nature are being renegotiated in these contexts – and with this must come changes in academic understanding.

The final challenge concerns precisely the relationship between scholarly analysis and practical interventions in the issues under investigation. It can be fashionable for social scientists to present all ‘policy-relevant’ research as conceptually non-challenging and derivative of other ‘higher-level’ work. The only satisfactory response from those committed to ‘theoretical-but-engaged’ scholarship is to demonstrate specifically that such assumptions are plain wrong. The following chapters offer a considerable step towards that demonstration.

FOREWORD xvii

List of Abbreviations

3G third generation (mobile phone systems)APM associated protective measureBSE bovine spongiform encephalopathyCAC command and controlCOP Conference of the PartiesEC European CommissionEEA European Environment AgencyEIA Environmental Impact Assessment EMF electromagnetic fieldEPA Environmental Protection AgencyEU European UnionGHG greenhouse gasGM genetically modified GMO genetically modified organismHELCOM Helsinki Commission ICNIRP International Commission on Non-Ionizing Radiation ProtectionICT information and communication technologyILO International Labour OrganizationIMCO Inter-Governmental Maritime Consultative OrganizationIMO International Maritime OrganizationINIRC International Non-Ionizing Radiation Committee IPCC Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change IRPA International Radiation Protection AssociationLDC least developed countriesMARPOL International Convention for the Prevention of Pollution from

ShipsMEPC Marine Environmental Protection Committee of IMONAPA National Adaptation Programme of ActionNGO non-governmental organizationNMT Nordic Mobile TelephoneOILPOL International Convention for the Prevention of Pollution of the Sea

by Oil

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OPEC Organization of Petroleum Exporting CountriesPSSA Particularly Sensitive Sea AreaRALF Swedish Council for Work Life ResearchRF radiofrequency SAR specific absorption rate SBSTA Subsidiary Body for Scientific and Technological AdviceSGI Swedish Geotechnical InstituteSMHI Swedish Meteorological and Hydrological InstituteSNAO Swedish National Audit Office SOLAS International Convention for the Safety of Life at Sea SSI Swedish Radiation Protection AuthoritySWECLIM Swedish Regional Climate Modelling Programme UMTS universal mobile telecommunications systemUNCLOS United Nations Convention on the Law of the SeaUNFCCC United Nations Framework Convention on Climate ChangeWHO World Health OrganizationWWF World Wide Fund for Nature

Chapter One

Regulating Risk in a Fragmented World

A REGULATORY RENAISSANCE?

In November 2002, the oil tanker Prestige left the Latvian harbour of Ventspils on the Baltic Sea and was headed for Gibraltar. Off the northwest coast of Spain, the vessel ran into gale force winds and heavy seas. It suffered hull damage and engine trouble, and its cargo of heavy fuel oil began to leak from the vessel. The captain requested permission to put into a port in Spain or Portugal, but both countries denied the vessel refuge. Instead, the Spanish authorities dispatched four tugboats to tow the Prestige farther from shore in an effort to protect its coast from a possible oil spill. On 19 November, when it was just over 200 kilometres from the Spanish coast, the Prestige broke in half and sank at a depth of 3600 metres, spilling 64,000 tonnes of oil. In December Spain was hit hard by the oil spill, and in January the spill reached France. A 1000-kilometre stretch of coastline was polluted by the oil.

The oil spill had major ecological, economic and social consequences. Accord-ing to WWF (World Wide Fund for Nature) in Spain, the accident was one of Europe’s worst wildlife catastrophes, and an estimated 300,000 seabirds died as a result of the oil. Up to 10,000 people were involved in the clean-up of beaches and coastline. The economic harm to fisheries and tourism was estimated at €5 billion, and hundreds of fishermen and shellfish producers were hit hard by the disaster (WWF, 2003).

The oil spill also had an impact on the reputation of national authorities. In the wake of the accident, environmental organizations accused the Spanish authorities of lying about the extent of the spill. When the beaches of Brittany were threatened by the oil slick, the French prime minister summoned seven of his ministers to an emergency meeting, and France issued demands for a severe tightening of the rules for oil transport. The European Union (EU) focused its criticism on inadequate international regulations, and in a press release EU Transport Commissioner Loyola de Palacio claimed that the accident could have been prevented if the EU’s proposal for a phasing out of single-hulled tankers had been heeded.

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In the early 2000s, the establishment of a new mobile phone network in Europe precipitated a hot public debate over the potential risks of exposure to the electromagnetic fields generated by mobile phones and their base stations, as well as over the possibility of building nationwide infrastructure with limited local acceptance. Concerns about the inadequacy of existing knowledge and deficiencies of adopted rules on non-ionizing radiation protection were expressed by citizens and local activists. At the same time, regulatory authorities initially refuted the basis for people’s worries and concerns.

In recent years, the issue of climate change has received growing attention in both political and public arenas. In the media, hot summers, flooding and hurricanes have been associated with climate change, and public debates have emerged concerning possible effects of a changing climate. Although it started as a rather abstract and esoteric issue for citizens, climate change has recently captured public attention and understanding, assisted by reports and, for some, first-hand experiences of dramatic weather-related events. Thus, the issue of climate change adaptation has increasingly been attended to and there has been a gradual increase in the demand for political action to meet adverse consequences of climate change. At the same time, adaptation to climate changes is costly and is associated with great uncertainty, raising questions and debate about what consequences should be adapted to and at what cost.

In December 1996, the European Commission (EC) decided to allow the import and cultivation of genetically modified corn (maize) in spite of the fact that 13 EU member states objected to this approval based on the advice of their own, nationally based, food safety scientific committees. The maize contained recombinant genes for herbicide tolerance and insect resistance as well as an antibiotic resistant marker gene that was resistant to ampicillin. A wave of public reaction to the importation of the maize spread across Europe and food retailers soon responded by removing genetically modified (GM) food products from supermarket shelves. By the end of 1999, it was difficult to find labelled GM products on supermarket shelves anywhere in the EU.

In each of the four cases presented above, claims were made that more compre-hensive and effective regulation was needed. By making authoritative rules, certain actors attempt to restrict what they view as harmful activities while simultaneously enabling others to take action aimed at preventing or at least diminishing the harm. Although the vast majority of actors agree on the need for regulation, the type of regulation may be hotly contested: debated matters include the style, character and scope of regulation as well as more fundamental issues such as what should be regulated and who should have the power to construct, exercise and alter the rules.

Regulation and rule-making are not restricted to the ways in which governments manage activities; they are not necessarily activities governed by the nation state. Rather, regulations are frequently made by both private and public actors at different levels of society. Rule-making and regulatory practices are shaped in

REGULATING RISK IN A FRAGMENTED WORLD 3

social interactions and interdependencies among a number of actors and are not simply something created through centrally controlled bureaucracies of the nation state. This also means that the issue of political accountability often needs to be reframed and reorganized, considering the varying importance the nation state has in different regulatory domains. Thus, even if the nation state is often an important actor in regulatory work, it does not always have a pivotal role.

Furthermore, regulation not only concerns the question of how to manage an already defined reality, regulation is also a part of the very construction of this reality. Regulation not only governs specific objects, but is also deeply involved in the construction of these objects. Explicitly or implicitly, regulation creates demarcations and draws boundaries that make objects appear hazardous or harmless, safe or risky, natural or unnatural, important or unimportant. Thus, regulatory processes reveal the construction of what is worthy of protection, whom or what to protect, for what reason, and in what way; thereby framings and discourses come to the fore when analysing regulation.

The point of departure for this book is that regulation and rule-making consist of processes in which borders of society, science and nature intersect and are renegotiated. Earlier demarcations are breached and new ones are configured. Some actors are left in the shadows and given limited power whereas others come forward. Sometimes new actors are created and/or mobilized, such as new government agencies, ad hoc non-governmental organization (NGOs) and citizen groups, and become key to regulation process. Some knowledge is defined as relevant to policy, whereas other knowledge is seen as less relevant or in some cases ignored. And while some aspects of a problem may be organized into politics through rule-making, others are organized out, and left out of negotiations, deliberations and decision-making.

But how do actors try to render an issue, activity or domain governable? In what ways is it possible to usher society through attempts to regulate activities, prevent disasters and reduce delinquency? And what actors have the capacity to lead in a globalized and fragmented world – a globe in which nation states, transnational companies, environmental organizations and research communities understand the world in different ways and frequently operate in contradictory ways? Furthermore, the question of how to manage risk is brought to the fore in today’s world of strong and seemingly conflicting demands for more science-based regulation and greater citizen involvement.

The aim of this book is to explore how regulation is constructed in different areas, a task we approach by analysing the processes of regulation and rule-making that engage a variety of state and non-state actors with divergent demands and knowledge claims, and by focusing on questions such as: What gives rules authority? When and how does knowledge become relevant vs. irrelevant to policy? What happens when conflicting knowledge claims are involved? Our empirical studies focus on policy areas that range from protection against the discharge of oil in the Baltic Sea to mobile phones and radiation protection, climate change


adaptation and GM crops. Before we describe our empirical case studies in more detail, we elaborate on the wider social context of authoritative rule-making and legitimization of claims to expertise. In particular, we emphasize literature that focuses on changes towards political as well as scientific destabilization and stabilization, parallel processes that create new conditions for how regulatory processes are organized.

TOWARDS POLITICAL DESTABILIZATION?

Politics concerns the power to influence society – to steer it by restricting certain activities and enabling others. In modern times, the nation state has evolved and become the centre of political power and democratic accountability.

By providing national citizenship, the relationship between a state and its members has been institutionalized, and, by establishing national sovereignty, the nation state has become the supreme political organization in the world (Spruyt, 1994; Jönsson et al, 2000). By drawing geographical and administrative borders, a political order with a national citizenship and national legislation was constructed. These borders then gradually became naturalized and presented as seemingly unchangeable and unquestionable.

The traditional definition of the nation state is one in which the state is seen as a form of organization that has the administrative complexity to develop policy, as well as the legitimacy to make binding decisions, the economic resources to carry them out, and the coercive power to enforce them (Giddens, 1985). However, because of economical, political and cultural globalization processes, the nation state is no longer seen as the sole focal point of policy-making and national sovereignty is challenged. This so-called ‘container theory of society’ – in which the nation state provides steadfast borders for social processes – is becoming obsolete (Beck, 2006, Chapter 1). Although Beck appears to exaggerate the differences between today’s cosmopolitanism and yesterday’s state centrism somewhat, his emphasis on the new situation for the nation state and national policy-making is to a large degree agreed upon among social scientists (e.g. Benner et al, 2004; Scholte, 2004; Held and Koenig-Archibugi, 2005; Dobson, 2006).

Instead of a territorially guided understanding of the world in which politics, culture and identity are bounded to specific territories, there is a quest for transcending dichotomies between global and local, and between international and national. Catchwords such as governance, partnership and multilevel governance are coined to capture these shifts. Instead of seeing the nation state as the sole regulator, using law as the primary method for governing domestic activities, we must look upon policy-making as activities that involve various actors (public as well as private) at different policy levels.

Scholars from different fields – such as social theory, political theory, ethics, sociology, human geography and policy analysis – emphasize that many current


environmental problems are transnational and global in character, whereas current democratic political structures are territorial and nationally anchored (Beck, 1992; Harvey, 1996; Rhodes, 1997; Kasperson and Kasperson, 2001; Linnerooth-Bayer et al, 2001; DesJardin, 2005; Speth and Haas, 2006; Held and McGrew, 2007). Furthermore, not only are the environmental problems unbounded, many of the activities and actors who cause them are not subordinated to territorially organized politics either.

Governments often make decisions that affect more than just their own popula-tions, and thereby governments appear too powerful, while the political assembly of a country impacted by these decisions appears too weak. Long-range transboundary air pollution can serve as an historical example of this phenomenon. Continental emissions of airborne pollutants (not least sulphur) have travelled thousands of kilometres before they were deposited in remote countries where they caused severe damage to ecosystems, particularly lakes and forests (Pleijel, 2007), thereby creating a Europe of victims and culprits. Some countries were net exporters of acidifying emissions and other countries were net importers. The polluters had little reason to act and the sovereignty and power of victim countries was restricted by the actions and inactions of other nation states (Lidskog and Sundqvist, 2002).

In other cases, the problem is not the uneven distribution of environmental ‘bads’ (harm) between countries, but the fact that non-governmental actors can put demands on the nation state. Transnational corporations, for example, can pressure political bodies into not implementing overly restrictive environmental regulations since doing so can lead businesses to choose to move to a country with more lenient environmental standards. The registration of ships under flags of convenience provides a case in point – where shipowners choose to employ this form of registration because of its economic advantages. Thus a strict national environmental regulation of marine traffic has no effect if other nations are pre-pared to offer less restrictive regulation for shipping. Hence, democratically elected bodies can make decisions that affect others, although the environmental issue is not a matter over which a nation state has sole control and for which it can be easily held responsible.

Against this background, demands are currently being made for policy and public decision-making not formulated on the state concept. Political thinkers have presented various proposals, such as ‘post-national international policy’, ‘cosmopolitan democracy’and ‘global deliberative politics’, as ways to democratize the handling of transboundary issues (Archibugi, 1998; Beck, 2000, 2006; Held, 2004; Dryzek, 2006). The basis for these proposals is that today’s international system is poorly designed for effective handling of issues that transcend territorial borders, and that democracy in its fundamental sense means that all those affected by a decision should have the opportunity to influence that decision (directly or by proxy).

Closely connected to these proposals to democratize transboundary matters is the normative notion of ‘ecological citizenship’ – an idea that suggests that


regardless of where individuals reside they should have the right to influence activities that degrade and destroy their environment and health (Smith, 1998; Dobson, 2003; Eckersley, 2004; Dobson and Bell, 2005; Dobson, 2007). For example, if a citizen is adversely affected by emissions from a corporation in a foreign country, he or she should be able to hold both that corporation and the nation state that permits these emissions accountable. Thus, ecological citizenship transcends the traditional understanding of citizenship, which merely regulates the relationship between a country’s political rule and its population.

The idea of ecological citizenship is not realized in any deeper sense: there is as yet no elaborated and politically viable way for citizenship to be institutionalized at levels other than that of the nation state. However, advocates of this idea argue that there is an urgent need to rethink the relationship between citizenry and the nation state. The transboundary nature of many environmental problems seems to imply a need to partially connect the idea of citizenship and demos to other levels – as in the case of human rights. This perspective implies that the traditional method of dealing with transboundary issues – through negotiations in which nation states are the concluding parties – appears, at least in part, to no longer be sufficient.

Thus, from this perspective, we may conclude that there is political destabili-zation; the established way of guiding political action – through the territorially bounded organization of the nation state – is challenged. Because the nation state appears ill-suited to deal with transboundary issues, this opens up an area in which actors at different levels interact and vie for political authority. We argue, however, that it is too far-reaching to conclude that the power of the nation state has been dissolved.

Or towards political stabilization?

Globalization processes not only challenge the sovereignty of the nation state, they also offer new ways of exerting power and influence and create renewed interest in cultural identities and their belonging with respect to place (Robertson, 1992). Nation states fight to maintain and develop their power at the same time as economic powers try to enrol nation states. Whereas power is disembedded from some social and spatial settings, it is at the same time re-embedded in others (Giddens, 1991). Thus, parallel to processes of political destabilization, there are processes of political stabilization.

Hence, it is simplistic to state that the power of the nation state is dissolving and other actors are now replacing the nation state as the centre for political action, and that this development simply means more non-hierarchical networks and greater fragmentation of power. Instead, it is better to understand globalization processes as having opened up new spaces for political influence and action, spaces in which the nation state can renew its power and influence. Thus, globalization does not mean an end to state power and state regulation; rather, it means that the nation state must use other strategies to exert influence and to manage activities


(Sundström and Jacobsson, 2007). Coalition building, partnerships and networks are often referred to as viable ways for the nation state to continue to exert influence on domestic as well as international affairs. Judicial power is in no way the only form of political power that can shape conduct. Increasingly, other types of rules and ways to govern have developed, not least in the form of soft laws: voluntary rules such as recommendations, standards and ethical codes of conduct. Thus, globalization should not be understood as simply the end of the state and its regulatory capacity, but rather as a change of its form.

Accordingly, it would be misleading to disregard the traditional forms of power resources that the nation state comprises. Although globalization processes have partly restricted the ability of individual nations to develop policies, the nation state still possesses important power resources and is still the only institution with the formal right to control its territory authoritatively and to construct mandatory rules for citizens. It is still the nation state that has exclusive legislative power. And when trying to regulate transboundary issues, legislative power is frequently a decisive resource. Furthermore, citizens to a large extent still understand politics and citizenry in national terms. The national gaze still has significant power, and thus far the social grammar of a cosmopolitan and global society seems to have neither been embraced by citizens, nor gained any deeper institutional support (cf. Beck, 2006, Chapter 1). Thus, parallel to proposals such as ecological citizenship and cosmopolitan democracy, there are proposals that suggest that the vital role of nation state and negotiation between sovereign states is still a prime vehicle for managing transboundary problems (Hirst and Thompson, 1999). The international system is weakly institutionalized and has limited power of its own, and is therefore heavily dependent on the willingness of sovereign nation states to support it and act in accordance with multilateral agreements (Dryzek, 2006). In this sense, the nation state has a significant role in the governance of transboundary environmental risks.

As will be shown and discussed later in the book, nation states, government agencies and intergovernmental organizations remain important actors in governing transboundary issues. However, the conditions and methods of regulating have changed: the nation state must frequently act through networks of power, in interaction with public and private actors. The term ‘multilevel governance’ has been coined to describe this situation in which the state is one of a wide range of actors that interact with the aim of influencing social order and governing activities and behaviour.

As is developed in more detail in the next chapter, politics has increasingly become understood as discursively constituted (e.g. Rose, 1999; Fischer, 2003; Hajer and Wagenaar, 2003), implying that analyses of regulatory processes should direct attention to how various actors conceptualize and understand reality. From this perspective, politics can be understood as a struggle for discursive hegemony in which actors attempt to promote their definitions of reality. If successful, discursive


steering means that subjects are made governable by influencing the construction of reality and the meaning different actors attach to specific objects.

Power struggles typically concern the definition of reality and how regulatory issues are conceptualized and delimited. Scientific knowledge is often seen as an important resource in environmental policy-making, particularly in its role of defining and disseminating particular versions of a problem. How is it possible for science to maintain this supporting and leading function in a world characterized by parallel processes of political destabilization and stabilization?

TOWARDS COGNITIVE DESTABILIZATION?

Science has long been seen as central for guiding human action. Scientific expertise is increasingly at the forefront of policy formulation and policy implementation. A number of scholars have argued that scientific knowledge is the emerging measure of state and social power in an increasingly dynamic and diffuse political landscape (Taylor and Buttel 1992; Benedick, 1998; O’Riordan et al, 1998; Rosenau, 1998). According to this view, when science presents a consensual view of a problem – unity in its diagnosis of and proposed solutions to specific environmental problems – it can be a central mechanism for fostering trust among nation states concerning the need to find international solutions to transboundary environmental problems (Haas, 1993; Imber, 1996). International environmental negotiations are driven not only ‘by state power, but by the application of scientific understanding about ecological systems to the management of environmental policy issues with which decision makers are unfamiliar’ (Haas, 1997, p200). In some instances, consensual and trusted scientific knowledge may serve to shape attitudes and guide divergent social interests. In a differentiated and fragmented world consisting of multiple stakeholders, demands can be raised that more science is needed to better inform plans of action and more clearly elaborate consequences of various options. In this setting, science may be accorded an even more important political role than it has had in the past.

Thus, cognitive stabilization could be used to counterbalance political destabili-zation. However, the idea that science delivers certain and policy-relevant knowledge is also under sway (Yearley, 2005). Processes of destabilization often make it significantly harder for science to deliver consensual knowledge. The uncertainty of all knowledge claims is frequently articulated by scientists themselves as well as by other stakeholders and the general public. As Latour (1998, p208) puts it, we have moved from a culture of science to a culture of research characterized by uncertainty, controversy, involvement and values.

It is recognized that political power is spreading to a multitude of different actors, but it is apparent that the production of scientific knowledge is also being dispersed from academic institutions (Nowotny et al, 2001). Research is conducted in industry, special interest-group organizations and independent


research laboratories; expert knowledge flourishes in many institutional settings, not only in academia. Stakeholders – not least those with business interests – are deeply involved in knowledge production, a factor that may fuel public distrust of science, thereby also destabilizing the authority of science and its role in regulation. Since scientists are only one of a number of specialists and experts that provide knowledge, recommendations and advice to political bodies and regulatory agencies (cf. Power, 2007, p188), the processes of cognitive destabilization have led people to question the role of science in guiding political action. This situation has left political bodies (such as the EU) as well as scientific communities pondering how to develop a more robust – socially accepted and publicly trusted – science.

A number of proposals have been developed in the last decade, proposals that aim to tackle this situation of conflicting and contested knowledge claims. One suggested cure is to increase public engagement in science and to establish a new social contract between science and society – such as in Nowotny et al’s (2001) ‘contextualized science production’, Ravetz’s (1999) ‘extended peer review’ and Irwin’s (1995, 2001) quest for ‘citizen science’ and ‘scientific citizenship’. The central issue concerns how science can be democratized and how new relationships between citizens and experts can be negotiated and designed.

The proposed solutions differ, but all of these scholars advocate inclusive strategies within knowledge production: that citizens should be seen not only as passive recipients of scientific knowledge, but also as active partners in the production of knowledge, and that science needs to become more reflexive and transparent, making its own assumptions and values visible (Lidskog, 2008). According to this reasoning, earlier demarcations between science and laypeople should be transcended through a democratization of science and ‘scientization’ of the citizenry. Thus, science must humanize itself by bringing people back into science and by making explicit its basic assumptions, value-laden decisions and practical implications. The public, in turn, must scientize itself by using its reflexive capacity to critically evaluate science and to encourage the production of knowledge of relevance for the understanding of environmental risks. Consequently, science and the public should not be detached from each other, with risk communication serving to bridge the gulf between them. Instead, a new social contract should be established between science and citizens, one that does not build on the traditional linear risk management model, where scientists develop knowledge on an issue, on the basis of which policy-makers invoke political priorities and take decisions on regulation, and the public is then informed about the new policy and the reasons behind it.

Because of a widespread public distrust of science, political institutions are pondering how to restore its popularity and credibility (Cvetkovich and Löfstedt, 1999; Kasperson and Kasperson, 2005a; Löfstedt, 2005). Illustrative examples include the European Union’s (EC, 2001) quest for democratized expertise and expert credibility, and the UK Committee on Science and Technology’s (2000) pursuit of genuine change in scientific and government culture that would create


a culture of mutual learning. At the same time, the increased role of NGOs in EU policy-making has led to demands for a paradigm change, claims for stronger representation criteria for NGO involvement, and for greater transparency over stakeholders and the reasons for consulting them. Although there are important differences between participatory structures at the EU level compared to the level of its member states, and variations depending on each country’s political culture, there are also vast differences in how consultative activities are organized between particular policy areas or between particular organizations. For instance, the EC may have a consistent policy when it comes to stakeholder dialogue, transparency and public consultations, but the consultative practices differ greatly between different policy areas (Connex, 2006).

There are a number of political declarations at the national and international level that emphasize the importance of increased involvement of citizens in the policy process. One example is the Aarhus Convention (UN, 1998), which states that citizens should be entitled to access to information, public participation in decision-making, and access to justice in environmental matters. Together with the Aarhus Convention, legislative requirements for public consultations in environmental impact assessments (EIA Directive 85/337/EEC) provide tools designed to democratize environmental decision-making and broaden the knowledge base for decisions. Further examples are the Seveso II Directive (EC, 1997), the European Union White Paper on Governance (EC, 2001) and the UK Royal Commission on Environmental Pollution (RCEP, 1998).

Thus, in many countries destabilization processes are counteracted by inclusive strategies for stakeholder involvement and public participation. Such counteraction may, however, increase competition between actors, resulting in conflicting claims, interests and viewpoints as they struggle to be seen as legitimate providers of knowledge about environmental risks. Hence, there is no guarantee that more interaction and communication between experts and citizens will automatically result in more trusting relations and consensual views concerning what to do and how to act.

Or towards cognitive stabilization?

Calls for more inclusive and transparent processes have to a great extent been formally made by both public and private actors (Gouldson et al, 2007). Since the late 1990s, there has been a partial, but nevertheless significant, rhetorical shift towards a style of scientific governance based on public dialogue, transparency and democratic engagement. As Alan Irwin (2006, p300) puts it: ‘even the most science-centred government report is incomplete without a section on “public engagement”’. Many social scientists now take a more critical stance towards public inclusion and argue that now is the time to explore the practices behind this rhetoric. Notably, social scientists have also called for a more critical stance towards the tendency to treat ‘technocratic’ elements as easily combined with ‘democratic’


elements (Irwin, 2006). The plea for public inclusion may to a large extent reinforce a modernistic and hierarchical understanding of science and society, one in which inclusion primarily serves as a means of educating the citizens and obtaining their consent.

Simultaneously to a plea for democratized science, we are witnessing a scienti-zation of society, in which science and technology – without any public discussion or political contestation – are given pivotal roles. Nation states actively create partnerships with industry and academia, and an open debate on these new partnerships is to a large extent lacking (Jasanoff, 2005). In this sense, there appears to be a stabilization of science, where science is given a pivotal role in creating economic growth and solving social problems, and strong ties are developed between science, industry and the nation state.

In addition to exploring how science is open to public evaluation and new configurations of science–society are emerging, there is another aspect of central relevance for this study. By emphasizing that politics concerns a battle over the very definition of reality, different kinds of expert knowledge become pivotal, at least in a knowledge society. As elaborated upon in the next chapter, expert knowledge may be an important part in framing issues, shaping understandings and legitimizing actions. Thus, even when scientific knowledge is contested, it may nevertheless play an important part in shaping actors’ understanding of a regulatory object.

To conclude, the emphasis on political and cognitive destabilization may result in a view of power and knowledge as diffused in society, and in which it is hard to pinpoint their locations. However, our approach is designed neither to over-emphasize nor to totally ignore the role of the nation state and other formal political organizations. Similarly, our approach acknowledges that the roles of science and expert knowledge are contested and contingent, but that many regulatory settings still attribute them a privileged role. Our standpoint is thus that neither the state nor science should, beforehand, be attributed the power to govern transboundary matters. We emphasize instead the contextual character of regulation, meaning that the role of the state, science, stakeholders and citizens may vary in different regulatory domains. Therefore, there is a need to conduct theoretically informed empirical studies on how relationships between actors and knowledge claims are configured in concrete processes of regulation.

RESEARCH DESIGN

This book is based on analysis of different phases of regulatory processes in different fields. We have studied regulatory practices and rule-making processes in four areas: oil transport at sea, mobile phones and radiation protection, climate change adaptation, and GM crops. Material from the areas studied will be used to discuss a number of themes. The empirical studies concern mainly how Swedish authorities, in interaction with expert communities and NGOs at the local, national and


international levels, attempt to develop and influence regulation of transboundary environmental risks. By investigating political culture and rule-making processes in Sweden, this study aims to shed light on the more general features of regulation and rule-making in a knowledge society (cf. Jasanoff, 2005, pp16–23). This means that our focus lies primarily on activities in which national authorities interact with other relevant organizations and actors involved in rule-making (e.g. the EU, UN, expert communities, NGOs, citizens, industry and trade associations).

We consider Sweden to be a relevant example for this more general discussion for several reasons. First, Sweden has a long tradition of public regulation, in which state-oriented solutions are judged as more effective and socially just than market-oriented solutions (Heclo and Madsen, 1987; Wolfe, 1989; Milner, 1990; Alfredsson and Wiman, 2001; Trägårdh, 2007). In a cross-national study in the 1980s, Wildavsky (1987, p66) found that the norms that underlie Swedish environmental policy emphasize harmonious relationships, avoidance of direct conflict, a search for consensus and a clear conception of an active role for the state. Obviously, Sweden has – as have most other European nations – experienced deregulation as well as reregulation. Sectors earlier characterized by the country’s state monopoly – such as railway, energy and telephony – are now populated with a number of companies, and in cases where state-owned companies (or companies where the state is the major shareholder) do still exist, they have to compete with private companies. Irrespective of whether it has been a social-democratic or a liberal parliament, this development has been fostered.

Sweden also has very high environmental ambitions. Historically, it was the first nation state to establish an environmental protection agency, in 1967, and one of the first countries to develop comprehensive environmental legislation, in 1969 (Lundqvist, 1971, 1997; Weale, 1992; Eckerberg, 2000). Sweden also initiated the very first worldwide environmental conference – the United Conference on Human Environment – which was held in Stockholm in 1972 (Porter et al, 2000, p21). Sweden’s current environmental policy – operationalized in 16 environmental quality goals – is probably the most ambitious in the world. It states that the most serious environmental problems should be solved within one generation. An example of this ambition is Sweden’s climate policy, in which the government has decided that, despite the country’s low per-capita greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions, Sweden will go beyond what it is required according to the EU’s internal burden-sharing. Researchers have even claimed that Sweden is one of the most ecologically modernized countries in the world (Lundqvist, 2004). Thus, Sweden appears to be at the forefront in developing environmental policy and redesigning society to become more environmental sustainable.

Sweden is an industrial society that has rapidly developed to become a knowledge society. Science and technology have been deliberately promoted by the state and utilized as instruments for creating material and social welfare. The country has also invested considerably in higher education, and currently some 40 per cent of young people (19–25 years old) are enrolled in higher education.


Being a knowledge society, Sweden is a good case for testing different types of stakeholder involvement and public inclusion, including evaluation, contestation and negotiation of different knowledge claims.

Actors other than the state have been producing authoritative rules at the same time as new national rules have been constructed – not least because of Sweden’s membership of the EU. The nation state’s role in rule-making has thereby not dissolved, however. Instead, the state maintains an important but changed role – as initiator, negotiator and at times coordinator of processes that involve both public and private actors. This situation also opens up the possibility of alternative interpretations of established rules, because it is not always clear what these rules mean in different contextual settings.

As a small country that has always been heavily dependent on and influenced by the world around it, Sweden has ample experience of the opportunities and limitations of developing national rules and of the importance of interacting with other actors in order to establish new rules and to modify established ones.

To sum up, being a country with a long history of public–private partnerships, and which has more recently experienced rather far-reaching deregulation (including the outsourcing of parts of its public sector) and is heavily dependent on the surrounding world, both in terms of economy (its industry increasingly part of transnational companies and heavily dependent on export) and policy (for example, as member of the EU), Sweden provides opportunities for investigating the conditions for regulation in complex matters. Thus, this book is not a study of a specific national style of regulation, but a study of transboundary risk governance: how rules are made and knowledge is shaped in order to govern transboundary environmental risks.

As we demonstrate in the empirical chapters of the book, the Swedish govern-ment negotiates and cooperates with other actors in order to construct rules. To protect the Baltic Sea from oil spills, it has to negotiate with other countries around the Baltic Sea and within the International Maritime Organization (IMO). In the case of mobile phones and radiation protection, an international community of experts has great authority in setting rules – rules that Swedish authorities have chosen to rely on. In the case of formulating rules for the coexistence of GM, conventional and organic crops, the member states of the EU set national rules relating to coexistence, although they did so only after receiving an interpretation of the EC’s recommendations on how this should be done. In some cases, as in the case of mobile phones and GM crops, Sweden has to act as a member of the Union. In other cases, this membership is of minor relevance – as in the pursuit to designate the Baltic Sea as a Particularly Sensitive Sea Area (PSSA) and in the ongoing establishment of responsibilities for climate change adaptation.

Our selection of areas is thus motivated by our goal to provide material for a discussion on rule-making processes associated with issues involving different sets of actors and different types of regulation. All of the selected areas concern regulation of risk to the environment and health, and all are areas that have received


media attention and varying degrees of public attention. Furthermore, expertise is seen as crucial to gaining knowledge on the future effects of current action or inaction, as well as in acquiring sufficient knowledge to draft relevant rules. Finally, all of our chosen areas are transboundary issues in the sense that a number of actors are involved in negotiating and constructing the rules.

From an international perspective, Sweden has far-reaching environmental ambitions in some areas while its focus in other areas is primarily on economic growth. In the area of protection against oil spills in the Baltic Sea, for example, Sweden is one of the driving forces for creating new rules and more effective regulation, whereas – in contrast to Swedish environmental NGOs – Swedish authorities primarily perceive the areas of biotechnology and new communication technologies to be of great economic importance to the country’s national economy, and thereby areas where stricter regulation is not necessary. In the case of climate change, Sweden has played an active part in developing mitigation goals and measures, but has – like most Western countries – been rather passive with respect to the issue of adaptation. Only belatedly, after receiving pressure from external sources, did Sweden initiate a number of state activities related to climate change adaptation.

All four of our cases are subordinate to international regulation. They differ, however, concerning the breadth of the application of rules, the types of regulatory arrangements and expertise involved, and how the public is included.

The empirical studies involve various forms of data collection. The processes that have shaped the regulation in these four cases are studied by analysing: public records resulting from public and political negotiations; Swedish and European regulations; and materials from discussions held and decisions made at the international, national and local levels. Information is also gleaned from interviews conducted with some of the actor categories involved in the regulation (experts, politicians, NGOs and activists). In addition, some observational information is collected and utilized.

Our analysis of this empirical material is interpretative, implying that we are interested in what oil protection, radiation protection, GM crops and climate change adaptations mean to the actors involved in the regulatory work (as opponents, advocates or ambivalent participants). Through constructing and using different ways of framing things, actors make sense of rather complex phenomena, and the frames shape the remedies proposed and the kinds of expert knowledge the actors see as valid and relevant.

We draw conclusions from each case study and, on the basis of these, discuss the implications of how regulatory issues are framed, how rules are made, and how knowledge is negotiated. Such generalization must be carried out with sensitivity to the characteristics of each regulatory domain. General trends influence regulation, but not necessarily in a uniform way. The characteristics of a regulatory domain provide different conditions for how actors frame an issue, act and interact in order to influence regulatory practices and the design of rules.


OUTLINE OF THE BOOK

This first chapter has presented some general features of contemporary society with relevance for how regulatory processes are organized. In Chapter 2 – Making rules and shaping knowledge – we elaborate on our view of regulation. Environmental issues are to a large degree handled through the construction and implementation of rules. We adopt the perspective that rules and knowledge are co-constructed in the very same processes. Knowledge is not constructed remote from the political process and then delivered (i.e. communicated) as a stable product. On the contrary, knowledge and rules are constructed and negotiated in the same process – regulation includes the shaping of knowledge, and the shaping of knowledge comprises the making of rules. However, regulation not only concerns rules and knowledge, but also ascribes certain actors with capabilities, a mandate and responsibilities to manage the issue at hand. The chapter ends by presenting three aspects that we focus on in our empirical investigation: what framings are put forward by actors involved in the regulatory process and how actors work to spread their framing; how actors are mobilized and how agency is shaped in the process; and what kinds of knowledge are seen as legitimate, valid and policy relevant in the regulatory process.

Chapter 3 – Mobile telephony and radiation protection: Regulating risks or local self-governance – addresses the contestation and debate over an existing regulation: rules aimed at preventing harm to human health from exposure to non-ionizing radiation and electromagnetic fields (EMF). The policy on EMF is based on national, European and international rules, which to a great extent draw upon the same stable and uncontested knowledge on thermal effects. A scientific controversy over aspects that have been underemphasized in this bulk of uncontested knowledge can be said to have reached a closure with harmonized standards, but this closure is reopened, contested and negotiated during conflicts that arise with the establishment of a new mobile telephone network. The chapter explores how these conflicts and debates were spelled out in different arenas (with a special focus on one national and one local arena), and draws upon different framings and the boundaries between science and policy.

Chapter 4 – Oil transport in the Baltic Sea: Environmental protection and the freedom of the high seas – examines the Baltic Sea PSSA process. With the exception of its Russian waters, the Baltic Sea was designated as a PSSA by the IMO in 2005. The previous designation of the Western European waters as a PSSA was intensely debated within the IMO and had repercussions for this process. Reviewing the case exposes the conflict between and among the fundamental principles, territorial sovereignty and freedom of the high seas that international law seeks to balance. Our review likewise indicates that the PSSA concept is under almost constant reconceptualization as it is tested in practice.

In Chapter 5 – Climate change adaptation: Regulation under formation – we turn our attention to climate change adaptation, a policy domain that is very much


in a formative stage. Although its regulatory basis is established in international treaties, climate change adaptation has until now been an issue disregarded in most Western countries. However, in light of recent attention paid to the matter, climate change adaptation is now a policy domain under formation, that is, the matter is gradually being attended to, but is not yet institutionalized, and responsibilities are often unspecified and unclear. Such obscurity may lead to inactivity and confusion; at the same time, it opens up an arena for various actors to take the initiative, set the agenda, define the issue and establish their own role in climate change adaptation.

Chapter 6 – Regulating coexistence: The creation of new discursive sites for the battle over GM crops – places Swedish policy on agricultural biotechnology in a European context. The case study concerns a situation in which many actors are gathered to formulate new rules (how to handle the problems of admixture between GM crops and conventional and organic crops) and in which there are divergent views among actors who compete to make their framing of the problem visible: is the problem a question of ‘coexistence’, which implies that the problem comprises an administrative task of formulating economic responsibilities between farmers; or is it a question of ‘contamination’, which implies that the problem is far more complex and involves great uncertainty over future long-term effects? The chapter explores the dynamic between, on the one hand, organizational inertia and the tendency to treat GM crops as a traditional agricultural issue, and, on the other, the argument that the GM crop issue raises completely new types of ethical considerations that could lead to renegotiation of the boundaries between knowledge and the formulation of rules.

Finally, in Chapter 7 – Co-producing frames, actors and knowledge – we provide a more detailed discussion of some of the points made in the previous four chapters. The discussion centres around the insights gained from the empirical cases, and we elaborate on how the objects being regulated are framed and what lies behind the various framings. We conclude the chapter by using our empirical studies as a window into broader issues of how processes of stabilization and destabilization work in science and politics, and the resulting consequences for regulating transboundary issues.

