Protection for the spotted owl forced the agency to reevaluate old-growth forest management. Photo courtesy John and Karen Hollingsworth, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Services
Two days from retirement, the last piece of paper on my desk is a questionnaire concerning morale in the U.S. Forest Service.
Personally, my morale has always been rather good, but over the years I’ve seen a lot of frustration among my coworkers. I think that one of the factors that leads to low morale in today’s Forest Service is that there is little sense of mission—at least, a mission that people believe in. The size of the agency certainly plays into this, but in addition to becoming larger in recent decades, we’ve become more polarized as well. The preÐWorld War II Forest Service was small and had a clear sense of mission, which involved protection of the national forests, from both fire and from abusive management. By today’s standards, some pretty objectionable things still went on—especially in the grazing arena—but by the measures of the time, the Forest Service was a voice for conservation. The post-ÐWorld War II Forest Service saw a change in mission to one of wood production, which was fueled by the expanding housing market and pushed along by the can-do attitude of the “greatest generation.” In the 1970s, an expansion of the concepts of natural resource science, as well as a grassroots influx of environmental awareness, forced a shift away from the pure commodity production paradigm that had driven the agency for thirty years. Today, the agency has mushroomed in size, but has yet to resolve the mission dichotomy that has plagued it in recent decades. I think this is the root of much of the morale problem in today’s Forest Service.
To a certain extent this has been evolutionary. A popular explanation is to say that the changes in the Forest Service’s mission have only reflected the desires of the general population and the workings of the political system. This is no doubt true. But this is more of an excuse than an explanation. The real question that faces the Forest Service is: Can a successful long-term strategy for natural resource management be entrusted to shifting public desire and political philosophy? I think the answer is no.
With the last few elections we’ve gone from one end of the political spectrum to the other, and the polarization in today’s society does not appear to be lessening. If the national forests are subjected to those kinds of management shifts for any length of time people in the future will look back and wonder where it all went—much like they do in parts of the Third World today.
In this respect the Forest Service needs to be more like the military. Not in the rigid, discipline-driven, take-the-high-ground approach to daily operations, but in the development of a sense of mission that serves the people of the United States in the long run, and that transcends radical swings in politics. Gifford Pinchot had it right; we just haven’t lived up to his legacy very well. If you want an agency with high morale and esprit de corps, it has to believe that what it does has a higher purpose. Otherwise you’ve got nothing more than a bureaucracy.
In recent decades the Forest Service has resisted the shift away from commodity production that has grown out of the environmental awareness and better science of the 1960s and 70s. We fought the Wilderness Act until the last possible minute. Our foot-dragging on implementing the National Forest Management Act helped force the old-growth issue into the courts and ultimately made the solution more difficult on timber-dependent communities.
Today we’re whining about analysis gridlock, yet we’re using the fuel buildup issue as an excuse to continue to harvest timber in areas where the need for treatment is minimal at best—and often at the expense of the urban interface. And even more egregiously, this administration is taking a back-door approach to rewriting the regulations that govern our operations. Both externally and internally, people have trouble squaring this with the “greatest good for the greatest number in the long run.” And justifiably so. If we want morale to be high, we need to walk the walk when we talk the talk.
The Organic Act instructed us to “maintain favorable conditions of water flow” and produce a “continuous supply of timber.” Taken together, those requirements speak to sustainability for somewhat different resources. In the twentieth century, as that somewhat broad mandate became more defined, environmental laws have continually become more restrictive, and our decision space has shrunk accordingly. Adverse court decisions only compound that. The overall message has been to focus less on commodity production, and to make sure other resources are maintained. Yet, even before the Bush administration, the Forest Service approach to laws and court decisions had been to find loopholes so we could meet the letter of the law, but continue with business as usual. This is readily apparent not only to employees, but to the public at large, and as a result, we continue to lose both internal and external credibility. Somewhere we’re not seeing the forest for the trees, so to speak.
The Forest Service likes to say, “We’re only doing what Congress tells us.” I’ve often called it the Nuremberg Defense: We were only following orders. But that’s rather disingenuous. After all, we tell Congress what our capability is through the Resource Planning Act, so they’re only following our lead.
I don’t think the Forest Service as an agency has ever developed a real working relationship with non-commodity groups, at least in a political sense. This has been done effectively at the district ranger level in many instances, but the fruits of those relationships are often canceled out by decisions and constraints made at higher levels. If we’re going to gain back credibility with those who criticize us most, it is incumbent on us to build real relationships with them throughout all levels of the agency, as well as with the public. Ironically, these relationships would actually help us in the event we ever have to deal with a hostile administration that wants to dismantle the agency. Hypothetically speaking, of course.
