We know when our culture – our science and politics – started becoming divided over issues of culture and ethics. But the better question might be, how did it all start?

Like almost everything in our society, our cultural views have been shaped – and divided – by story.

As Angela Waldie explains, “if we look historically at how our cultural perceptions are portrayed, they do come through in the dominant stories of any one period. And then, interestingly enough, they can carry forward for centuries – even millennia.”

Angela is a poet and literary professor at Calgary’s Mount Royal University. And Angela says from Bambi to The Lion King – Little Red Riding Hood to The Edge and The Reverent – we’ve long told stories that have helped shape our view of nature, for the better or the worse.

“Going back to the beginning of fairy tales, nature at the time was seen as a very dangerous force in many ways. And that came through in a lot of the early fairy tales, where there was this strong divide between humans and animals. And animals are, to a large extent, dangerous and to be stayed away from, in the case of the Big Bad Wolf.”

In fact, the Big Bad Wolf – Little Red Riding Hood – is a perfect example of how stories have often been written and rewritten to advance societal narratives, innovation art designer Jerry McGrath tells us.

“We all know the story of Little Red Riding Hood. When it was first written, it had a very different ending.

“Little Red Riding Hood was sent to her grandmother’s house. On the way, she met a wolf. The wolf ate her. She died. The end. And the lesson at the time was very clear: The natural world is a scary place, so you should be careful.”

Jerry continues, “years pass, industries start moving into the countryside, nature is less scary, but there’s something scarier: There’s men – they are coming from the city, have no connections to the communities they are working in. And, so, the story changes and the wolf is no longer an animal but is more like a man. And he does harm to Little Red Riding Hood in different ways. And again, she dies, but the lesson is not that the natural world is scary but that the natural world is a place where bad people hide.

“And in the 1950’s, they added the woodsman”, Jerry adds. “And the story again. Yes, nature is scary and men are scary but there are men that will save you. And Little Red Riding Hood should not be looking out for herself because someone else will take care of her. Again, a very, very different story about the natural environment. Men with axes are there to help restrain nature and to protect the woman.”

Jerry moves the story ahead another few decades and says now, “Little Red Riding Hood’s in the woods; she’s unafraid; she saves herself. This is great! Wonderful story. Except, in this version, nature is powerless.”

And this is the power of art and story.

As Jerry explains, “art – and, in this case, storytelling – does a really powerful job of shaping how people are able to experience nature. So, art can also change how people understand and experience nature.”

And according to up-and-coming biologist Story Warren, that’s particularly true when it comes to children.

“Everyone is raised with the Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf and the Three Little Pigs. And most people think wolves equal bad when they are young. That’s all they are taught, and why would you question that? Because it’s in all the fairy tales.”

Do those childhood perceptions influence adult thinking and decision-making? We asked mathematical ecologist Andria Dawson.

“I would say definitely.”

Andria has studied how societal trends and biases have influenced science.

“Most of science is funded through government grants, and the research that they want to support is determined by societal wants and needs. That’s certainly shaped by historical literature and media more generally. So, I think that it does have a huge impact.”

And that’s problematic when societal views on wolves, say, are based on a fairy tale, argues Story Warren.

“People live their whole lives not questioning that wolves are bad.”

But just as stories can shape negative impressions, they can also shape positive impressions. And that’s not always great either, explains scientist Dr. Victoria Lukasik.

“That’s kind of unfair to them, I guess you could say. On one hand, they are sort of the devil and vicious creatures that are just killing for pleasure. And on the other side of the spectrum, they’re raised up to this deity or untouchable, perfect creature. And they are neither. They are just another animal trying to survive in the world.”

And survival, of course, isn’t always pretty. As Victoria reminds us, “carnivores kill things.”

That creates real fear – and when we tell stories that gloss over hard truths, people feel as if their fears aren’t being taken seriously, argues Story Warren.