Chapter Two

Making Rules and Shaping Knowledge

The previous chapter sketched some general developments, subsumed under the wide terms of political and cognitive destabilization and stabilization. In short, these developments point to the changing role of the nation state and expert knowledge in public policy and decision-making. It was suggested that this is not simply a matter of a weakening role of the nation state or a unanimous questioning of the authority of scientific knowledge. There are also political processes and regulatory areas in which the state still plays a central role and has an increasing need to relate to and interact with other actors. In addition, there are processes where scientific closure is attained and/or where expertise represents stability and authority.

The fact that actors other than the state initiate and produce regulation is nothing new either. What is new, however, is the current tendency towards increased involvement of non-state actors in regulation as well as a growing recog-nition of this phenomenon. Thus, there is a need for empirical investigation of the roles these non-state actors play and the kind of reorientation state actors are expected to make, as well as the ways in which knowledge and expertise are negotiated and constructed in such processes. This chapter will expound the rele-vance of focusing on these dynamics in the study of regulatory processes and present the approach used in this book.

The chapter is structured along three interconnected themes. In the first part, we discuss rule-making as an increasingly frequent activity in contemporary society, emphasizing two aspects in particular. First, the fact that the regulating actors have changed: we see an increase of non-state actors in complex interactions with each other and with state actors. Second, we focus on the object of regulation: today the regulatory object is to a large extent conceptualized as risk.

In the second part of the chapter, we turn our attention to the role of knowledge and expertise in risk regulation processes. The emphasis here is on how epis-temic authority is created in processes that involve several kinds of experts and expertise, conflicting knowledge claims and/or lack of knowledge. Recognizing the intertwinement of science and society implies that knowledge and expertise can no longer be seen as an external input to regulatory processes. The creation of


rules or contests over how to interpret existing rules implies negotiating different knowledge claims and sorting out what knowledge should be seen as valid and relevant.

The third part of the chapter is devoted to the theme of agency, more precisely to how actors are configured in regulatory processes. Our starting point is that actors do not necessarily enter negotiations over rules and knowledge with predefined stakes, interests and identities. On the contrary, these are to a lesser or greater extent outcomes of the regulatory process. This is an important point to make if we want to challenge the traditional command-and-control model of regulation presented below, since the presentation of nation states as organized units that take autonomous decisions on the basis of their own preferences, strategies and positions is one of the model’s core assumptions.

In the following, we elaborate in some depth on the three interconnected themes and the general perspective that regulatory objects, knowledge and actors’ identities are outcomes of regulatory processes rather than antecedents. This provides the theoretical perspective for our empirical case studies and the backdrop from which we draw a number of more general conclusions on risk regulation in the concluding chapter of the book. In particular, we want to highlight how the object of regulation, relevant knowledge and legitimate actors are shaped.

MAKING RULES

Environmental problems are to a large extent managed through the construction of rules. Rules can vary in form, character and function, and can be produced in different social settings. In some cases the nation state is pivotal in initiating and designing rules, while in others private companies, expert communities, special interest organizations and environmental movements are central. The process of rule-making often consists of a discursive struggle where different actors try to persuade each other concerning the scope and character of the issue at stake and which cure is the proper remedy. As emphasized in the previous chapter, the struggle concerns not only how to understand a given issue, but the very construction of what is at stake. Thus, there is rarely a well-defined object, which different actors propose different ways to regulate, but rather the struggle has to do with the issue per se, where the actors’ conflicts form a part of the very construction of the regulatory object.

Who make rules?

Traditionally, regulation has been seen as a very broad category of steering activities associated with the state. By placing the state at the centre, regulation has been understood mainly through a model of command and control (CAC). The essence

MAKING RULES AND SHAPING KNOWLEDGE 19

of the CAC model is that regulation is ‘the exercise of influence by imposing standards backed by criminal sanctions. … The force of law is used to prohibit certain forms of conduct or to demand positive actions or lay down conditions for entry into a sector’ (Baldwin, 1997, pp65–66). The CAC model presumes that the state not only has the capacity to control, but that it is the only organization that has this capacity and that can effectively manage this task (Black, 2002, p2). Thus, traditionally, regulation has been defined as a unilateral state activity, of formulating and implementing rules backed by different types of sanctions.

Over the past few decades, a number of weaknesses of the CAC model of regulation have been pointed out. In general, the criticism asserted is that CAC is an inefficient way to regulate. Claims have been raised, not least due to increased economic globalization, that other forms of regulation are better adapted to a political order in which the nation state has a less dominant position. With bureaucratic downsizing and privatization, the state no longer owns the role of a direct employer and property owner, and its role to guide action and manage activities through constructing authoritative rules has decreased (Hood et al, 2001). This development has not implied a deregulation in the sense that the amount of rules designed to govern and restrict activities in society has decreased. On the contrary, downsizing of the state and economic globalization has led to an increase in rules (Ahrne and Brunsson, 2004). The outsourcing of state functions has in many cases led to an ‘insourcing’ of these functions to other actors (cf. Beck and Beck-Gernsheim, 2002). When the welfare state no longer provides certain services, it must develop rules that enable other actors to provide these services.

By transferring regulatory authority to the market, there is a belief in some circles that more effective rules are created. Economic incentives and pedagogical instruments such as information, education, attachment to moral values and social norms are seen as more efficient ways – in terms of goal-attainment and/or cost-efficiency – to regulate behaviour (Baldwin, 1997; cf. Gunningham and Grabosky, 1998; Braithwaite, 2002). This means that organizations other than the state are invited to create rules in the form of ‘soft law’, such as standards, certification systems, guidelines and rules, which are voluntary or at least not enforced by law (Herberg, 2006). In the domain of environment and health, such developments can be seen in eco-labelling, the aim of which is to give consumers information about more or less ecologically sound products, and ecological certification systems, used as market instruments to stimulate more ecologically sound forms of production (Boström and Klintman, 2008).

Whereas the traditional CAC model is challenged through the recent development described above, environmental issues have long been transcending the boundaries of the nation state. This is visible not least in the multitude of international environmental regulations: currently there are some 200 international conventions concerning transboundary environmental issues. In this context, however, the nation state seems to have a clear role to play, as the signatory of international agreements.


The current developments in deregulation and reregulation imply that non-state actors are not only welcome to implement already established rules, or given the task to establish detailed rules within a broader framework of goals laid out by the state, but invited to take part in the very formulation and design of rules. This could be seen as a regulatory strategy of ‘enforced self-regulation’, where soft laws, internal control systems and codes of conduct become new ways to govern organizations. This has also resulted in an enormous growth in audit and evaluative practices, a growth that has led Michael Power (1999) to talk about an ‘audit implosion’, where auditing and inspections are now an intrinsic part of what organizations carry out on their own. Not least, the current focus on organizational reputation – visible in the growing interest in corporate social responsibility with its aim to promote an organization’s ethical character (Rossouw and Sison, 2006; Crane et al, 2007; May et al, 2007) – means that organizations must now ‘turn inside out’, showing their surroundings that they are working and striving towards normatively acceptable goals.

Thus, we are left to grasp a situation where the borders between public and private actors are diffused and where rules are to a large extent created in partner-ships between different actors at different levels of society (Winter, 2006). The concept of multilevel governance concerns the situation in which the state is only one of a wide range of actors at different levels aiming to influence social order and govern activities and behaviour (de Bardeleben, 2007). Rule-making activities involve far more organizational actors than dedicated regulatory agencies, which means that traditional distinctions between mandated and voluntary regulation are often hard to uphold (Power, 2007).

An emphasis on governance and partnership does not imply that all or all types of organizations and groups are equally apt to exert influence over rule-making practices. Diffused boundaries between public and private issues, and between private and public organizations, may create new opportunities for actors that want to be involved. This diffusion of boundaries also entails greater uncertainties, however, as new forms and actor constellations might make it more difficult for the uninitiated to distinguish how they should constitute themselves to take part in regulatory processes. The tendency of a shift of rule-making activities – from state actors to private actors – may also render regulatory processes more opaque and exclusive.

Thus, the point of departure for our study is that the nation state, with its legislative power and administrative resources, is still an important actor in rule-making activities. But in what way and to what extent it is important vary between regulatory domains and issues at stake. Before further discussion of the implications of this, we direct our attention to the object of regulation, an object that is now increasingly defined in terms of risk.


What should be regulated?

The concept of risk has assumed a prominent position not only within social science but also within government and corporations (Hutter and Power, 2005; Renn, 2008). Since the mid-1990s we have seen an explosion in risk management practices across a wide range of organizational contexts (Power, 2004). Regulatory failures, regulatory changes and media attention have provided the stimuli to make risk management an integral part of all managerial language and organizational activities. Companies, government agencies, special interest organizations and NGOs have now made risk management an important rationale for their activities (Kasperson and Kasperson, 2005b; Renn, 2008). It has even been claimed that we face a grand narrative of risk management today at the world level (Power, 2007, pviii). Thus, it would appear society has no option but to organize itself in the face of risk, which implies that regulation is to a greater extent understood as risk management (Lidskog et al, 2005; Scheytt et al, 2006).

Viewing regulation as a kind of risk management does not imply that the task is to eradicate risk, but rather to make uncertainty manageable by drawing boundaries for what is acceptable and developing systems for controlling risk (Baldwin and Cave, 1999; Hood et al, 2001; Hutter, 2001). To conceptualize an object as a risk means that it is seen as manageable and governable. Risk creates space for action as it opens the future for calculation, deliberation and decision-making. In this sense, regulation ‘enrols’ futures and shapes policy formulations (Wynne, 1996).

Thus, risk regulation is not only about how to govern an existing reality, it also concerns the transformation of this reality, for instance, by dealing with novel forms of knowledge that have not yet been put into industrial practice (cf. Stehr, 2005). Some 50 years ago an urgent topic was how to deal with the growing knowledge of nuclear technology, which later resulted in both the proliferation of nuclear weapons and the civilian use of nuclear power. Today, there are other novel forms of knowledge that constitute urgent topics for the regulation of risk, such as nanotechnology and biotechnology (GM organisms, therapeutic cloning, stem cells, etc.). Thus, in these cases, not only does regulation concern how to regulate an existing activity, but also how novel knowledge should be deployed and employed, and how possible negative side effects should be controlled and delimited.

Traditionally, risk has been defined as the combination of probabilities and consequences and seen as an inherent feature of certain activities or entities, which science is able to measure. As a result, risk issues have typically been defined in closed circles of scientific experts (Irwin, 1995; Fischer, 2005). Technical risk analysis is based primarily on this risk concept, where one set of experts establishes the probability and magnitude of the hazards, another set of experts evaluates the benefits and costs of various options, and finally political priorities are invoked (Amendola, 2001).

The critique against this technical definition of risk has been immense and has brought to light the difficulty of upholding the sharp separation made between science and the realization that strictly science-based risk management also comes


with uncertainties and social biases (Hilgartner, 1992; Ravetz and Funtowicz, 1998; Amendola, 2001; Renn, 2001; Rosa, 1998; Stehr, 2005; Yearley, 2005). The critique was initially directed at problems within risk analysis, and consequently public perception of risk was seen as a challenge to how risk was defined and approached by technical and calculative means. In the 1990s, however, there was a shift from this internal focus to the broader question of the legitimacy of government. Michael Power denotes this shift as a move from risk analysis to risk governance. The ‘governing gaze’ has turned from how risk is defined, analysed and calculated to the governance of the organizations that analyse risk (Power, 2007, p19).

Even though the call for a more inclusive risk analysis and risk management may have evoked some response from regulatory agencies, it has not led directly to more inclusive and deliberative risk regulation processes. Rather, the shift from risk analysis to risk governance has increased the awareness of how organizations deal with public opinion and public perceptions as a source of risk in the sense that such perceptions could pose a threat to the legitimacy and stability of existing ways of governing risk (Power, 2007). This motivates research with a greater focus on the organization of risk governance, a focus on how organizations deal not only with environmental risk but also with the actors they perceive as possible threats and potential risks to the stability of the organization. Rule-making in such processes concerns not only rules about what is acceptable in terms of how we should mitigate or accept certain environmental hazards or health risks, but rules regarding the process itself, and activities that target the understanding and deal with public opinion and perceptions of risk. Thus, risk governance is not limited to the technical calculation of risk, but includes also the evaluation of organizational aspects in the regulation of risk.

With a focus on risk governance, that is, on the organization of how to render uncertainties into governable risks, the questions of who should be involved or excluded in risk regulation decision-making processes, on what premises, and what aspects should be made open and transparent to others, gain greater relevance due to the legitimacy gains and losses such decisions may generate. A heightened concern for public involvement in regulation can thus be seen as ‘a strategy to govern unruly perceptions and to maintain the production of legitimacy in the face of these perceptions’ (Power, 2007, p21).

Before presenting our empirical investigation of transboundary risk governance, we will first say something more about the relation between knowledge, expertise and the decisional processes of risk regulation.

SHAPING KNOWLEDGE

Scientific knowledge has been ascribed a pivotal role in steering society, not least when it comes to transboundary environmental problems (Haas, 2004; Lidskog


and Sundqvist, 2004). As discussed in the previous chapter, researchers from various disciplinary backgrounds go as far as to claim that scientific consensus, or at least scientific agreement, is a central mechanism for producing concerted political action. The argument is that when science speaks with a unanimous voice, this results in either the moulding of political interest or the opportunity for political manoeuvring being reduced because politicians find it hard to act in a way that runs counter to strong scientific recommendations.

As noted above and as heavily emphasized elsewhere, this view can be questioned as it is based on a distinct separation of science and policy (Latour, 1987; Jasanoff and Wynne, 1998; Irwin and Michael, 2003). Science is not produced at a distance from political activities and thereafter communicated to political actors. Science and policy are co-produced in the sense that policy influences the production and stabilization of the knowledge selected and used as relevant for that policy, while the selected bulk of knowledge at the same time supports and justifies that policy (Jasanoff, 2006a). Rules created with the aim of managing environment and health risks, in particular, are legitimated by references to scientific knowledge. This perpetuates the myth of the rational organization and rational decision-making. However, in rule-making practices, it is far from evident which knowledge is relevant, how competing knowledge claims should be accounted for, or how one should deal with the translation of a complex and immense bulk of knowledge into an enforceable rule (Fernler and Helgesson, 2006). Which knowledge or whose knowledge is seen as relevant or not is a result of social processes such as translation, negotiation and power struggles – processes which are at times visible, strategically conduced and explicit, and at times more implicit, concealed and unreflective.

Thus, previous and ongoing debates about the role of scientific knowledge in risk regulation, whether there is a need for more science-based regulation or whether the challenge is instead to open the regulatory process for stakeholder input, can be problematized. As Jasanoff (1990, pp15–19) has pointed out, when elaborating the role of science in the creation of rules, there are two common understandings, the technocratic view and the democratic view, both of which make the same mistake, namely, to assume a division between a stable, objective and value-free science and political and social values. Rather than seeing science as a direct and external input to rule-making activities, it is suggested that actors in regulatory processes relate to science and expert knowledge in ways that make some knowledge translatable into rules. It is an active process of translation, a process in which knowledge is also transformed. How this is done and what aspects of knowledge are included or left out may be contested and debated. Stakeholder inclusion is thus not only to be seen as legitimate on the basis of its democratic function, but it may also be seen as part of the negotiation processes with respect to knowledge claims and legitimate expertise (Ravetz, 2004).

Because of the interdependence between science and policy, the role of science in environmental regulation can never be prescribed. There is no other way to understand how regulation functions in society than to investigate different


actors’ articulations, framings, strategies and practices, and the discourses that they are subordinate to (Jasanoff and Wynne, 1998). The validity, relevance and applicability of knowledge are constructed in rule-making activities, processes where we observe different ways of handling scientific uncertainties, competing knowledge claims and ways of making knowledge more policy-relevant in order to render ambiguous and complex phenomena governable.

Contested knowledge and epistemic authority

At a time when science and the foundations of certainty are continuously being contested and debated, information and knowledge about risks cannot be seen simply as something individuals and organizations gather, use or misuse in the pursuit of their own interests. The co-production of science and policy implies that also the interests and policy stakes are outcomes of complex processes of this co-production.

The co-production of knowledge and rules involves not only the selection of relevant knowledge, but is often complicated by the fact that many issues are characterized by uncertainty and lack of knowledge. One source of uncertainty may be the degree to which and in what ways knowledge should be used as the basis for formulating a rule, especially when the existing bulk of knowledge may be so extensive and wide that it is impossible to consider all available knowledge. There may also be processes characterized by a plurality of knowledge claims, where different experts forcefully argue that their specific claims are superior and more scientifically grounded than other claims. Uncertainties may moreover be connected to ‘known unknowns’ (situations in which there is an awareness of the lack of knowledge) as well as ‘unknown unknowns’ (aspects that may be relevant for the issue under discussion, but that we simply do not know of ).

In science and technology studies, the concept of ‘boundary work’ has been introduced to describe the process in which knowledge producers struggle to present their practices and knowledge claims as credible and trustworthy. This is done by locating their own knowledge claim within the sphere of authoritative knowledge – most often equivalent with scientific knowledge – while other knowledge claims are assigned to a sphere of less authoritative knowledge, or disregarded as mere opinion. Boundary work is thus a strategic act for establishing epistemic authority, where boundaries are drawn to pursue goals and interests and to appeal to an audience and stakeholders (Gieryn, 1999).

Through boundary objects – points of reference that allow flexible interpre-tations around a common core of meaning – the interests of different actors and different kinds of expertise can be linked to one another, and come to work within a frame of unity. These boundary objects restrict the ability to drift away from a shared (and minimalist) understanding of a particular issue. Thereby inertia and stabilization are established, because even if a boundary object enables different interpretations, it also constrains the total number of possible interpretations.


Only those interpretations that can be part of a coherent story-line, part of the same project, focusing on the same objectives, are legitimate. Thus, boundary objects serve to stabilize and constrain how a regulatory issue is apprehended and understood.

Uncertainty is often mentioned as an obstacle in regulatory work. However, uncertainties – as well as certainties – are socially constructed, and may be used functionally to account for regulatory failure or political inaction (Shackley et al, 1996; Shackley and Wynne, 1996). Also, uncertainty can serve as a boundary object, where actors can be united in their view on uncertainty and its implications for options. In that way, uncertainties can be strategically managed, negotiated and used.

In a situation characterized by different knowledge claims and contested knowledge, one solution can be to take short cuts in order to allocate epistemic authority and thereby organize different knowledge claims. Science has long been seen as the institutionalized way to produce valid and reliable knowledge, and in many cases epistemic authority is established by locating knowledge claims within the sphere of science. The exclusion of knowledge claims can be achieved by expulsion, where rival knowledge claims are forced to the margins or outside of science. Or exclusion can be achieved by expansion, where the epistemic authority of science is defended or expanded at the expense of religion, folk knowledge, common sense, ethics, ideology or politics (Gieryn, 1999).

As discussed in the previous chapter, processes of cognitive destabilization are challenging the exclusive authority of science. Obviously, there is no total collapse of science’s authority, because simultaneous with processes of destabilization are processes of stabilization, fostering a strengthening of the belief in the superiority of science. Thus, dynamic processes of cognitive stabilization and destabilization mean that scientific knowledge is not automatically granted epistemic authority and that there may be competing forms of expertise. This is the case not least when approaching risk regulation decision-making processes, where a group of scientific risk analysts represents only one of many actors in the process of constructing and managing risk objects (Power, 2007). Many different kinds of specialists and agencies are involved in the endeavour to translate uncertainties and to construct governable risk objects.

Different kinds of expertise – evidently not only scientific expertise – may be seen as authoritative (Collins and Evans, 2007). Accordingly, there is a range of actors that can claim to possess expert knowledge within a specific area. The central demarcation line in regulatory work may therefore not necessarily be between scientific and non-scientific knowledge, but between what is seen as relevant and irrelevant knowledge. In some cases science is located in the former sphere; in other cases it may be judicial knowledge, knowledge about economic consequences, lay knowledge about local practices and their use of a specific local area, or synthesizing knowledge as in the form of computer modelling of large numerical data, that occupies the formal sphere.


To conclude, knowledge is not an external input to regulatory processes, but an internal part of it. It is therefore important that we explore not only how actors evaluate and judge different knowledge claims, but which expertise is made central in the regulatory process and the implications this has for rule-making and the construction of agency.

THE SHAPING OF AGENCY IN REGULATORY PROCESSES

The meaning of the ‘co-production’ of knowledge and social order is that knowledge, in particular scientific knowledge, ‘both embeds and is embedded in social practices, identities, norms, conventions, discourses, instruments and institutions’ (Jasanoff, 2006a, p3). In what ways does the notion of co-production affect the way we understand actors and agency in a policy process? Co-production in science and technology studies has also to a great extent meant a focus on issues of identity. It can be the identity of the expert that is under investigation, or also collective identities, such as being European, a member of a research community, part of a stakeholder community, or belonging to the affected people or a disease group (cf. Jasanoff, 2006b, p39). Thus, identities should rather be seen as the results of actions – not their antecedents (cf. Czarniawska and Sevón, 1996, p4).

Many actors have developed an identity and a specific way of reasoning and acting, which are stabilized through different institutions. Organizational culture, social norms, judicial legislation and mandatory rules provide a certain stability to an actor’s identity, and therefore organizations often act in fairly predictable ways. However, our point is that this should not overshadow the fact that an actor’s identity and strategies are renegotiated and shaped in regulatory processes. Sometimes new actors are invented or mobilized (such as new government agencies, private companies and action groups) and other times existing organizations develop new goals, identities and action programmes. Another fundamental question concerns the actor’s mandate, scope of action and attributed responsibility. Regulatory processes distinguish between those actors who are seen as having the capability and responsibility to take effective action, and those who can only be acted upon, i.e. who do not have the skills or resources to be a part of the rule-making activities. By silencing others, it is possible to claim to represent them in regulatory processes (cf. Callon, 1986, p216).

Thus, the focus for studies of co-production could be specific institutional spaces in which actors’ identities are negotiated and shaped, or the focus could be particular concepts used to classify social worlds, like expertise, national identity or citizenship, and how they have gained ‘stability and coherence, along with equally particular expressions of knowledge – for example, genetic markers, measure of human intelligence [or] climate change’ (Jasanoff, 2006a, p5). As regards the understanding of actors in regulatory processes, the idiom of co-production means a focus not only on how people organize and express themselves, but also


on what they value and how they assume responsibility for their actions (and non-actions).

Following this line of reasoning, the nation state, expert organizations and private companies are not to be seen as given actors that react to changes in their surroundings, such as economic globalization, Europeanization or declarations on the relation between fossil fuels and global warming. As Czarniawska and Joerges (1996, p21) write, local and global ‘are not ostensive but performative properties: people make something into local or global, they localize or globalize’.

Actors’ identities are shaped in conjunction with the shaping of the spatial identity of environmental risks. The construction of a problem’s spatial identity creates expectations about which actors are best suited to develop and implement rules. Actors may advocate for a problem to be ascribed certain spatial characteristics, and thereby also capabilities, mandate and responsibilities are ascribed to certain actors to manage the issue at stake – whereas other actors are simultaneously seen as having no responsibility.

By classifying the world, actors also shape their own identities in relation to local, national or global issues. Rules designed to cope with a globalized economy, created by the World Trade Organization, for instance, are not only a response to globalization but also a very evident part of the processes of globalization. In Europe, national identities are often shaped in processes initiated by the EU, for example, when member states are involved in negotiations over a proposal, the need for the member state to speak with one voice is triggered and sometimes results in a strengthening of the ‘national identity’ (Jacobsson and Sundström, 2006). Economic restructuring – in most cases caused by global economic processes, and leading to unemployment in some regions and employment opportunities in others – may heavily influence the construction of regional and local identities.

Frames and narratives

As emphasized in the previous chapter, regulatory processes reveal the construction of what is worth protecting, whom or what to protect, why, how and by whom. The notions of frames and framing are of central importance in these processes. In this sense, regulation can be understood as a form of discursive steering, as a way to govern by influencing the way actors understand and conceptualize reality (Hajer, 2003; Fischer, 2005). A discourse enables ways of apprehending a phenomenon, thereby delimiting others. Accordingly, it opens up space for cognition and understanding by closing other spaces that contain alternative ways to conceptualize the phenomena.

Discourses may, however, be understood as something external to actors, to which the actors are subordinate. By using the concepts of frame and framing, we emphasize the importance of actors and their strategies. Frames not only influence actors, but may be intentionally created and deliberately used.


Through framing processes, a complex and uncertain reality is simplified in order to support a certain understanding of an issue and/or to promote a specific agenda (Entman, 1993; Schön and Rein, 1994; Fischer, 2003). By selecting and omitting aspects of a phenomenon, a complex issue is simplified and packaged; by drawing boundaries, some things are integrated while others are separated, some knowledge is made relevant while other is made irrelevant, and some entities are constructed while some are deconstructed. Through frames, rather unstable phenomena are stabilized and made governable in that frames carve out a space for political action at the same time as they close others.

In regulation, mere information gathering – which is often seen as a central aspect of regulation (Hood et al, 2001) – is not enough. To be useable for regulation, the information must make sense, meaning must be created. By giving a specific historical account of the object and by anchoring rather unfamiliar events and phenomena in a familiar context, the suggested method of regulation is legitimated and other proposals are seen as invalid. Thus, organizing different kinds of materials into narratives creates meaning and motivates action (cf. Jasanoff, 2006c, p276).

Narratives provide a symbolic sounding board – dramatizing or undramatizing the issue in focus. As in the case of the loss of the tanker Prestige mentioned in the introduction in Chapter 1, different narratives may be constructed, e.g. a story telling of a disaster that reveals the inherent problem of all oil transport at sea, implying a need for much stricter regulation, or a story of unscrupulous shipowners and problems of liability, implying that the regulation per se is sufficient. Thus, the construction of an event or problem and its solution creates a narrative that forms the basis for creation of new rules or reproduction or transformation of existing regulation.

Narratives do not only condense large amounts of information and normative assumptions that assign meaning to them. They may also create unity among diverse social actors by constructing a shared understanding. In the narratives, boundary objects that enable communication between actors from different fields of expertise are developed, connecting different actors’ interests and making them part of the same project by focusing on the same objectives. In this respect, regulation can be seen as a kind of story-telling by communities or, more loosely, networks that attempt to deal with specific problems collectively (cf. Jasanoff, 2005). Thus, regulation consists of a struggle to control, use and distribute specific frames, and – if successful – these frames and narratives are naturalized and taken for granted by the involved actors.

Criticism has been raised that an emphasis on frames conceals important aspects of a process, since it does not attend to the dynamic character of social processes (Marres, 2007). In this critical stance, frames are seen as something external to the actors, implying that frames exist, waiting to be used to stabilize unstable objects. However, as emphasized in our introductory chapter, our standpoint is that regulatory objects do not exist outside regulatory processes. Hence, frames and framing processes should not be seen as something externally


imposed on existing objects. In line with the discussion earlier in this chapter, frames should be understood not as stable external entities used by actors as strategic weapons in the battle of how to regulate certain issues, but as dynamic entities developed in interactions with other actors, norms, regulatory frameworks and social practices.

Furthermore, frames do not leave their developers unaffected; on the contrary, the developers are affected by the frames they construct and use. Frames do something with the world, including the actors that present and distribute a specific framing. They not only configure regulatory objects, but also shape actors’ identities and practices. In this sense, frames are productive products, constructed in the regulatory process while at the same time influencing it.

To conclude, regulation and rule-making is a complex process in which know-ledge, actors and frames are not only drawn together and interact in rule-making activities. They also influence each other: identities and strategies are negotiated, knowledge is constructed and expertise shaped, and frames and narratives are developed. Thus, investigating how transboundary risks are governed implies a need to investigate how frames, actors and knowledge intermingle in the making of rules.

CONCLUSION: FRAMES, ACTORS AND KNOWLEDGE

As discussed above, regulation is not a response to a well-defined problem. Rather, to regulate is to order reality in new ways, to bring in new aspects and remove established ones. In this sense regulation is innovative; it invents new things, draws new borders and opens up new space for action, at the same time as it dissolves other things, makes earlier established borders obsolete, and closes earlier spaces for action. Regulation should therefore be seen as a field of action in which regulatory entities are attributed, allocated and enacted, a field in which frames are constructed and distributed, actors and their identities are shaped, and expertise negotiated and established.

Thus, the point of departure for this book is that, in order to understand regulation, we need to investigate the processes that render an issue governable. In our studies of the regulation of oil transport at sea, climate change, GM crops and EMF radiation protection, we investigate three interrelated sets of questions: what frames are put forward by actors involved in the regulatory process and how they work to spread their frames; what actors are involved in the process and how their identities are shaped; and what kinds of knowledge and expertise are seen as legitimate, valid and policy-relevant in the regulatory process. In practice, these dimensions are intertwined and inseparable. Nevertheless, they are relevant and suitable for structuring the analysis of our cases in order to understand continuing efforts to make transboundary environmental problems governable.


This means that there is no straightforward path here, whereby a specific set of actors first succeeds in framing the issue, then a certain kind of knowledge is given an exclusive role, leading to a formulation of appropriate rules. Instead, different actors are involved in boundary work vying to define the kind of knowledge to be judged as valid and policy-relevant for the design of rules. In these contests and negotiations, not only frames are developed and knowledge shaped, but the identities of the actors themselves are also under negotiation.

In the following four empirical chapters, we investigate different actors’ framings, strategies and practices when deliberating and negotiating over the character, causes and remedies of certain problems, and thereby lay the groundwork for the discussion in the concluding chapter on how dominant frames are constructed, legitimate actors are configured and epistemic authority is established in the governing of transboundary risk.

Chapter Three

Mobile Telephony and Radiation Protection: Regulating Risk or

Local Self-Governance

New technologies for wireless communications and advanced mobile telephony are put forward as a crucial information and communications technology (ICT) vision regarding development in European society and economy. Throughout Europe, such developments have also received negative attention and been portrayed as undemocratic and unsafe. At the end of the 1990s and the beginning of the 2000s in particular, there was controversy over these developments and news media reports most often adopted a terminology of ‘safety’ and ‘risk’. Headlines in the news such as ‘Mobile phone “brain risk”’ (BBC, 1999) and ‘Mobile phones increase the risk for brain tumours’ (Aftonbladet, 2002a) were continuously being countered by other headlines such as ‘Mobile phone fears “unfounded”’ (BBC, 2000) and ‘New report: mobile phones do not cause cancer’ (Aftonbladet, 2002b).

News reports like these are not only to be seen as simple statements as to whether or not there are risks connected to mobile phone use, they also invoke many questions about how concerns involving new technologies are framed. The reports in themselves constitute short narratives and include assumptions about the major players, what the most important issues are, and about social relations and responsibilities. This chapter deals primarily with controversies relating to the building of a new mobile telephone network, although this issue is difficult to separate from that of mobile telephones in general, especially in the debate surrounding existing regulatory measures. Issues of concern in these debates were far from limited to ‘risk’, and discussions played out in different fashions depending on the institutional context.

Mobile telephone systems, i.e. mobile telephones and their base stations, generate microwaves and radiofrequency electromagnetic fields (RF EMF). RF fields do not generate ionizing radiation or radioactivity in the body, and are therefore called non-ionizing radiation. Since non-ionizing radiation is based on the same kind of mechanism as a microwave oven, it can, however, produce heat.


Thus, current European and international regulations are based on the known thermal (heating) effects of exposure to EMF. The dominant view within the scientific community is that current regulatory thresholds are set so low that there is no risk of adverse health effects caused by heating. There is research, however, indicating that there are other types of RF EMF exposure effects not caused by heat, i.e. non-thermal effects. There is an ongoing scientific dispute about whether there is sufficient evidence to claim that there are health-damaging non-thermal effects from mobile telephony. However, according to the World Health Organization (WHO), the immense numbers of mobile phone users mean that even very small adverse effects on health could have major implications for public health (WHO, 2000).

This chapter examines international and European guidelines for EMF, as well as the Swedish debate on how science and policy relations during and after the establishment of a new UMTS (universal mobile telecommunications system) network, also called third generation (3G) mobile networks. In Sweden, as in many other European countries, the building of the new network at the end of the 1990s gave rise to local protests and mobilization of nationwide activist groups. The protests were met by different responses by local and national authorities. While some local authorities tried to test the scope and limits of existing regulations by establishing low-radiation zones, for instance, the Swedish Radiation Protection Authority (SSI) initiated a stakeholder dialogue project on mobile phones. These two processes constituted temporary arenas where international regulations, scientific evidence and the meaning and usage of the precautionary principle were tested, contested and renegotiated. Many of the issues raised at the height of public controversy concerned not only risk and radiation protection issues, but also wider issues such as the benefits and need for the technology, and local self-governance in relation to the nation state and the EU.

The following sections offer a brief introduction to the science and regulation of EMF, after which the Swedish case is presented. The established scientific basis for existing regulations and other guiding principles such as the precautionary principle will most likely continue to be contested in relation to EMF-generating technologies. However, depending on the power structures involved, scientific knowledge is not always at the centre of the conflict. While the meaning of ‘scientific evidence’ framed the entire discussion in the national dialogue project between authorities and stakeholders, the local initiative to establish low-radiation zones was an example of a different kind of power structure in which science was important but did not take centre stage in the discussions.

MOBILE TELEPHONY AND RADIATION PROTECTION 33

SCIENCE AND REGULATIONS ON RADIOFREQUENCY ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELDS

Guidelines for exposure to RF EMF have existed in many countries since the late 1950s, although the development of a common international framework for non-ionizing radiation protection and a common standard for limiting potential hazards related to EMF did not begin until a few decades later. In the mid-1970s, the potential dangers of a variety of electromagnetic technologies attracted international interest and, as a result, regulatory institutions at both international and national levels were established as offshoots of associations and authorities whose main concern was ionizing radiation (Stilgoe, 2004).

In 1964, a formal organization, the International Radiation Protection Associ-ation (IRPA), was established in the US. International regulatory institutions for RF EMF and non-ionizing radiation thus have their roots in an organization that has, historically, dealt mainly with ionizing radiation and nuclear power and safety. Ten years later, IRPA formed a working group on non-ionizing radiation, which examined problems arising in the field of protection against various kinds of non-ionizing radiation. In 1977, this working group became the International Non-Ionizing Radiation Committee (INIRC). INIRC was later replaced by the International Commission on Non-Ionizing Radiation Protection (ICNIRP), established at the IRPA congress in Montreal in 1992 as a new independent scientific organization tasked with investigating possible hazards associated with non-ionizing radiation, developing international guidelines on exposure limits, and dealing with all aspects of non-ionizing radiation protection.1 The recommendations of the European Commission published in 1999 were formulated on the basis of ICNIRP’s international guidelines.

This organizational history has a bearing on how today’s regulatory institutions dealing with non-ionizing radiation handle uncertainties, as well as their openness to public concerns. Organizations that deal with nuclear power and safety are typically closed expert cultures (cf. Sundqvist, 2002). It has been argued elsewhere that institutional experts who presume that the meaning of the issue of concern is safety ignore ‘other dimensions (such as institutional arrogance) which different publics evidently regard as core’ (Wynne, 2003, p405). This raises the need for making the political dimensions of institutional cultures more explicit. In this respect, politics understood as ‘competing interests’ is too narrow. Institutional cultures are highly implicit, unreflective and reconstructed in day-to-day work. Thus, the political dimensions of institutional cultures are instead captured by a focus on the implications of more subtle processes of knowledge production and the ways in which some issues and participants are excluded or marginalized. In many respects, the scientific and regulatory controversy over EMF presents a good case for investigating what knowledge and whose knowledge is included and excluded, and how identities are shaped as a result of institutional factors.


The scientific controversy and its closures

As indicated in the introduction, the scientific controversy concerns a dispute over thermal versus non-thermal effects of EMF. This conflict has reached closure in terms of an internationally established consensus on what is considered to be the best scientific knowledge currently available, which is also reflected in the internationally adopted standard measure – specific absorption rate (SAR). SAR refers to the rate at which energy is absorbed per unit mass of biological tissue, in watts per kilogram. SAR is thus not a measure of exposure, but of absorption. The measure exclusively considers thermal effects, and is based on a consensus that an increase in body temperature of 1°C caused by RF is tolerable.

The underlying mechanisms that SAR levels are based on are well known and provide regulatory authorities with a seemingly uncontested tool for protecting people from the hazards of overheating. SAR makes it possible to communicate this with a single measure. However, in order to reach ‘closure’ with SAR as the current hegemonic standard, several choices had to be made to dismiss other relevant aspects to potential health hazards of EMF exposure. This is shown in a study by Jack Stilgoe (2004), on which the following three points concerning the SAR measure are based.

First, and perhaps most important, SAR says nothing about other possible effects that can occur without a noticeable increase in temperature. Second, SAR is a dose rate, which means it does not take into account the length of time a body is exposed to EMF. This does not matter for the rationale behind SAR calculations, however, since the body can automatically reach a thermal equilibrium after a few minutes. It does mean, however, that SAR reflects the situation of speaking in a mobile phone for minutes or perhaps hours, though it does not say anything about the potential cumulative effects of living close to a base station that is continuously transmitting. Third, SAR does not distinguish between continuous and pulsed, digital radiation. Some would argue that the fact that this aspect is left out is important, since there is research that suggests that pulsed radiation may interact with the human brain in ways that continuous wave radiation does not.

The regulative tool is thus based on a limited portion of a range of potentially relevant aspects and knowledge. This is not uncommon in rule-setting situations. Sometimes the main problem lies not only in sorting out the knowns from the unknowns, but that the available knowledge is so broad and comprehensive that giving equal recognition to all aspects is impossible. The situation would be hopelessly complex if some knowledge was not privileged over other knowledge (Fernler and Helgesson, 2006). That privileging takes place might be inevitable, but it also means that the ensuing rules are never neutral, but always politically charged.

Using SAR as a regulative tool implies disregarding several elements, many of which are associated with non-thermal effects, i.e. biological effects other than heating. For example, neuronal damage has been found in the brains of rats exposed


to low-power pulsed microwaves similar to the EMF generated by mobile phone transmitters, and is explained as being caused by the relationship between exposure and an increased permeability of the blood–brain barrier, which causes a leakage of albumin into the brain (Persson et al, 1997). Further, there are studies that report other types of non-thermal biological effects, such as an increased risk of brain tumours (see e.g. Hardell et al, 2003).