Ron Prichard was supervisor on the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest in the 1980s and 90s, but I had previously worked with him on the Idaho Panhandle. For a specialist, working on the Panhandle in the 70s was something like working at the Alamo. The internal battles over timber harvest levels were rancorous and bitter. One day Ron said to me, “You know what these rangers are doing? They’re driving along in the car, and the warning light comes on. They pull over to the side of the road, get out of the car, open the trunk and get the tire iron. Then they smash the hell out of the warning light and continue to drive.” I’ve always thought that was not only accurate, but prophetic. These few lines encapsulate a lot of what’s wrong with the Forest Service.
All of this, of course, comes down to leadership. I can honestly say that during my career, the only time I thought the Forest Service was on the right track was under Jack Ward Thomas and Mike Dombeck. Thomas will never get enough credit for being an agent of change, and Dombeck’s concept of watershed management and restoration is exactly where the Forest Service needs to go. Maintaining those philosophies under the Bush administration was a faint hope at best. Having Mark Rey run the Forest Service is like having Heidi Fleiss run a convent. But if we’re going to survive and live up to Giff’s motto, the land management philosophies of Thomas and Dombeck must carry us into the future. The appointment of President Bush in 2000 has perhaps affected the Forest Service more negatively than other agencies. Thomas and Dombeck had gone through the difficult first steps of changing the agency’s orientation. All we needed was another administration to keep us pointed in the same direction. Instead, we got Bushed.
In the long run, the value of national forests for watershed protection and recreation far outweighs any of the commodity values that the Forest Service has artificially tried to make dominant. We’ve tried paying lip service to Dombeck’s principles while continuing to focus on commodities, and all we’ve done is alienate more people and lose more credibility. For those who really care about the future of public land—and I think that’s a majority of Forest Service employees—none of this helps morale.
The irony is that although the Forest Service has been its own worst enemy, it’s also the best hope we’ve got. The knowledge and professionalism of most Forest Service employees is still at an incredibly high level. Most of us do this job because we believe it’s important. But unless we have leadership that focuses that critical mass in such a way that we feel we are contributing to a professional, long-term approach to maintaining the function of public land, all that professionalism and knowledge will be largely wasted. I would be willing to bet that the possibility of outsourcing Forest Service jobs to the private sector causes as much fear for the future of public land as for the jobs themselves. And that hurts morale more than anything.
Another frustration that leads to morale problems is that we’ve distanced ourselves from the resource. Most professionals entering the agency today will spend far less time on the ground than I have during my career. This is unfortunate. Much of it has to do with technological advances, especially with computers. Don’t get me wrong—the advances in technology have increased our ability to do a professional job, and are absolutely necessary to manage wildland landscapes. But while they synthesize data and array possibilities, they seldom provide answers. We deal with resources that are extremely variable, and often it is on-the-ground experience that takes us beyond computer analysis to the correct recommendation or decision. It requires a mix of experiences, as too much of either cancels out the benefits of both. My observation is that we’re getting enamored with the whiz-bang modeling stuff and not giving people time on the ground to gain the experience necessary to make correct recommendations. Many of them realize this, and morale suffers.
One of the most common complaints in the agency today is that employees spend too much time complying with the National Environmental Policy Act. This is probably true, but it’s not going to go away until we effectively deal with many of the problems mentioned above. The agency likes to take the position that the appellants are obstructionists, and the appeals are frivolous. (In some cases that’s true, but we’ve created many of those people through our actions over the years.) But in most cases, at least if the legal decisions are to be believed, the appeals have some merit. Certainly, ones like the 1980s roadless lawsuit and Iron Honey, both lost by the Panhandle, are an indication of a forest with skewed priorities. Personally, I’ve always liked doing NEPA analysis. It was the one avenue I had to force the Forest Service to do the right thing.
But it’s not all negative. I can look back over thirty years and see definite cause for optimism. When I came to the Beaverhead in 1984, we were working on a forest plan that recommended cutting 32 million board feet, and hardly mentioned grazing. Now we have strong grazing standards, and the forest plan revision is driven by aquatics. Now that’s progress. I’d like to think all forests have made similar strides, but I don’t know.
The Forest Service is right to be concerned about morale. But I think the causes of dissatisfaction are far more large-scale and systemic within the agency than can be fixed by mere tweaking at the district and forest level. Some of that is possible, but the more deep-seated problems will require more drastic changes. What we’re really talking about is changing the culture of the agency. Within the Forest Service we have the knowledge, professionalism, dedication and skills to live up to Giff’s legacy. Whether or not we have the will to get the job done remains to be seen. If we survive the Bush administration, maybe we’ll have had enough of a shock to make the changes. One thing is certain—the future of public land depends on the outcome.
Pete Bengeyfield recently retired after twenty-nine years as a hydrologist for the U.S. Forest Service.