“These communities, they have real fears about wolves. They have fears that wolves will attack their cattle, attack their dogs. A lot of them believe that their children are in danger because of wolves, and that’s not a small thing. So, it’s important to try to ease their fears, to try to give them ways to deal with these fears. And, in that way, we help both people and wolves – both in places that wolves have been for generations and in places where wolves are coming in, and it’s a brand-new thing for people to deal with.”

To accomplish that goal – to ensure their message is being heard by those who come equipped with preconceived notions about nature or predators – many scientists refuse to give names – only numbers – to the wild animal subjects they study.

And scientists like Holly Dunsworth from the University of Rhode Island strongly disagree with storytelling that suggests animals share human motivations or emotions.

Holly told Metro.co.uk that “one of the worst effects of anthropomorphism is explaining animal behavior on human terms because this inhibits our true understanding of the fascinating world around us. And, what’s worse, this bias we inject across the natural world makes it even harder to understand ourselves.”

Mark Miller is both a science reporter and a TV producer and when asked if he feels celebrating individual animals – giving them names, highlighting human characteristics – is a scientific sin, he told us:

“It’s a great sin according to whom? I disagree. I mean, you look at one of the most successful nature television shows, Blue Planet, they do it through the whole thing. And they made it accessible.”

Mark Miller understands storytelling better than almost anyone – he created the famed TV show Highway Through Hell and believes in championing the stories of everyday people.

“We pick these blue-collar worlds, where you sort of see very unexpected heroes. You never would think that a tow truck driver is going to be the guy that saves your life. Before we started the show, I think many of us viewed tow truck drivers as kind of rough around the edges and maybe not to be trusted. It turns out they’re really, truly the unsung heroes of the highway.”

And Mark believes for nature to matter to more people, we need to do the same thing – we need to celebrate the individual animal and their stories.

“When we break nature down into the little detail events, it gets really interesting because you go: ‘Wow, how did that happen?’”

And that’s why Mark disagrees with the scientific worldview that says individuals don’t matter; that we shouldn’t attribute human emotions and names to animals.

“Relating humans to the wild world – and to nature – is what we’re trying to do. We’re trying to make connections. I still don’t understand that argument. I think it’s a silly argument. I think those are purists who aren’t necessarily thinking of the greater good that can be done by connecting people.”

Judy Lehmberg was the first female biology teacher at one of America’s most prominent post-secondary institutions. She realized that if she really wanted to teach, storytelling was the best platform to do so.

“No matter what you do, you have to make whatever your message is relatable to the average person. If you can’t explain what you’re doing to a student, you’re doing it wrong. You have to be able to communicate simply to have success in any area, especially science. No one will care about a bear if they can’t learn the story of that bear.”

It’s why Judy thinks science needs to get over itself and see the bigger picture.

“I think the word anthropomorphic needs to be thrown out the window. If you look at evolution, we evolved from animals – we’re still animals. To say we can’t put our emotions on animals and nature is to suggest we’re not animals and not part of nature. Which just isn’t true.”

Judy adds: “When we can relate to an animal, we can understand their plight, and we can understand why caring for that animal matters. We scientists just need to get over the fear of anthropomorphizing animals – it’s a ridiculous concern, and by humanizing animals we’re communicating science and, again, that’s not something we do well enough anyway.”

But biologist and community builder Story Warren believes it’s Judy and Mark that are missing the bigger picture: When we humanize animals, we just deepen the divides that ultimately just hurt wildlife.

Story tells us that “even if you love wolves – like I love wolves – they are still an animal like any other animal. They are not some magical thing. They are really cool, but they just deserve to be understood as they are without a whole lot of emotion either way. I think that will help bring other people closer to understanding and respecting predators.”

Story believes real conservation begins by working with those who live in nature, often alongside predators.

“To help the wolves themselves, I feel it is important to reach out to communities that actually live with wolves because if they have a little bit more tolerance for wolves, that helps the wolves directly. You know, the people that ‘hate’ predators are some of the people that are most in tune with nature, and they care the most about conservation. So, it’s kind of a disconnect [that needs to be addressed].”