Regulatory institutions typically argue that the various findings reporting non-thermal effects and different types of biological mechanisms have not been replicated in a sufficient number of studies. The methodological quality of some of these studies has also been questioned, making future replications difficult or impossible. The recognized non-thermal effects are framed as ‘not-yet-knowns’ and the issue has been postponed, awaiting the future results of long-term epidemiological studies in combination with replicated studies of biological effects. The regulatory regime for EMF and non-ionizing radiation relies on scientific consensus on thermal effects, and the few studies of non-thermal effects do not give sufficient reason for the authorities to amend regulatory measures.

A public debate arose in relation to the establishment of the new mobile phone network at the end of the 1990s and beginning of the 2000s, however, indicating that citizens were not as convinced that existing regulations were safe enough (and some were not convinced that safety was the main issue). The public controversy gave voice to a scientific controversy that had existed since the 1950s and, to some extent, both sides used science to argue their position. It was evident that various efforts were made to bring in forms of knowledge that had previously been excluded. The power structures involved were further complicated by the fact that EMF policies exist on different levels: local, regional, national, European and international.

International and European guidelines and recommendations

At an international scale, the International Commission on Non-Ionizing Radiation Protection provides guidelines for limiting EMF exposure, and WHO provides recommendations. As an international expert association, the principal aim of ICNIRP is to ‘disseminate information and advice on the potential health hazards of exposure to non-ionizing radiation to everyone with an interest in the subject’ (ICNIRP, 2009). According to ICNIRP’s own description, its members are ‘independent experts in the scientific disciplines necessary for radiation protection’ (ICNIRP, 2009). In order to ensure its status as an independent, non-profit institution, ICNIRP members cannot be employed by industry. Further, members represent neither their country of origin nor their country’s institutions. ICNIRP collaborates with international partners on non-ionizing radiation protection and health, such as WHO, ILO (International Labour Organization) and IRPA.

The main objective of ICNIRP guidelines is to ‘establish guidelines for limiting EMF exposure that will provide protection against known adverse health


effects’ (ICNIRP, 1998, p494). Adverse health effects are defined as those effects that cause ‘detectable impairment of the health of the exposed individual or of his or her offspring; a biological effect, on the other hand, may or may not result in an adverse health effect’ (ICNIRP, 1998, p494). It is further stated that the restrictions in the guidelines are ‘based on scientific data alone’ and that they will be ‘periodically revised and updated as advances are made in identifying the adverse health effects of time-varying electric, magnetic, and electromagnetic fields’ (ICNIRP, 1998, p495).2

As noted, ICNIRP emphasizes that its guidelines are based on science. This scientific base is, however, fragile and must be actively maintained. This is something that WHO is aware of when it recommends that the international health-based guidelines should be followed. WHO also states that if regulatory authorities wish to introduce additional precautionary measures, ‘they should not undermine the science base of the guidelines by incorporating arbitrary additional safety factors into the exposure limits’, but rather that these additional measures should be introduced as ‘a separate policy that encourages, through voluntary means, the reduction of RF fields by equipment manufacturers and the public’ (WHO, 2000). Another concern that WHO also has to deal with is to give consideration to the recognized uncertainties, as indicated in the following:

None of the recent reviews have concluded that exposure to the RF fields from mobile phones or their base stations cause any adverse health consequences. However, there are gaps in knowledge that have been identified for further research to better assess health risks. It will take about 3–4 years for the required RF research to be completed, evaluated and to publish the final results of any health risks. (WHO, 2000)

WHO refers here to knowledge gaps that can be overcome with more research. Thus, it is a linear rational model of science and policy relations that is emphasized at the international level of non-ionizing radiation protection. In WHO’s eyes, the role of the public is limited to a traditional model in which experts should communicate the facts in a way that is ‘accurate’, ‘appropriate’ and ‘understandable’ (WHO, 2000). Citizens may contribute ‘aesthetics and public sensibilities’ in local planning processes, which is one of the reasons why WHO recommends open communication and discussions concerning the siting of new antennas and base stations for mobile phones. Another reason for the open and communicative planning process explicitly advocated by WHO is simply that it may help to create public acceptance (WHO, 2000).

The recommendations on EMF and non-ionizing radiation protection issued by the EC are in accordance with international guidelines and recommendations (EC, 1999). The EC’s guidelines and recommendations are specified in SAR, as well as in measures such as power density and electric field strength, and given a reference level depending on the frequencies involved. In accordance with ICNIRP


guidelines, the same SAR measure is used in all member states of the EU although the reference levels can vary.

A common Nordic approach

In 1981, the first mobile telephone network in the world was introduced in the Nordic countries – the NMT 450 (Nordic Mobile Telephone) system. Today, around 80–90 per cent of the population in the Nordic countries use mobile phones. The Nordic countries have played a major role in the development of mobile telephony and the competent authorities in these countries (Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway and Sweden) have formulated a common approach to mobile phones and health (Mobile Telephony and Health, 2004).

In the Nordic approach to mobile phones and health (Mobile Telephony and Health, 2004), reference is made to studies conducted in the Nordic countries as well as other countries in the beginning of the 2000s. It is stated that these studies all come to the same conclusions as the Stewart Report did in 2000, i.e. that ‘the balance of evidence to date suggests that exposure to RF radiation below … ICNIRP guidelines do not cause adverse health effects to the general population’ (IEGMP, 2000, p3). The Nordic authorities express that they have not reached a different conclusion, but nevertheless want to stress a precautionary approach and the need to address ‘scientific uncertainties’, linking these uncertainties to the ‘number of published reports suggesting that biological effects may occur at exposure levels below the ICNIRP guidelines’. The Nordic view is that these studies need to be reproduced and findings carefully followed up. They further state that there remains uncertainty regarding whether children and young people could be more sensitive than adults to EMF from mobile telephony and that very little research has been done in this area. The precautionary attitude stressed by the Nordic authorities is formulated as follows:

The existing knowledge gaps and the prevailing scientific uncertainty justify a certain precautionary attitude regarding the use of handsets for mobile telephony. Due to the widespread use of mobile phones even a very small risk could have consequences for public health. Because of the lack of knowledge in certain fields of research the Nordic authorities find it is wise to use, for instance, a hands-free kit that reduces the expo-sure to the head significantly. This information should be addressed both to adults, young people and children. It is important that parents inform young people and children about how to reduce the exposure from mobile phones. (Mobile Telephony and Health, 2004)

The recommendation to use hands-free kits may be interpreted as fully in line with the WHO recommendations. According to WHO, precautionary measures that go beyond the ICNIRP guidelines should be introduced as a separate policy that


encourages private solutions, by individuals and/or by equipment manufacturers. At the same time, the line between different policies in this respect is difficult to draw, since the statements of the authorities may be interpreted as inconsistencies in EMF and radiation protection policy. The message that it is safe to use mobile phones, but that safety equipment (hands-free kits) should be used, can be interpreted as doublespeak and help to undermine trust in the authorities.

Harmonized standards seem to be important for giving credibility to claims that policies rest on universal, proven knowledge. Local variations in guidelines may work to reduce this credibility. An example of a deviation from the influential standard set by ICNIRP can be seen in Russia and other Eastern European countries, who take into account ‘non-thermal effects’, ‘subjective symptoms experienced by users’ and ‘possible cumulative effects’ (Stilgoe, 2004, p109). The Russian guidelines for some RF exposures cite limits up to 100 times lower than those suggested by ICNIRP. Deviations from the harmonized standard can undermine trust and be used as an argument against authorities’ claims that there is scientific consensus and that the rules are based on objective knowledge. However, in the Swedish case, which will be our focus for the following sections of this chapter, actors on both sides of the controversy make reference to the Russian guidelines, although with the aim of supporting fundamentally different positions.

THE CONTROVERSY IN SWEDEN: THE MEANING AND SCOPE OF KNOWLEDGE AND RULES

The establishment of a new mobile phone network in Sweden led to public debate that can be understood through two intertwined parts of the controversy: one based on a terminology of risk and safety, and one primarily concerned with local self-governance and political agency. But before these two power struggles are described in more detail, first some remarks about the scale of public protests in Sweden at the time the network was being constructed.

One indicator of the scale of public discontent is the number of building permits that were appealed by citizens. In 2004, a survey was sent to all municipal authorities in Sweden (Söderqvist, 2004). Results showed that, at the time of the study, citizens had appealed almost one third of the approved building permits. Another indicator of public concern is the findings from an interview study in which a third of the respondents expressed ‘major concerns’ related to radiation and 3G base stations (KBM, 2004). Furthermore, only half of the interviewees expressed faith in the authorities responsible for radiation protection, with a similar proportion expressing the view that if there was no absolute guarantee that 3G did not carry health risks then it should be stopped.

News media coverage during the years of the controversy took the form of ‘evidence ping-pong’, in which ‘one scientist serves up a potential peril and another expert lobs back a calming reassurance’ (Ramirez, 1993, quoted in Björkstén, 2006,


p24). And the ping-pong match that took place in Sweden as well as internationally (between 1999 and 2003) between the Swedish studies and their findings on the effects of mobile telephony and microwave exposure on the blood–brain barrier (Björkstén, 2006) was a long one. Even though these findings were not new (the first results were published in 1993), the media coverage in Sweden, as in other European countries, did not begin until the end of the 1990s. Swedish authorities were, however, a few years behind some other European countries in commissioning expert investigations; the results from other European investigations were in before the Swedish investigations had even started (Björkstén, 2006). In several European countries, there was a connection between coverage in the media and the interest shown by the authorities in these issues.

Two interrelated conflicts described below took place during the years of the most intense debate in Sweden, at the end of the 1990s and the beginning of 2000. The first concerns a process in which a Swedish municipality tried to stop the building of mobile phone masts in order to establish low-radiation zones in response to citizen concerns. The second, and related conflict, was the nationwide protests and demand for stricter regulation or a total ban on 3G establishment altogether. The focus in describing the nationwide line of the conflict will, however, not be the actions of the protest groups themselves, but the response by the SSI and their initiative to begin a dialogue on mobile phones. These two forums for the mobile phone debate formed new discursive sites for discussing the meaning and scope of relevant knowledge and existing rules, and especially the meaning and usage of the precautionary principle. We will begin by looking at the city of Södertälje, and its citizens, local officials and politicians who tried to test the applicability of the precautionary principle.

Testing the boundaries of the law and the precautionary principle

Södertälje is a municipality on the outskirts of Stockholm and one of the first places in Sweden to have masts sited during the early stages of the establishment of the new mobile network. Already in 1999, a bill was introduced in Södertälje City Council about the planned mobile phone masts. The council’s response at that time was that this was not considered a problem. After a while, however, the situation changed. First came a substantial number of building permit applications, followed by a wave of local debate and citizens’ protests.

Eventually, the local council made a decision to protect certain areas, so-called low-radiation zones, to be integrated into the municipality’s comprehensive plan. To set the work in motion, expertise was employed to measure EMF in the municipality. This was done in consultation with a local activist group in order to ensure that the methods used to measure EMF would also be acceptable to the concerned parties. It should be noted here that some of the parties consulted were


not only concerned about future health risks, but people with already existing symptoms of illness (skin irritations, headache, nausea, etc.) that they associated with exposure to EMF. The phenomenon of electrosensitivity is a controversial topic and has been debated for several decades in Sweden. The first time the phenomenon received public attention was in the 1980s, although at that time it was computer monitors that were the technology at the heart of the discussions (Brante and Norman, 1995).

Public engagement and the fact that officials took citizens’ concerns seriously and commissioned expertise to measure EMF, resulted in the gathering of unique data on the local environment. As one local official stated: ‘Södertälje may be the only municipality that was studying the EMF situation in 2003’.3 Once measuring activities had been conducted, low-radiation zones were identified and protection restrictions could be formulated. In Södertälje’s comprehensive plan, the low-radiation zones finally identified had 100–1000 times lower field intensity, compared to the denser, developed zones of the municipality. The motives for establishing these zones are explained in the comprehensive plan:

to enable setting up houses in the zone, for example, for people with extreme sensitivity to radio-frequency or electromagnetic radiation. The aim is to attain a good environment for living from a social point of view and a sound environment (PBL 2 chap. 2§) for all people who are extra sensitive. It is in the public’s interest to ensure everyone can find a good living environment in Södertälje. (Södertälje Municipality, 2004, p35)

The same document goes on to explain that it is impossible today to protect areas from RF EMF since many of the sources generating them are beyond the control of the municipality. The intention of designated low-radiation zones is therefore to preserve the present state in the demarcated areas and to prevent further harm to the environment. Other issues that the local council was working on at the time were to ensure the ability to reject both planned and already erected masts, and to formulate protection measures, for example, screening off EMF sources.

As early as 2004, the Swedish government and parliament limited the ability of municipalities to say no to masts by amending legislation to give mobile communication systems the same status as other infrastructural systems of national importance (SFS, 2004). Therefore, in order to go through with the local policy on EMF, the council raised three cases to be examined by the environmental court as well as the environmental court of appeal, in order to test the applicability of the Swedish Environmental Code and the precautionary principle.

With the help of a consultant specializing in ICT and the environment, the local environmental board in Södertälje conducted an overview of the mobile phone mast cases that had been tested according to the Environmental Code thus far. The consultant concluded that no cases had been tested that specifically


addressed ‘public concerns’ as grounds for using the precautionary principle, and that this, in combination with scientific uncertainties, could be reason enough to apply the principle, according to Chapter 9, §3 of the Environmental Code (Södertälje, 2004). This paragraph explicates the meaning of ‘inconveniences for human health’ and is formulated as follows (SFS, 1998): ‘“Detriment to human health” shall mean any disturbance that is liable to have adverse effects on health in medical or hygienic terms which are not minor or temporary’.

The local council’s interpretation of the paragraph was that it also included health problems caused by worry. The application of this formulation had, until this point, not yet been tested in the Swedish legal system. A series of decisions and appeals followed. In a decision by the Stockholm County Administration Board, references were made to the lack of evidence that exposure to electromagnetic radiation is harmful to human health (County Administration Board, 2004):

It is inevitable that many people will feel unease and worried about electromagnetic radiation generated from planned mobile telephone masts and transmitters in their local environment. There are nevertheless no research results that convincingly show a connection between symp-toms of electrosensitivity or other diseases and low-frequency electric and magnetic fields from mobile phone masts. … It is impractical to prevent the construction of the enterprise because of people’s psychological distress over radiation.

It is perhaps worth noting that the County Administration Board added the qualifier ‘psychological’ to ‘distress’, so as to further emphasize that there were absolutely no grounds, at least not outside the worried people’s own minds, for their worries. The decision was appealed to the regional environmental court and further to the environmental court of appeal, both of which ruled in favour of the mobile telephone operators and against Södertälje local environmental board (Environmental Court, 2004). Parallel to the judicial process, a policy on how to deal with building permit applications was adopted by the local building committee. At the time when this policy was adopted, not many more 3G mast applications were expected, but the committee argued that it could be useful for 4G and 5G.

Södertälje city council referred to ‘public concerns’ as the primary basis for taking far-reaching measures to prevent exposure to RF EMF. Arguments put forward by local officials and politicians related to consideration of and responsi-bilities to citizens in the municipality, independent of scientifically proven health risks. For instance, in relation to the municipality’s efforts to establish low-radiation zones as a way of responding to citizen concerns, in addressing the situation of electrosensitive people, one official explicitly stated that: ‘whether the reason [for their illness] is EMF or something else, we don’t know, we simply want people to be able to live here’.4


In media debates, the establishment of 3G has been phrased as a process in which citizens and local communities have had ‘their legal rights withdrawn’, and that a ‘judicial VIP lane’ has been created in order to ensure that masts are put in place and that the network is established fast enough in the interests of the national government, at the expense of local interests in the municipalities (Gillberg, 2004). Not only ‘risk issues’ but questions about the driving forces of 3G establishment – who has taken the important decisions and who is gaining from it – were raised by individual citizens and activist groups as well as by representatives of local councils who felt they had been forced to accept a technology they did not ask for (Drake, 2006; cf. Soneryd, 2007).

In the Södertälje case, the local council had frequent contact with, and were influenced by, citizens and activist groups in the municipality. The mobilization of a nationwide activist group named Vågbrytaren (Wave Breaker) started with a few citizens in Södertälje. To some extent, the same actors as in this local case were thus involved in the debate that took place between SSI, the mobile phone industry, activists and electrosensitives. Wave Breaker was one of the stakeholder groups invited to take part in a dialogue project initiated by SSI, which is the focus in the next section.

Precautionary debates in another arena

As a response to public controversy and concern, SSI opted to assemble some of the groups critical to 3G establishment in a deliberation exercise, formally known as the Transparency Forum for Mobile Phone Communication.5 In spring 2004, SSI took the initiative to make preparations for this and appointed a reference group with members drawn from relevant national authorities, representatives from local councils, the mobile telecommunication business, Wave Breaker and the Swedish Association for the ElectroSensitive.

Wave Breaker is an independent association of about 2000 members that opposes all electromagnetic radiation that can harm health. In 2002, Wave Breaker was party to a national campaign launched against electro-smog (the other associations involved included three environmental movement organizations, local action groups, the Swedish Association for the ElectroSensitive, and local sections of the Swedish Green Party). The aim of the national campaign was to spread information and to mobilize public opinion against increasing electro-smog in society.

The Swedish Association for the ElectroSensitive is a member of the Swedish Disability Federation. Despite the fact that electrosensitives in Sweden have official disability status, electrosensitivity is still a contested phenomenon and electrosensitives are constantly met with scepticism by social institutions. The Swedish Association for the ElectroSensitive defines its tasks firstly as supporting the injured and creating understanding of their problem, and secondly as influencing


society to invest in research and development to help those already afflicted and prevent others from becoming afflicted.

The Transparency Forum aimed to focus on mobile phone infrastructure and not on mobile telephones, but these issues proved to be difficult to separate in practice. The Transparency Forum may best be described as a dialogue experiment with uncertain outcomes. The process was open-ended, and a reference group (consisting of representatives of the invited stakeholder groups) decided the format for the exercise. It was conducted in three seminars and involved about 60 participants. The seminars took the form of presentations made by researchers and experts with different views on the thermal and non-thermal effects debate, chosen by people in the reference group. After the presentations, participants could raise questions and hold discussions in small groups as well as in plenary sessions.

After the seminars had been conducted, all of which took place in 2005, one issue that participants agreed upon had been identified: that there was a need for more research on the relation between health and non-thermal effects. More importantly, the participants’ perspectives on the SSI’s current EMF policy were still very divergent. While the mobile phone industry, for instance, had argued that they were only following the recommendations made by the authorities, SSI argued that they had no reason to depart from the recommendations made by their scientific advisers. The two critical groups – Wave Breaker and the Swedish Association for the ElectroSensitive – argued for a different type of knowledge base for regulations (based on anecdotal evidence and on the precautionary principle).

In discussions of risk and safety, analogies were made to older and better-known technologies. For example, in arguing for their current EMF policy, SSI made reference to well-established science, the low effect of mobile phone masts compared to television masts (which have been in use for a much longer time), as well as the wide safety margins (SSI, 2006):

In Sweden, we have had TV masts for over 50 years and yet no harmful effects have been demonstrated despite research. The very similar trans-mitters for mobile phones are 2000 times weaker than a TV mast. The recommendations that exist today are based on research that has been going on for many years. In addition, our limits are set with wide safety margins.

Citizens critical of current regulations emphasized, in contrast, the unknown long-term effects of radiation, drawing upon analogies with other substances, such as chlorophenoxy herbicides, that were previously thought to be harmless and later proved to be extremely toxic. The ‘many years of science’ that SSI refers to is argued to be irrelevant since ‘there may be many studies that show that there is no harm, but only one that shows that something is bad, and that should be enough for taking precautions’.6


Local measures, such as avoiding placing masts close to schools, which are in line with WHO’s recommendations about taking ‘public sensibilities’ into consideration at the planning stage, may be interpreted by concerned citizens as inconsistencies in radiation policy7 and thereby undermine the trust in science that WHO is trying to uphold.

The lower levels recommended in Russia’s guidelines were brought up by critical voices, as a comparison to the Swedish levels and ICNIRP guidelines, in an aim to undermine SSI’s argumentation. In contrast to the ICNIRP recommendations and Swedish regulations, Russia’s position was described by activists as less biased since it was based on considerations that also included non-thermal effects.

The mobile phone industry, however, argued that actual radiation exposure in Sweden was not higher than the Russian guideline limits allow: ‘If we applied the Russian guidelines, we wouldn’t have to move a single mast in Sweden’.8 At one of the Transparency Forum seminars, an SSI official summarized the debate as in effect a situation of consensus, since in practice Sweden was actually following Russia’s guidelines, implying that the guidelines should not be considered the most important issue: ‘The important thing is how we use the precautionary principle in a way that all parties can accept’.9 This reasoning indicates that SSI wants to show that the established EMF policy already responds to public concerns. The uncertainties that remain are, from SSI’s perspective, a matter of using adequate science and conducting further studies.

The critical groups, by contrast, made references to anecdotal evidence, for example, the experiences of people suffering from electrosensitivity, and argued that there is already enough knowledge to take more rigorous precautionary measures.10

Evidently, the parties involved in the discussion had very different views on the meaning and implications of the precautionary principle. Several interpretations were suggested at the Transparency Forum. For instance, the notion that the pre-cautionary principle meant that there should be systems that make it possible to ‘go back’ if a technology is proved to be unsafe, was suggested by one of the experts:11

Society must have a system for taking action when new knowledge appears. In the case of DDT, it took 20 years before anything happened. In the case of EMF, if it is proven to be harmful, we have to have a system that can manage that, but this preparedness doesn’t exist. If car traffic doesn’t work, we have no system for rewinding the development. There is still much that can be done: technically, judicially and politically.

In discussions over the precautionary principle, the amount of ‘evidence’ of risk needed in order to put the principle into play was debated. On this issue, positions diverged substantially. For example, after the presentation made by an expert representing ICNIRP, there was discussion about the difference between


using ‘science’ and ‘precaution’ as a basis for judgements. While the ICNIRP representative argued that ICNIRP used the precautionary principle, a woman in the audience argued that ICNIRP’s reasoning was science-based in every respect, indicating that this excluded the possibility of applying the precautionary principle in a true sense.

Another issue connected to the meaning of the precautionary principle was the question of the electrosensitives. One representative of the association for the electrosensitives argued that, for them, risk was not even an issue. Rather, the issue was the already existing harm to this group. Somewhat supporting this view, the minister for the environment attending the meeting made clear that highly sensitive groups should be taken into account when the precautionary principle is applied. The problem still seemed to be a question of evidence, since disagreement prevailed over the causes of electrosensitivity and whether it was connected to EMF exposure at all. The discussions therefore seemed to reach a deadlock every time the issue of electrosensitivity came up.

At the Transparency Forum seminars, an effort was made (primarily by Wave Breaker and the electrosensitives) to bring in knowledge that had earlier been excluded. One example of this – namely, the resurrection of material excluded from a Swedish Council for Work Life Research (RALF) report – is striking from the perspective of how the exclusion of certain dimensions of knowledge contributes to the creation of consistent and relatively stable narratives that make it even more difficult to bring in excluded dimensions of knowledge again.

The ‘RALF report’ refers to the findings of a study conducted by RALF. In 1997, the Council was commissioned by the Swedish government to present a research review and evaluation of the results of both Swedish and international research into electromagnetic hypersensitivity and the health risks posed by electric and magnetic fields (Bergqvist et al, 2000).

One step in the Council’s work was to gather statements from people suffering from electrosensitivity and people who had come in contact with this problem in other ways, for example, through friends, relatives or colleagues of people suffering from electrosensitivity. To meet this aim, the Council announced a hearing to be held on 8 March 2000, and the possibility of submitting written statements to the Council. At the hearing, it was announced that the statements from those contributors who approved publishing would be included in a report, to be used as a supplement to the Council’s final report (RALF, 2000). In total, more than 400 statements were sent to RALF before and after the hearing.

The promised supplement never materialized, however, and the statements appeared in the final report as only a one-page summary. Consequently, two citizens engaged in the issue took it upon themselves to publish the statements. The result was a book based on the submitted statements, Black on White (Granlund-Lind and Lind, 2005), presenting the knowledge and experiences of the afflicted people themselves that were excluded from the RALF report.


At the third and final Transparency Forum seminar, the knowledge excluded from the RALF report came up for discussion on several occasions. The diverging views voiced by participants representing Wave Breaker and the mobile phone industry illustrate how the privileging of some knowledge over other knowledge has implications not only for the knowledge base taken into consideration in regulatory work, but also for how the problem is framed, what actors are included, and the more or less stable narratives created. A man representing Wave Breaker and one of the authors of the above-mentioned book, Black on White, observed:

They were supposed to publish all the facts from the Ralf report, but it was spirited away. My wife and I made a book from it… We see a pattern, but it is neglected, and made invisible. (Hedberg et al, 2007, p130)

The topic of the RALF report came up later on again at the same seminar, in discussions over what was included in a report from a WHO conference at which the results from the book were presented. A woman representing the Swedish Association for the ElectroSensitive drew an analogy between the two reports, i.e. the WHO report and the RALF report, arguing that the WHO report did not reflect the divergence represented at the conference that took place in Prague. The experiences from the electrosensitives in particular were excluded from the WHO report. A person representing the mobile phone industry responded that:

I assume that they made judgements concerning what was scientifically substantiated and what was not. This report from the Prague conference is very much in line with the judgements that Swedish authorities have made earlier, both the National Board of Health and Welfare and the SSI. I believe that the report from this conference gives support to the Swedish authorities. (Hedberg et al, 2007, p136)

The exchange of meanings over the content of the RALF and WHO reports concerned facts (or the exclusion of same), and what can be scientifically substantiated or not. In effect, the exclusion of the statements from electrosensitives from the RALF report – which was initially not motivated by scientific relevance but by the lack of funding12 – excludes not only knowledge but also people. This is crucial for the more or less stable and dominant narratives created and reconstructed through regulatory controversies. To exclude material from the RALF report was not motivated by the fact that it was not scientifically substantiated, especially as the whole idea of conducting the hearing and asking for written statements from the electrosensitives was to give voice to these previously unheard people. However, the fact that this material was excluded in the end can, as is shown by the second of the two quotes above, nevertheless be used in ways that support the dominant narrative, namely, that the stories of the electrosensitives are not supported by


scientific facts and must therefore be dismissed as irrelevant to the debate. The implications of this are discussed in more depth at the end of this chapter.

The Transparency Forum was declared as formally coming to an end with the last meeting of the reference group in late autumn 2005, a meeting aimed at discussing the official report that would present the results from the deliberation exercises. Disagreements over formulations in the report indicated that many of the diverging views concerned not only regulation of EMF but also how to represent and produce an official view of these diverging perspectives and the dialogue process that had taken place.13

The formal ending of the Transparency Forum was, however, not the end of discussions between these actors. When SSI was assigned the task from government to reformulate the national goals for A Safe Radiation Environment, the reference group of the Transparency Forum gathered once again.

At these meetings, the aim was clearer than in the Transparency Forum: to discuss formulations of the goals according to the commission from government, so that goals would be easier to follow up in the future in order to see if they are being met.

The meaning of scientific evidence again took centre stage in the discussions, as did the role of the advice from international actor ICNIRP. Since, according to Wave Breaker and the Swedish Association for the ElectroSensitive, ICNIRP had not taken non-thermal effects seriously, these organizations did not trust ICNIRP to be making accurate judgements on the relevance of science to policy in the area of EMF. This was a view that the mobile phone industry and SSI did not share; on the contrary, they argued that ICNIRP was trustworthy and played an important role.14

The debates about precaution show that the actors’ interpretations of what was both desirable and possible in situations of uncertainty, as well as the role of the international community in helping to make such judgements, differed. In the next and concluding section of this chapter, the diverging discourses surrounding risk and precaution are discussed in relation to the different actions taken at the local and national levels, and the different power struggles that were involved in these arenas.

CONCLUDING DISCUSSION

This chapter aimed to show that there are different ways to frame the issue and diverging discourses and narratives concerning mobile telephony. The way knowledge is privileged and selected as a basis for efficient risk regulation is questioned by actors who oppose a new mobile telephone network or by actors who associate their own illness with EMF. The subtle politics in the knowledge production and regulatory debates exclude not only certain forms of knowledge, but also alternative framings of the problem and ultimately people, who may be


excluded with the motivation that what they have to say is not supported by science. This is tantamount to previous technocratic approaches to risk, albeit disguised in deliberative forums such as the Transparency Forum. In this final section, we discuss some general implications of how issues were framed, knowledge was selected and used, and how actors’ identities were shaped, in the institutional contexts that we have focused on in this regulatory controversy.

Swedish, European and international regulations are based on scientific knowledge of EMF and thermal effects. There is widespread agreement that the thermal effects are known and that the non-thermal effects are largely unknown and that more research is needed. However, there is great divergence when it comes to the suggested policy implications of this.

To some extent, conflicts around EMF have reached closure with the established international standards for regulation. The cases presented here show that this is only preliminary, and only partial closure. There are many aspects brought into discussions by critical groups that aim to undermine the view of a stable scientific consensus as a basis for current regulations. These include things such as analogies made to substances that were previously thought to be harmless but have now proven to be toxic, as well as inconsistencies in EMF policies, for instance, the recommendation to use hands-free kits, which can be interpreted as a way of saying that ‘it is safe – but be careful’. The fact that Russia stipulates much lower levels in their guidelines compared with ICNIRP’s guidelines was also an argument used in the critique against Swedish authorities and international regulations.

The controversy surrounding EMF and health risks shows that a stable scientific consensus must be actively cherished and supported. It seems important for ICNIRP to assure other actors that it is independent and a non-profit institution and that its judgements are based on science. WHO’s explicit recommendation that the scientific base not be undermined by additional arbitrary safety factors also demonstrates the need for actively upholding the view of scientific consensus.

The two processes analysed in this chapter constituted temporary arenas in which international regulations, scientific evidence, and the meaning and usage of the precautionary principle became subject to testing, contestation and renegotiation. While the definition of ‘scientific evidence’ framed the entire discussion in the national dialogue project between authorities and stakeholders, the local initiative to establish low-radiation zones was an example of a different type of power structure, in which science was important but did not take centre stage in the discussions.

In the case of Södertälje, local politicians and officials acted in response to citizens’ concern. The efforts to establish low-radiation zones were both a way of being responsive to local citizens and a way of testing the scope of what the municipality could do in relation to the establishment of a nationwide infrastructure. The conflict was thus not primarily about risk and safety, but about local self-governance in relation to national and supranational imperatives.


In the national dialogue project, the deliberations that took place between authorities, industry and stakeholders did not lead to any direct changes in the recommended levels. The old issue of who gains from public participation and deliberation is still relevant. What the activist groups gained through their involvement in the deliberative exercise can be questioned, especially since many of the main points raised by the protest groups (i.e. the establishment of the 3G network and the status of electrosensitivity as an illness) seemed to fall outside the jurisdiction of SSI. At the same time, the solutions to these issues, according to the activist groups at least, related to the perspective that SSI and its experts had and what knowledge they considered relevant for regulating EMF. The dialogue project invited a broad set of actors to participate, but had no room for participants that did not live up to the norms of being modern actors capable of being ‘agents of principle’ (Meyer and Jepperson, 2000), that is, to act on behalf of principles such as universal science. This resulted in a focus on science and the validity of scientific findings, rather than on the contextual and local knowledge that participants brought to the table.

The power structures involved in the two processes were different in this respect. In the national dialogue project, citizens were invited to deliberate according to the terms that the expert authority had worked out beforehand, while in the case of Södertälje, politicians were acting in response to concerns raised by municipality residents. The rules that SSI and the Södertälje City Council were subject to were also different. SSI admitted that ICNIRP play a major advisory role with respect to EMF issues, but that following ICNIRP’s guidelines is voluntary and not binding. The local council, by contrast, was subject to laws restricting the municipality’s right to establish its own EMF policies. In spite of this, Södertälje tried to find ways to apply their own EMF policy, for example, by testing the definition and application of the precautionary principle.

Public concern has been used as a relevant parameter in deciding whether or not to apply the precautionary principle (Timotijevic and Barnett, 2006). However, there is no universally accepted definition of the precautionary principle, and it is therefore not surprising that it becomes a topic of constant debate. In the Södertälje case, local politicians and citizens employed a different set of arguments for the use of the principle than the national authority, SSI, did. The municipality and its local council argued that the precautionary principle should be used because of the scientific uncertainties surrounding EMF, mobile phone masts and electrosensitivity. In this context, using precaution meant the establishment of low-radiation zones to ensure that involuntary exposure to EMF was minimized.

SSI instead argued that there was not enough evidence to assume that EMF exposure below the established limits could be harmful. In spite of this, according to SSI, uncertainties remained and the precautionary principle should be used. From SSI’s standpoint, this meant keeping exposure levels below established limits wherever possible and recommending individual safety measures, such as using hands-free kits.


The effects of privileging of some knowledge over other knowledge are not always (and are seldom) in line with the initial motives. The knowledge base may be so complex and resources so scarce that some knowledge or dimensions have to be excluded. The effect may nevertheless be the creation and reproduction of dominant narratives, which appeal to ‘old truths’ such as the separation of facts from values. This is particularly evident when one thinks of the wider implications of excluding the statements of electrosensitives from the RALF report. Another example is the statement from the Stockholm County Administration Board in which research results were contrasted with ‘psychological distress’. Rather than using the input from citizens for discussion of how issues were framed in the first place and, on the basis of this, starting to think about what facts may be missing, citizens’ concerns were dismissed as non-factual. The initial goal of the RALF investigation was to give previously unheard people a voice. This is what was lost when the statements from the electrosensitives were excluded for not being scientifically substantiated facts. This is not to say that the statements did not include important knowledge, only that the value of the statements might not have been limited to factual input. This dimension was totally neglected at the Transparency Forum in the discussions of the results that were spirited away.

This chapter has shown that even when a scientific controversy has reached closure, arenas can be created that rekindle the conflict again and in which the meaning of EMF and risks can be negotiated. Institutional dimensions can explain why these debates reach closure again, although this is most likely only temporary since new EMF-generating applications may breathe new life into the controversy again in the future.

Some differences between the case analysed in this chapter and that analysed in the next – oil transport in the Baltic Sea – are perhaps best explained by their spatial aspects. In the case of EMF, it was possible to demarcate certain areas and to demand stricter regulation, so-called low-radiation zones, within these areas. This was one way for local politicians and citizens to use existing regulation to resolve a situation they were unhappy with but had little chance of changing on an overall basis. In the next chapter, we will see that there were different conditions for regulations due to the character of the regulatory object. In debates over environmental protection of the Baltic Sea, the PSSA concept was pursued to protect a certain area. In that case, however, the established principle of free mobility entails delimited scope to establish stricter measures in a demarcated area. The fact that ships and oil spills move restricts the ability to establish stricter measures in demarcated areas. However, it is generally easier to regulate ‘dirty industries’ (oil transport) than ‘lifestyle issues’ (mobile phones). We will soon see that in the case of oil spills and regulation, all of the actors involved agreed upon the problem formulation even though their opinions of the adequate measures to solve the problem differed.


NOTES

1 A background to the establishment of ICNIRP is provided in the introduction to the ICNIRP guidelines (ICNIRP, 1998).

2 ICNIRP recommends a whole-body average SAR (W/kg) of 0.4, for occupational exposure 0.4, and 0.8 for general public exposure (see ICNIRP, 1998, p509).

3 Observation of TF3, the third hearing of the Transparency Forum, 12 May 2005, Stockholm.

4 Observation of TF3. 5 Analyses of other aspects of this case are available in Lezaun and Soneryd (2007) and

Soneryd (2007). 6 Interview, woman, 42 years old, trained in media relations, has worked with similar

issues. She is now unemployed. She is married and has two small children. She lives with her family in a densely populated area in the archipelago, but they are about to move – partly because of the planned 3G mast next to her house.

7 Interview, man, 33 years old, has his own ICT company. He is currently on parental leave, but is about to start working again soon. He lives with his family in a densely populated area near the outlying archipelago.

8 Observation of TF3. 9 Observation of TF3. 10 Observation of TF3 and TF2. The second hearing of the Transparency Forum took

place 9–10 February 2005, Stockholm.11 Observation of TF3 12 Interview with Rigmor Granlund-Lind and John Lind, May 2008, Stockholm. 13 This was the reason why the report was delayed and was not published until 2007,

almost two years after the hearings had taken place.14 Observation of the hearing arranged by SSI on the national environmental quality

objectives concerning electromagnetic fields, 31 October 2006, Stockholm.

Chapter Four

Oil Transport in the Baltic Sea: Environmental Protection and

Freedom of the High Seas

Shipping is certainly a transboundary activity, in which vessels in commercial traffic regularly cross national borders, making use of the freedom of the high seas. The history of modern international Law of the Sea may be understood as a continual endeavour to balance two fundamental but opposing principles, the first being territorial sovereignty and the second being the freedom of the high seas. In the 20th century, sea transport has resulted in pollution, such as oil spills, operational discharges and waste dumping. Oil from vessels is the most visible and widely publicized source of marine pollution, and the international community has developed a set of rules to minimize it. In this endeavour, statements made in reference to pollution challenge the cherished principle of freedom of the high seas, providing environmental grounds to justify a restriction of this freedom.

In recent decades, attention has focused on the environmental protection of the Baltic Sea. In Sweden, politicians, public authorities and environmental organizations all portray the Baltic Sea as a unique, fragile and threatened inland sea that merits special protection, not least due to increased Russian oil exports. To this end, the formal concept of the PSSA has been put forward as a way to strengthen environmental protection in the area. By this course, the issue was framed primarily as a judicial matter. Unlike the case of radiation protection analysed in the previous chapter, ‘risk’ never became an issue per se in the discussions of environmental protection of the Baltic Sea.

The Baltic Sea with the exception of Russian waters was designated as a PSSA by the IMO in 2005. The designation was preceded by discussions and deliberations within the IMO, primarily concerning the size of the proposed area. Consideration of the Baltic Sea as a PSSA also prompted internal political debate in Sweden. In both these arenas, the debates dealt to a large extent with the matter of the proper interpretation and application of the Law of the Sea. Ultimately, the debate reflects the fundamental divergence of opinion between those who accept


the freedom of the high seas as the unyielding basis of the Law of the Sea, and those who seek to challenge the current order and find ways to confine this principle. This chapter examines the Baltic Sea PSSA process.

The PSSA process with respect to the Baltic Sea was influenced by the previous designation of the Western European waters as a PSSA, a designation that was intensely debated within the IMO, partly because of the size of the area, and partly because of the proposed ban of single-hulled tankers. Since its introduction, the PSSA concept has been continuously contested and redefined in repeated revisions of the PSSA guidelines. Furthermore, the concept is firmly embedded in the international Law of the Sea. For these reasons, the next section presents a brief introduction to the regulation of marine transport of oil and a review of the PSSA guidelines. The section that follows presents and analyses the particular case of the Baltic Sea PSSA designation, including a review of Swedish debate concerning application of the PSSA concept. The chapter concludes that, although the PSSA concept may be a means to manage contradictory claims, in this case the value of mobility across borders as opposed to national and regional authority, it constitutes only a provisional resolution, since each designation of a new PSSA functions as part of a ongoing trial, testing the scope and limits of the PSSA concept.

REGULATION OF THE SEA TRANSPORT OF OIL AND THE NOTION OF PSSA

Throughout history, the boundary between the freedom and sovereignty of the seas has been contested and challenged (Brown, 1994). Previously established in customary law, today these principles are regulated in international conventions, the main one being the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), which restricts coastal states’ sovereignty to the outer limits of their territorial sea.1 Foreign ships, however, enjoy the right of innocent passage through territorial seas, meaning that a coastal state cannot hinder passage through its internal water as long as it does not violate good order or security.2 Although the fundamental principle of freedom of the high seas is somewhat restricted in UNCLOS, the principle has a powerful standing and is hotly defended by various actors, not least by flag states and trade associations.

Other international core treaties concerning safety and pollution have been adopted by the IMO. The IMO, established through a UN convention, is an international regulatory organization whose main objectives are the safety of shipping and the prevention of marine pollution by ships.3 The organization is also empowered to deal with administrative and legal matters related to these purposes.

From the beginning, the IMO’s main concern was to adopt legislation. With a number of main treaties such as the International Convention for the Safety of Life at Sea (SOLAS) and the International Convention for the Prevention of Pollution

OIL TRANSPORT IN THE BALTIC SEA 55

from Ships (MARPOL) in place, the organization now increasingly focuses on matters such as keeping legislation up to date, ensuring ratification by as many states as possible, and ensuring that the legislation is properly implemented by the parties. The responsibility for implementation, however, does not fall on the IMO. A government that has ratified an IMO convention is responsible for implementing and reinforcing the legislation by means of domestic law. Today, the organization has 167 member states that together constitute the Assembly, the organization’s governing body. The EC is not a negotiating party of the Assembly, but one of a number of intergovernmental organizations with cooperation agreements with the IMO.

During the 20th century, pollution from marine transportation has been increasingly attended to. Oil discharge has been noted as one of the most obvious pollutants, and oil pollution was also one of the first environmental issues subject to international regulation (Ebbesson, 1999). Today, MARPOL, which entered into force in 1983, is one of the most comprehensive conventions concerning the maritime environment.4 In the process of regulating sea transport of oil, regulations have been complemented with other rules as well as the PSSA concept. Over the course of the process, repeated tanker accidents have contributed to stricter regulation.

The impact of tanker disasters

One of the first oil tanker accidents to attract extensive public attention was that of the Torrey Canyon, which ran aground while entering the English Channel in 1967. Repeated tanker accidents have drawn increasing media attention and stirred up public debate, which in turn has created a climate conducive to regulating the sea transport of oil. The Exxon Valdez spill in 1989, for example, resulted in an amendment to MARPOL requiring that all new oil tankers delivered after July 1996 have double hulls.5 EU directives and the so-called ‘Erika packages’, including strengthened Port State Control, accelerated phasing out of single-hull tankers and establishment of the European Maritime Safety Agency, were a direct consequence of the sinking of the tanker Erika off the coast of France in 1999. Likewise, the loss of the Prestige off the coast of Spain in 2002 led to repeated demands from EU member states to speed up the phasing out of single-hulled tankers, as well as the application for designation of the Western European waters as a PSSA (Detjen, 2006). The Prestige disaster also had an immediate and significant impact on Swedish debate concerning the environmental protection of the Baltic Sea, leading to a call for its immediate designation as a PSSA. One of the main issues at a regional conference (Maritime Safety and Environment in the Baltic Sea 2004) was: What if the Prestige had sunk in the southern Baltic Sea?

Although disaster-led, the regulation of the sea transport of oil concerns both safety issues and accident prevention, and the prevention of discharges


during regular operation. The former concerns the occasional but high-profile consequences of the sea transport of oil, whereas the latter concerns ongoing practices, which actually result in more substantial discharge since terminal operations, involving the loading or discharging of oil are the most frequent cause of oil pollution in the sea (IMO, 1998). Thus, at least two story-lines – one telling of problems with regular operation and the other telling of accidents as the main problem of oil transport at sea – are plausible. The overall concept, however, demonstrates a precedent for the notion of oil discharges as occasional disasters rather than an ongoing process under regular operation.

The PSSA guidelines

In the endeavour to protect the Baltic Sea environment, international conventions have been supplemented by regional agreements, such as the 1992 Baltic Sea Convention within the Helsinki Commission (HELCOM). The main weakness of such regional agreements is that they only apply to the contracting parties. The most recent environmental protection measure put in place in the region is the designation of the Baltic Sea, with the exception of Russian waters, as a PSSA by the IMO in 2005.

The idea that eventually led to the PSSA concept was first introduced to the IMO by the Swedish delegation in 1978 under the concept of ‘particularly valuable sea areas’. The justification for the need for special protection against marine pollution in certain areas was based on these areas’ particular value with respect to renewable resources (especially fishing) and importance for scientific purposes. After some years of deliberation in informal working groups and expert seminars, in 1991 the IMO Assembly approved the first set of guidelines for identifying particularly sensitive sea areas (IMO Resolution A.720(17)).

Designation of the first PSSA, the Great Barrier Reef, coincided with the adoption of the resolution, but the guidelines were soon criticized for being too extensive and complicated, and in 1999 the initial resolution was supplemented by another IMO Resolution (IMO Resolution A.885(21)) containing new procedures for the identification of PSSAs (Detjen, 2006). The designation of the Great Barrier Reef has been followed by additional PSSA designations around the world.6

Over the years, the PSSA guidelines have been continuously debated and adjusted. In 2004, at the time of the Baltic Sea application, the guidelines again came under debate within the IMO as a result of the concerns of a number of shipping nations and industrial-sector non-governmental observers. Nevertheless, the Baltic Sea PSSA process was carried out in accordance with the then-valid IMO Resolution (A.927(22), Annex 2, §1.2), which defines a PSSA as ‘an area that needs special protection through action by IMO because of its significance for recognized ecological, socio-economic, or scientific reasons and because it may be vulnerable to damage by international shipping activities’.


The list of criteria for designation as a PSSA is rather long, including: ecological criteria such as uniqueness or rarity, critical habitat and vulnerability; social, cultural and economic criteria such as economic benefit and recreation; and scientific and educational criteria. However, the criteria only apply to the adoption of measures to protect such areas against damage from international shipping activities.

Furthermore, designation as a PSSA is not a regulation in its own right, but serves as a basis for the proposal of associated protective measures (APMs). Under the PSSA guidelines, these APMs are limited to actions within the scope of the IMO, and the application should show how the proposed protective measures provide the protection needed from the threats of damage posed by international maritime activities in the area. APMs could be measures that are already available in existing IMO instruments, measures that do not yet exist but that should be available as a generally applicable measure and that fall within the competence of the IMO, or measures proposed for adoption in the territorial sea (IMO Resolution A.927(22), Annex 2, §7.4.2). Also, according to the guidelines, APMs are limited to actions within the IMO’s sphere of activities and include the application of special discharge restrictions, adoption of shipping routes and reporting systems under SOLAS, for example, a PSSA may be designated as an area to be avoided, and compulsory pilotage schemes (IMO Resolution A.927(22), Annex 2, §6.1).

The adoption of APMs is a crucial part of the PSSA designation process since such measures are needed to substantiate the PSSA designation. In discussions of the significance of a PSSA designation, the symbolic dimension is sometimes cited, meaning that, irrespective of the impact of the APMs, a PSSA designation signifies the vulnerability of the sea area and thereby, in itself, evokes attention and caution.

The designation of the Western European waters as a PSSA

Ever since the approval of the first guidelines, the PSSA concept has been under continuous – often contentious – discussion. The aforementioned application for the Western European waters to be designated a PSSA also aroused its share of controversy. In this case, two main issues were disputed: the first being the size of the proposed area, and the second the legal basis of the proposed ban of single-hulled tankers carrying heavy fuel oil – a proposal that was later withdrawn. The controversial proposal to ban the carriage of heavy fuel oil in single-hulled tankers was met with resistance because it was presumed to violate the freedom of innocent passage and the freedom of the high seas, and hence not considered a measure within the scope of the IMO (Roberts et al, 2005; Detjen, 2006). The Western European case can thus be seen as an attempt to challenge the principle of the freedom of the high seas, thereby giving priority to environmental protection and seeking to extend national and regional authority in the area. This kind of special regional regulation was, however, rejected by the IMO. Instead, the debate led to


an amendment of MARPOL, speeding up the phasing out of single-hull tankers (Detjen, 2006).

In response to the Western European application, Liberia, Panama, the Russian Federation and several industrial-sector non-governmental observers stated that the PSSA concept ought to be reserved for more restricted areas with unique ecosystems. According to a proposal from Liberia, Panama and the Russian Federation, ‘the PSSA concept is only relevant if applied in geographically limited sea areas with unique ecosystems and not the wide geographical regions envisaged in the Western European PSSA’ (MEPC, 2004a). The Marine Environmental Protection Committee (MEPC) of the IMO, however, stressed that there was no legal basis for such a statement. The proposal also called for the suspension of consideration of the PSSAs under proposal at the time (for the Western European waters, the Torres Strait, the Baltic Sea, the Canary Islands and the Galapagos Islands) as well as any PSSA proposals under development. The MEPC dismissed this request as well, concluding that:

Suspension of consideration of current and new PSSA proposals would set a dangerous precedent. It would be contrary to MEPC practice and tradition of respect for the Resolutions of the Committee and the Assembly. It would be a step backwards in MEPC’s work for safer oceans and cleaner seas. It would further signal a significant step back from the gains made by the IMO in the past decade to adopt a precautionary and integrated approach to protection of the marine environment and lead to questions within the international community as to IMO’s commitment to marine environmental protection. (MEPC, 2004b)

The MEPC thus refers to respect for IMO resolutions and environmental con-siderations in its rejection of the proposal from Liberia, Panama and the Russian Federation.

At the following meeting of the MEPC, held in October 2004, the guidelines were again discussed, and after lively debate the Committee agreed to review the PSSA guidelines once more, with the objective of clarifying and, where appropriate, strengthening the guidelines. The proposed amendments concerned: 1) the criteria for designation, 2) the need for applicants to establish that the identified vulnerability would be addressed by the APMs, 3) the necessity to establish a legal basis for the APMs, and 4) various procedural issues (MEPC, 2005). Revision of the guidelines means that applicants must now be more diligent in proving the connection between the supposed vulnerability of the area and the proposed associated protective measures. The applicants must likewise establish the legal basis of the proposed measures, i.e. clarifying the grounds for the measures as established in international conventions.


THE BALTIC SEA AS A PSSA

Reviewing the process of designation of the Baltic Sea as a PSSA, we again see tanker accidents functioning as a catalyst for increased environmental protection and stricter regulation. In response to the collision between the Baltic Carrier and the Tern in Danish waters in March 2001, HELCOM arranged an Extraordinary Ministerial Meeting in September the same year, where the Commission agreed to ‘investigate the benefits from designating parts of the Baltic Sea Area as a Particularly Sensitive Sea Area’ (The Copenhagen Declaration).

The PSSA process – a review

At the time of the HELCOM meeting in 2001, environmental organizations, such as WWF, Greenpeace and the Swedish Society for Nature Conservation, were campaigning for the Baltic Sea to be designated as a PSSA. As early as 1997, WWF mentions that it might be possible to identify the Baltic Sea as a PSSA (Ebbesson, 1997). In 2000, Greenpeace launched the Baltic Sea campaign, a focal issue of which were the risks associated with the shipping and illegal dumping of oil. In this campaign, Greenpeace treated PSSA designation as a suitable measure for restricting unwanted vessel traffic, and contacted representatives of the parties in parliament in an attempt to persuade them to take action in the matter.

Greenpeace furthermore tried to launch the concept of a ‘Baltic Sea Driver’s Licence’ that would be mandatory for all commercial ships entering the Baltic Sea. Their proposal was that the licence should be issued by the IMO under the concept of PSSA. The licence would include rules regarding ship quality (e.g. double-hull tankers and appropriate classing including highest ice classing), crew quality (special and rigorous crew certification) and full and unlimited liability if pollution were to occur, applicable to the full chain of responsibility (captain, shipowner, freight owner, charter and classing body). The last of these proposed rules, regarding unlimited liability, hints at the notion of ecological citizenship in that it suggests extended responsibility that transcends national borders. Greenpeace also proposed mandatory presence of environmental pilots on board all large ships and ships carrying dangerous cargo, and more rigorous traffic control measures.

October 2002 saw the presentation of a number of motions supported by all parties in parliament, concerning designation of the Baltic Sea as a PSSA. Greenpeace’s Baltic Sea campaign was a contributing factor behind these motions; during the campaign, the campaigner personally approached members of parliament and representatives from the different parties. One proposer of a motion explained: ‘their [Greenpeace’s] campaigner talked very convincingly with all of the political parties in parliament’.7 Although there were some differences in their claims, the main thrust of the motions was that Sweden should not await HELCOM and a joint decision, since this would be much too slow a process. Instead, Sweden


should apply to the IMO for PSSA designation of Swedish waters in the Baltic Sea, and then work in cooperation with HELCOM to induce all the Baltic Sea states to apply for designation of their waters as PSSAs. The main arguments favouring such an application were the large number of illegal oil discharges, the difficulties of taking legal action against these discharges, and the expected increase in oil transport from Russian ports.

The issue was further emphasized in light of the Prestige disaster. This event had an immediate and significant impact on the Swedish debate, and in a parliamentary debate on 29 January 2003, parliament concurred with a proposal from the Committee of Environment and Agriculture that: 1) the government should apply as soon as possible to the IMO to designate Swedish waters in the Baltic Sea as a PSSA, 2) the government should intensify its work within HELCOM with the objective of achieving designation of the entire Baltic Sea as a PSSA, and 3) efforts concerning the analysis and proposal of protective measures should be prioritized (Parliamentary Records 2002/03:48).

At this time, the Swedish Maritime Administration was already working, via a Swedish governmental commission, on investigating the conditions of the designation of the Baltic Sea as a PSSA. In its March 2003 report, the Swedish Maritime Administration stated that: 1) designation of the Baltic Sea as a PSSA would allow the introduction of three types of protective measures: restrictions concerning discharges, routing systems and pilotage; 2) an individual Swedish application to the IMO would probably be met with resistance; and 3) according to the HELCOM Copenhagen Declaration of 2001, the parties agreed to investigate the benefits of designating the Baltic Sea as a PSSA, an effort that should be concluded by the year 2003. This conclusion also became the government’s official policy line.

The government thus adhered to its adopted line of policy, and at the Ministerial Meeting in June 2003, HELCOM adopted the HELCOM Bremen Declaration, stating that, based on the experience gained with existing PSSAs, EU member states and accession countries should consider the possible designation of areas in the Baltic Sea as PSSAs. Russia should be invited to join this effort, and Finland and Sweden invited interested HELCOM contracting parties to join their respective efforts. Although Russia consistently resisted the idea of a PSSA application, the Swedish Maritime Administration considered it important to invite Russian representatives to the discussions. The head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration explained ‘We were painstakingly careful and invited the Russians to this [initial meeting]. And the Russians came and attended the meeting for half an hour and declared, kindly but firmly, that they were not interested’.8

The reason for the anxiousness to involve Russia in the negotiations was that the PSSA guidelines state that all parties concerned should have the opportunity to express their opinion on the matter. Hence, the Russian involvement in the preliminary work was performed solely to meet formal requirements.


After the Russian refusal to participate, the endeavour eventually led to a joint application for PSSA designation to the IMO in 2003 from Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Germany, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland and Sweden. In April 2004, the Baltic Sea, with the exception of Russian waters, was approved in principle as a PSSA. This decision was followed by the final designation of the area and a decision regarding APMs at the 24th Assembly, December 2005. The APMs in the Baltic Sea PSSA include traffic separation schemes, a deepwater route and areas to be avoided (recommendation). These protective measures entered into force on 1 July 2006.

The main stumbling blocks in this process have been difficulties trying to engage the Russian Federation in the undertaking, and objections to the size of the proposed Baltic Sea PSSA. Designation of the Western European waters as a PSSA had repercussions for the debate concerning the designation of the Baltic Sea. The head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration has commented that, in retrospect, this previous PSSA process with respect to the Western European waters was disadvantageous to the Baltic Sea PSSA process:

It was not to our advantage that the Western European countries brought about this absurd PSSA – along the Atlantic coast and a huge part of the North Sea – that does not comply with the standards of a PSSA, but it was due to political reasons in the aftermath of the Prestige.9

The debate concerning the Baltic Sea as a PSSA and the aforementioned efforts of Liberia, Panama, the Russian Federation and industry observers to derail the Baltic Sea PSSA process, illustrate the concerns of shipping nations and industry and the ongoing discussion and evaluation that the PSSA concept has been subject to.

The Baltic Sea – a sea at risk

In the Swedish debate, all participants seem to agree on the vulnerability of the Baltic Sea and the threat posed by increased shipping, not least Russian oil exports, in the region. In this case, it is not the risk per se that is being debated and negotiated, but what measures to take to mitigate such risks and how best to proceed to protect the environment of the Baltic Sea. The participants engaged in the process of making the Baltic Sea a PSSA – the government, members of parliament, environmental organizations, etc. – all agree on the necessity of managing the risks related to shipping by way of formal regulatory means, including rules backed by sanctions. The call for mandatory rules is one of the main reasons to turn to and utilize IMO regulation.

In the debate, the Baltic Sea is repeatedly defined as a unique, fragile and threatened inland sea that merits special protection. In the application for designation as a PSSA (MEPC, 2003), the view of the Baltic Sea as a vulnerable and unique sea is summarized in the following way:


The Baltic Sea is a globally unique and sensitive northern brackish water ecosystem. It is geologically young, semi-enclosed and shallow. The exchange of water with the North Sea is due to geomorphological and climatological reasons, limited and slow, resulting in long residence time of water as well as low and varying levels of salinity. The climate ranges from sub-arctic to temperate and large parts of the Baltic Sea can annually be ice-covered. All these factors have resulted in a marine environment with low biodiversity. Despite the low number of marine species, the Baltic Sea hosts a unique mix of marine, freshwater and few true brackish water species specially adapted to brackish conditions. The Baltic Sea marine and coastal areas consist of globally important breeding grounds, nurseries, shelters and food sources for coastal birds and waterfowl. The diversity of coastal biotopes is high and is characterized by many threatened aquatic and terrestrial species. The disappearance of single key species could seriously impede the functioning of the whole system. Hence, the Baltic marine ecosystem is considered as particularly vulnerable to man-made disturbances.

One identified problem, which has repeatedly surfaced in the debate, is the large number of illegal oil discharges and the difficulties of taking legal action against them. Another recurrent issue is the impending risk of a tanker accident. In these regards, the jurisdiction of the coastal state is limited. Individual states certainly have the right to establish unilateral rules – as was the case with laws prohibiting single-hull tankers to enter ports in the US as a response to the Exxon Valdez accident (Oil Pollution Act 1990) and in Spain as a response to the Prestige accident (24343 Royal Decree-Law 9/2002) – but the jurisdiction of national rules is restricted to internal waters. A coastal state has limited ability to investigate or control ships using their right of innocent passage, for example, in case of suspected oil dumping. Neither can a coastal state control how an oil spill transports itself and crosses borders. Thus, efficient regulation of the sea transport of oil requires international cooperation and agreements. In the case of the Baltic Sea, however, representatives of environmental organizations describe regional settlements such as the HELCOM agreements as weak and toothless, while the IMO is defined as a powerful organization. Consequently, practically all actors engaged in the debate have come to support the idea of a PSSA application, although the views of the process and its significance differ between various actors.

PSSA – a Swedish concern?

In the Swedish debate there was a dividing line between the government and the Swedish Maritime Administration on the one hand and members of parliament and environmental movements on the other, concerning whether or not Sweden should


apply to the IMO for the designation of Swedish waters as a PSSA as an individual state. The opinion of the government and the Swedish Maritime Administration was that an individual Swedish application would be met with resistance in the IMO, whereas representatives of parliament and Greenpeace stressed that the matter was urgent and that the HELCOM process was too slow, so government should act unilaterally. These divided opinions were put forward in parliamentary debates and public arenas, for example in debate articles in the daily press.

In January 2003, the opinion that Sweden should apply, as an individual state, for designation of Swedish waters as a PSSA was established by parliamentary resolution. The government stressed the urgency of the matter, but also the necessity of cooperating with other Baltic Sea nations to succeed with the application. In one of the parliamentary debates that preceded the decision, the minister for the environment (Parliamentary Records 2002/03:28, authors’ translation) concluded:

I feel that we are of one opinion. We all consider the Baltic Sea to be worth particular protection. We all agree to apply for its designation as an area in need of particular protection. … We all agree that we want to see results. That is why the government has chosen this strategy. … We must act in a way that brings us success with the IMO.

This statement accords with the conclusion to the aforementioned 2003 report of the Swedish Maritime Administration, which stresses that an individual Swedish application to the IMO would probably meet with opposition. This understanding is based on §3.3.1 of the PSSA guidelines, which states that ‘where two or more Governments have a common interest in a particular area, they should formulate a co-ordinated proposal’. As mentioned above, this conclusion also became the government’s official policy line, for which the government was criticized for ignoring the parliamentary resolution to pursue designation unilaterally, and for which the prime minister and the minister for the environment were reported to the Standing Committee on the Constitution.

The government was also publicly criticized by members of parliament (Centre Party) for ‘overriding a unanimous parliamentary decision’ (Bergström and Karlsson, 2003, authors’ translation). Greenpeace also publicly criticized the government’s conduct and called for political action. In a debate article, Greenpeace described the government as ‘unacceptably defensive’, and the ministers as being ‘passively on the border to reactionary’, and actually ‘acting against a more offensive parliament’ (Daleus, 2003, authors’ translation).

In response to this criticism, the minister for the environment and the minister for transport and communications wrote another debate article in which they once again stressed the unity between the government and all the parties in parliament concerning the need of particular protection of the Baltic Sea. The ministers defended the government’s conduct, saying that ‘to the government, cooperation


with neighbour countries stands to reason when it comes to seeking solutions to common problems’, concluding that their ambition was ‘to be successful in solving the matter’ (Sommestad and Messing, 2003, authors’ translation).

Thus, in this debate, we can see how various actors contribute to the construc-tion of roles and responsibilities through their statements, explicitly or implicitly referring to presumably valued characteristics such as responsibility, commitment and the ability to act and achieve results.

The role and scope of associated protective measures

When the joint application for designation of the Baltic Sea as a PSSA was presented and the debate and controversy on whether or not Sweden should apply as an individual state eventually died out, another issue surfaced in the debate. The issue concerned how the application was drawn up concerning APMs and how to understand and make the most of the APMs in relation to the expected designation of the Baltic Sea as a PSSA. In this course of events, three types of appropriate APMs were pursued. The proposed measures could in broad outline be categorized as: 1) traffic separation schemes recommended by the Swedish Maritime Administration; 2) areas to be avoided recommended by WWF and the Swedish Environmental Protection Agency (EPA); and 3) the Baltic Sea Driver’s Licence recommended by Greenpeace. The proposed measures covered by the Baltic Sea Driver’s Licence were modified and/or elaborated in various contexts by Greenpeace and their allies (members of parliament and in some instances WWF).

The final proposal for APMs, including new traffic separation schemes, a deepwater route and areas to be avoided, was prepared in cooperation with the Baltic Sea states, driven by Sweden. The Swedish delegation was made up of the Swedish Maritime Administration in consultation with Swedish Coast Guard and the Swedish EPA.

Greenpeace’s demand for a Baltic Sea Driver’s Licence involved measures such as high-quality ships (e.g. double-hulled tankers and appropriate classification), high-quality crew (meaning crew certification, with more rigorous, special certification for ship officers for the Baltic Sea), full and unlimited liability if pollution should occur, and environmental pilotage. Through motions and debates, members of parliament identified protective measures such as environmental pilotage, mandatory insurance and the required use of double-hulled tankers. Environmental organizations and members of parliament repeatedly expressed their views – views that were much more challenging than the government’s – in press releases, debate articles and the like. One example is a joint debate article presented in January 2004, where representatives of Greenpeace and WWF, together with representatives of all the parties in parliament except for the Social Democrats, criticized the proposal for APMs, calling for a more comprehensive proposal covering three important requirements: 1) that ship construction must meet certain standards, so


that low-quality ships, such as the Prestige, could be excluded from the Baltic Sea; 2) that crews must possess adequate skills and training; and 3) that the shipping industry must assume financial responsibility for the impact of its activities (Daleus, 2004). These suggested requirements coincide with the content of the Greenpeace proposal for a Baltic Sea Driver’s Licence. The authors of the debate article also stated that all these measures were applicable and related to the IMO’s sphere of authority.

The head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration stated that, in his view, the greatest advantage of the proposal is the new traffic separation schemes for the narrow Bornholm Strait, ‘which is something we [the Swedish Maritime Administration] have wanted for twenty years’.10 From his per-spective, the inclusion in the proposal of areas to be avoided was a compliance with the intentions of the Swedish EPA, adding that the Swedish EPA cherished the notion of areas to be avoided and that the measure ‘was [their] little baby in this matter’.11

Definition of actors, roles and competences

The discussions between the Swedish Maritime Administration and WWF seem to have been more successful than the discussions between the Swedish Maritime Administration and Greenpeace, which were marked by animosity.12 The WWF representative described his own organization as oriented towards cooperation and dialogue. The environmental organizations he described as having different roles, pointing out Greenpeace as argumentative and WWF as more reasonable and focused on solutions.

The antagonism between Greenpeace and the Swedish Maritime Administration is reflected in the parties’ descriptions of contacts between them. During the PSSA process, Greenpeace was invited to a meeting by the Swedish Maritime Administration, but only because they were instructed by government to do so. The head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration described the meeting as follows: ‘I had some meetings with the environmental organizations. It was at the request of one of the ministries. … WWF [was] very pleased. … Greenpeace [was] naturally a bit tougher’.13 One Greenpeace representative said that the organization had communicated its proposal of the Baltic Sea Driver’s Licence to the Swedish Maritime Administration several times. The proposal was turned down, however, with the motivation that it was not feasible from a legal standpoint. According to Greenpeace, the Swedish Maritime Administration never elaborated on or explained this statement.14

The head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration, by contrast, argued that the ideas from Greenpeace were ‘fuzzy’ and that their proposal of a Baltic Sea Driver’s Licence was difficult to understand ‘on grounds of fact’.15 One of the reasons he gave for this standpoint is the opinion that the IMO


is opposed to regional rules, since the very concept of the IMO is to pursue global issues. He also stressed that the previous amendment to MARPOL, concerning acceleration of the phasing out of single-hull tankers, was accepted by the IMO only because of political pressure from some EU member states in order to avoid special regional regulation related to the designation of the Western European waters as a PSSA. According to the head of the Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration, regional regulation with special rules concerning crew qualification and ship standards for vessels entering the Baltic Sea, like a Baltic Sea Driver’s Licence, would never be accepted by the IMO. From this standpoint, the IMO represents the generally applicable, whereas Greenpeace represents regional special interests that cannot be applied to an unbounded activity such as international shipping.

Greenpeace was very critical of the Swedish Maritime Administration’s actions in the matter, arguing that the Maritime Administration should just follow the instructions from the government and not undertake political considerations of their own. Greenpeace’s position is that in this case the government left too much of the consideration to the Maritime Administration’s expertise, and that, by doing so, it is possible that the personal opinions of individual officials at the public agency had too much impact on the process. Thus, according to Greenpeace, the government was not forceful enough whereas the public agency exceeded its authority by engaging in political considerations.16

In retrospect, representatives for the government and the Swedish Maritime Administration say that some of the participants in the Swedish debate had unrealistic expectations and misconceptions of the PSSA concept, regarding it as a miraculous cure.17 The actors who pursued more far-reaching protective measures, however, were disappointed and think that the government acted far too cautiously in that it pursued only measures that were already available, and did not seek measures that did not yet exist but that should be available as generally applicable measures that fall within the competence of the IMO. According to those critical voices, the government acted timorously and demonstrated an inertia that is difficult to understand, and the Swedish Maritime Administration manifested an outdated view of regulation, defending the freedom of the high seas above all other values.18 It is their opinion that the government should have used the PSSA concept to challenge the current order and tried to confine the principle of the freedom of the high seas.

Furthermore, the head of the Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration takes pride in the organizations’ (including both the IMO and the Swedish Maritime Administration) technical, non-political approach in these matters. At the same time as he indicated the political features of the IMO debate and handling of the single-hull tanker issue, he emphasized that, although the discussions within the IMO may have been sharp, they were businesslike and factual. He also described the Baltic Sea process, in consultation with the Baltic Sea states, as non-political and matter-of-fact: ‘at this point we had left the politics


and started to engage in factual matters’.19 In commenting on the discussion on appropriate APMs, he concluded that it is difficult to argue with politicians because of their ignorance of these kinds of matters.

The Baltic Sea case reflects an equivocal approach towards the management of the PSSA designation. On the one hand the participants in the debate and actors involved in the management determine a boundary between executive power and politics, which is settled in the construction of the various actors’ roles, competence and task, while on the other some of the actors involved in the PSSA process tried in various ways to dissolve this boundary. The Swedish government and the Swedish Maritime Administration pursued a process with a seemingly manifest boundary between the competences and tasks of the politicians and the public agency, where the latter represent expert knowledge on how to interpret the Law of the Sea. In the debate, however, members of the parliament and environmental organizations challenged this division of labour and what they saw as rigidity and wanted to exert influence on the interpretation of the PSSA concept. At the same time, Greenpeace questioned the disinterestedness of the Swedish Maritime Administration, arguing that it made political statements through its interpretation of the PSSA concept and thereby exceeded its authority, which, according to Greenpeace, is to execute political decisions. Greenpeace stressed the role of the Swedish Maritime Administration as a non-political executor of the government’s policy, and emphasized the boundary between executive power and politics and between specific fields of competence and authority. Thus, all the actors involved in the debate seem to agree upon the strict division between political decisions and executive power, at the same time as they themselves want to influence the process. Likewise, they have different views on how others perform their task and who has the legitimacy to properly interpret legal matters.


Being the first environmental issue to be subject to comprehensive international regulation, sea transport of oil is an area with a well-established regulatory organi-zation (IMO) and an established set of rules in international treaties. The regulation of shipping and prevention of pollution related to shipping activities are firmly rooted in the international Law of the Sea, which defines the scope of jurisdiction of the coastal states and thereby establishes the boundary between the fundamental principles of the freedom of the high seas and territorial sovereignty. According to various actors, the principle of the freedom of the high sea is given too much weight at the expense of sovereignty. During recent decades, environmental issues have constituted a challenge to the established order. The introduction of the formal concept of PSSA was preceded by some years of deliberation in informal working groups and expert seminars within the IMO. In the process of establishing the concept, we can see a discursive change from protection of ‘valuable’ areas to


protection of ‘vulnerable’ areas, where environmental vulnerability is increasingly stressed.

In the Baltic Sea PSSA process, the PSSA concept within the purview of the IMO was utilized as a means to achieve the objective of environmental protection and as a means to achieve mandatory and legitimate international regulation, i.e. to expand the scope of coastal states’ jurisdiction and regional sovereignty at the expense of the freedom of the high seas. Within the frame of pollution, the PSSA concept functioned as a rallying point. All actors involved in the debate concerning the need of environmental protection of the Baltic Sea rallied around the PSSA concept, although with somewhat different interpretations and expectations. The focus on the PSSA concept and its function as a boundary object, which contributed to concerted action, also implied a narrowing of the issue, resulting in controversies concerning the interpretation of the judicial framework. The overall judicial framing of the issue condensed the debate in a way that partly obscured the initial environmental concern. Instead, the internal Swedish debate came to centre largely on the character of the various actors involved, for example in terms of responsibility, qualification, commitment and ability to act.

We can also see that construction of tanker accidents as an emblem in media attention and debates on stronger and more effective regulation of sea transport of oil fuelled the debates, but also narrowed the scope of discussions (cf. Hajer, 1995, pp19–20). Although the problem of oil pollution concerns both accident prevention and the prevention of discharges during regular operation, the function of tanker disasters as an emblem, not least after the Prestige disaster, directed the understanding of the matter and of the appropriate measures to remedy the problem, i.e. emphasis was put on ship standards and security issues at the expense of liability. In this sense also, the loss of the Prestige functioned as a boundary object that various actors could gather around, expressing their concern over the current regulatory situation.

For the Swedish administration, this regulatory process involved debates and negotiations in different arenas, domestic parliamentary debate, consultation and negotiations with the other Baltic Sea states, and negotiations with the IMO. Regional and international negotiations were also accompanied by continual political pressure in domestic public and parliamentary debate. The common theme in the negotiations and debates comes down to the differing attitudes towards the international Law of the Sea, and how to balance the two fundamental principles – of the freedom of the high seas and sovereignty – which in this case concern the environmental protection of regional territory.

The previous PSSA designation of the Western European waters raised the matter of whether the PSSA criteria may be much too broad, and whether frequent use of the designation would cause inflation of the concept. In both the case of the Western European waters and the Baltic Sea, the size of the proposed area became an issue. Within the IMO, shipping nations allied themselves with industry against the designation of the Baltic Sea as a PSSA, and tried in various ways to hinder the


process, for example, by stating that the area was too expansive and by calling for yet another review of the PSSA guidelines. In this course of events, the applicants were supported by the IMO’s Marine Environmental Protection Committee, which stressed that there was no legal basis for such a statement of the geographical area and that a suspension of consideration of current and new PSSA proposals would be contrary to the Committee’s practice and tradition of respect for the resolutions of the Committee and the Assembly. This is a line of argument that stays within the judicial frame and that refers to formal authority.

In its pursuit of the PSSA designation of the Baltic Sea, despite domestic criticism, the Swedish government insisted on the importance of regional cooperation. Sweden, together with Finland, took the lead in regional negotiations. Since Russia opposed the PSSA application, HELCOM could not be used as forum for the regional negotiations, so the process was accomplished through international cooperation between the remaining Baltic Sea states. Although Russia resisted the idea of a common PSSA application, it could not stop the process.

The Swedish government and the Swedish Maritime Administration seemed to work perfectly together, with well-defined roles. The public authority represents expertise that carries out enquiries, proposes an action plan and executes political decisions, which in turn are based on the agency’s assessment and proposition. In this endeavour, the Swedish Maritime Administration showed pliability, which represents a kind of ‘self-regulation’, to previous IMO decisions and the then-anticipated revision of the PSSA guidelines. First, the deliberative strategy was explicit as to the connection between the application and the resolution on PSSA guidelines: for example, the actors were careful to demonstrate the uniqueness and vulnerability of the area in the application, and that the proposed APMs met actual threats, caused by shipping, to this vulnerability. Second, the proposed APMs did not challenge the prevailing practice established in the designation of the Western European PSSA. APMs that might have posed challenges, such as a proposal for crew certification and a ban on single-hulled tankers, were considered totally out of the question with reference to the regulatory framework.

In the Swedish debate, both the compliance with precedent IMO decisions and the central role of the Swedish Maritime Administration in the process were criticized. Promoters of a more challenging application wanted to use the PSSA concept ‘to its fullest’, which to them included measures such as certain rules concerning ship construction and crew certification. In this reasoning, the actors that favoured a more challenging application also based their arguments on the notion that the proposed measures complied with the regulatory framework. The Western European application was much more of a challenge because of its proposal to ban single-hull tankers, which accordingly was intensely debated within the IMO and eventually withdrawn. In the case of the Baltic Sea, the proposal to ban single-hull tankers remained an issue of internal debate. Thus, in both cases of PSSA designation, the proposal to ban single-hull tankers was put forward and spawned contentious debate, but in different arenas. In the discussion of whether


or not Sweden should present an application as an individual state, those who favoured and pursued such an application based their criticism of the government’s conduct on procedural arguments, referring to the parliamentary decision, whereas the government defended their conduct with reference to performance, i.e. the important thing was to achieve one’s aim. Nevertheless, the whole PSSA process has been accomplished within a judicial framing, and all actors involved have been eager to defend their standpoints, referring to the authority of the IMO and the established regulatory framework.

The PSSA concept could be seen as a means to manage conflicting claims, i.e. the value of mobility across borders as opposed to national and regional authority. In the discussion on environmental protection of the Baltic Sea, and other PSSA cases, however, the PSSA concept has been used as a means to challenge the powerful standing of the freedom of the high seas and to extend the authority of coastal states. With respect to oil pollution, the PSSA concept thus also provides a counter-position that could be used to justify restriction of the cherished principle of freedom of the high seas and thereby strengthen national and regional authority in a certain area. In this sense, it is a means to challenge the ideas of free mobility and generally applicable rules. Accordingly, the PSSA concept as a means to manage conflicting claims represents only a provisional resolution, since each designation of a new PSSA functions as part of an ongoing trial, testing the scope and limits of the PSSA concept.