The disconnect, Guide Outfitter Dominic Dugré says, is with those who live in urban centres and have become separated from nature. Dominic believes those in rural areas – those who live amongst wild animals and deal with the consequence of doing so – know the truth: “We are part of nature, not outside or above it.”

Chloe Dragon-Smith agrees.

“The importance of connecting with the land, it’s an identity thing. We’re part of the natural world, and so connecting with the land helps us to understand, first and foremost, ourselves. Also, [it helps us understand] the land and what it needs to be healthy.”

Chloe is an advocate for Indigenous decision-making. She tells us Indigenous cultures have never lost that connection to – their place in – nature.

“I’m part of the land, especially the land in the north. My ancestors have been on the land for thousands and thousands of years – since time immemorial, and that is not a broken connection.”

Chloe adds Indigenous peoples have “a deep, ingrained and genetic connection [to the land], but I think that all humans are inescapably part of the earth. We all have this long-standing affinity to the land and to nature, wherever we are.”

Chloe explains that when we have a love for nature – when we realize we’re part of nature – we understand that humans have always been a natural predator of wildlife. And like Dominic, Chloe says that hunting is one of the best ways to connect to and understand nature and what wildlife populations need.

“I think that tangible experiences [help us connect with nature]. I’m up here in the Northwest Territories and I’m working with young people. We try to bring in food that’s harvested on the land. For instance, a duck that’s fully intact and then spend time talking about ducks – how important they are to us as people, how this is where our food comes from. And we clean it and, at the end of the day, eat it.”

Though many believe they know what nature requires to be healthy and want to have a say in balancing people and nature on the land…Chloe believes we need to leave the decisions of how to protect nature and manage a population – the welfare of individual animals – to those who have always stewarded wildlife.

When we do, Chloe says, “that often looks very, very different than the conventional conservation that we think about when we think about parks and protected areas. It often means people being much more engaged in lands – definitely harvesting, hunting.”

That model looks a lot less like our existing national parks and a lot more like the sanctuaries that Guide Outfitters’ Dominic Dugré advocates for.

Dominic tells us that “the hunting community supports sanctuaries…[that] use hunting as a tool to manage wildlife populations…There needs to be a way for National Parks to handle their wildlife.”

Though the issue of rights, decision-making power and even scientific methods used to determine what populations can be hunted would undoubtedly be very different between Dominic’s vision and Chloe’s efforts.

And that begs the question, is there room for disagreement between cultures?

Chloe says, “there will always be disagreements. Relationships come with conflict, and it’s part of the beauty of them, as well.”

And that’s true. But when it comes time to make a decision – for people or nature – is it okay to stand against an Indigenous decision to allow a predator population to be hunted in a protected area?

“Your example of a student thinking about not wanting a population hunted, and the community wanting to hunt something, I think at that stage, you would really have to consider taping into your humbleness and recognizing that probably the people who live on the land – and who have collective oral knowledge for a very long time can understand what that population needs.”

In other words, in Chloe’s opinion, there are limits on how we should act on disagreements. And that shouldn’t be a surprise, given the complexity of the issues and the divides we see across all cultures on the question of ethics and wildlife management – the divides we see within Indigenous nations on the issue of wildlife management.

In northern BC, one nation is calling for the ban on grizzly bear trophy hunting to be lifted, citing a growing population and its impact on ungulate populations humans desire – First Nations included.

Despite sounding the alarm about climate change and its potential impact on the polar bears’ future, Canada is the only country, according to the Nunavut government, that still allows for the trophy hunting and trading of polar bear parts. Why? It’s culturally and economically important to the Inuit – and their decision-making process has agreed that polar bear hunting is also good conservation, echoing the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation.

Indeed, as BC Wildlife Federation’s Neil Fletcher argued earlier, when hunting is banned, it separates people from nature and removes a predator – humans – from the landscape.

“When you take people’s ability to go hunt on the landscape out of the picture, it actually removes them from the landscape – from caring about the landscape – and takes away a connection that they have to the landscape.”