Sea transport of oil is one of the first environmental issues to be subject to comprehensive international regulation; we now turn our attention to climate change adaptation. Even though the issue of climate change adaptation has been inscribed in an international convention, it is not yet, in any deeper sense, established as a field of regulation. A salient difference between these two regulatory fields is the role of science. In the Baltic Sea case, there was no questioning of the detrimental environmental consequences of oil discharges and science did not play any central part in the regulatory process. In discussions of climate change, however, science is a crucial factor, which the various actors involved in climate change adaptation have to consider.

NOTES

1 UNCLOS was adopted at the Third United Nations Conference on the Law of the Sea in 1982 and entered into force in 1994.

2 According to the Convention, ‘passage’ refers to navigation through the territorial sea for the purpose of: (a) traversing that sea without entering internal waters or calling at a roadstead or port facility outside internal waters; or (b) proceeding to or from internal waters or a call at such roadstead or port facility (Article 18), and it is ‘innocent’ as long as it is not prejudicial to the peace, good order or security of the coastal State (Article 19).


3 The organization was established by means of a UN convention (adopted in 1948 and entered into force 1958) under the name Inter-Governmental Maritime Consultative Organization (IMCO). In 1975, the IMO Assembly adopted amendments to the IMO Convention (entered into force 1982). The purpose of the organization, as summarized by Article 1(a) of the Convention, is ‘to provide machinery for cooperation among Governments in the field of governmental regulation and practices relating to technical matters of all kinds affecting shipping engaged in international trade; to encourage and facilitate the general adoption of the highest practicable standards in matters concerning maritime safety, efficiency of navigation and prevention and control of marine pollution from ships’.

4 A draft convention to control oil pollution from ships was prepared as early as 1926. It was, however, never adopted and it was not until 1954 that the international community succeeded in adopting the first convention on pollution from ships, the International Convention for the Prevention of Pollution of the Sea by Oil (OILPOL), which was later incorporated into MARPOL.

5 The Exxon Valdez accident also resulted in the Oil Pollution Act of 1990 (OPA 90 – which requires that all tankers calling in US ports have double hulls) and the International Convention on Oil Pollution Preparedness, Response and Co-operation (OPRC 1990). Other international treaties related to the sea transport of oil include the International Convention on Civil Liability for Oil Pollution Damage (CLC 1969), the International Convention Relating to Intervention on the High Seas in Cases of Oil Pollution Causalities (INTERVENTION 1969), and the International Convention on the Establishment of an International Fund for Compensation for Oil Pollution Damage (FUND 1971).

6 PSSA designations: Great Barrier Reef (Australia) in 1990, Sabana-Camgüey (Cuba) in 1997, Malpelo Island (Colombia), the Florida Keys (USA) and the Wadden Sea (Denmark, Germany and The Netherlands) in 2002, Paracas National Reserve (Peru) in 2003, the Western European waters in 2004, and with the Baltic Sea (Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Germany, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland and Sweden), the Canary Islands (Spain), the Galapagos Islands (Ecuador) and the extension of the existing Great Barrier Reef PSSA to include the Torres Strait in 2005 (IMO, 2006).

7 Email correspondence, M. Wetterstrand, 24 November 2005 (authors’ translation). 8 Interview, head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration,

6 December 2005 (authors’ translation). 9 Interview with head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime

Administration, 6 December 2005 (authors’ translation).10 Interview with head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime

Administration, 6 December 2005 (authors’ translation).11 Interview with head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime

Administration, 6 December 2005 (authors’ translation).12 Interviews with: head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime

Administration, 6 December 2005; campaign director at Greenpeace, 6 December 2005; Representative of the Liberal Party, 25 November 2005; representative of the WWF, 29 September 2005.

13 Interview with head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration, 6 December 2005 (authors’ translation).


14 Interview with campaign director at Greenpeace, 6 December 2005 (authors’ translation).

15 Interview with Head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration, 6 December 2005 (authors’ translation).

16 Interview with Campaign Director at Greenpeace, 6 December 2005.17 Interviews with: first secretary of the Ministry of Industry, Employment and

Communications, 6 February 2006; head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration, 6 December 2005.

18 Interview with campaign director at Greenpeace, 6 December 2005.19 Interview, head of Maritime Safety Inspection at the Swedish Maritime Administration,

6 December 2005 (authors’ translation).

Chapter Five

Climate Change Adaptation: Regulation under Formation

Climate change caused by human activities, such as the burning of fossil fuel, has been raised as one of the most urgent environmental issues of our day. The theory of global warming as a consequence of GHG emissions was raised several times during the 20th century, but it was not until the 1980s that climate change became a political issue. The policy responses to climate change, as established in the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), are mitigation and adaptation. Mitigation concerns the reduction of GHG emissions and enhancement and protection of sinks and reservoirs, while adaptation concerns various responses to experienced or expected consequences of climate change, such as flood control and adjustment of crops.

In climate policy, mitigation and adaptation have been treated mainly as separate issues, with a strong emphasis on mitigation. Mitigation and adaptation have even been understood as potentially conflicting or irreconcilable, for example, because adaptation is understood as passive and resigned and mitigation as active and combative, and the apprehension that adaptation would occur at the expense of mitigation (Klein et al, 2003; Tol, 2005). Likewise, with the establishment of the natural science-based Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), climate change has been treated separately from broader sustainability issues (Swart et al, 2003).

Today, however, we can discern a shift towards also accepting adaptation as a legitimate policy response and a necessary strategy to complement mitigation efforts in Western climate policies, and towards recognizing sustainable development and other cross-cutting themes in climate policy (e.g. in IPCC reports). In 2004, the European Environment Agency (EEA) published a report on climate change impacts on Europe’s environment and society (EEA, 2004). In the report the EEA emphasizes the need to develop European, national, regional and local adaptation strategies (EEA, 2004). The following year, the EC announced a new phase of the European Climate Change Programme, which includes the issue of adaptation justified by the understanding that even with an ambitious climate policy to


reduce GHG emissions climate change is inevitable. However, there are not yet any recommendations or common strategy concerning climate change adaptation from the EC. Other examples of a change towards acceptance of adaptation as a legitimate policy response are national climate change adaptation programmes for capacity building, policy advice and/or research, for example, in Australia, Canada and the UK. In 2005, Finland adopted a national adaptation strategy, whereas Sweden and comparable countries such as Norway and Austria have only quite recently initiated investigations related to climate change adaptation (Lohmander, 2006).

This chapter examines the prerequisites for climate adaptation, as established in the international regulatory framework, and the process of establishment of climate adaptation as a relevant and legitimate policy field and regulatory domain in Sweden. This process was initiated without any public debate and political engagement, which means that various actors had ample opportunities to take the initiative, set the agenda and define the issue and their own role in climate change adaptation. The implications of the distinction between natural climate variability and human-induced climate change are an issue of concern in this pro-cess, when it comes to climate adaptation measures. The following section presents an introduction to the regulatory framework and the notion of adaptation. In the following sections the management of climate change adaptation in Sweden, showing how regulation has developed as a result of various actors’ involvement, is outlined and analysed.

THE FRAMING OF CLIMATE CHANGE AND CLIMATE ADAPTATION

Climate policy and regulation are inseparable from atmospheric science. In this fusion of science and policy, the IPCC – set up in 1988 to provide independent scientific advice on the issue of climate change – functions as a centre of authority that must uphold its credibility in the eyes of both the scientific and political communities (Edwards and Schneider, 2001; cf. Adger, 2006). The role of the IPCC is not to conduct research, but to assess ‘on a comprehensive, objective, open and transparent basis the scientific, technical and socio-economic information relevant to understanding the scientific basis of risk of human-induced climate change’ (IPCC, 1998, p1). IPCC assessments are summarized and communicated to support policy-making, and its First Assessment Report, published in 1990, constituted the scientific basis of the UNFCCC. IPCC reports present a scientific consensus that the Earth’s climate is being affected by human activities. The assessment reports also reflect the consensus, relatively stable over time, concerning the key factor: the sensitivity of the climate to CO2 doubling, expressed in a projected increase of global mean temperature (van der Sluijs et al, 1998). This is not the kind of consensus that endorses clear-cut evidence; instead, it acknowledges divergence concerning details, but concurs on ‘a generally agreed range of possible outcomes’ (Edwards and Schneider, 2001, p244).

CLIMATE CHANGE ADAPTATION 75

International regulatory framework

The UNFCCC has formulated an overall framework for intergovernmental efforts to control climate change. The ultimate objective of the Convention is to achieve ‘stabilization of greenhouse gas concentrations in the atmosphere at a level that would prevent dangerous anthropogenic interference with the climate system’ (Article 2). This formulation is central and yet problematic, since it implies a distinct dividing line between dangerous and harmless interference with the climate system, and since it conceals regional differences and the intricate intertwining of the matter with issues such as climate adaptation, vulnerability and social change (Pielke, 2005).

Furthermore, whereas the IPCC defines climate change as ‘any change in climate over time, whether due to natural variability or as a result of human activity’ (IPCC, 2007, p871), the Convention concerns human-induced climate change, which it defines as ‘change of climate which is attributed directly or indirectly to human activity that alters the composition of the global atmosphere and which is in addition to natural climate variability observed over comparable time periods’ (Article 1.2). The focus on human interference with the climate system is consistent with the scientific agenda that supports the logic of the mitigation imperative, based on the presumption of a causal relationship between human activities and increased concentrations of GHGs in the atmosphere, resulting in climate change with predominantly negative consequences for society. This mitigation imperative results, in turn, in a defusing of adaptation demands (Pielke, 2005).

The Convention, however, explicitly addresses climate adaptation. According to Article 4.1(b), all parties are bound to take measures that facilitate adequate adaptation to climate change. Furthermore, the developed country parties shall assist the developing country parties that are seen as particularly vulnerable in terms of their inability to meet the costs of adapting to adverse effects and/or the impact of implementing response measures. Similar formulations are found in the Kyoto Protocol, which supplements the Convention with legally binding targets to limit or reduce GHG emissions for the period 2008–2012.1

The UNFCCC is a result of international negotiations in which different interests have been modified, and its content is continuously negotiated by the Conference of the Parties (COP). Thus, the Convention and appurtenant COP decisions incorporate compromises. In the Convention (Articles 4.8 and 4.9) there is, for example, a tension between adaptation measures against adverse effects (i.e. impacts of climate change) in especially vulnerable countries and measures to minimize economic impacts on energy-exporting countries of efforts to reduce GHG emissions (i.e. impacts of response measures). This tension, which is built in to the formulations in the Convention as a result of international negotiations, reflects the clash of interest between two of the key actor groups in the negotiations, namely the Alliance of Small Island States and the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) (Barnett and Dessai, 2002).


Compromises may also result in vagueness concerning climate adaptation measures, which may be due to the uncertainties concerning the possible local and regional consequences that permeate climate science. Such vagueness is exemplified by the concept of ‘facilitating adequate adaptation’, which is not defined in the Convention (Verheyen, 2002). Article 4.1(b) of the Convention states that ‘all Parties shall formulate, implement and regularly update national and, where appropriate, regional programmes containing . . . ‘measures to facilitate adequate adaptation to climate change’. This sentence is most unclear and may include a wide range of measures and activities. In 1995, at the first session of the COP, adaptation to adverse effects of climate change was defined as a process that ‘will require short, medium and long-term strategies which should be cost effective, take into account important socio-economic implications, and should be implemented on a stage-by-stage basis in developing countries that are Parties to the Convention’ (FCCC/CP/1995/7/Add.1). According to this definition, the process includes planning, capacity building and preparation for adaptation. Thus, a wide range of actions – such as education and general improvement of welfare – could be defined as measures that facilitate adaptation. It is likewise difficult to assess what should be included in adequate adaptation; one criterion of adequate adaptation, sometimes stressed by developed states (i.e. donor countries), is that it should be cost effective (Verheyen, 2002). Another crucial aspect of the matter is contextualization, and the Convention accordingly leaves the judgement of adequacy to the individual states.

As for the national communications regarding climate change under UNFCCC auspices, the guidelines for reporting and review (FCCC/CP/1999/7, Part II) are not very specific concerning vulnerability assessment, climate change impacts and adaptation measures, but refer, among others, to the Handbook on Methods for Climate Change Impacts Assessment and Adaptation Strategies, which applies an inclusive view of adaptation. Accordingly, adaptation measures can comprise various categories of activities, ranging from more passive approaches that entail bearing losses (i.e. accepting the expected damage, either based on cost−benefit analysis or born of necessity owing to lack of resources) to strategies that prevent or alleviate adverse effects and modify the threats (e.g. flood control) or research to advance the adaptation process (Burton et al, 1998).

In compliance with a strict interpretation of the UNFCCC, only adaptation measures to human-induced climate change should obtain financial support (Verheyen, 2002). The expectation of being able to distinguish between human-induced climate change and natural climate variability reflects the reluctance of the Annex II Parties (developed countries that pay for costs of developing countries) to provide financial support for regular development projects. However, the formulation is problematic, since climate variability and human-induced climate change cannot possibly be clearly distinguished in practice. Instead, expectations of such a distinction may result in awkward considerations of what can be defined as additional harm and additional costs caused by human-induced climate change


(Verheyen, 2002; Klein, 2003; Pielke, 2005). At the same time, COP decisions – such as the National Adaptation Programme of Action (NAPA) 2001 guidelines and the five-year Subsidiary Body for Scientific and Technological Advice (SBSTA) 2005 programme – seem to recognize the problem of distinguishing between climate variability and climate change, and include considerations of current and future climate change as well as of climate variability (cf. Verheyen, 2002).2 These interpretations of the Convention thus pave the way for a more integrative view, in which adaptation measures are seen as embedded in a complex of material and socio-economic circumstances, and mainstreamed in various planning and development projects.

Defining climate change: Distinctions, expectations and implications

The established scientific agenda of climate policy is deeply rooted in computer modelling and a discourse of global environmental change. Edwards (2001) describes a fundamental shift in our understanding of the concept of climate in recent decades, from a notion of local and regional climates (i.e. typical weather patterns of specific localities) to one of a global climate system. One central cause of this shift is what Edwards depicts as a scientific paradigm shift, owing to the advent of computer-based climate models in the late 1970s. Although still not all climate researchers work with models, since then, climate modelling has become central to and an ‘“obligatory passage point” for knowledge of climate change’ (Edwards, 2001, p33; cf. Sundberg, 2005). Furthermore, climate modelling is a prerequisite for distinguishing between natural climate variability and human-induced climate change, since experiences of periods of frequent rainfall, little or no rainfall, or of extreme weather events cannot conclusively be attributed to climate change. As Edwards (2001, p33) puts it:

The inherent variability of weather makes it impossible to attribute individual storms, floods, droughts or hurricanes to changes in the global climate. Only by coupling statistical analyses to climate modeling exercises have scientists been able to isolate and display the ‘fingerprint’ of global warming in changing weather patterns around the world.

Although the aim of climate modelling, whether global or regional, is not, and cannot be, to give accurate temporal prognoses of future regional and local conditions, climate scenarios may be deceptive, not least to practitioners, partly because of their apparent realism, and partly because of the scientific consensus concerning key elements in the assessment of climate change (Edwards, 2001; van der Sluijs et al, 1998). The UNFCCC definition of climate change as anthropogenic interference with the climate system, the consensus concerning key elements in the


assessment reports and the model-based scientific representation of climate change all involve a framing that conveys expectations of clarity and distinctness. First, this framing of the issue holds the expectation of the possibility of distinguishing human-induced climate change from natural climate variability. This includes the notion that it is possible to determine the contribution of GHGs to climate change and the costs of measures to adapt to human-induced climate change. Second, it holds the expectation that it is possible to detect and establish the boundary between dangerous and harmless anthropogenic interference with the climate system. Third, it holds the expectation that climate scenarios based on modelling will have policy utility and serve as a basis for decision-making, i.e. by the apparent realism of the scenarios they are sometimes taken for prognoses. Together, the apparent realism of the scenarios and the consensus concerning key elements of the assessment reports (such as a projected increase in global mean temperature) imply that there is such a thing as ‘science for policy’, i.e. stable consensual knowledge to be employed for policy-making purposes.

When it comes to policy responses to climate change, these expectations have different implications. The mitigation imperative is based on the definition of climate change as anthropogenic interference with the climate system, and presupposes climate modelling and the possibility of calculating the potential consequences of increased or decreased GHG emissions (Pielke, 2005). Climate scenarios representing future climate in figures projecting predominantly negative consequences for humankind (e.g. increased global mean temperature and changed precipitation patterns) constitute a sufficient basis for mitigation activities. Furthermore, climate modelling is also a prerequisite for and the only practical way of evaluating the effects of the chosen policy options in terms of mitigating climate change (Edwards, 2001).

In climate adaptation, however, the use of such model-based knowledge of climate change is more dubious. The expectation of a clear-cut distinction between natural climate variability and human-induced climate change may even be counterproductive in adaptation since it may trigger futile discussions of where to draw the line between natural climate variability and human-induced climate change, which is an important distinction in the struggle over resources for adaptation measures yet a matter that only can be settled at an abstract level by calculations in climate models.

The notion of adaptation

Climate adaptation concerns a wide range of issues. In its Fourth Assessment Report, the IPCC points out the vulnerability of natural and human systems with respect to hydrology and water resources, agriculture and food security, industry, ecosystems, settlements and human health − to mention but a few aspects (IPCC, 2007). The IPCC defines adaptation as ‘adjustment in natural or human systems in response to actual or expected climatic stimuli or their effects, which moderates


harm or exploits beneficial opportunities’ (IPCC, 2007, p869). The international community’s adoption of the UNFCCC, however, is a sign of the great concern for potential adverse effects of climate change.

Adaptation measures may be broadly categorized as private−public, autonomous−planned and proactive−reactive adaptation. Private autonomous adaptation is often considered to be a self-evident part of the adaptation process (see e.g. Smithers and Smit, 1997; Adger et al, 2005; IPCC, 2007). For instance, in a comment to the EC’s Green Paper ‘Adapting to Climate Change in Europe’, the Federation of Private Enterprises (2007) comments on the difference between mitigation and adaptation as follows:

Adaptation to climate change is different from mitigation of green house gases. Efforts aimed at adaptation will e.g. generate local benefits that often can be realised in a short time-perspective. Because of this, private actors will respond to climate change with autonomous adaptation initiatives to a much higher degree than what is the case with measures aimed at mitigation. Autonomous adaptation will in short be market-based reactions to a changed climate.

As for the roles of public and private actors, it is often presumed that private actors are driven by self-interest, whereas public actors serve the public interest. It is, however, worth noting that while the concept of autonomous or spontaneous adaptation emanates from a social perspective, from the perspective of the individual adopting it, a particular adaptation measure, for instance, an insurance company increasing insurance rates in flood risk areas or a farmer changing the crop cultivated, most likely involves deliberation and planning (Burton et al, 1998).

CLIMATE CHANGE ADAPTATION IN SWEDEN

The request for national and regional programmes on climate change adaptation, under the UNFCCC, has been disregarded in most Western countries. With the recent attention paid to the matter, adaptation is now a policy domain under commencement in many countries, i.e. the matter is being gradually attended to, but is not yet institutionalized and responsibilities are in many cases unspecified and unclear. This kind of obscurity may lead to inactivity and confusion. At the same time, it creates an arena in which various actors can seize the initiative, set the agenda, and define the issues and their own roles in climate adaptation.

Climate change adaptation: A disregarded issue

Sweden has ratified both the UNFCCC and the Kyoto Protocol, and contributes to adaptation measures with financial support to the Least Developed Countries


Fund and the Special Climate Change Fund, but has been tardy when it comes to a national strategy for climate change adaptation. Sweden’s domestic climate policy addresses mainly the issue of mitigation, while the adaptation strategy is much more belated.

In Swedish climate policy, mitigation and adaptation are treated as two separate issues. To the extent that adaptation has attracted attention – as in the Swedish National Communications on Climate Change under the UNFCCC – it has been treated in a most tentative manner. Article 12 of the UNFCCC requires all Parties to report on the steps they are taking to implement the Convention. Up to the present, Sweden has presented four National Communications on Climate Change. The first two of these reports include tentative discussions of vulnerability in a number of specific areas, such as ecosystems, health and forestry and agriculture (Ds 1994:121), and discussion of potential impacts on technical systems and the impact of the climate on other environmental problems (Ds 1997:26). When describing impacts of climate on technical systems, Sweden’s Second National Communication on Climate Change refers to the 1990 Flow Committee and concludes that the Committee ‘did not consider the time ripe for taking climate predictions into account in the formulation of new guidelines for calculation of design flows for dams’ (Ds 1997:26, p142, authors’ translation). Four years later, in Sweden’s Third National Communication on Climate Change 2001, the discussion of vulnerability is extended to include more areas and also refers to the need of regionalized climate scenarios. This report, again, refers to the 1990 Flow Committee citing a continuing lack of knowledge and thus the inability to consider the consequences of global climate change. It also states, however, that if additional costs are not too high, some margins will be included in the calculations of dimension. The report concludes that ‘there are few examples of concrete adaptation measures [in Sweden]’ (Ds 2001:71, p161, authors’ translation). In the Fourth National Communication on Climate Change (Ds 2005:55), adaptation is recognized as a legitimate policy response and a necessary strategy to complement mitigation efforts. The report points out that a national adaptation strategy is still lacking, but that a Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability was set up in 2005.

The Commission’s report (SOU 2007:60) with proposals for assignment of responsibility and stricter rules in certain domains was presented in October 2007 and includes various proposals. One proposal concerns changes to some existing legislation and instructions, with extended responsibility for a number of public agencies. The latter concerns to a large extent clarifications of responsibility within the field of the agencies’ own activity, i.e. sector responsibility for or mainstreaming of climate change adaptation. In some cases this concerns new fields of responsibility, for instance, in the proposal that each county administrative board shall establish a climate adaptation delegation. In other cases it concerns a specific responsibility for a number of public agencies to assist the county administrative boards in their task.


Thus, during the past decade it has been possible for various actors (e.g. public authorities and local governments) to approach climate adaptation as a matter within the scope of their task and/or responsibility or not. Under these conditions, the scope and responsibility for climate adaptation have been left up to the individual actors to define – a situation that different actors have dealt with differently. In the following, the process leading up to the creation of an informal network and the establishment of the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability is outlined.

The creation of an informal network

In autumn 2004, in preparation for the Fourth National Communication on Climate Change, the Swedish EPA asked the Swedish Meteorological and Hydrological Institute (SMHI) to investigate the work on vulnerability analysis and climate change adaptation needs and measures in Sweden.3 The reason behind the enquiry was the insight that the issue of adaptation had not been dealt with sufficiently in the previous reports, a deficiency that had been pointed out to Sweden, as well as a great many other countries, in comments on the Third National Communication.4

In December 2004, the preliminary SMHI report was presented and discussed at a workshop arranged by the Swedish EPA with participants from public authorities, municipalities and various trade organizations.5 The message of the draft report was that it is important to distinguish between adaptation to current climate variation and adaptation to future climate change. Furthermore, the report states that when measures of adaptation to current climate variation are left out of account there are very few examples of actual adaptation measures in Sweden (Rummukainen et al, 2005).

At the workshop, various stakeholders called attention to the problem of uncertainty in climate change projections and the implications of that when it comes to anticipatory and proactive adaptation measures. They suggested that it would be fair to mention this kind of complication in the report and to contextualize the issue. The representatives from SMHI dismissed this request stating that the meteorologists handle the uncertainty as far as they can and provide preliminary reports, beyond that it is up to the stakeholders to manage the uncertainty in the decision-making process. The SMHI representatives thereby draw a boundary between different types of competence and responsibilities, and take on the role of scientific expertise. The conclusion of the workshop was that there was a want of an integrated adaptation strategy and a need for further research, investigations and an interchange of knowledge. Some of the participants named the Swedish EPA as an obvious uniting and convening actor, whereas the representatives from the Swedish EPA said that it was not self-evident that the authority should take that role.


In retrospect, the official now responsible for the issue of climate change adaptation at the Swedish EPA speaks of the workshop as being conducive to the ensuing initiative from the Swedish EPA to create an informal network of concerned public authorities.6 A former official at the Swedish EPA says that, as a result of the workshop, he initiated discussions with the director-general. Together they concluded that, at present, there was no one responsible for adaptation in Sweden and that no one (i.e. politicians) seemed to be considering the idea of delegating the responsibility to someone.7 Thus, as they regarded adaptation as an urgent matter receiving no attention, and as the issue could be defined within the general function of the public agency, they thought it reasonable that the Swedish EPA take the initiative to create an informal network.

The network came to include the Swedish EPA, SMHI, the Swedish Rescue Services Agency, the Swedish Geotechnical Institute (SGI), and the National Board of Housing, Building and Planning. These authorities were asked to join the network because they represent authorities with more comprehensive responsibility, compared to authorities with responsibility for certain other sectors, such as the Swedish Road Administration and Swedish Rail Administration.8 One of the members of the network said that its activities emanated from an awareness of the urgency of adaptation measures combined with the prevailing situation of unclear responsibilities and absence of political engagement, and that the network’s initial task was to sort out the responsibilities between various actors.

With the establishment of the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability (2005), the original purpose of the network was no longer urgent and therefore the network changed its direction.9 The network calls itself a ‘project group’ and its members cooperate to create web-based tools to assist other actors involved in climate change adaptation. To do this, the authorities have set up a reference group with representatives from municipalities and county administrative boards. The result of this endeavour was launched under the heading of the Climate Adaptation Portal (Klimatanpassningsportalen) in June 2007, a website that will be continuously supplemented with further information and examples of adaptation measures. In this context, climate change adaptation is framed as a matter of local and regional planning that concerns mainly water-related issues. Thus, through the process of creation and formation of the network, the authorities included simultaneously created a platform for themselves as expert authorities in the field of climate change adaptation.

The Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability

Parallel to the activities initiated by the Swedish EPA, the Ministry of Sustainable Development worked with the preparation of a government bill, the National Climate Policy in Global Cooperation (2005/06:172), which updates the Swedish climate strategy. The issue of adaptation was mentioned already in the preparation


of the previous climate strategy (Government Bill 2001/02:55), but did not make it into the bill. One of the government officials involved in the process said that there was no particular reason for this, explaining ‘we didn’t think too much about it, but we knew. And then we said that we should bring it up in the coming government bill’.10

During the work on the renewed climate strategy, the government officials also prepared a proposal for the establishment of a commission on the vulnerability of Swedish society to global climate change. At this time, January 2005, the winter storm Gudrun hit southern Sweden, with hurricane force in some places, resulting in the loss of about 75 million cubic metres of standing timber and prolonged telephone and power failure (up to 45 days for some households). This event caused distress, mainly with respect to forestry issues, at the Prime Minister’s Office. These worries contributed to the prompt set-up of the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability based on the existing proposal prepared for the coming government bill. Additional reasons for this rescheduling of the Commission included experiences from recent floods and written communications from a number of county governors concerning vulnerability to floods in the Lake Mälaren region.11

The extreme weather incidents and the documented vulnerabilities served as catalysts in this course of events, firstly because of their function as an alarm indicating the vulnerability of society, and secondly because of the use of these events as analogies in argumentation, i.e. through stressing hurricane Gudrun and recent flooding as examples of the types of events that would increase due to climate change. In the words of the government official, ‘This kind of influence from contemporary society and the environment creates awareness in the political system. ... We [the government officials] initiated the ideas, but then we were supported by nature!’.12

Thus, according to this official, the storm led to an earlier establishment of the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability, which started its work in June 2005.

According to the directive (Dir. 2005:80), the Commission should address the issue of Swedish society’s vulnerability to global climate change, including vulnerability both to extreme weather and to successive climate changes (e.g. increased mean temperature and rising sea levels). The directive refers to current efforts within the fields of risk and crisis management, where some public authorities already have a particular responsibility. The directive also identifies already existing possibilities to be subsidized by the state to take preventive measures against natural disasters, and instructs the Commission to suggest improvements of those management systems. One of the tasks for the Commission was to survey current structures, identify organizational flaws, and, if required, propose legislation, organizational change or clarification of responsibilities in order to improve the prospects of addressing the adverse effects of climate change.


The directive establishes the scientific basis for the enquiry through references to the IPCC. It states that the Commission shall take ‘existing knowledge on future climate change’ as its point of departure, and that the Commission shall pay specific attention to regional climate modelling at Rossby Centre (SMHI’s climate modelling research unit) and the earlier SMHI report on adaptation (Rummukainen et al, 2005). Furthermore, it states that the vulnerability of Swedish society shall be studied with respect to different time perspectives and the rate of climate change according to various scenarios.

Climate adaptation – actors, issues and responsibilities

Swedish climate change adaptation is neither exclusively determined by the existing regulatory framework (i.e. national implementation of international agreements) nor an evident response to public concern and risk awareness. Although some actors, for example, representatives from SMHI and SGI, have tried to raise the issue of adaptation framed as a matter of an insufficient readiness to meet climate change in society, not until the set-up of the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability did the issue of climate change adaptation become a matter of political concern or public debate (see e.g. Boström 2004; Mannheimer and Svensson, 2004; Kjellström et al, 2007).

In the absence of political engagement, the formative phase of climate change adaptation in Sweden is characterized by the intermingling of various actors and issues, contributing for example to the creation of expertise in the field. The climate change unit at the Swedish EPA has been an important actor in raising awareness of the issue of adaptation. Yet, the SMHI report and the following workshop were promoted by the international community’s admonition in response to the Third National Communication on Climate Change. The coming proposal of a governmental enquiry was, similarly, rescheduled by the influence of dramatic weather events.

A former Swedish EPA official, involved in the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability, says that the role of the public agency network changed with the appointment of the Commission. Early in the course of the Commission’s work, he considered the possibility of proposing the assignment of certain responsibilities to the public agency network, or some of its members, in a future adaptation strategy. The former EPA official explained:

We have discussed the role of the group of public agencies. It could be that one proposal is for us to appoint an agency or a group [of public agencies], but this is not settled yet, though we have agreed that it would be good if they [the public agency network] continue, not least to support the municipalities.13


In the final report from the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability (SOU 2007:60, p645), this constellation of public agencies was recommended to be assigned certain responsibilities to assist the county administrative boards in their work with climate adaptation, while the county administrative boards are recommended to play a central role in assisting municipalities, industry and regional public agencies. Thus, the role of the network has been defined in dialogue between the network and the government commission.

Similarly, the engagement in climate research at SMHI has evolved through interplay between SMHI and the Ministry of Sustainable Development. The climate research at Rossby Centre started with funding from the Foundation for Strategic Environmental Research. The Centre itself was built up as a central resource within the Swedish Regional Climate Modelling Programme (SWECLIM), 1996–2003. In the wake of this research programme, SMHI asked the ministry for a continuation of the research. As SMHI’s research director puts it:

So we tried to convince the ministry that this is something we ought to do. Now we’re on the way, which means that the ministry will assign this area to us. So we don’t decide ourselves, but we’ve ended up where we want to be. It is truly very much on the initiative from our office, very much from below.14

One of the officials at the Ministry of Sustainable Development substantiated this depiction, saying that it was important to find continuous financial support for the research to secure climate modelling and simulation activities that are of great importance in this kind of work.15 SMHI is accordingly defined as a major actor in the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability, since it will deliver climate scenarios and make pronouncements on possible consequences of climate change.

The distinction between climate variability and climate change

In many ways, the discussion of society’s vulnerability and climate adaptation comes down to the distinction between climate variability and human-induced climate change. Although the concern of the public agency network as well as the government commission is defined as adaptation to (human-induced) climate change, the distinction between climate change and climate variability seems utterly elusive. Different actors treat this matter in different ways. As mentioned above, the researchers at SMHI strongly emphasize the importance of this distinction, and one main conclusion in the message from SMHI is that there is a general lack of knowledge among stakeholders concerning the differences between adaptation to current climate variability and adaptation to future climate change, and that this is problematic. The research director at SMHI described this distinction as


‘a key issue in the communication [with stakeholders]’.16 The emphasis on the distinction between climate variation and climate change, and of the ignorance of extraneous actors, could be seen as an example of boundary work, which implies unique competence, authority and an evident mission to the climate researchers.

Other actors take a more pragmatic view. Although climate change is the apparent cause for the current work with vulnerability analysis and adaptation, other members of the network and the representatives for the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability say that the issue actually concerns society’s vulnerability and sustainability in a more general sense. Accordingly, one dimension of the recent attention paid to adaptation to (human-induced) climate change is defined as ‘political’, i.e. the political will to show the ability to act in response to the admonition of the international community and various actors’ indignation over the vulnerability of Swedish society shown in relation to hurricane Gudrun. One of the officials involved in the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability commented:

They [the politicians] postponed it [the governmental commission], then they brought it together and made it into one inquiry concerning extreme weather, focusing on current events [hurricane Gudrun] and climate change. Sometimes there are links that are a bit awkward. I mean Göran Persson [then Swedish prime minister], he declared the start of this investigation; he did it a couple of weeks after Gudrun. So, that was a way to show that they were doing something, but there is nothing, really, that connects Gudrun to climate change.17

Often the distinction between climate variability and human-induced climate change is regarded as of minor importance when it comes to measures that aim to reduce society’s vulnerability to things such as extreme weather, i.e. measures that reduce vulnerability for reasons other than climate change might be conducive to climate change adaptation as well. Nevertheless, the members of the network define its current aim as one of getting regional and local actors (not least municipalities) started in taking climate change adaptation measures, and to support these actors in their achievement. The Climate Adaptation Portal addresses mainly the municipalities and the county administrative boards, and aims at supporting local and regional initiatives of climate adaptation.

The municipalities and climate change adaptation

In Swedish municipalities, climate adaptation is something that is gradually being addressed, for example, in urban planning. The initiatives and activity differ between municipalities; some act proactively with respect to vulnerability, whereas others act in response to floods and/or extreme weather experienced.


Experience of extreme weather or flooding, however, does not necessarily mean that the municipality is better prepared to adapt to climate change. Irrespective of the reasons for action, a crux in the planning process seems to be how to acquire relevant and reliable knowledge as a basis for adaptation measures. Although especially vulnerable sites may be singled out – either based on local experiences or by regionalized scenarios – no one knows for sure what the consequences of future climate change will be. The message to local actors is that climate change will occur, and that we will experience changed weather patterns and more extreme weather conditions, such as torrential rain and storms, but there is no way of knowing when, where and to what extent. Thus, adaptation to the possible consequences of future climate change and demands for responsible local governance place institutions, politicians and planners in a tricky situation.

Municipalities have various ways to approach and manage this situation. In endeavouring to manage uncertainty in climate adaptation, local officials may call for expert knowledge, recommendations and guidelines (Storbjörk, 2006; Uggla and Lidskog, 2006). This approach is based on a trust in authorities and their ability to translate global climate change indicators to make them locally applicable, an exercise that presupposes simplification and standardization of a complex set of knowledge concerning the projected impacts of global climate change. Case studies reveal how figures established by national public authorities guide local conduct, in an intricate interplay between the national authorities and local government in the process of climate adaptation (Storbjörk, 2006; Uggla and Lidskog, 2006). Although one such authority, the SMHI, draws a boundary between science and policy in that it rejects the responsibility for decision-making, it does get involved when it comes to establishing reasonable security limits, for example, in climate-related embankment projects. This involvement is important not least in relation to applications for state subsidies. In other cases, the municipalities act more independently, using the public agencies as advisers and taking a pragmatic approach. Taking a practical approach means that the focus is placed on vulnerability and regular risk management rather than projections of climate change.


In the UNFCCC, the distinction between human-induced climate change and natural climate variability constitutes the key dividing line between those who are eligible for financial support and those who are not. This strict interpretation of the regulation appears to be awkward, however, and recent interpretations seem to have lessened this distinction in that COP decisions include climate variability as well as climate change in discussions on climate adaptation. Furthermore, in the international negotiations on climate change adaptation, the focus has been the vulnerability of the least developed countries, and the responsibility of the


developed country parties to support these countries with fewer resources. In this respect, the Convention reflects compromises between alliances of states representing different interests, in that it includes adverse impacts to climate change as well as impacts of mitigation efforts (i.e. economic losses due to reduced consumption of fossil fuels).

The request for national and regional climate adaptation programmes, under the auspices of the UNFCCC, has until now been disregarded in most Western countries. Within the EU, the issue has been raised and the EU has recently given attention to the need for national, regional and local adaptation strategies. The unrestricted nature of this policy field, partially due to the inclusive understanding of what constitutes adaptation measures, ranging from simple inertia (i.e. acceptance of expected damage) and capacity building to more tangible measures such as dyking projects, opens an arena for different actors to set the agenda.

The informal public authority network was formed because of an experienced need to address the matter and annoyance over political delay. During the process, the roles and the engagement of the public authorities involved in the network have differed. The Swedish EPA, SMHI and SGI have taken the lead in the network, whereas the Swedish Rescue Services Agency and the National Board of Housing, Building and Planning have assumed a more cautious approach. This difference in approach is partly due to the authorities’ experienced freedom of action within the scope of their assignment. Those who stepped forward and took initiatives feel that they have the opportunity to influence the agenda and include new issues in their activities. Another reason for the difference in approach is that the promoting authorities also have the task of producing climate-related knowledge and communicating this knowledge to stakeholders. The Swedish Rescue Services Agency and the National Board of Housing, Building and Planning do not produce knowledge in the field, but are expected to play an important role in implementation, i.e. mainstreaming climate adaptation in social planning and risk and crisis management (Storbjörk, 2006). The role of the network has likewise developed in interchange with the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability. This eventually led to recommendations from the Commission to explicitly appoint responsibility for a task that the members of the network had already begun.

The distinction between climate change and climate variability appears again in the endeavour to clarify roles and responsibilities, and initiatives to address the issue of adaptation. In order to prove achievement, efficiency and political capability, it might be helpful to define proposed measures as ‘adaptation to climate change’. The distinction would also be significant in situations where consideration of climate change is a criterion in applications for government subsidies, which is proposed by the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability (SOU 2007:60, p658).

In societal planning, risk management and endeavours to reduce society’s vulnerability to extreme weather, the distinction between climate variability and


climate change, however, is viewed as less important. This is consistent with most of the adaptation literature, which stresses that adaptation measures are seldom carried out because of climate change alone, but rather are part of decisions triggered by other social and economic events reflecting wider social changes (see e.g. Burton et al, 2002; Adger et al, 2005; Smit and Wandel, 2006).

An obvious complication with the distinction between climate change and climate variability is the inability to draw the boundary in practice and the uncertainty regarding possible consequences of climate change. This obstacle is in some cases managed by reference to authoritative knowledge, for example climate modelling and scenarios from IPCC and Rossby Centre, SMHI. In other cases, the actors involved, for example local planners, call for more specific recommendations and guidelines, for example from the national public agencies. This strategy is based on the simplification and standardization of a complex and uncertain set of knowledge. Another strategy is to take a pragmatic view and use the present as the starting point. This practical approach is more likely in cases where state subsidies are not involved, since in these cases the local actors are in a sense more independent in relation to the national authorities. At the same time, irrespective of any requirement for state subsidies, figures and numbers established by national public agencies seem to become authoritative in the local process.

Recent interpretations of the UNFCCC (e.g. in COP decisions) pave the way for a more integrated view on adaptation and thereby defuse the significance of the distinction between human-induced climate change and climate variability. Taking this direction is also considered to be reasonable by most of the actors currently involved in the formation of an adaptation strategy in Sweden. They adopt what could be called a ‘no-regrets’ strategy in that they presume that measures to reduce present vulnerability that are good for or motivated by other reasons (e.g. embankment projects and burying power lines) might also be good from a more long-term climate change adaptation perspective, implying that reduction of vulnerability and the creation of a more flexible and robust society – irrespective of the reason – will at least not be detrimental.

As shown in this chapter, climate change adaptation initiatives have emerged in the absence of political attention and public opinion. This lack of attention has led a number of actors to approach – voluntarily and using various methods – the issue of climate change adaptation, thereby establishing expertise within the field. The next chapter, on regulating GM crops in view of economic risks for the farmers, concerns a regulatory process that has been treated primarily as an agricultural matter, implying the need for a certain kind of expertise.

NOTES

1 UNFCCC, Articles 4.3, 4.4, 4.8 and 4.9, and the Kyoto Protocol, Article 10(b)(i) and (ii) and Article 12.8.


2 NAPAs ‘provide a process for least developed countries (LDCs) to identify priority activities that respond to their urgent and immediate needs with regard to adaptation to climate change. The rationale for NAPAs rests on the limited ability of LDCs to adapt to the adverse effects of climate change. In order to address the urgent adaptation needs of LDCs, a new approach was needed that would focus on enhancing adaptive capacity to climate variability, which itself would help address the adverse effects of climate change’ (http://unfccc.int/adaptation/napas/items/2679.php, emphasis added). The objective of the SBSTA five-year programme is ‘to assist all Parties, in particular developing countries, including the least developed countries and small island developing States, to improve their understanding and assessment of impacts, vulnerability and adaptation, and to make informed decisions on practical adaptation actions and measures to respond to climate change on a sound, scientific, technical and socioeconomic basis, taking into account current and future climate change and variability’ (FCCC/CP/2005/5/Add.1, Annex, emphasis added).

3 The Swedish EPA is responsible for follow-up of the national environmental objective of reduced climate impact, an objective that exclusively concerns mitigation efforts, and for the National Communications on Climate Change.

4 Interview, representative of the Swedish EPA, 18 October 2006. 5 The final version of the report Anpassning till klimatförändringar (Adaptation to

climate change) by Rummukainen et al was published in 2005. 6 Interview, representative of the Swedish EPA, 18 October 2006. 7 Interview, representative of the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability,

19 April 2006. 8 Interview, representative of the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability,

19 April 2006. 9 Interview, representative of the Swedish Geotechnical Institute, 14 March 2007.10 Interview, official from the Ministry of Sustainable Development, 12 May 2006,

authors’ translation. 11 Interview, official from the Ministry of Sustainable Development, 12 May 2006. 12 Interview, official from the Ministry of Sustainable Development, 12 May 2006,

authors’ translation. 13 Interview, representative of the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability,

19 April 2006, authors’ translation.14 Interview, director of research, Swedish Meteorological and Hydrological Institute, 9

September 2006, authors’ translation. 15 Interview, official from the Ministry of Sustainable Development, 12 May 2006. 16 Interview, director of research, Swedish Meteorological and Hydrological Institute, 9

September 2006, authors’ translation. 17 Interview, representative of the Government Commission on Climate and Vulnerability,

19 April 2006, authors’ translation.

Chapter Six

Regulating Coexistence: The Creation of New Discursive

Sites for the Battle over GM Crops

In debates over GM crops in the EU, there is tension between innovation and technology development on one hand, and precaution and consumer rights on the other. For the EU, investments in biotechnology research and development are of utmost importance in the Union’s efforts to reach its strategic goal of becoming the most competitive and dynamic knowledge-based economy in the world. At the same time, public concerns and mistrust of its many applications (not least GM foods) have been widespread in Europe. This chapter focuses on the most recently formed discursive sites for this battle, and the processes that involve the creation of rules for the coexistence of GM, conventional and organic crops.

Different patterns of contestation and governance of coexistence can be traced in different member states. Sweden is one of the EU member states that permits GM crops in a substantial number of field trials, although, like many other Euro-pean countries, there is no commercial growing of GM crops in the country. The Swedish style of governance in the field of biotechnology is perhaps best described as an ambivalent one. This ambivalence can, as Thomas Achen points out, ‘be traced back to a tension between ideas of rationalism, technocracy and centralism, on the one hand, and a democratic model based on the ideal of deliberations and citizens’ engagement, on the other’ (2004, p126). For this reason, the Swedish case serves our purposes well. It is of interest to see how this tension is handled in a concrete case, as well as how recommendations from the EC are interpreted and debated among the actors involved.

In its recommendations for the work with national rules for coexistence of GM, conventional and organic crops, the EC strictly distinguished between economic damage and environmental damage, a distinction that later proved to be difficult to uphold. The intention was not that rules for coexistence be based on presumed risks to the environment or human health, as the authorization to release genetically modified organisms (GMOs) into the environment was already


subject to comprehensive risk assessments. Since only authorized GM crops can be cultivated in the EU, the recommendation stated that the ‘pending issues still to be addressed in the context of coexistence concern the economic aspects associated with the admixture of GM and non-GM crops’ (EC, 2003a, p39). The recommendation emphasized that no form of agriculture should be excluded in the EU and that maintaining different forms of agricultural production is a prerequisite for providing a high degree of consumer choice.

This meant that it was clear from the beginning that coexistence could not be based on ‘pure science’, but that it was a question of formulating rules that established responsibilities between farmers, including clarifications over the burden of proof, and compensation in the case of economic losses. However, the regulatory turn towards coexistence raised issues beyond these seemingly well-demarcated economic responsibilities as well as questions and debate about the very basis for risk assessments.

This chapter aims to shed light on how Sweden, as an EU member state, negotiates and formulates national rules for coexistence within a wider regulatory regime. The chapter begins with a brief outline of the regulatory developments in the EU and the discursive framing of ‘coexistence’, followed by a more detailed presentation of the EU recommendations for the development of national strategies to ensure coexistence. The focus then moves on to the Swedish process of formulating national strategies and rules, before a summarization and discussion of the main findings of this case in relation to the discursive framing and potential counter-discourses about the policy framework for coexistence. The conclusion is that the ways in which power was distributed through the specific policy framings at the EU level and the national level were crucial for how boundaries between science and politics were drawn and how some forms of knowledge become more authoritative than others.

REGULATORY DEVELOPMENTS IN THE EU AND THE TURN TOWARDS ‘COEXISTENCE’

The specific turns that European GM regulation has taken can be traced back to the emerging public support for stricter health, safety and environmental standards, a growing mistrust in government regulation, as well as previous regulatory failures. The BSE (bovine spongiform encephalopathy) crisis in the 1990s, for instance, is pointed out as a particularly salient example of a regulatory failure that contributed to more risk-averse policies in Europe (Vogel, 2001). Further, there were two events that marked the beginning of an escalation of the conflict over biotechnology in general and enabled NGOs to mobilize public opinion and to create pressure for regulatory changes. The first event was when the first imported GM soy beans arrived on European shores in autumn 1996. A second decisive event was the announcement of Dolly the cloned sheep in 1997 (Grabner et al, 2001). Both

REGULATING COEXISTENCE 93

events were met by NGO campaigns and opposition, received a significant degree of media attention and triggered wider debates.

In the late 1990s and early 2000s, a series of amendments to EU legislation were adopted, aimed at ensuring that food containing GMO ingredients was labelled as such, that there should be a full safety assessment procedure for GM food products, and that there would be public consultation on proposals to authorize GM foods. Some of these regulatory moves were presented as ‘a direct response to the voices of consumers who have made it clear that they want – and have a right – to make informed choices’ (DG Health, 2001, p3).

However, the amendments did not specifically address the ‘admixture problem’ – the prospect that GM material could unintentionally become mixed with non-GM products, for example, through pollen transfer or through the same farm machinery being used for both crop types. The initial threshold for labelling food as GM was 1 per cent of adventitious presence of GM material, which was later changed to 0.9 per cent. This was seen as problematic for organic farmers and organic labelling, however, which demanded no GM presence at all. Admixture was a growing concern and topic of debate and eventually led to the formulation of a new policy framework to tackle admixture problems. The experience of growing GM crops had been, and still is, limited in Europe. At this point, commercial cultivation of GM crops was limited to two types of maize (herbicide- and insect-resistant types). In Spain, the country with the most experience in commercial GM crops, Bt-maize (insect-resistant maize) was cultivated on 58,000 hectares in 2004, compared to a few hundred hectares of GM maize cultivation in other member states (COM, 2006a).1 Anti-GM activists had campaigned for strict rules involving large separation distances between crops to prevent ‘contamination’ of conventional and organic crops. The Commission initially tried to resist these demands, but eventually agreed to compromise in its final formulations of the traceability and labelling regulation (Toke, 2004).

During the Commission’s work on the traceability and labelling regulation, the European Parliament had suggested that a new article be added, with the following wording:

The member states shall encourage and contribute to drawing up guides to good segregation practice, which business in the food industry shall apply in order to avoid the risks of adventitious or technically unavoid-able contamination of foodstuffs with genetically modified material. (EP, 2002, p21)

The Commission rejected the new formulation. However, after the second reading of the proposal, the European Parliament changed the wording and asked instead for ‘appropriate measures to prevent the unintended presence of the GMO or part thereof in other products’ and that the Commission:


gather and coordinate information based on studies at Community and national level and observe the developments regarding co-existence in Member States, and based on this information develop guidelines on the co-existence of genetically modified, conventional and organic crops. (EP, 2003, p16)

Thus, gone were the terms ‘segregation’, ‘contamination’ and ‘risk’, having been replaced by the term ‘coexistence’. This was the terminology adopted in the final regulation, amending Directive 2001/18/EC, and added in article 26a (EC, 2003b, p21).

What difference do these changes in terminology make, and what assumptions and connections does the term ‘coexistence’, as opposed to ‘contamination’, bring with it? The two ways of framing the problem not only use different vocabulary, they also entail different views of the problem in relation to the history and future of agriculture policies. Regulatory conflicts often provide rich material for studying boundaries between the role and limits of knowledge, and such boundaries are often explicitly contested. (For a study of the regulatory framing of a herbicide-tolerant crop, see Levidow et al, 1997.) The different ways of framing issues imply an assumption about a relevant issue’s particular context and history as well as about social relations and responsibilities.

The coexistence discourse assumes that different types of agriculture can exist side by side in harmony, without having an irresolvable impact on each other. A research commissioner in the opening of a Round Table meeting on coexistence hosted by the EC in 2003 exemplified this in his statement that ‘managing co-existence between different agricultural crops has been an issue for farmers for centuries’.2 Framing the issue in relation to traditional agricultural practices suggests that GM cultivation raises no new questions in relation to old admixture problems. This view treats agricultural biotechnology as a mere extension of already existing technology, and as if there is nothing qualitatively new in comparison to earlier plant breeding methods. The view thus suggests that coexistence is possible, although there is a need for further analysis, and admits that in some cases changes to farming practices are needed in order to ensure ‘the freedom of choice for economic operators to apply different agricultural production systems’ (DG Agriculture, 2002, p1).

The contamination discourse, by contrast, suggests that there is a contradiction built into the very idea of coexistence. Environmental NGOs have argued that for some GM crops, for instance, oil seed rape, which can spread easily, conventional or organic counterparts would in reality be impossible (Levidow and Boschert, 2008). While the coexistence discourse makes it possible to speak of admixture as something that ‘works in both ways’3 and that the admixture with non-GM crops could also cause problems for the GM farmer, the contamination discourse treats GM one-sidedly as the contaminator, and the farmers who wish to remain GM-free as those who may suffer losses. The contamination discourse also goes beyond the issue of economic losses and connects GM contamination to environmental and


health risks. For instance, a report from Greenpeace International states that ‘GM contamination causes serious environmental risks, poses potential health risks and has a negative economic impact on sectors of the economy that choose to remain GM-free’ (Greenpeace, 2007, p4).

The task of formulating rules for solving admixture problems was invoked by the debates presented above and the diverging views of the problem, and the concrete request from the Commission to the member states to do so was made in terms of a ‘coexistence policy’. The change in terminology from contamination to coexistence did not mean, however, that the divergent views on GM, agricultural practices and admixture disappeared.

EC RECOMMENDATION: NATIONAL RULES FOR COEXISTENCE

In formulating a new European policy framework for coexistence, the problem at hand was the unintentional, adventitious mixing of GM material resulting from seed impurities, cross-pollination and other forms of gene transfer. Before such policy framework existed, GM crop farmers were not obligated to take any measures to avoid adventitious presence in non-GM crops. The Commission’s view was that measures needed to ensure compliance with the 0.9 per cent threshold would be technical and organizational measures taken during cultivation, harvest, transport and storage. On the basis of a set of case studies, the Commission concluded that EU-wide rules would not be adequate, since there were contextual variations, such as the agricultural landscape and different crop characteristics.

In July 2003, the EC issued guidelines (EC, 2003a) on how the member states should develop national strategies and a best praxis for coexistence between GM crops and conventional and organic agriculture. The point of departure for the development of national strategies was that no form of agriculture should be excluded. The guidelines contained general principles to guide the work with this within the member states. Among these, was the principle of ‘science-based deci-sions’, which meant that measures for coexistence should ‘reflect the best available scientific evidence on the probability and sources of admixture between GM and non-GM crops’ and that differences in regional aspects as well as between crop species and varieties should be taken into account (EC, 2003a, p41). Moreover, measures should not be more far-reaching than necessary in order to secure that traces of GMOs would be below the threshold values in European regulation, and it is farmers who introduce the ‘new production type’ that should bear the responsibility of implementing the measures. This latter principle meant that, independently of whether it was a GM or non-GM crop that was to be introduced, it was the newcomers to an already established farming area who should bear the responsibility of taking measures. It was, however, also stated that farmers planning to introduce GM crops for cultivation should inform neighbouring farmers about this.


The guidelines also contained a list of technical measures for the member states to use to varying degrees and in various combinations, such as ‘isolation distances’ between GM and non-GM fields, ‘buffer zones’, ‘barriers’, ‘cleaning of harvest machines’, etc. (EC, 2003a, pp45–46). The member states were expected to report on their measures before the end of 2005 and announce these to the EC.

When 2005 came to an end and the member states had notified the Commission of their measures, the Commission issued a report containing an overview of the implementation of the guidelines. The report concluded that specific coexistence legislation had been adopted in four member states. These were Denmark, Germany, Portugal and Austria. Twenty other member states had developed draft coexistence measures. In ten of these cases, the Commission judged the measures to ‘create obstacles to the free movement of goods’ (COM, 2006a, p4). In addition to coexistence measures, some member states had taken action that conflicted with Community legislation, such as Upper Austria and Salzburg, which imposed a total ban on GM crops, and Slovenia, which provided support for rural development under the condition that it was GM-free. Moreover, 20 regions from different member states had, in February 2005, declared their regions to be GM-free.4

It is further noted in the report that some of the member states had taken into account that the measures ‘should not go beyond what is necessary in order to ensure that adventitious traces of GMO stay below the labelling threshold’ (COM, 2006a, p6); others had decided to propose measures to reduce GMO presence below this threshold. According to the Commission, such measures ‘appear to entail greater efforts for GM crop growers than necessary’ (COM, 2006a, p6). In its report, the Commission also states that various measures for conventional and organic farming that some member states had suggested were not justified since the threshold value according to Community legislation is the same for both. On the basis of this review, the Commission concluded that:

Given that the adoption of GM crops is at an early stage, and given the limited overall information on the feasibility and the cost-benefit ratio of practical coexistence measures, it remains imperative to maintain a maximum degree of flexibility for the Member States to develop specific solutions to achieve coexistence. (COM, 2006a, p9)

The objective expressed above, ruled out ‘a general prohibition of GMOs in a region’ as well as ‘overly restrictive measures’, which in the end would make the cultivation of GM crops practically impossible (COM, 2006a, p9). The way ahead, the Commission stated, is to gain more experience and information, to consult with stakeholders and to cooperate more actively with the member states.

On the basis of the report described above, the EC announced that ‘the development of EU-wide legislation on the co-existence of genetically modified crops with conventional and organic farming does not appear justified at this time’.5 The report goes on to state that in order to continue the development of regulating


coexistence, there is a need to ‘take very careful notice of the opinions expressed by stakeholders’.6 A conference on coexistence held in Vienna in April 2006 was seen as a first occasion for a heightened consultative phase.

The Vienna conference on coexistence gathered policy-makers, scientists, farmers and consumer associations, NGOs, seed producers, etc. During the conference participants expressed substantially different views on the topic.7 One of the issues that took centre stage in the discussions was the question of organic farming. Disagreements existed primarily over how much accidental GMO should be allowed. Other issues that remained unclear after the conference were liability issues, as well as the general question of an EU-wide legal framework for coexistence that retains enough flexibility for the member states. It was stated that more experience and knowledge was needed to resolve these matters and that the Commission would present an analysis of the work on coexistence measures in the member states in 2008.

Rationales behind diverging coexistence policies

As noted in the previous sections, there are many issues yet to be resolved; no common coexistence measures exist for the time being (as of 2008) at the European Community level and many member states have not yet issued, or put into practice, national coexistence rules. When the Commission requested that the member states do so, there were vast differences in the proposed measures. What were the underlying rationales that can serve as an explanation to these differences? Did the divergence merely reflect ‘regional differences’ (such as climatic conditions, topography and farm structures)? And were suggested measures in all other respects based on the ‘best available scientific evidence’ as the guidelines recommended? What did it mean to base measures on the ‘best available scientific evidence’? Clearly, the member states as well as the divergent actors within the various countries would have had different interpretations of what it meant to lay down evidence for the prospect of adventitious presence of GMO in non-GM crops.

Since we next focus on the Swedish case and look more closely at the rationale for the proposed Swedish measures, and the diverging views of the actors involved regarding ‘scientific evidence’, it is of interest to pinpoint where Sweden can be placed on the scale of suggested measures. The table below shows some of the member states’ proposals with respect to separation distances for maize (as included in their coexistence strategies).

But before we go into the Swedish case in more detail, first, a few words about the EC’s reactions to the suggested distances presented in the table. The Commission found Luxembourg’s proposal too restrictive, but no objections were raised concerning the Danish distances.8 Whether it was possible to suggest different distances for conventional and organic cultivation was at this point unclear for the member states, but this later proved to be doubtful from the


Commission’s viewpoint on the grounds that the threshold value for these was the same. Spain, which is the member state with most experience in growing GM maize commercially, had conducted studies showing that 25 metres was enough to prevent admixture higher than 0.9 per cent, but had still chosen a distance of 50 metres.9 According to the table above, Sweden, The Netherlands and Spain proposed the lowest separation distances between GM and non-GM maize. In addition, Sweden proposed different distances according to the type of maize being grown. What was the reasoning behind this proposal and what critique and arguments did it invoke?

THE RATIONALE BEHIND SWEDEN’S PROPOSED COEXISTENCE MEASURES

In Sweden, gene technology, in plant breeding as well as in biomedicine, is seen as an important area of research and development and the country has a comparatively large and advanced industry in both of these areas. At present, there are no commercially grown GMOs in Sweden, although a number of GM crops are approved for experimental release in field trials. Only one GM crop has been developed in Sweden (a potato with altered starch content, which is currently subject to the approval process in the EU). Since 1991, however, field trials have been conducted in Sweden, mostly on rape and potato. Examples of the types of GM crops that have been grown in field trials in Sweden are: potatoes (with modified starch content, tolerant to frost, resistant to plant virus and resistant to

Table Summary of crop-specific isolation distances: Maize

Member State Separation distances between GM maize and …

Conventional maize Organic maize

Czech Republic 70m 200mDenmark 200m 200mHungary 400–800m 400–800mLuxembourg 800m 800mNetherlands 25m 250mPoland 200m 300mPortugal 200m 300mSpain 50m 50mSweden 50m1

30m2

25m3

15m4

Source: COM, 2006b, p15Note: 1 = grain and sweet maize; 2 = forage maize; 3 = grain and sweet maize with single-gene constructs; 4 = forage maize with single-gene construct.


herbicides), rape, turnip rape and sugar beet tolerant to herbicides.10 Considering the types of GM crops that could be expected to be commercially cultivated in Sweden within ten years, the most likely are potato, maize, rape and sugar beet (EPA, 2006).

The responsibility for information and monitoring practices in the field of biotechnology is shared between 11 Swedish authorities.11 Of these authorities, the Gene Technology Advisory Board and the Swedish EPA have an overall responsibility.12 The task of the Gene Technology Advisory Board is to monitor developments in the field of gene technology, oversee ethical issues, and advise on the use of gene technology. The Advisory Board is tasked with promoting an ethically defensible and safe use of gene technology by serving as an advisory body so that the health of people and animals is safeguarded. The Advisory Board also has a responsibility to take into consideration the importance of maintaining a good research policy climate and to promote public deliberations and citizen involvement. The Swedish EPA is to be consulted when a sectoral authority adopts regulations or takes decisions on new, untested releases.13

The Swedish Board of Agriculture is responsible for activities involving GM plants, animals and foodstuffs. The said activities involving GMOs concern three areas: contained use (such as cultivation in a greenhouse or climate chamber), field trials and marketing. The responsibility to comment on and assess applications as well as to monitor these activities is divided between several Swedish authorities. The following sections describe the process of adding the issue of coexistence measures onto the agenda of the competent authority and the ensuing process among the actors concerned. This task was delegated to the Board of Agriculture.

The Swedish process for deciding on coexistence measures

Prior to the EC delegating the task of formulating coexistence strategies to the member states, discussions over coexistence had been going on for some time in Sweden. According to a representative from the country’s largest farmers association, these preliminary discussions and hearings on coexistence had little impact on the later process, when coexistence measures were to be developed.14

In December 2002, the Swedish Board of Agriculture was commissioned by the Swedish government to compile and analyse the knowledge needed in order to formulate a strategy for coexistence. The commission concerned only the compilation of knowledge needed and not the formulation of the strategy itself. This resulted in the report ‘Coexistence between GM, Conventional and Organic Field Crops’ (Swedish Board of Agriculture, 2003a). In line with the government commission, the report included the analysis of a previous study using computer simulations to estimate the level of adventitious presence of GM crops in conventional and organic crops under different circumstances, and a previous Danish study on coexistence. The report contained descriptions of organic production in Sweden, existing regulations in the EU, coexistence strategies in


other countries (within and outside the EU) and general factors that can lead to gene flow, as well as an identification of knowledge uncertainties and the need for further research.

The Board of Agriculture circulated a preliminary version of the report to the concerned parties for comment (Swedish Board of Agriculture, 2003a). The comments put forward by the authorities consulted emphasized firstly that ‘coexistence’ was important in order to ensure the consumer’s and producer’s freedom of choice. Issues were also raised related to the possibility of ‘GMO-free zones’ and some of the consulted parties emphasized the risk of admixture with conventional and organic crops as well as wild relatives.

Later on, the Board of Agriculture invited the parties concerned to a hearing with the aim to further discuss coexistence measures. The invitation was extended to relevant authorities, the biotechnology industry, food labelling associations, farmers’ organizations, environmental and consumer organizations. The crop under discussion at this stage was rape, although no commercial production was expected to take place in the following years. The reason for this priority was that maize is grown only to a limited extent in Sweden and potatoes and sugar beets invoke very little risk for admixture (Swedish Board of Agriculture, 2003b). The hearing took place in December 2003. During discussions, the issues raised by the attending parties related to the broader issue of responsibility (this was particularly emphasized by representatives of farmers’ organizations and Greenpeace), as well as what crops to prioritize and how continued work should be organized.

In July 2005, the Board of Agriculture received the governmental directive to formulate a proposal regarding rules and precautionary measures for growing genetically modified crops. The directive stated that ‘the aim of the rules is to avoid the unintentional existence of genetically modified organisms in other products’.15 It was assumed that commercial cultivation of GM crops could be a reality in Sweden in the years to come. The first crops expected to appear on a larger scale in Sweden were potatoes grown to produce industrial starch and maize for feed.

In October of the same year, the Board of Agriculture arranged a hearing focusing on its proposal for regulations on coexistence. All of the parties that would later be considering the proposal in formal written statements were invited. This included representatives from farmers’ and environmental organizations, the GM industry, consumer organizations, universities and national authorities. The aim of the hearing was to clarify the Board’s work and thinking behind the proposal before the formal procedure of consultation.

The proposed regulation concerned general coexistence rules in Sweden as well as crop-specific rules. The crop-specific rules dealt with at this time concerned maize and potatoes (because commercial cultivation of these could be expected the soonest). The initial proposal for safety distances was the topic of the hearing. The safety distances proposed were between 15 and 50 metres depending on the type of maize and its specific characteristics (see table above). The proposed safety distance between potatoes did not involve any such differentiation.


In December 2005, the Board of Agriculture presented their final proposal. The proposal no longer contained any differentiations between different types of maize. The safety distance between GM maize and conventional/organic maize was set to 50 metres independently of the type of maize, and the safety distance between GM potatoes and conventional/organic potatoes was set to 2 metres.

As Nicolas Rose points out, ‘numbers have achieved an unmistakeable political power within technologies of government’ (1999, p197). The Board of Agriculture argued that it wanted to be transparent about its proposed measures and therefore provided the scientific basis and the different safety distances for maize, primarily to let others understand its reasoning and why the distances were set. An unexpected outcome of this, however, was an impression of a very exact science, and this was what some of the consulted parties were sceptical about.

‘Trust in numbers’ and the shaping of relevant knowledge

You have to stick to the facts. This is what creates confidence in the long run.16

The proposal by the Swedish Board of Agriculture was based on a scientific rationale. The reasoning behind the proposed measures was questioned during the process by concerned parties for different reasons: while some of the agricultural associations were critical of the impression of exactness in the suggested safety distances and the calculation of how much gene flow would occur, others, that is, the biotechnology industry as well as farmers, were critical mainly because different safety distances for different kinds of maize were going to be complicated.

The Board of Agriculture’s work with coexistence measures reflected the same kind of technical and calculative reasoning as the Board uses in the context of judgements and risk assessments of GMOs. An official from the Crop Production Department of the Board of Agriculture explained in an interview the importance of logic and scientific reasoning in order to uphold trust as an expert authority in the eyes of the public:

You should stick to what is logical, and if the public has no confidence in that, you cannot deviate from the logical in order to create confidence. This does not solve anything in the long run. To hold on to the neutral and objective facts will create confidence in the long run.17

The quote from this official represents a view of the expert authority as ‘apolitical’, and a strict separation between politics and administration. This separation can, however, always be questioned on the grounds that political directives also need to be interpreted. The vaguer the political directives are, the more interpretative flexibility expert authorities have, and thus administrators have room to create


‘politics’. The EU rules differ as to how detailed and overarching they are in this policy field:

[Official] The EU rules, as I interpret them, are very detailed consider-ing what risks to take into account and how to communicate with various parties and so on. But there are no provisions of how much environmental risk is acceptable. In the judgement of what is acceptable, there may be big differences between member states.

[Interviewer] What principles do you use when you are making such judgements?

[Official] It has never really come up on the agenda since we haven’t dealt with cases that imply great environmental risks. According to Swedish law, we are to weigh the pros and cons. This is part of the ethical considerations. It is supposed to be beneficial from a societal point of view. This may be environmental benefits, for instance, that you can decrease the use of pesticides.18

It could be argued that if political decisions are not preceded by public discussion of how risks should be weighed against benefits, or what values should be considered and how, in making these judgements, then experts are delegated a great deal of political decision-making. The same official explains the principles behind the Board of Agriculture’s risk assessments as risk-averse and transparent, and how ‘risk’ is framed is basically left to the experts:

We accept very little risk. As soon as we see a small risk, the first thing we do is to see if we can reduce it with risk management measures, other-wise we say no. … Our decision is always very explicit, whether our judgements are founded on uncertainties or on a risk assessment.19

The framing of the coexistence problem as ‘risk’ or ‘uncertainties’ became a topic of heated discussions between the Board of Agriculture, the biotech industry and farmers, at the hearing on coexistence measures.

Questioning the rationale behind the proposed safety measures

The Swedish Board of Agriculture’s initial proposal for safety distances between GM and non-GM maize was based on calculations for different types of maize. The safety distance for the maize with the smallest amount of gene flow was set to 15 metres. According to the calculations, greater distances were supposed to be needed for GM maize with greater gene flow (25, 30 and 50 metres, respectively). The calculations and the differentiated safety distances were presented at the hearing in order to show the reasoning behind the Board’s proposal.


The critique, from conventional and organic farmers as well as the GM industry and consumer organizations, was specifically directed at the differentiated safety distances. One argument was that the scientific basis was misleading, that it contained uncertainties, and that the whole model for calculating the risks of admixture was based on a normal admixture of 0.9 per cent. Some critical parties wanted greater safety distances in order to ensure that a gene flow far lower than 0.9 per cent would occur from GM fields to conventional or organic fields. That the coexistence measure is based on admixture up to 0.9 per cent as the norm was criticized by an organic farm representative:

0.9 per cent – we want to ask about the statistical basis for this. If your regulation accepts that 0.9 is the normal distribution, then half will be above and half will be below that. The norm should be no admixture. Exceptional rules should apply to exceptional cases.20

This question was posed at the hearing in October 2005, the purpose of which was to discuss the Board of Agriculture’s initial proposal on coexistence measures. The question was met by the reply, from a Board official, that this would be clarified during the Board’s presentation of the entire proposal later on in the hearing. However, when the specific measures and rules concerning coexistence of GM and conventional/organic maize were discussed, more issues arose and things did not seem to be clear to all participants. Another official from the Board of Agriculture added that ‘we are aware that pollen from maize can spread a long way, but our goal is not zero but less than 0.9 per cent’. This claim was met by critique from a representative of the biggest farmers’ organization in Sweden:

Why not take a longer distance to start, so we can gain experience and reduce it in due time and become confident that it is manageable. If you propose such narrow distances that are so strictly science-based, you will receive criticism from all sides.21

The discussion continued along similar lines when the topic turned from maize to potatoes. The participants did not agree upon the general overall principles, and some said that they were disappointed that the discussion they had taken part in two years ago at the hearing on coexistence in 2003 had not affected the proposal from the Board at all. For instance, one issue the actors had agreed upon at the 2003 hearing was that responsibility issues would be dealt with at the same time as the technical issues. Now, however, only technical measures were presented, leaving the issues of responsibility unclear. A representative from an organic farmers’ association suggested that the Board of Agriculture should have taken the previous agreement seriously and included the responsibility issue in the analysis even if it did not fall within the task delegated by the Swedish government.


When issues of responsibility were discussed, a representative from the organic labelling association observed that there might be a risk that a GM farmer would ‘take advantage of the threshold value on a regular basis’.22 The discussions concerned whether the aim of coexistence measures was to prevent admixture, or whether it was to allow a small amount of admixture. The fact that it was possible, even when complying with EU guidelines, to suggest longer safety distances, was critically pointed out by one hearing participant, who commented: ‘The lowest safety distances in Europe – congratulations!’.23

Some of the statements at the hearing, primarily those made by officials from the Board of Agriculture, connect to what was earlier described as a ‘coexistence discourse’, a framework for thinking that entailed the view that coexistence between GM and non-GM agriculture is possible, that potential losses for farmers can be managed, and that it is primarily a matter of administrative routines. In response to the criticism from the participants at the hearing, one Board official stated ‘we have to deal with this question’, as the Board was delegated the task of proposing coexistence measures and was doing so in accordance with the EC guidelines. The question of how this should be done and how much uncertainty was involved, however, was the matter under dispute. This does not mean that all critical statements referred to GM as ‘contamination’ and that the contradictions involved in a coexistence policy were irresolvable. Many criticisms and arguments concerned ‘how many metres’ there should be between GM and non-GM fields. In many respects, the critical parties’ arguments were therefore linked to the same framework of thinking as the Board of Agriculture, and not to alternative frameworks, which could have included the strategy of insisting on GM-free regions or a total ban on GMOs.

There were also statements that linked to a contamination discourse. The irresolvable contradiction built into the coexistence terminology was attended to in discussions over the basis for the measures and the ‘normal admixture’ of 0.9 per cent, as well as the uncontrollability of, for example, the spread of pollen and the rhetorical question ‘Can you make the bees wipe their feet?’ (asked by a hearing participant representing small-scale farmers in southern Sweden).

When the Board of Agriculture’s final proposal on crop-specific rules for maize was presented in December 2005, the strict scientific reasoning that legitimized different distances between different types of maize had been abandoned. The safety distance was now set to 50 metres irrespective of the type. This was still a short safety distance compared to what other European countries were proposing.

The basis for the new European policy framework for coexistence was to ensure freedom of choice for producers as well as consumers, and the awareness that the two groups go ‘hand in hand’ (EC, 2003a, p39). This was discussed by a number of actors involved at the Swedish hearing on coexistence, who questioned the links between the proposed coexistence measures, GM regulation in general, consumer choice and public involvement.


How to improve public involvement and ensure consumer choice

In discussions over coexistence, connections were repeatedly made to the consumer’s right to choose. In opposition to the principle that coexistence measures should not be too far-reaching than is needed to stay below the threshold value, it was argued that this actually means a regular admixture up to 0.9 per cent. The argument is thus that the ability to choose GM-free is in fact non-existent. Consumers are not ensured that GM-free crops will be available at the market, rendering labelling as a guide to consumer awareness and choice no longer helpful.

At a meeting to discuss how to improve public involvement, gathering the same actors as at the hearing on coexistence, consumer choice and publicly available information about GM food and GM crop cultivation were added to the agenda. The meeting was arranged after repeated pressure from the Swedish Association for Nature Conservation for the authorities involved to take public consultations seriously. An official from the Board of Agriculture opened the meeting by presenting the relevant legislation:

How are we to improve participation? First, we have to know what the shortcomings are today. Most important is whether we comply with existing legislation. [Swedish] regulation 2002:1086 states that the public has the right to comment on planned field trials. We provide opportunities for consultation. The Aarhus Convention says practically the same thing: opportunities should be given to the public to comment on proposals.24

The Board of Agriculture’s message was that the Board was complying with existing legislation with respect to information and consultation, although the consultation procedures were restricted to receiving information over the internet and sending in statements and comments on proposals to the Board. The purpose of the meeting was, however, to discuss whether public involvement could be improved in other respects. At the meeting, an open discussion of specific questions formulated by the Board of Agriculture took place. Examples included: How can we reach more people than we do today? How are the formal procedures for letting interest organizations comment on proposals working? How can we increase the number of comments on specific topics, as opposed to more general comments on genetic engineering? Does the public need to be educated before we can expect comments that we can consider? Can our website be improved? Is the public interested in these topics?

During discussions among representatives of the biotech industry, farmers and consumer organizations, there were divergent views on the public and what role groups of the public could play in discussions about GM foods. One participant said that ‘people are not interested in the production methods, they want cheap


food’ (man representing the biotechnology industry). Other participants pointed out that there are huge demands put on consumers. The effort to keep themselves informed about all the products available on the market makes choice much more difficult, or even impossible. One participant said that: ‘people aren’t stupid – they protect themselves against things they can’t judge; if you can’t make a judgement, you go for the price’ (man representing a consumer organization).

The fragmented discussions that took place at the meeting reflected a general attitude among the participants that this abstract ‘public’ is somehow important, but that the public’s potential contributions to the complex questions involved are questionable.

Although there was substantial divergence, ‘the public’ seemed often to refer to some shapeless mass whose concrete form can only be conveyed through surveys of public attitudes, that is, an entity distinct from the people present at the recent hearing on coexistence.

In relation to the current enthusiasm over increased public participation, Brian Wynne (2005, p67) observes that:

‘participation’ has an exclusive focus on downstream risk or impacts issues as distinct from upstream research and innovation, reflecting the false assumption that public concerns are only about instrumental conse-quences, and not also crucially about what human purposes are driving science and innovation in the first place.

As a consumer, with the prospect of a regular admixture of GM with non-GM up to the threshold value, it seems difficult to separate the downstream and the upstream questions. Labelling, coexistence and monitoring measures are supposed to ensure the consumer’s freedom of choice, but as one of the participants expressed: ‘as a consumer you buy a single corn cob’. With that perspective, it does not seem to matter to a consumer who wants GM-free food that the harvest as a whole has less than 0.9 per cent GM content.

At the end of the meeting on how to improve public involvement, the only concrete measure that was suggested was related to improvements of the Board’s information to the public, and through rather small means, for instance improving the website. The Board of Agriculture could probably be characterized as a typical expert authority, with minimal perceived responsibility to engage with the public and also rather little external pressure to do so. For instance, in comparison to other European countries, Sweden was only slightly affected by the BSE crisis, and there is a comparatively high trust in authorities among the public. Possible explanations of Swedish authorities’ strategies for handling coexistence and the boundaries created between science and politics, and between experts and the public, are discussed in the next and final section of the chapter.