It’s this very same argument that’s been used to champion an Indigenous-led hunt of the currently protected, still-recovering population of sea otters off the coast of Vancouver Island. The ban on otter hunting, according to a report from the BBC, is viewed as colonialism at its very worst.

And yet, according to Coastal First Nations, the trophy hunting of grizzly bears on their territories on Canada’s west coast was also an act of colonialism. Coastal First Nations banned trophy hunting long before the BC government did and fought the BC government over who could make wildlife management decisions on unceded territory.

Indigenous advocate, educator and leader Dr. Leroy Little Bear is clear on where he stands.

“We need to rethink our approach to things like conservation and wildlife management.”

For Leroy, it’s not hunting he has an issue with, but who we prioritize when we make decisions about wildlife populations.

“When you really dig into things like wildlife management, we try to cover it with notions of a scientific approach to wildlife management. But, in reality, the approaches we’ve been taking on wildlife management have been more about people and especially hunters.”

It’s why Leroy believes the bridge across this divisive debate begins by blending western science and Indigenous traditional knowledge, recognizing the value of both individual animals and wildlife populations.

“I think the measurement approach to science – and upon which wildlife management is based – has served a very good purpose. But I think we need to compliment that with a notion of a relationship – a relational approach to [wildlife management] – to make it much more of a complete science.”

For Leroy, that matters. After all, he says, “we can have all the rights we want, let’s say about hunting, but if there’s no animals to hunt, then what good is it?”

Larry Casper, a leader and land-use planner with the St’át’imc Nation, agrees.

Larry tells us that he has “much love and respect for wildlife species and does not agree with the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation that allows trophy hunting as a management activity.”

Larry points to the Navaho Wildlife Department, in the southwestern US, as an example of where Indigenous leadership and the local government allow for hunting but ensure that hunting exists within natural wildlife cycles without humans artificially adjusting animal populations to meet hunter demands.

Whether this is the right model or not, to have this debate – to be a constructive solution-maker – Libby Garg of the Okanagan Nation tells us that the most critical point to remember is that everyone is different, including Indigenous nations.

“There is no such thing in Canada as an Indigenous people.”

Say what?

Libby explains that “talking about Indigenous people in a pan-Indigenous setting is convenient. It’s a very easy way to talk about it, so I understand why the conversation ends up going there. But Indigenous communities themselves are very unique, and they come with their own unique history.”

Libby says differences will lead to disagreements between nations – between Indigenous nations, and between Indigenous governments and non-Indigenous governments – and that’s fine. We all have a voice and an opinion, and we each have a right to have our voice and opinion heard.

So, how to navigate this issue and the different perspectives? Educator Paula Huddy says we need to listen and learn before we speak.

“It’s all about hearing other people’s perspectives. If you look at the whaling industry, people would say no to whaling. But if you looked at Indigenous peoples who use whaling to survive, you need to hear multiple perspectives. Because there are perspectives to every side of every story.”

True! And cultural anthropologist Sierra Dakin Kuiper adds maybe that should also include perspectives we often overlook.

“There’s a whole field called ‘multi-species ethnography’ where anthropologists [even though anthropology is very much the study of humans, past and present] are really considering our relationship with animals. They’re trying to approach what our world is from the perspective of other species.”

But here’s the problem: In gathering multiple perspectives and reaching our own conclusion, how do we advance our ideals – for hunting or for animal welfare – if they differ from those who have, for so long, been denied the right to self-determination?

And if national or international decisions are increasingly being made at the local or Indigenous territorial level – and only at that level – how can the broader population have a say? After all, dissent can just be ignored if there is no mechanism for political disagreements, like an election.

It’s an indelicate question, but one that needs to be asked. Just like this one: Is it actually possible to disagree on a policy that will impact a global resource – a species – without critiquing the people behind it?

Because two truths – two ideals – can clash.

Think about this:

As western society has slowly eroded our global natural inheritance, the last hope of protecting true wilderness – along with its carbon sinks and intricate, fragile life cycles that sustain us all – is now increasingly falling on the shoulders of Indigenous communities.