The regulatory turn towards coexistence in European GM regulation was preceded by years of conflict over GMOs. Increased concerns over admixture problems were raised especially by environmental NGOs. From the beginning, the EC wanted to make a clear distinction between the legislation aimed at protecting the environment and human beings from risk, and the new policy framework on coexistence aimed at clarifying economic responsibilities between farmers. This division was not as clear-cut to other parties, and discussions over coexistence measures led to battles over the very grounds for risk assessments and threshold values for GM labelling.

Debates over GM have been met by different governmental responses in different countries, and the dynamics of the controversy in the Swedish case should therefore be seen in the context of Swedish governance of biotechnology and traditional political structures. Sweden is a country with high ambitions in biotechnology research and development, and with a comparatively large and advanced industry in both plant breeding and biomedicine. These investments are based on a market rationale, and the development of a GM crop in Sweden (a potato with altered starch content), produced for industrial use not food, could in fact be the ‘perfect pilot project’ in order to enter the worldwide market, since consumers seem to have an entrenched anti-GM position (Einarsson, 2005). At the same time, voices have been raised asking for more caution and stricter safety rules that in principle could entail obstacles for GM farming in practice.

Although in this case the EC delegated the formulation of concrete policy measures to the member states, the power to act was limited within a specified set of principles. What the member states did not know before they had notified their national strategies to the Commission was where exactly the boundaries between complying with the principles or departing from them were drawn. In the end, the Commission’s reaction to the diverging proposals from the member states was to demarcate these lines.

One explanation of what happened in the Swedish case is that the task of formulating coexistence measures was delegated to an organization with a history and tradition of being a closed expert authority. The rationale within the Swedish Board of Agriculture was based on a narrow conception of risk and a habit of calculative practices and science-based decision-making. The hearing on coexistence measures presented an opportunity to question and to critically interrogate the responsible officials about the basis for this rationale. The final proposal to assign the same safety distance to all types of GM maize, rather than a graduated system with four different distances, could have been a result of the critique that the Board received at the hearing with concerned parties. Nevertheless, the form of knowledge that the first calculations were based on was also the motivation for adoption of the 50-metre distance. It could thus be argued that the calculative science remained the authoritative form of knowledge.


The Swedish government not only delegated the issue to a certain organization – the Board of Agriculture – but also formulated the directive. When the Board’s exclusion of issues related to ‘responsibilities’ from its background work on national coexistence rules was criticized, the Board defended its decision to exclude these issues with references to the fact that they had not been included in the directive from government. Though it is in principle possible for public authorities to work beyond the limits of what they have explicitly been commissioned to do, the organization of how coexistence was dealt with was to a great extent influenced by the government, which was a limitation when it came to how issues as well as relevant actors were framed. This was not a question of determining the process, but in effect an establishment of priorities and what issues to include or exclude.

In the Board of Agriculture’s argumentation for its proposed measures and the framing of the policy problem, the overarching coexistence discourse was not questioned. Other actors (organic farmers and a representative of the organic labelling organization) raised doubts about the potential to manage admixture problems, but opposition was not immensely strong. Many critical actors used the same rationale as the Board of Agriculture and, even though there were actors that questioned the entire framing of the problem, what seemed to be at issue for many of the parties involved was the number of metres between fields. This makes it relevant to ask what other actors or forms of knowledge were excluded from the process. In relation to coexistence, the EC had emphasized the importance of taking careful note of the opinions expressed by stakeholders. What effect did this emphasis from the Commission have on how the member states work, and more specifically in the Swedish case, how were other participants included or excluded?

One group of potential experts that was never heard in the process were the beekeepers, although bee behaviour was referred to occasionally when problems of admixture were discussed. Another group that was missing was ‘the general public’, residents close to field trials and/or citizens and consumers in a more general sense. This was a topic of discussion at a hearing arranged by the Board of Agriculture, but the measures suggested to improve participation in the process were limited. The idea that a wider public could play a key role in framing what issues are of importance was not explicitly spelled out and the measures suggested to improve participation were not along these lines. Rather, it was the availability of information from the Board of Agriculture that was discussed.

The regulatory process of establishing coexistence measures constituted yet another arena for spelling out conflicts over GMOs. The lack of mechanisms for involving the public in these discussions might be explained by a corporatist political culture and the long tradition of public consultations with industry, organized interest groups and stakeholders. These interests seemed, however, to be co-opted in the process, and some participants expressed discontent over the process and the lack of real influence it gave them. There seemed to be little room for a discussion of the social aspects and value judgements involved in the path


chosen to comply with the supranational coexistence guidelines as well as how stretchable its principles were.

The cases we have analysed in this book differ in a range of aspects, one of which is who takes the initiative for regulatory measures and/or initiates a debate on existing regulation. In the case of EMF, the discussions took place as a result of citizens’ protests against the governmental decision to expand mobile phone infrastructure. In the GMO case, however, the discussion on regulatory measures was not connected to any decision to increase the growth of GMOs in Sweden. Rather, it was a response to a ‘European’ problem that neither Swedish politicians nor citizens had much incentive to engage in, at least not at this time, when there is no commercial cultivation of GM crops in Sweden. In certain respects, these two cases are spatially demarcated and framed differently than the other two: oil transport and climate change adaptation. Although measures to adapt to climate change are always connected to certain localities, there is much more uncertainty as to whether climate change will affect these particular places and how.

How issues are framed as spatially demarcated also affects the type of expertise that is relevant and in focus in regulatory conflicts. For example, when the ‘problem’ is a moving target as in the case of oil transport, the boundaries between different jurisdictions are more in focus than other types of expertise.

It is now time to turn our attention to more general features of the cases analysed, and also to say something, more generally, about the conditions of regulation in a world characterized by political and cognitive destabilization. The next and concluding chapter discusses how problems were framed as well as how relevant actors and knowledge were constructed during regulatory debates, and what we can learn from these cases.

NOTES

1 A review of GMOs under research and development showed that GM maize, GM sugar beets and GM cotton were among the potential candidates for future cultivation in Europe. Further, it was concluded that the most probable traits to be altered were herbicide tolerance and insect resistance for maize and cotton, and herbicide tolerance in the case of sugar beets (Messean et al, 2006, p18).

2 Round Table (2003), Round Table 24 April on research results relating to coexistence of GM and non-GM crops, http://europa.eu.int/comm/research/biosociety/news_events/news_agr_sustain_en.htm, Opening remarks. Research Commissioner, Philippe Busquin. The results of this Round Table were the basis for the guidelines on coexistence measures that the Commission presented in July 2003.

3 Round Table (2003), Round Table 24 April on research results relating to coexistence of GM and non-GM crops, http://europa.eu.int/comm/research/biosociety/news_events/news_agr_sustain_en.htm, Opening remarks. Agriculture Commissioner, Franz Fischler.


4 The network of GMO-free regions in Europe has now grown to include 39 regions in six countries (Austria, France, Spain, UK, Greece and Italy), www.gmofree-europe.org/NetworkofGMOfree_regions.htm

5 Commission reports on national measures to ensure coexistence of GM crops with conventional and organic farming, IP/06/293, Brussels, 10 March 2006.

6 Commission reports on national measures to ensure coexistence of GM crops with conventional and organic farming, IP/06/293, Brussels, 10 March 2006.

7 Joint concluding remarks by Commissioner Mariann Fischer Boel and Minister Josef Pröll, available at http://ec.europa.eu/agriculture/events/vienna2006/index_en.htm

8 ‘Förslag till bestämmelser om försiktighetsåtgärder vid odling av genetiskt modifierade växter – bakgrundsinformation, motiveringar och klargöranden’ (‘Proposal for regulation of precautionary measures for cultivation of genetically modified plants – background, motivations and explanations’), Swedish Board of Agriculture Memorandum, 15 December 2005, Report no. 22-6210/05, Appendix 2, ‘Samexistens i andra länder’ (‘Coexistence in other countries’).

9 ‘Förslag till bestämmelser om försiktighetsåtgärder vid odling av genetiskt modifierade växter – bakgrundsinformation, motiveringar och klargöranden’ (‘Proposal for regulation of precautionary measures for cultivation of genetically modified plants – background, motivations and explanations’), Swedish Board of Agriculture Memorandum, 15 December 2005, Report no. 22-6210/05, Appendix 2, ‘Samexistens i andra länder’ (‘Coexistence in other countries’).

10 List of crops used in field trials in Sweden until 2002, www.genteknik.nu/index.asp?id=453

11 Swedish Gene Technology Advisory Board, Swedish Work Environment Authority, National Board of Fisheries, Swedish Board of Agriculture, National Chemicals Inspectorate, National Food Administration, Medical Products Agency, Swedish Environmental Protection Agency, National Board of Forestry, Seed Testing and Certification Institute and Rescue Services Agency.

12 The Ordinance on Deliberate Release into the Environment of Genetically Modified Organisms (SFS 2002:1086) requires various sectoral authorities to consult the Environmental Protection Agency and the Gene Technology Advisory Board.

13 This responsibility is formulated in SFS 2002:1086 and the Ordinance on Contained Use of Genetically Modified Organisms (SFS 2000:271). The EPA is also to be informed of decisions on consents under Directive 2001/18/EC.

14 Personal communication, representative from LRF, 12 October 2005.15 Government decision (2005) Regeringsbeslut 2, 21 July 2005, Jo2005/1781 ‘Uppdrag

att utforma regler för odling av genetiskt. modifierade grödor’.16 Interview, official from the Swedish Board of Agriculture, 3 May 2005.17 Interview, official from the Swedish Board of Agriculture, 3 May 2005.18 Interview, official from the Swedish Board of Agriculture, 3 May 2005.19 Interview, official from the Swedish Board of Agriculture, 3 May 2005.20 Observation, hearing on coexistence measures, Swedish Board of Agriculture, 12

October 2005.21 Observation, statement by representative from LRF, hearing on coexistence measures,

12 October 2005.


22 Observation, statement by a man representing a small-scale farmers’ association, hearing on coexistence measures, 12 October 2005.

23 Observation, hearing on coexistence measures, 12 October 2005.24 Observation, hearing on public involvement, 12 October 2005.

Chapter Seven

Co-producing Frames, Actors and Knowledge

In this book we have emphasized that regulation is innovative: it invents new things, draws new borders and opens up new spaces for action, at the same time as it dissolves earlier established borders and spaces for action. Regulation is not a direct response to a predefined problem, but rather a range of actors contributing in various ways to the creation of the regulatory object. Regulation should therefore be seen as a field of action in which regulatory entities are attributed certain characteristics and are allocated within a certain context and understanding of the problem. Regulation is thus inherently an act of interpretation and possesses a ‘narrative logic’ (cf. Turner, 2001, p476) in that it includes implicit assumptions about human agency as well as the appropriate social and political relations.

As described in the introductory chapter of the book, societal processes of political and cognitive destabilization have created new conditions for regulatory actors and how regulatory processes are organized. The nation state frequently needs to reorient itself in relation to networks of public and private actors. Science is fraught with uncertainty and the sources of valid and relevant knowledge are constantly being debated. At the same time nation states, government agencies and intergovernmental organizations continue to be important actors in governing transboundary issues. Similarly, science remains a pivotal source of knowledge in designing rules for managing risk. Thus, we are faced with processes of political and cognitive destabilization and stabilization, and how these two simultaneously ongoing processes are manifested in concrete activities varies depending on the regulatory field.

The regulatory tales that are told in the previous chapters relate to four different regulatory fields. These fields differ in terms of institutional settings and their historical trajectories. In some fields, regulatory organizations have been in place for a long time, as in the case of protection against oil pollution, where international agreements, international organizations and a framework for dealing with new issues are well established. Other fields are characterized by a lack of established institutional structure, as is the case for climate change adaptation. This means that


a number of organizations are tasked with not only designing new rules but also with establishing an institutional setting for rule-making. This does not imply that the institutional structure of a regulatory area – its history of and current regulatory frameworks and bodies – determines how an issue is handled, but merely that there is variation in the degree of institutional inertia that can influence the character of processes in which regulatory practices develop. Institutional structures represent a certain order and stability, but the understanding of how such orders are reasserted is of equal importance to investigate empirically, as is the question of how these orders may change (cf. Jasanoff, 2005).

Our discussion focuses on how complexity and uncertainty are made governable, or, more precisely, how rules are formulated and enacted and knowledge shaped, and how this draws together heterogeneous elements into what appears to be coherent regimes of regulation. In particular, we discuss how issues are framed in a particular regulatory field by various actors, which actors are involved in the studied processes and how their responsibilities and identities are shaped, and how certain kinds of knowledge and expertise are configured and put forward as legitimate, valid and policy-relevant, while others are disregarded.

In this concluding chapter, we begin by discussing experiences from the areas studied. On the basis of our four empirical chapters, we can conclude that the areas studied show differences as well as similarities. Thus, before we go into the research questions posed at the beginning of the book, we give a brief account of the characteristics of the four regulatory fields and the specific processes studied.

In the following sections, we turn to the fundamental question of this book: how actors render complex issues into governable entities. This discussion is structured around the three aspects explored in the second chapter: how dominant frames are constructed and spread, how agency is shaped, and how epistemic authority is established. The concluding section reflects upon the implications of our findings for the governance of transboundary problems and processes of political and cognitive stabilization and destabilization.

CHARACTERIZING THE REGULATORY FIELDS STUDIED

The regulatory fields that we have studied concern transboundary issues that transcend geographical borders of political organization. This characteristic highlights the spatial character of the areas studies. One dimension of this is the transcending character of environmental hazards. The cause as well as consequences of transboundary problems can be spatially distributed in uneven as well as unexpected ways, and do not follow recognized local, national and international demarcations. Oil discharges have a local impact, but oil transport at sea is regulated by international cooperation and agreements. At the same time as the transboundary nature of environmental pollution is increasingly recognized, new spatial demarcations are continuously being made. Transboundary problems are

CO-PRODUCING FRAMES, ACTORS AND KNOWLEDGE 115

thus always connected to the construction of meaning and the understanding of local, national, regional or global perspectives. Thus, there may be reasons other than the environment for shaping the spatial identity of an issue. Through shaping the spatial identity of a problem, a certain environmental issue can be handled as a matter of international priority, as the sole responsibility of domestic politics, or as a local problem for municipalities to deal with. Actors vie to bind issues to a specific spatial identity, thereby creating incentives for certain types of political action or inaction, and expectations regarding accountability are placed on certain actors.

The issues studied in this book also have a distinct spatial character in the sense that national and international decisions have consequences that must be managed locally, and that the activities of one sector impact others. The transboundary nature of the issues also means the transcending of borders between public and private actors and between sectors. This means that the tasks, responsibilities and identities of political bodies, government agencies, corporations, special interest organizations, and scientific communities are dictated by how the boundaries of the issues are understood, and vice versa. One such boundary concerns how the issue at hand relates to ideas about technical innovation and economic development.

The cases studied in this book are all in some way connected to activities that are seen as beneficial for economic development, albeit in very different ways. While sea transport is part of the wider infrastructure crucial to the free movement of persons and goods, the main issue in the case of oil transport is to mitigate its negative consequences for the environment. As concerns climate change, adaptation measures can be seen as too costly and an economic burden, or as having positive effects on the economy. For instance, it can be argued that improvements in urban planning and infrastructure create a more robust society, even if there is no certainty that they will be efficient from a climate change adaptation standpoint. In contrast, biotechnology and new information and communication technologies are often put forward as crucial for competition in the new knowledge economy. Even with a relatively high consensus concerning the negative consequences of certain activities, the embeddedness of these activities and technologies in the economy makes a total ban of them unlikely. Instead, regulation is created to control the activities and to alleviate the negative consequences. This is true for three of our investigated areas – GM crops, mobile telephony and oil transport. It is not true for the fourth area, climate change adaptation, however, as the relation between mitigation of adverse effects and the use of fossil fuels is complicated. First, because there is great uncertainty about whether adaptation measures actually correspond to climate change and, second, because adaptation measures are thought to be needed even if fossil fuels were to be banned tomorrow.

The actors involved in the processes we studied are national authorities, international bodies, scientific communities, industry and NGOs, and their respective roles differ. As will be discussed later in the chapter, all of the areas studied concern issues that are framed in different ways according to whether they are identified as being of local, national, regional or international character. The


construction of a problem’s spatial identity creates expectations regarding which actors are most relevant to develop and implement rules.

Regulation of oil transport at sea is enacted in a field of tension between the principles of freedom of the high seas and the sovereignty of nation states. This tension between the value of mobility across borders and the protection of national borders is one of the elements from which control of marine oil transport eventually came to be fashioned. Sea transport has a long tradition of regulation, an established regulatory organization – the IMO – and an established set of rules set out in international treaties. One consequence of this was that the concerns relating to the process of establishing the Baltic Sea as a PSSA to a large extent became confined to debates about the boundaries of these existing legal frameworks. Not even the actors that advocate more radical ways to regulate oil transport in the Baltic Sea questioned the overall framing of the issue. As a result, all of the actors involved were eager to defend their standpoints with reference to the authority of the IMO and the established regulatory framework. This means that formal authority, in which organizations have well-defined roles, is important. What is more, the regulation of oil transport at sea is a typical example of disaster-led regulation. Oil tanker accidents attract public attention and stir debates that have an impact on and trigger discussions about regulation. The existence of a well-established regulatory framework, and actors that as a whole supported the bid for a Baltic PSSA, meant that there were few opportunities for discussion of other types of regulatory measures. Furthermore, because of basic agreement on the problem definition and the choice to pursue a PSSA designation, the issue was primarily framed as a judicial matter.

The case of radiation protection with regard to mobile telephony shows, in contrast, a more divided picture. This regulatory field is also composed of already established regulatory frameworks at the international, European and national levels. In contrast to the oil transport case, however, the main tension observed in debates over the building of a new mobile telephone network was between how the issue was framed, according to whether it was connected to local or national concerns. While the concerns of municipalities related to the desire to maintain greater control over the activities, i.e. the building of mobile telephone masts, the national authorities framed the issue as a risk issue and science was consequently placed in the centre of discussion and debate over regulation. Public concerns did not necessarily relate to risk, but this was how the national authorities interpreted the massive protests against the building of the network. Thus, in this case an established regulatory framework – including international standards and formal organizations densely populated by expertise – was challenged on various grounds, but the debate in municipalities and national authorities took very different turns. The role of the international body, the ICNIRP, was debated, and its capability to provide authoritative knowledge was questioned by active groups of citizens mobilized to stop the building of the new mobile telephone network. Thus, our focus for the study of mobile telephony and radiation protection did not concern a


process in which new rules and regulations were to be set, but was on how existing rules should be understood and on which knowledge and concerns they should be based.

Climate change adaptation is, along with climate change mitigation, an object for regulation in UNFCCC and appurtenant documents. The issue of adaptation has, however, only recently become a concern for the EU and other Western countries. The expert body in this area is the IPCC, which represents authoritative knowledge of relevance for the political community’s engagement in climate change policy. The model-based global representation of climate change serves as basis for mitigation measures, whereas adaptation measures require contextualization. The fact that climate change adaptation is a regulatory field under formation implies that there may be great opportunities for initiatives and input in the regulatory process. The widely defined domain area and an inclusive understanding of what constitutes adaptation measures opened up an arena for a number of actors that may claim to have a stake in or responsibility for this task. In the absence of political engagement, a number of government bodies formed informal partnerships and developed policy initiatives. Events such as flooding and other extreme weather occurrences have had an impact on the regulatory process. It is interesting to note that despite the catastrophic and media-friendly character of these events, the regulatory initiatives have been driven by government agencies and not by pressure groups, public opinion and the mobilization of citizens.

The attempts to regulate coexistence between GM, conventional and organic crops were part of the EC’s goal to settle a dispute that had long been brewing over the existence of GM crops in Europe. Rules on coexistence were thought to ensure the existence of all types of agriculture and at the same time allow for consumers and farmers to choose. Since rules of how to take into consideration the risks to the environment and health were already in place in several EU regulations, the EC framed the coexistence issue as a regulatory measure that would address economic risks. A spread of GM crops to conventional or organic farming areas (and vice versa) may result in great economic loss for those farmers, and this was the problem that rules on coexistence aimed to tackle. In the Swedish case, the task of formulating regulatory measures on coexistence was delegated to the Swedish Board of Agriculture, an organization with a history and tradition of being a closed expert authority. One implication of this was that the risk was narrowly defined and that science and calculative practices became decisive in the Board of Agriculture’s handling of the issue. The treatment of GM crops as a traditional agricultural issue was challenged from the standpoint that agricultural biotechnology raises completely new types of ethical considerations, and key actors attempted to broaden the scope and understanding of the problem. How the problem is framed is thus a matter of continuing negotiations.


FRAMES AND CONTROLLING NARRATIVES

In the cases studied, debates took place in different arenas and discussions varied depending on the institutional context. Although the ways in which issues were framed varied, for instance, as primarily a matter of risk and safety or of self-governance and political agency, the narratives we generate from our analyses of the cases entail a number of general features. First, actors who want to have a say in and influence on regulatory measures tell stories to make sense of their arguments and assign meaning to the proposed action or inaction. In doing so, means that enable them to visualize the main points seem important, as the actors often build their stories around symbolic events that condense the issue at stake. Second, there are also narratives of regulatory processes that to a large extent concern identity and agency. When the participants involved in a regulatory process convey their view on the need for regulation and how they perceive the regulatory process, they also say something about their view of themselves and ‘the other’, that is, the construction of agency and responsibility is enacted through both identification and discrimination. Third, the narratives of our cases to some extent all relate to a master narrative of modernity, including ideas of rationality, objectivity, scientific evidence, possible control and clear-cut boundaries between politics and science and between politics and executive power. Even when actors attempt to counteract this master narrative, there is often little point to engaging in an institutional context that gives precedence to scientific arguments without speaking on the same terms. This means that participants tune their stories of the issue at stake and of themselves and ‘the other’ to the current institutional logic.

No single piece of evidence speaks for itself, and even tangible and apparently negative consequences of certain activities need to be situated in order to gain meaning. For instance, even an unwanted event such as an oil tanker accident needs an interpretative frame that makes it possible to understand the incident and to make sense of proposed measures, assignment of responsibility and future management. In the cases studied, actors proposing or contesting a specific regulation anchored their thoughts and ideas in occurrences that were occasionally used as analogies, thereby making their proposals and arguments meaningful and legitimate. This anchoring was achieved through the construction of symbolic events, which in some instances became an emblem for the following debate, i.e. a subject that dominated the understanding of a wider issue (cf. Hajer, 1995, pp19–20). This was evident in the case of protection against oil spills in the Baltic Sea, when a single tanker accident 2000 kilometres away fuelled the debate over the need for stricter regulation of oil transport in the Baltic Sea. Initially the Prestige disaster was deliberately used to emphasize the urgency of stricter regional regulation to prevent oil spills in the Baltic Sea. The narrative created around the loss of the Prestige was, however, immediately embraced by all parties and became an emblem in the following PSSA debate. In this sense the loss of the Prestige functioned as a boundary object that enabled discussion on a particular


line of action. At the same time, the focus on the Prestige accident compressed the debate into a narrative of the risk of a large-scale tanker accident in the Baltic Sea. This anchoring of ‘oil spills’ (including all kinds of oil discharges) in the widely publicized incident both fuelled the debate and organized a multifaceted activity in a way that motivated certain actions, which simultaneously implied the notion of possible control.

Also in the cases of climate change and GMOs, connections were made to previous occurrences and drawn together into narratives, pointing out the need for action. In the GMO case, the earlier BSE crisis focused on sick and dying beef cattle had fundamentally altered the European debate on food production and supply. Although the BSE crisis differs in many ways from the GMO debate, the narrative of unnatural food production and its consequences had repercussions on the GMO debate in many European countries. Moreover, in the debate on GMO and coexistence, environmental NGOs drew upon elements from opposing narratives to those presented by government authorities. Whereas expert authorities alluded to the notions of logic, facts and scientific accuracy, the NGOs emphasized the unbounded character of the environment to undermine the idea of rationality and control through calculative practices.

The need for climate change adaptation was emphasized in a similar way with reference to experiences of floods and extreme weather, such as the winter storm that hit the southern part of Sweden in 2005 and which became emblematic for the vulnerability of society. Although different actors carefully pointed out the unpredictability of such occurrences and the inability to link a specific weather event to climate change, occurrences of extreme weather nevertheless were used as analogies, illustrating the disastrous consequences that climate change might entail. By using analogies such as these, a narrative of an apparent threat was created, indicating the need for regulation and assignment of responsibility. Even though certain events can be used to put an issue on the agenda and may become emblems in the debates that follow, the framing of these events is by no means predetermined, but is rather a social activity and an ongoing process. Climate change is an illustrative example of this dynamic of narratives, where extreme weather has in some instances been used deliberately to emphasize the need for reduction of GHG emissions to curb an increase of such occurrences. The same type of event may then be related to the need for adaptation measures. Accordingly, the analogy between extreme weather and climate change impacts does not in itself say anything about cause and effect, urgency, or how to remedy the problem and whose responsibility it is. It is, however, clear that while contingency and uncertainty permeate the notion of climate change, the story-line to a large extent centres upon the notion of possible control and the idea of science as provider of policy-relevant knowledge.

In discussions over EMF, compelling stories similar to the Prestige disaster, extreme weather events or ‘mad cow disease’ have not obtained any wider resonance. Although narratives based on the experiences of electrosensitive people could in


principle have played an emblematic role, the phenomenon of electrosensitivity is seldom reported in media that reach a wider audience. The narratives put forward by electrosensitives allude to individual experiences and anecdotal knowledge, and pose a potential challenge to the master narrative of objectivity and scientific evidence. Thus, at the same time as comparison of these regulatory fields elucidates the contingencies of framing, it also evinces the impact of a master narrative of potential control based on calculation, scientific evidence and rationality.

In the case studies looked at, we can see the impact of compelling stories based on symbols, either in the form of significant events and analogies. The major importance of a striking symbol is not that it represents viable evidence of a causal relationship, but its power to provide meaning, highlighting the urgency of regulation and mobilizing action in a certain direction. The assumptions on which suggested causal relationships are based are rarely made explicit but embedded within the story-line. Thus, through these narratives the complexity of an issue is reduced to create order and stability, to give a specific interpretation a taken-for-granted status, thereby determining a certain direction in which actions may be taken. By reducing the complexity of an issue, by packaging it in symbolism, and by attaching moral, social or economic values to an issue, these narratives create order and guide attention. Accordingly, these kinds of narratives, built around powerful symbols, contribute to strong but narrow debate in that they absorb attention and incite actors to action in a specific and delimited area.

In the regulatory processes studied, ‘controlling narratives’ with a specific kind of story-line were constructed (cf. Jasanoff, 2005). These controlling narratives give an account of the problem and its cause, aiming to show that an issue is governable and that negative consequences can be controlled. They also give historical accounts of issues of concern and can serve to legitimize a proposed or existing regulation and dismiss others. Controlling narratives tend to focus on certain aspects and downplay others, from a repertoire of problems or risks, and convey assumptions about the important or appropriate social relations involved, thereby relying upon a particular version of human agency that opens up space for certain kinds of actors and actions, at the same time as it closes space for others.

In addition to the narratives that create meaning and direct the action in a regulatory field, our analyses of the cases studied generate narratives of the regulatory processes. A common feature of the story-lines of these narratives is that they to a large extent concern identity and agency. In the cases studied there are a variety of arenas for debates concerning the need for further regulation, appropriate regulatory measures, and the scope and limits of current regulation. The issues at stake were framed differently depending on the institutional context, i.e. either as a matter of risk and safety or a matter of self-governance, as in the case of mobile telephone masts, or framed almost consistently throughout the process, for example as a judicial matter, as in the case of environmental protection of the Baltic Sea. Different ways of framing the issues put different actors, knowledge and values at the core. The case studies, however, show that various actors made


an effort to influence both the regulatory processes and the outcome of these processes. In achieving this, they explicitly or implicitly position themselves in relation to other actors.

Representatives of expert authorities engage in talk about themselves and their agency, referring to values such as scientific evidence, objectivity and rationality, implying that differences in power and influence to their advantage in the regulatory process are thereby legitimate (cf. McCorkel and Myers, 2003, p202). In this process, the exclusion of others and their standpoints is justified with reference to their supposed ignorance of the matter in question or by dismissal of other forms of knowledge. This kind of story-line contains elements of a master narrative of modernity. There is, however, also tension within such a modernity frame; an increased expectation to consider and to include ‘others’ is also a characteristic of modernity (Meyer and Jepperson, 2000). This tension was apparent in the process of designation of the Baltic Sea as a PSSA, as well as in the case of the risks of EMF generated by mobile phone masts, as the expert authorities were both inclusive (arranging meetings with representatives of the environmental movement, activist groups and electrosensitives) and exclusive (dismissing the input from these groups with reference to its lack of scientific or factual content).

Actors’ endeavours to position themselves in relation to others constitute part of the struggle to influence the regulatory process, a struggle characterized by the actors’ attempts to construct, present and distribute alternative frames that make their own proposals legitimate, efficient, sufficient and relevant. Thus, if the goal is to influence rule-setting processes, it is crucial to make frames that are communicable, compelling and can be distributed in society. The power to effectively disseminate frames, however, is unevenly distributed in society. Organizations with economic or judicial power have more resources to spread their frames and influence other actors, but it also comes down to how frames and ideas are packaged and passed on to others. It is not the intrinsic properties of a specific frame that make it popular, but its attachment to cultural values, its social context, and who supports and distributes it. Thus, frames do not travel on their own power, but need supporters, carriers and social arrangements in order to be distributed in society. Some powerful actors – such as international organizations – have in most cases better access to transnational networks and powerful broadcasters (Djelic and Sahlin-Andersson, 2006).

Political and economic resources are important for spreading particular frames, and other resources may be of relevance as well. In trying to interest other actors in an idea, i.e. to find it credible and incorporate it into their own thinking, an appeal to their morals may be even more efficient than economic and judicial power. To some extent, assignment of blame, albeit with varying success, takes place in struggles over mobile telephony and oil transport, whereby the industries with economic interests at stake are portrayed as immoral or irresponsible. For instance, Greenpeace blamed oil transport companies for being irresponsible, citing the illegal discharge of oil as well as great risks associated with regular oil


transport in the Baltic Sea, demanding a full chain of liability and that all large ships and ships carrying dangerous cargo should have external green pilots on board. Similarly, government authorities and expert advisers have been accused of relying upon research funded by the mobile phone industry, which is viewed as biased and as giving too positive a view of the risks of mobile telephony. In some cases the attribution of moral qualities or lack thereof seems to be successful in terms of gaining media coverage and public support for a particular frame.

The strategy of blame-making not only assists in getting an issue onto the agenda, but also in ascribing certain responsibilities to the actors – public as well as private organizations. What responsibilities organizations have, and whether they take on such responsibilities or are blamed for not taking responsibility, is also a matter of how actors are constructed in regulatory processes. This is not only a matter of prescribed roles and responsibilities in a formal sense, but also a matter of active sense-making and negotiation.

THE CONSTRUCTION OF AGENCY

Organizations such as the nation state, expert communities, private companies and NGOs are often perceived as stable entities with the ability to speak with one voice and to hold stable identities and interests. Our starting point is that not only are the problem formulation, relevant solutions and knowledge shaped in regulatory processes but also the actors. In the following, we discuss the construction of agency in relation to three aspects: the role of the nation state; inclusion and exclusion of actors in the regulatory process; and assumptions about what the actors represent or the kind of capabilities they possess.

It is argued that, because of an increased need to interact and negotiate with others both within and across national borders, nation states have become more ‘embedded’. The notion of the embedded state, however, indicates a contradictory situation: at the same time as the boundaries of the nation state are diffused because of its intense interactions with other actors, the nation state is also strengthened due to an increased expectation on nation states to produce national strategies and declarations enabling them to engage in such cross-cutting negotiations and interactions (Jacobsson, 2006). In the processes we studied, we find the nation state embedded in international networks and organizations. Thus, the state is situated in regulatory fields that lodge a variety of public and private actors. Furthermore, in all four cases, there are transnational rules that exert varying degrees of influence on how policy issues are perceived and handled.

Transnational rules differ in their scope as well as whether they are binding or voluntary. For example, it may be mandatory for states that have signed international agreements to follow those agreements, but the wording of these agreements may be vague and open, as in the case of climate change adaptation, and some regulatory frameworks may be voluntary but more concrete and detailed


– as in the case of ICNIRP’s international guidelines. As binding international regulatory frameworks can to a large extent be flexible and open to interpretation, this results in a variety of rules, recommendations and measures in different countries. Rules that are formally voluntary can be strongly binding from a moral standpoint and important for nation states and/or other organizations to comply with for legitimacy reasons (see e.g. Boström and Klintman, 2008, pp95ff ). The case of ICNIRP is an illustrative example, where the composition of an international organization consisting of independent experts whose rules have gained widespread usage all over the world may be hard to ignore or diverge from. Thus, paradoxically, voluntary rules may be more influential in creating homogenization and standardization than binding rules.

Transnational and international rules can sometimes also compel nation states to take a stance on issues that they themselves have not prioritized, and hence contribute to the expectation on nation states to produce national strategies on such issues. This was the case when rules were to be formulated for the coexistence of different types of agriculture. The EC required member states to create rules concerning the coexistence of GM, conventional and organic crops within a rather extensive framework. How the rules were set was thus open, but not the very initiative to gather knowledge and actors (in this case, government authorities, consumer organizations, environmental NGOs, industry and farmers) in order to formulate rules in relation to this problem.

We can thus conclude, as have other studies of the changing role of the nation state (see e.g. Jacobsson, 2006), that risk regulation policy is formed in segments that transcend national borders, and states must act in situations in which they are both ‘regulators’ and ‘regulated’. In some cases, however, transnational rules and organizations are not founded on the idea of national representation at all. The organization of the transnational bodies that formulate rules differs, from being composed of representatives of member states needing to anchor decisions in their own country, to being composed of independent expert communities representing only themselves. In all four cases, the regulatory process evinced varying degrees of ‘path dependency’, which means that risk management could be understood as ‘related to historical, political and institutional factors that constrain and mediate the choice and implementation of novel control practices’ (Modell et al, 2007, p454). These old patterns and ways of handling matters according to historical and institutional factors were related to patterns specific to the expert authorities that were delegated the issue from the government, but were also intricately interwoven with established expert fields and transnational organizations, in which references to universal knowledge or established international regimes played a more important role than the standpoints of nation state representatives.

As described in the introductory chapter, Sweden has a long tradition of public regulation, and its administrative culture is often depicted as ‘pragmatic, consensus-oriented, and open towards large interest organizations’ (Boström and Klintman, 2003, p10). Thus, one could expect that national authorities should


initiate dialogue and interchange, at least with the major interest organizations. Environmental movements and other pressure groups were involved in the processes studied, either by raising the issue on the political agenda or proposing what regulatory means to pursue. There are, however, variations in the way these groups were invited to take part in deliberations, and whether these deliberations have had any effect on regulations.

Consulting stakeholders on rule-setting can be seen by regulators as just one of many things to be ‘crossed off the to-do list’. Even if regulating organizations are more ambitious and set up extensive consultative or deliberative processes they can at later stages find themselves in a situation where the results and input from deliberations need to be balanced against other priorities (e.g. the authority of transnational or international rules).

Another dimension of consultative processes that affects what outcomes and effects these may have on decisions is how participants are classified in the first place and in relation to what rationale. If participants are primarily invited by expert authorities in their capacity of being ‘interest groups’, ‘the general public’ or ‘stakeholders’, a clear division between ‘knowledge’ on the one hand, and ‘values’, ‘stakes’ and ‘interests’ on the other, might already be assumed. This could mean that the underlying rationale for participation is either instrumental (aiming to enrol a variety of actors and to make decisions more legitimate) or ethical (aiming to include those who are concerned because they have a right to have a say), but not substantive (based on the idea that there are groups that could inform, reframe and contribute to rule-setting).

A regulatory process that gathers a range of actors from both private and public organizations has the double function of being both a potential process of learning and discursive steering, in that the actors adjust themselves to prevailing frames and current order. In the case of climate change adaptation, a number of public authorities started to cooperate within rather vaguely outlined goals. In doing this, actors tested out areas of responsibilities and partly transformed their identities, making climate change adaptation one of their subject areas.

Actors can take on responsibilities more or less willingly, but are also ascribed capabilities and responsibilities by others. Depending on how the spatial identity of a problem is constructed, struggles may also emerge regarding who represents or speaks for local or national interests and/or global concerns, who is responsible, and who can or should contribute or take part in the process. Negotiations across local, national and international boundaries contribute to shape identities for a specific environmental problem and a specific spatial level. Geographically demarcated areas are constructed and become the object of action, where certain actors are assigned a mandate and responsibilities. For example, when the Swedish Maritime Administration refuted some of the proposed regulations for the Baltic Sea region on the basis that the IMO pursues global issues, this can be understood as a struggle over the spatial identity of the problem. This has to do not only with the struggle between global and regional concerns, but with how global and regional


should be understood in relation to each other, and is ultimately a struggle over the authority of the IMO.

Thus, there may be reasons other than environmental ones for shaping the spatial identity of an issue. In the cases studied, actors vie to bind an issue to a specific spatial identity, thereby creating incentives for certain types of political action or inaction, and expectations of accountability are placed on certain actors.

When national bodies deal with struggles over contested technologies, they often do so in terms of risk, although struggles in local communities may be much more multifaceted (cf. Borraz, 2007). In the case of building a new mobile phone network, struggles all over Europe mainly concerned the building of the masts, and citizens’ and local communities’ feeling of not having control over the activities. Efforts to establish low-radiation zones are thus strategies to demarcate specific territories that are within the control of the local community and not primarily strategies to deal with risk. The construction of the problem as a ‘risk issue’ gives science and scientific knowledge a dominant role and limits the role of human agency in relation to the technology. As Brian Wynne (2005) argues, this is a way of narrowing down public concerns to impact issues, which limits discussion over what the driving force of technological development is in the first place as well as the possible benefits of new technologies. The public and environmental movements are only invited to discuss restricted and fragmented issues on how to manage certain activities, and not to discuss the need for an activity or its benefits in relation to its negative outcomes. For example, there was no space for questioning oil transport as such, or the need for GM crops. Thus, wider concerns over how problems were framed or the meaning of technical change were rarely articulated.

Accordingly, some of the proposed measures may serve to legitimate ongoing activities. In our cases, this was visible in the efforts to create and demarcate limited protected areas: restricted spatial areas with more far-reaching regulation. For example, the classification of the Baltic Sea as a PSSA implies that other seas are less strictly regulated, and that the impact of oil transport is accepted. Similarly, the construction of low-radiation zones implies that there was no need for further measures as long as the protected areas remained protected. Thus, by creating small islands with stricter regulation, the policy area and more overarching rules connected to it can be left intact.

ESTABLISHING EPISTEMIC AUTHORITY

To achieve epistemic authority means that a certain kind of knowledge is given the legitimacy to define, describe and explain bounded domains of reality. Thus, epistemic authority not only concerns the right to diagnose and develop solutions to a regulatory problem, but it is also part of the very constitution of what is seen


as a problem in need of regulation and what actors have the skills and competence to manage it.

Our study cases illustrate a number of more general features. First, epistemic authority must be actively upheld and acknowledged by others. Second, alternative views and conflicting standpoints do not necessarily lead to a questioning of established epistemic authority but can also lead to a strengthening of it. Third, regulatory discussions largely concern downstream risk, that is, presumed adverse impacts of activities and not technical and economic developments that underlie the activities and generate these impacts. The focus on impact in our cases meant that science was associated with authority, and alternative framings did not influence the regulatory processes.

The process of cognitive destabilization implies that science is no longer the obvious main provider of epistemic authority. Different types of expertise may be seen as authoritative and relevant. Thus, there is a range of actors that can state legitimate knowledge claims within specific areas. Hence, the central demarcation line in regulatory work may not necessarily be between scientific and non-scientific knowledge, but rather between what is seen as relevant and irrelevant knowledge.

In the processes studied, however, the master narrative of modernity was upheld, as epistemic authority was primarily claimed and defended either by formal status or by virtue of traditional scientific values such as disinterestedness and universalism, or by a combination of the two. Examples of epistemic authority based on formal status are public agencies that, by virtue of governmental appointment to manage certain issues and with reference to long experience in the field, claim expertise in the subject area (such as the Swedish Maritime Administration in the PSSA case). Examples where epistemic authority is based on traditional scientific values are expert organizations whose credibility is based on values such as independence and peer review, and who claim that their conclusions and recommendations are based on scientific data alone (such as the ICNIRP on mobile radiation and the IPCC on climate change). It may also be possible to claim epistemic authority not by virtue of the organization’s own merits but by its association with other actors that are presumed to be credible and legitimate (Jacobsson, 2006).

Assertion of epistemic authority, however, does not necessarily imply that a matter is settled. On the contrary, epistemic authority is something that must be acknowledged and continuously upheld. In regulatory processes that involve conflicting knowledge claims and/or scientific uncertainty, a variety of actors strive for influence and try to assert the legitimacy of alternative interpretations, knowledge and proposals. The struggle to establish and uphold epistemic authority is closely related to the configuration of regulation, that is, the co-production of science and policy.

In some cases, an institutional framework is created in which science is mobilized to support policy. By establishing political status as an expert organization – such as in the case of the IPCC – the development of a specific policy supports


a specific expert community, which in turn produces epistemic support for a specific policy. In this way, political and expert communities mutually reinforce each other. This relationship can then be repeated at other levels of society, where political authorities, for example, at the national level, appoint a specific expert organization to be an authoritative centre. The result is that at the international as well as national level, epistemic authority is upheld partly by political decisions, and partly by adherence to scientific standards, which was clearly seen in the climate change case where the IPCC achieved epistemic authority at the international level and the SMHI achieved epistemic authority at the national level, in part due to their own expertise and in part due to their political appointments as authoritative centres for climate change issues.

However, it is too far-reaching to draw the conclusion that the prerequisite to achieving epistemic authority is the support of dominant political organizations – such as the UN, EU or national governments. The processes studied show that the epistemic authority of central regulatory bodies was challenged or problematized by actors who represented alternative views and wanted to influence the regulation by reframing issues of concern rather than simply adding concerns to existing framings. These actors tried to put disregarded issues on the agenda, and by putting forward opposing viewpoints were able to draw attention to knowledge uncertainty and the complexity of the matters (including scientific controversies).

The responses to contesting viewpoints were varied. It seems obvious, however, that the central regulatory bodies persistently defended their epistemic authority against alternative interpretations and knowledge. Also, in the case of the dialogue project on mobile telephone infrastructure and EMF, which at least initially held out the prospect of deliberation, it was the expert public agency SSI that stipulated the terms of the dialogue. In some instances, the issue of uncertainty was placed in the forefront, as in climate change adaptation, where there was no controversy between different knowledge claims but discussions on how to deal with uncertainty and complexity attached to the matter. In other instances, there was an explicit struggle between contradictory knowledge claims, as in the case of EMF, where different actors relied on knowledge arguments as the main resource in their aim to influence the regulation. How then was the epistemic authority of the regulatory bodies defended against contestation? How were alternative knowledge claims and statements that drew attention to complexity and uncertainty managed in the regulatory processes?

The different ways to manage these concerns may be categorized into three main strategies: privileging of certain knowledge, which includes disregarding or depreciation of contesting views; delegation of the decision or of the settlement of the issue, meaning that management of uncertainty or tricky matters are passed on to other actors or sectors; and relativizing knowledge plurality by shifting the focus to other bases for decision-making, such as values and principles.

To privilege certain knowledge claims over others involves boundary work in which the privileged version is attributed certain qualities, such as validity, reliability


and legitimacy, at the expense of alternative claims – that is, the kind of bound-ary work that Gieryn (1999, p15) labels ‘expulsion’. The privileging of certain knowledge is thus linked with disregarding or depreciation of alternative claims, which means the sorting and ranking of different claims. Privileging some forms of knowledge and excluding others can be part of a complex and fragmented process, from which actors may select elements, to construct a coherent story-line.

Actors’ proposals can be dismissed by depreciation, thereby laying down the expertise and epistemic authority of one’s own organization. This was the case in the discussions on regulating oil transport in the Baltic Sea, where the public agency was reluctant to meet with and discuss the matter with representatives from the environmental movement and members of parliament, and dismissed their proposal as fuzzy and ‘totally out of the question’. The agency also drew a distinct boundary between the executive and political domains, implying that its own organization represented impartial expert knowledge based on facts, whereas the politicians were defined as ignorant on the subject. By privileging its own knowledge and at the same time depreciating and rejecting alternative views, the public agency sustained its epistemic authority.

Another way to privilege knowledge claims is to emphasize the need for special competence to deal with uncertainty. Thus, even if there is agreement on the uncertainty of knowledge, actors are not necessarily welcome to take part in the discussion of how to handle uncertainty. Instead, expert organizations can claim to have a privileged position by possessing the specific competence, methods, resources and experience necessary to draw conclusions (cf. Shackley and Wynne, 1996, p280). In the climate change case, for example, computer modelling was seen as pivotal for developing relevant regulation. The acknowledgement of great uncertainty strengthens the belief in climate modelling. This is achieved by drawing a boundary between uncertainties that can be dealt with by climate modelling alone and those that have to be delegated to other actors to decide on. This division of labour and creation of a sharp border between science and policy serves to maintain the authority of science.

Yet another way to deal with conflicting knowledge claims is to formally invite a broad set of actors to take part in the regulatory discussion, but in reality give them very limited say in the matter. Where institutional support for knowledge development is lacking, knowledge claims may be refuted as it can be argued that the claims are insufficiently elaborated or validated. This occurs in several of the processes studied, not least that of radiation protection with regard to mobile telephony. In the RALF report, there was initially an intention to include the voices of previously unheard groups. However, statements from electrosensitives were excluded from the final report, with reference to the fact that the report could not include knowledge that was not validated. Thus, actors representing different knowledge claims were invited to take part, then consciously excluded from the process. The result was that a coherent story-line was maintained, in which knowledge from politically acknowledged expert organizations was privileged.


Delegation means that management of uncertainty or tricky matters is passed on to other actors or sectors. This passing on can be achieved by drawing boundaries between fields of responsibility. Regulatory frameworks, guidelines and recommendations of various kinds may also be seen as a form of delegating the management of uncertainty and settlement of controversies and thorny problems. This method of managing the unruly could be undertaken with reference to the need for contextualization in relation to local and regional differences, which is apparent in the regulation of climate change adaptation and the coexistence of GM and non-GM crops.

A special approach to delegation is to endorse the precautionary principle, by relying on further research. This is a way to accomplish temporary closure of an issue by delegating settlement of the issue to the future. As we see in the cases of EMF, GMO and climate change, the notion of precaution could be used both to contest and to defend epistemic authority in regulatory processes. The development of the precautionary principle is a response to acknowledged uncertainty and the contingency of different knowledge claims frequently articulated by various actors. Incorporation of the precautionary principle in regulation implies recognition and institutionalization of scientific uncertainty (cf. Beck, 2005, p536), and functions as a means to manage the unruly. However, while the precautionary principle acknowledges uncertainty it also manifests a firm belief in the prospect of science (van Asselt and Vos, 2006). For instance, in the case of EMF, uncertainty was depicted in terms of ‘gaps in knowledge’ and ‘not-yet-knowns’, framing uncertainty as a remediable predicament.

Likewise, when precaution was put forward in climate change adaptation, it functioned as a way to sustain the epistemic authority of the advisory scientists, indicating that it was within their field of competence to make pronouncements on and claim the need for climate change adaptation. In addition to the management of uncertainty through delegation of uncertainty related to decision-making from the scientific domain, the researchers hold out the prospect of remedy by further research, for example by supplying regionalized scenarios. Thus, the precautionary principle does not recognize profound uncertainty, but rather acknowledges the presence of not-yet-knowns, which, consequently, is a curable state. This means that the prospect of coming scientific findings is mortgaged to manage present uncertainty.

This points to a third strategy, that of relativizing the role of knowledge as a basis for decision-making. Thus, the existence of contingency, uncertainty and contradictions in the knowledge base may be managed by invoking decisional bases other than science. This move negates the need for privileging certain knowledge claims or postponing decision-making. Instead, knowledge uncertainties and knowledge pluralities can be acknowledged but at the same time, decisions can still be taken, with explicit reference to non-scientific fundamental principles and values. This strategy can be seen as the reverse of the boundary work Gieryn (1999, p16) labels ‘expansion’, where science attempts to expand its epistemic authority at


the expense of ethics, ideology and/or religion. Contrary to this, relativizing means that science is still granted authority within a specific territory, but that when reaching credible and certain knowledge is not possible, the territory of science is narrowed and the focus is moved to other bases for decision-making. This could mean democratic values, such as in the case of local self-government, as seen in the case of mobile telephony, where concerns about who should have the right to exert power over a specific territory – not risk and safety issues – took centre stage. Thus, fundamental democratic values were called upon, thereby relativizing different scientific claims on possible effects or non-effects.

The precautionary principle is probably one of the most well-known principles by which knowledge uncertainty can be handled in decision-making. Thus, the precautionary principle need not necessarily be used as a strategy for delegating decisions to the future, a strategy for making provisional decisions while waiting for scientific progress. The precautionary principle can also be used as a strategy for making decisions without relying on the belief that future research will provide certainty. An example of this is the critical stance of Greenpeace and organic farmers towards GM crops, stating that the uncertainty is of principal nature. Nature is not controllable, and therefore – irrespective of what scientists say, now and in the future – GM crops will eventually spread to conventional and organic farming areas. Thereby, there is no need of more science to show the risk for this spread and how the risk can be minimized. Instead, a decision should be taken on a moral and ethical basis.

Thus, relativizing implies that referring to fundamental values and principles enables actors to manage plural knowledge claims and knowledge uncertainty without the need to evaluate, organize or ignore knowledge claims. By adhering to certain principles and values, conflicting knowledge claims are neutralized and can coexist without creating obstacles for decision-making. This means that the complexity of an issue remains intact, but from a decisional point of view there is less need to reduce complexity in order to take decisions.

Based on our empirical analysis, we conclude that actors that want to raise opposing claims appear to be careful in doing so in order to connect to the pre-sumed authority of science. Their struggles to influence regulatory process conse-quently also lead to a reinforcement of the epistemic authority of science. To some extent, relativizing – in contrast to privileging and delegating – creates space for other arguments in addition to scientific ones. At the same time, this strategy may not necessarily question science as such, but merely claim that its territory is restricted and not all-embracing. Thus, as in struggles for epistemic authority, it seems there is a tendency for science to be seen as the model that all other knowledge claims have to yield to in order to be able to influence regulation. One reason why science seems to be granted a dominant role in much regulatory work is that regulatory discussions are often restricted to downstream risk (cf. Wynne, 2005). As our study has shown, more general discussion on technical, economic and scientific developments and fundamental assumptions regarding the purpose


and need for certain activities was rarely raised. Instead, the regulatory discussions focused on the consequences of seemingly unquestionable activities, which resulted in privileging a scientific risk discourse.

A further result of this is that issues of public participation and stakeholder involvement run the risk of being subordinate to an instrumental frame of regulating the adverse consequences of activities. This means either that government agencies are seen as legitimate spokesmen for public concerns, or that the participation of a broader set of actors is restricted to a legitimizing role in the regulatory process. However, when spaces for contestation are opened up, a reframing of the issues that play down the relevance of risk and put other values at the centre, such as local self-governance, can occur. When environmental organizations tried to introduce an upstream perspective in the regulatory discussions – such as in the case of GM crops and the case of protecting the Baltic Sea – this perspective was firmly rejected by the public authorities formally responsible for the regulation. Thus, excluding some forms of knowledge simultaneously also excludes certain categories of actors as knowledge providers. Thus, establishing epistemic authority – and dissolving other actors’ authority – is a central aspect in influencing regulation.


The overall discussion in this book concerns how an issue is rendered governable. We have argued that regulatory objects are not stable or complete entities. Adopting this perspective means that attention must be paid to how actors shape regulatory entities. Actors can ascribe an issue certain characteristics such as being of local or global concern, being a calculable risk or indeterminate object, curable or incurable, robust or vulnerable. In doing this, they also make assumptions about appropriate remedies, relevant knowledge and how to distribute responsibilities.

This kind of meaning-making often takes the form of narratives, establishing relationships between objects and actors, and anchoring more complex issues in concrete incidents and occurrences. In regulatory processes, the emphasis on significant events and exposing regulatory failures or society’s vulnerability in certain areas may have dual consequences. If successfully disseminated, events of this kind draw attention to important matters and fuel the debate on the need for further regulation by anchoring sometimes complex and delusive issues in familiar or well-known occurrences. Such anchoring also implies a reduction of complexity and a detachment of the issue from its context. This simplification may result in ‘tunnel vision’, which can be useful for achieving certain well-established goals, but at the same time leads to rather narrow debates where other equally relevant aspects and issues are disregarded.

In the endeavour to render an issue governable, it is obvious that uncertainty is only partly acknowledged. By framing uncertainties as risk, they appear calculable and manageable. Viewing uncertainties as knowledge gaps, a remediable state,


implies a dismissal of profound uncertainty and alternative views, such as that of seeing uncertainties as unknown unknowns. A consequence of this is a stabilization of a restricted rational world-view and a firm belief in science. The notion, whether explicit or implicit, of possible control related to rationality, objectivity and scientific evidence tends to limit the opportunities for some actors to become legitimate parties in the regulatory process and influence the regulation. Accordingly, initiatives intended to create arenas for inclusion and deliberations often appear in actuality to result in the exclusion of certain actors and standpoints.

In many cases, regulatory bodies restrict the topic of discussion to downstream risk, that is, how to manage negative consequences of seemingly unquestionable activities. A result of this is that many issues of concern, such as concerns over technical, economic and scientific development and fundamental assumptions on the purpose and need for certain activities, are excluded from regulatory discussions already in the early stages – in the framing of issues. One implication of this is that issues of public participation and stakeholder involvement are subordinated to an instrumental frame for regulating adverse consequences. Thus, what knowledge counts as having relevance for policy is subject to framing, as are the issues of relevance, and the actors seen as capable of adding relevant perspectives, stakes and concerns.

Defining uncertainty as risk makes it governable. It is a way of giving technical, calculable science a predominant role, and upholding the idea of universal knowledge, disconnected from time and space. However, we have argued that the creation of a spatial identity of a problem is also important for the understanding of how issues are made governable. By ascribing a problem certain spatial characteristics, actors may advocate a certain handling of the problem as well as who should be responsible and take part in the regulatory process. Transboundary environmental problems and diffusion of clear boundaries between actors’ responsibilities may destabilize the role of the nation state as well as other given spatial orders, but in the process spatial orders may be reproduced or reconstructed.

In contemporary society, efforts to manage uncertainty and control the unruly cover a wide range of techniques and devices – from a simple ‘technical fix’ to the involvement of a broad set of stakeholders – reflecting the parallel processes of political and cognitive destabilization and stabilization. These varieties and variations of regulatory means do not present themselves on a simple scale, where the technical fix approach can be related to situations with certain characteristics, and stakeholder involvement and deliberation to others. Rather, parallel tendencies seem to exist simultaneously and elements of both approaches can be traced in the same regulatory process, as various actors seek to control the unruly.

In these processes, various regulatory measures, such as the establishment of recommendations, guidelines or other rules, represent provisional solutions. In this sense they are a means to temporarily resolve issues. Regulation is thus a perpetual process with moments of temporary closure. Although regulatory tales always have a beginning and an end, the endeavour to manage uncertainty and control the unruly is an ongoing enterprise.

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Aarhus Convention (UN, 1998) 10, 105accountability 3, 4, 6, 125Achen, Thomas 91activist groups 42–47, 49agency 15, 18, 26–29, 114, 118, 120,

122–125agriculture

biotechnology in see GMand climate change 78, 80see also Swedish Board of Agriculture

air pollution 5Alliance of Small Island States 75APMs (associated protective measures)

57, 61, 64–65, 67auditing 20Australia 56, 74Austria 74, 96autonomous-planned adaptation 79

Baldwin, R. 19Baltic Sea 1, 3, 14Baltic Sea Convention (1992) 56Baltic Sea Driver’s Licence 59, 64, 65, 66Baltic Sea PSSA debate 13, 53–55, 56,

58, 59–67, 116, 118–119, 124–125actors/roles/competences in 65–67, 70APMs in 57, 61, 64–65, 67environmental organizations and 59,

63, 64–66, 67expert knowledge in 67, 121, 126as judicial concern 53, 68, 70, 120politics/executive power in 67PSSA criteria in 56–57, 58, 68–69risk/vulnerability in 61–62, 67–68, 69

Russia and 53, 58, 60–61, 69Sweden and 53, 55, 56, 59–60, 61–67,

68–70Beck, U. 4beekeepers 108Bergström, S. 63biodiversity 62biotechnology 21, 92–93, 98, 105–106,

115governance 91, 107

Björkstén, U. 38Black on White (Granlund-Lind/Lind) 45,

46blame 121–122Bornholm Strait (Baltic Sea) 65Boström, M. 123boundary work/objects 24–25, 30, 68,

86, 89, 94, 127–128expansion 129–130expulsion 128

Bremen Declaration (HELCOM) 60, 62Britain 9–10BSE crisis 92, 119

CAC (command and control) model 18–19

weaknesses in 19Canada 74Canary Islands 58certification systems 19citizen groups 3citizenship 4

ecological 5–6, 7, 59and nation state 6, 7

Index


and rule-making 12, 26scientific 9, 10

Climate Adaptation Portal 82, 86climate change adaptation 2, 3–4, 11, 14,

15–16, 29, 70, 73–89, 115acceptance as policy response 73–74actors in 79, 80–81agencies’ responsibility/roles 80–81areas of vulnerability 80, 81, 87clash of interests in 75and computer modelling 77–78, 84,

89, 128defined 78–79framing of 74–79, 117, 119international framework for 75–77and IPCC 74, 75, 78–79local approaches to 86–87and mitigation 73, 75, 78, 79, 88and natural climate variability 74, 75,

76–77, 85–86, 88–89science/policy in 87, 126–127three categories of 79and UNFCCC see UNFCCC

climate modelling/research 77–78, 84, 85, 89, 128

cloning 21, 92–93coalitions of states 7codes of conduct 7coexistence 91, 92–106, 123

admixture rates 93, 103, 104, 105and consumer choice 92, 93, 100, 104,

105and contamination 94–95diverging policies on 97–98, 107EC guidelines on 95–97, 107, 108EU-wide legislation for 96–97framing of 101–102, 108, 119general/crop-specific rules 100–101and labelling 96, 105, 106, 107, 108and organic farming 91, 93, 96, 97and producer’s choice 94, 100, 104public involvement in 104, 105–106,

108–109and risk/uncertainty 92, 100, 102, 107and scientific knowledge 101–102,

105–106

separation from non-GM crops see separation distances

Swedish Board of Agriculture report (2003) 99–101

Vienna conference on (2006) 97cognitive destabilization 8–11, 126command and control model see CACconsumer choice 91, 92–93container theory of society 4contested knowledge 8–9, 24–26

see also boundary work/objectsCOP (Conference of the Parties,

UNFCCC) 75, 76, 77, 87, 89Copenhagen Declaration (2001) 59co-production 26–27corn see maize cropscorporate social responsibility 20cosmopolitan democracy 5, 7Czarniawska, B. 27

data gathering 14, 28, 40DDT 44delegation 127, 129democracy 5, 91

and science 9, 10–11, 23Denmark 61, 96, 97, 98, 99de Palacio, Loyola 1deregulation 12, 19, 20downstream risk 130–131, 132

Eastern Europe 38eco-labelling 19ecological citizenship 5–6, 7economic development 115economic restructuring 27ecosystems 80education 12, 19, 57, 76Edwards, P. 74, 77EEA (European Environment Agency) 53EIA (environmental impact assessments)

10electrosensitivity 40, 41, 42–43, 44,

45–47, 49, 119–120, 128electro-smog 42EMF (electromagnetic fields) see mobile

phones

INDEX 149

employment 27enforced self-regulation 20environmental courts 40environmental disasters see oil disastersenvironmental impact assessments see EIAenvironmental organizations 3, 59environmental policy/regulation 12,

23–24Environmental Pollution, Royal

Commission on (1998) 10Environmental Protection Agency see

Swedish EPAenvironmental risks 107

and democracy 10science and 8, 9, 10transboundary see transboundary

environmental problemsEPA see Swedish EPAepistemic authority 114, 125–131

three strategies of 127–130Erika disaster (1999) 55Estonia 61European Climate Change Programme

73–74European Commission (EC) 2, 55

on climate change 73–74EMF recommendations (1999) 33, 36on GM crops 91, 93–94, 95–98, 107,

117, 123European Environment Agency (EEA) 53European Maritime Safety Agency 55European Union (EU) 1, 9, 12, 88, 117

agriculture policy 95EMF regulations 32, 37GM policy 91–98, 117and national identity 27and NGOs 10and oil transport 55, 66

expert knowledge/expertise 8–9, 11, 14, 17, 22–26, 32, 114, 126

and climate change 89closed culture of 33, 107, 117, 121contested see contested knowledgeand co-production 26–27and GM crops 101–102and policy 23

privileging of 34, 45–47, 49, 50, 67, 127–128, 131

and risk analysis 21–22, 102and rule-making 11, 15, 23, 29types of 25–26see also epistemic authority; knowledge

claimsExxon Valdez disaster (1989) 55, 62

Federation of Private Enterprises 79Finland 61, 69, 74flood risk/control 2, 73, 76, 77, 79, 83,

86–87, 117, 119food safety 2, 119framing 3, 14, 15, 16, 27–29, 30, 47–48,

50, 109, 114–122, 132and controlling narratives 118–122in GM debate 94–95spatial 115–116

France 1, 55freedom of high seas 53–54, 57, 67, 68,

70

Galapagos Islands 58Gene Technology Advisory Board

(Sweden) 99Germany 61, 96GHG (greenhouse gas) emissions 73, 75,

78Gieryn, T. F. 128, 129–130global deliberative politics 5globalization 4–5, 27

and state power 6–7, 19global warming see climate changeGM (genetically modified) crops 2, 4, 11,

16, 21, 29, 89, 91–109, 115, 125coexistence with non-GM crops see

coexistenceand consumer rights/choice 91, 93economic/environmental issues with

91–92framing 92, 94–95, 117labelling 93, 96, 105, 106, 107, 108monitoring 99, 106public concerns with 91, 92–93, 107and risk 94–95


and uncertainty 100, 129governance 4, 114

biotechnology 91, 107EU White Paper on (2001) 10multilevel 20self- 32, 48, 118, 120transboundary risk 13, 22

government agencies 3governments see nation stateGranlund-Lind, R. 45, 46Great Barrier Reef (Australia) 56greenhouse gas emissions see GHGGreenpeace

in Baltic Sea PSSA process 59, 63, 64, 65–66, 67, 121–122

on GM crops 95, 100, 130and Swedish Maritime Administration

65–66, 67Gudrun, hurricane (2005) 83, 86, 119guidelines 19, 33

Haas, P. M. 8Hedberg, B. 46HELCOM (Helsinki Commission) 56,

59, 60, 62, 69herbicide-resistant crops 2, 93, 94, 98–99herbicides 43high seas, freedom of 53–54, 57, 67, 68, 70Housing, Building and Planning Board

(Sweden) 82, 88human rights 6

ICNIRP (International Commission on Non-Ionizing Radiation Protection) 33, 47, 116

guidelines 35–37, 44, 123members 35scientific basis of 36, 48, 126

identity 4, 6, 26–27, 29, 30, 48, 118, 120IEGMP (Independent Expert Group on

Mobile Phones) see Stewart ReportIMO (International Maritime

Organization) 13, 15, 54–55, 67, 116

and PSSA process 56, 57–58, 60, 62–63, 65, 66, 68, 70, 124–125

industry 8, 11as non-governmental observers 56, 58,

61information 10, 19, 28

biotechnology 99campaigns 42–47

INIRC (International Non-Ionizing Radiation Committee) 33

institutional cultures, closed/open 33, 36international agreements 7, 13, 19,

122–123maritime 53, 54–55, 66, 67and regional agreements 66

internet 82, 86IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on

Climate Change) 73, 74, 78–79, 84, 89, 117, 126–127

IRPA (International Radiation Protection Association) 33, 35

Irwin, A. 9, 10

Jacobsson, B. 27Jasanoff, S. 23, 26Joerges, B. 27judicial knowledge/power 25, 26, 41, 121

Karlsson, R. 63Klintman, M. 123knowledge see expert knowledge/expertiseknowledge-based economy 91knowledge claims 13, 17–18, 92

and harmonized standards 38knowledge gaps 36, 37, 129, 131–132knowledge production 9, 33, 47–48knowledge, relativizing 127, 129–130knowledge society 12–13Kyoto Protocol 75, 79

Latour, B. 8Latvia 61Law of the Sea 53–54, 67, 68Least Developed Countries Fund 79–80,

87–88Liberia 58, 61Lind, J. 45, 46Lithuania 61

INDEX 151

local authorities 39–42, 86–87and national authorities 85, 87

localization 27, 32, 38, 115Luxembourg 97, 98

maize crops 93, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102–103, 104

marine pollution 53, 54see also oil pollution

market instruments 19MARPOL (International Convention for

the Prevention of Pollution from Ships) 54–55, 58, 66

mediaand mobile phone debate 31, 38–39,

42and oil transport 55, 63, 68

MEPC (Marine Environmental Protection Committee) 58

Messing, U. 64mobile phone industry 43, 46mobile phones and radiation protection

2, 3, 11, 15, 29, 31–50, 115, 125base station risks 34, 38and electrosensitivity see

electrosensitivityframing of 31, 32, 43, 115–116,

119–120, 121, 122hands-free recommendation 37, 38, 49and international community 13, 32,

33, 35–37, 48and knowledge gaps 36, 37, 129local initiatives in 32, 38, 39–47, 48,

125low-radiation zones 39–40, 41, 48, 50,

125in news media 31, 38–39Nordic approach to 37–38open debate on 33, 36, 121, 127policy levels issue 35precautionary principle and 32, 39–47,

48, 49privileging of knowledge and 34,

45–47, 49, 50, 121, 128and public opinion 33, 35, 36, 38, 39,

41, 48, 109

pulsed/continuous radiation 34Russian guidelines for 38, 44science and 32, 33–35spatial aspect of 50stakeholder groups in 42–47technology analogies and 43, 46, 48thermal/non-thermal controversy in

15, 32, 34–35, 38, 43, 48Mobile Telephony and Health 37Modell, S. 123modernity 118, 121, 126monitoring 99, 106moral values 19multilevel governance 4, 7municipalities see local authorities

nanotechnology 21NAPA (National Adaptation Programme

of Action) guidelines 77narratives 27–28, 46, 118–122

and symbolism 120national identity 26, 27nation state 3–7, 113, 122–123

and citizenry 6defined 4and industry/academia 11and international agreements 19, 122and multilevel governance 20and non-government actors 5, 13, 19partnerships of 7rule-making powers of 5, 6–7, 13, 17, 18and science 8transboundary challenges to 4–6, 7see also CAC model

Netherlands 98networks of states 7NGOs (non-governmental organizations)

3, 10, 11, 115and GM food 93, 94, 97, 119, 123

NMT 450 (Nordic Mobile Telephone) system 37

non-ionizing radiation 2, 15, 31international bodies for 33see also mobile phones

non-state actors 2–3, 4, 11, 12, 15, 17and enforced self-regulation 20


and identity see identityand soft laws 19, 20

Norway 74Nowotny, H. 9nuclear technology 21, 33

oil disasters 1, 3, 55–56, 59, 62, 68oil pollution 53, 56, 113, 118–119

liability for 59, 64, 121–122oil transport, marine 11, 13, 14, 15, 29,

53–70, 125‘driver’s licence’ for 59, 64, 65, 66framing 109, 116, 118–119, 121–122and freedom of high seas 53–54, 57impact of disasters on 55–56, 62narrative of 28operational discharges 56, 60, 62, 119PSSA concept see PSSAregional agreements on 56, 62, 66single-hulled tankers 1, 54, 55, 57, 58,

62, 66, 69spatial aspect of 50, 109stakeholders in 58transboundary aspects of 50, 54, 62,

114–115OPEC countries 75organic crops 13, 16, 91, 93, 96, 97, 117

Panama 58, 61partnership 4, 7, 20path dependency 123Poland 61, 98politics 17

as discursive struggle 7–8role of science in 8, 9, 23–24, 126–127stabilizing/destabilizing forces 4–8, 113

Port State Control 55Portugal 1, 96, 98post-national international policy 5potatoes 98–99, 100, 102, 107Power, Michael 20, 22precautionary principle 32, 39–47, 49,

129–130science and 44–45, 48, 129

Prestige disaster (2002) 1, 28, 55, 60, 61, 62, 68, 118–119

private–public adaptation 79privatization 19privileging of knowledge see under expert

knowledgeproactive-reactive adaptation 79PSSA (Particularly Sensitive Sea Area) 13,

15, 50, 53–55, 56–70and APMs 57, 61, 64–65, 67as boundary object 67, 68criteria for 56–57, 58, 68–69and environmental vulnerability

61–62, 67–68, 69as judicial designation 53, 68opposition to 58, 60, 61Western European waters as 54,

57–58, 61, 68, 69public opinion

and risk 22and science 9–11, 12–13see also under mobile phones

public participation 10public–private partnerships 12, 13, 20

R&D (research and development) 8–9, 91, 107

radiation protection see mobile phonesRALF (Swedish Council for Work Life)

Report 45–46, 50, 128rape crops 99, 100Ravetz, J. R. 9RCEP (Royal Commission on

Environmental Pollution, 1998) 10recommendations 7regional agreements 115

on climate change adaptation 88on oil transport 56, 62, 66, 69

regulations/rule-making 1–4, 113–114and agency 15, 18, 122–125by non-state actors see non-state actorscase studies see climate change; GM;

mobile phones; oil transportcase studies, data collection/analysis

for 14case studies, selection of 13–14as discourse/narrative 27–28and framing process see framing

INDEX 153

increacing frequency of 17, 19as innovative process 113public involvement in 22and risk 17, 19–22and science/expert knowledge 11, 15,

23soft laws 7, 19, 20and transboundary issues 13

regulatory objects 18, 20–22, 28–29, 50relativizing knowledge 127, 129–130reregulation 12, 20research and development 8–9, 91, 107RF (radiofrequency) fields see mobile

phonesrisk assessment 91–92, 102, 107risk aversion 92risk governance 22, 125risk management 19–22, 87–88, 123

implementation 88and science 9, 113

Rose, Nicolas 101Rossby Centre 84, 85, 89Royal Commission on Environmental

Pollution (RCEP, 1998) 10Russia 38, 44, 53, 58, 60

and Baltic PSSA process 53, 58, 60–61, 69

SAR (specific absorption rate) 34–35, 36–37

SBSTA (Subsidiary Body for Scientific and Technological Advice) programme 77

Schneider, S. 74science 3, 8–11, 17, 113, 125

authority of 25, 130–131consensus in 8and contested knowledge claims 8–9,

24–26and co-production 26and EMF 32, 33–35and exclusion of knowledge 25political role of 8, 9, 23–24, 126–127and precautionary principle 44–45public engagement in 9–11, 12–13, 44see also expert knowledge

Sea, Law of 53–54, 67, 68

self-governance 32, 48, 118, 120separation distances 93, 96, 97–98, 100,

101, 102–104responsibility issues 104, 108risk/uncertainty in 103–104

Seveso II Directive (EC, 1997) 10SGI (Swedish Geotechnical Institute) 82,

84, 88shipping, flags of convenience 5shipping routes 57, 61, 64single-hulled oil tankers 1, 54, 55, 57, 58,

62, 66, 69Slovenia 96SMHI (Swedish Meteorological and

Hydrological Institute) 81, 82, 84, 85–86, 88, 127

social norms 12, 19, 26and organizational reputation 20

Södertälje (Sweden) 39–42, 48soft laws 7, 19, 20SOLAS (International Convention for the

Safety of Life) 54–55, 57Sommestad, L. 64sovereignty 4, 15, 53, 54, 67, 68

threats to 5Spain 1, 55, 62, 93, 98spatial identity 50, 109, 115–116,

124–125Special Climate Change Fund 80special interest groups 8–9specific absorption rate see SARSSI (Swedish Radiation Protection

Authority) 32, 39, 42, 43–44, 49, 127

standards 7, 19and credibility 38

Stewart Report (2000) 37Stilgoe, Jack 34, 38Stockholm 12sugar beet 99, 100Sundström, G. 27sustainability 73, 86Sweden 11–14

biotechnology in 91, 98, 99, 107climate adaptation in, actors/issues/

responsibilities for 83, 84–85, 88


climate adaptation informal network in 81–82, 88

climate adaptation policy in 74, 79–89climate change/variability distinction in

85–86, 88–89climate mitigation policy in 80Climate and Vulnerability Commission

80, 81, 82–84, 85, 86, 88Environmental Code in 40–41environmental courts in 40, 41environmental policy norms/goals in 12and EU 13GM coexistence in 91, 98–109, 117local initiatives in 39–42, 82, 85,

86–87, 89marine protection debate in 53, 55, 56,

59–60, 61–70mobile phone networks in 32, 38mobile phones and health in 38–50national interests of 14precautionary principle in 39–47, 49public concerns/protests in 38, 39, 41,

42–47, 109public regulation in 12, 123–124stakeholder groups in 42–47state role/powers in 13Sustainable Development Ministry

82–83, 85and UNFCCC 79–80

Swedish Association for the ElectroSensitive 42–43, 46, 47

Swedish Board of Agriculture 99–104, 105, 106, 107–108

Swedish Coast Guard 64Swedish Environmental Code 40Swedish EPA (Environmental Protection

Agency) 64, 65, 81–82, 88, 99Swedish Maritime Administration 60, 61,

63, 64, 124, 126and Greenpeace 65–66, 67

Swedish Rescue Services Agency 82, 88Swedish Society for Nature Conservation

59

technology and framing 31, 43, 44, 48, 1153G mobile networks 32, 38, 41–42, 49

Torres Strait 58Torrey Canyon disaster (1967) 55transboundary environmental problems

4–5, 8, 13, 22, 29, 114–115transboundary risk governance 13, 22,

29, 30transnational companies 3, 5, 121

accountability of 6transparency 9, 10, 42, 101, 102Transparency Forum for Mobile Phone

Communication 42–47

UMTS (universal mobile telecommunications system) 32

uncertainty 24, 25, 33, 36, 113, 128–129, 131–132

and delegation 129and GM crops 100and precautionary principle 49, 130and privileging of knowledge 128

UNCLOS (UN Convention on the Law of the Sea) 54

unemployment 27UNFCCC (UN Framework Convention

on Climate Change) 73, 74, 75–77, 87–88, 117

competing interests in 75compromises in 75–76COP 75, 76, 77, 87, 89Flow Committee (1990) 80natural climate variability in 76–77, 89Sweden and 79–80vagueness in 76

United Nations (UN) 12see also UNCLOS

United States (US) 33, 62universal mobile telecommunications

system (UMTS) 32

Vågbrytaren see Wave BreakerVerheyen, R. 75, 76Vienna conference on coexistence (2006)

97vulnerability 61–62, 67–68, 69, 80, 81

Wave Breaker (Vågbrytaren) 42–47

INDEX 155

weather, extreme 2, 83, 84, 86–87, 117, 119

welfare state 19Western European waters 54, 57–58, 61, 69WHO (World Health Organization) 32,

35, 36, 37, 44

and science 46, 48Wildavsky, A. 12World Trade Organization 27WWF (World Wide Fund for Nature) 1,

59, 64, 65Wynne, Brian 33, 106, 125

Documents

Transboundary Risk Governance (The Earthscan Risk in Society Series)