Their isolated traditional territories, in some extreme cases, must be protected in full to conserve the gene pools of species that are being lost elsewhere. Yet these same territories, if developed, offer the potential to create countless jobs and economic stability for communities long denied their share of the prosperity pie.

How can this land not be protected for the sake of saving humanity as a whole? How can society, having denied sharing the spoils of resource development with Indigenous communities for so long, now ask Indigenous communities to forgo their chance at economic success just because the rest of society failed to do its part?

The very question flies in the face of reconciliation.

Indeed, against this reality, is it actually possible to achieve the big, audacious, scientifically-rigorous goals we need to accomplish for biodiversity and meaningfully advance truth and reconciliation and grow our economy for all? Is it actually possible to have our cake and eat it too – to have social justice and economic growth and environmental sustainability? Is it actually possible to accomplish these goals and heal the urban-rural divide that threatens our very democracy?

The knee-jerk reaction is: Of course. But that’s only if we generalize – only if we refuse to be honest that the sum of the parts is different than the parts that make the whole.

A solution should be mostly possible. But will it always be possible? And what happens if it’s not possible? Or not possible in every region? What culture can we overlook? What community is it appropriate to sacrifice? What animal or ecosystem can we afford to lose?

Ethicist Dr. Kerry Bowman says, “It’s very tough. It’s very tough indeed.

“And one of the things I’ve seen in Africa,” Kerry continues, “is people have said: ‘You cut down all your forest to make progress. Look at Europe; look at Britain. Britain used to be forested! Scotland was forested! Now you have nothing. And you’re telling us we can’t do this? That we’re not allowed? That this is wrong for us to [develop our natural resources]? You did it so that you can move forward. So, how can you say we can’t do it? Why can you do that [develop resources and have economic progress], and why should we do this [protect our landscape] when I’m living in a state of poverty?’ And I don’t have a good answer for that. I don’t. I’m struggling with these things.”

If we’re not prepared for these questions – this possible collision – we won’t know what to do when it happens.

And then everyone loses.

This is why we need to know what we don’t know and what we don’t want to know. This is why we must ask better questions, always and relentlessly.

Look, no matter where you stand on this issue – no matter how you feel about the opinions of those voiced in this story – we must remember that everyone is entitled to their perspective, their grievances and their fears. Minority views need to be heard. Majority views are not irrelevant. Rural views matter, just as urban views do too. We don’t have to agree with those we disagree with, but we must learn to live with those who have differing opinions from our own.

And though it’s tempting to go with the solution that solves the most problems at once, former Alberta cabinet minister Donna Kennedy-Glans reminds us: “If you’re going to come up with solutions about how to make your parks better, it means you have to really understand the detail and the complexity and the options. If you take one option off the table, what does that mean for something else?”

As an example, ethicist Kerry Bowman says, “the risk with community involvement is that the voices of non-human life are not there either. So, we always have to be very careful because communities could say, well, do this or do that. You’re still not factoring in this multitude of species and biodiversity and the whole web of life.”

Also, understand this, says Northern Development’s CEO Joel McKay: “The policy, frameworks and structures we use to order our country are not conducive to rural [communities]. In order to bridge that challenge, we must have a hard look at how we structure everything.”

And then there’s this, says journalist Salimah Ebrahim: “Our political leadership, First Nations political leadership? It is very complicated, and they sometimes represent us, and they sometimes don’t represent us.”

Donna Kennedy-Glans tells us it’s for this reason, she believes, “the issue of whose decision is this to make, I think, is one of the most profound conversations we still need to have.”

You see, sometimes, when we wish and hope for something to be true, we gloss over hard truths. And when we do that? Win-wins suddenly become lose-lose scenarios. Sometimes people don’t get heard. Sometimes resentment builds, or species disappear and then?

“Every action has a reaction,” pollster Shachi Kurl concludes.

So, yes, sometimes we need to have the brutal conversation out loud – even if unpleasant, even if it’s messy. Only when we truly understand how everyone feels – what everyone thinks – will we find the better answers we’ve all overlooked.