Rethinking coastal authority: Why coastal governance keeps failing us

Rethinking coastal authority in Nova Scotia: We all share the coast—so let’s share its governance!

Part 2: Why Coastal Governance Keeps Failing Us

Author: Myles De Jong. Research Assistant. International Development Studies BA program, Dalhousie University (2021-2025).

Nova Scotia, similarly to much of the contemporary world, is facing a crisis of overlapping conflicts along the coast. While stemming from tensions between coastal stakeholders, these conflicts—namely, coastal access, privatization, inequity, and climate change—are symptomatic of the historical colonial commodification of Nova Scotia’s coast, as well as of the existing coastal governance framework.

In particular, the coastal governance framework has three defining, settler colonial characteristics that have consistently undermined its capacity for inclusive and effective governance: it is state-led (or top-down), fragmented, and ineffective in integrating multiple knowledge systems.

State-led governance

Coastal governance in Nova Scotia is predominantly state-led, meaning that authority is concentrated within the government (federal, provincial, and municipal). While this may appear straightforward, it is particularly concerning for a couple of reasons. First, while the Canadian government legally recognizes other governance systems—namely those of Indigenous Nations, such as the Mi’kmaq people, via official treaty agreements—the state-centric nature of coastal governance means these are rarely considered in practice.1 This exclusion perpetuates the marginalization of Indigenous nations within settler-colonial systems and infringes upon the rights of Mi’kmaq communities.

Second, the top-down approach of state-led governance often results in the reinforcement of existing power dynamics with regards to who gets to express their interests in coastal spaces. As two independent research studies have revealed, despite tokenistic efforts to engage the public to date, local stakeholders in Nova Scotia still don’t have any real influence on decision-making.2 3 Meaningful participation, by contrast, would involve local stakeholders throughout each phase of the decision-making process… But, more on this later!

Coastal commodification: the process of turning coastal lands and waters into private property or economic assets, often rooted in colonial settlement patterns that displaced Mi’kmaq and African Nova Scotian communities from coastal areas.

Coastal governance framework: the collection of systems and processes involved in the management of coastal areas and activities, including the associated policy- and/or decision-making processes

Fragmented governance

The second issue with Nova Scotia’s coastal governance system is that it is fragmented and de-centralised; Nova Scotia has no legally-binding coastal policy through which they can enforce decisions across different regions or levels of government. Instead, municipalities are left to manage their respective coastlines independently, often with limited resources, jurisdiction, or clarity. This fragmented approach makes it nearly impossible to align coastal management with broader provincial or national objectives, especially when it comes to balancing economic, socio-cultural, and environmental objectives.

The Coastal Protection Act, which was passed by the Government of Nova Scotia in 2019, would have seen the establishment of a province-wide Coastal Protection Zone within which there would be clear legislation for public and private usage and developments. The Act was abandoned in 2024, replaced instead by The Coastal Protection Action Plan. This plan is not a formal piece of legislation, but rather a general outline for the province to support municipalities with their continued management of the coast. Read more here.

Another related challenge is legal pluralism: the coexistence of multiple, overlapping legal systems within a single geographical and/or jurisdictional area.4 The coast is a unique space where municipal, provincial, federal, Indigenous, land-based, marine-based, and international laws all apply in one way or another. The result is that the coast is everyone’s problem and no one’s responsibility. And when this is the case, significant tensions can be created.

For example, conflicts often arise when private property rights obstruct public access to beaches. While the shoreline up to the high-water mark is provincial/federal Crown land (and thus open to the public), the surrounding land is frequently privately owned, limiting the public’s ability to reach the shore.5 In many cases, legal ambiguity or lack of enforcement at the municipal level leaves residents uncertain about what their rights really are. (Click here to read more about your coastal access rights in Nova Scotia.)

Similarly, international agreements, such as the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), grant states sovereign rights over marine spaces, but they do not recognize Indigenous Nations as sovereign entities. This creates a problematic legal divide between terrestrial and marine governance, one that overlooks Indigenous worldviews and rights, and excludes them from key maritime decisions.

Legal pluralism is not exclusive to Nova Scotia. Rather, it is an issue which is amplified in settler colonial states around the world.

In South Africa, for example, poor planning around the national government’s statutory laws and local communities customary and traditional laws has led to  the wholly ineffective management of coastal protected areas.6 In Australia, overlap between multiple government agencies, Indigenous organizations, and international legislation have forced them into the creation of entirely new, integrated governing agencies.7

What is the common thread between these case studies? Settler colonial histories and legal systems.

While plural legal systems are likely unavoidable for Nova Scotia’s coast, ensuring that each governing authority acknowledges the challenges they create—alongside the historical marginalization and power imbalances that shape them—could help reduce the negative impacts of such a complex legal system and, therefore, strengthen the overall governability of coastal areas.8

Failed integration of multiple knowledge systems

The third defining characteristic of Nova Scotia’s current coastal governance model is its ineffective use of scientific evidence in policy making, which is particularly relevant to coastal environmental outcomes.9 Policymakers often highlight the ‘science-policy interface’ as the gold standard for evidence-based decision-making, a way to ground policies in real-world data. But in practice, the authority of western science is not applied evenly: it is often ignored when inconvenient for policymakers, or revered in ways that crowd out Indigenous, local or experiential knowledge.10

In 2009, the Government of Nova Scotia published a detailed technical report on the state of the coast. This report was produced by a collection of governmental agencies to consolidate scientific knowledge on the province’s coastal areas. The report did not include Indigenous/local knowledge on coastal issues, and the only mention of their consideration was via views/concerns that community groups had directed to the agencies over several decades.11

The report eventually led to a draft of a provincial coastal strategy in 2011, however, the draft was never formalized and the Government of Nova Scotia went without a coastal strategy for nearly a decade (until the CPA in 2019).

This is a clear example of two things: failure to effectively utilize scientific knowledge in coastal policy making; and, failure to integrate multiple knowledge systems in policy making processes.

When the former is true—or where a wide gap in the science-policy interface exists—researchers have warned that decision-makers can sometimes over-correct by relying too heavily on scientists as truth-sayers.12 In these cases, science is positioned as the only legitimate voice in the room, which not only excludes Indigenous and local knowledge but also risks creating policies that are disconnected from lived coastal realities.13

When the latter is true, the science-policy interface is an example of the colonial use of science: knowledge produced by western institutions is considered to be objective truth, while knowledge produced locally (i.e. by Indigenous peoples) is sidelined as anecdotal or unscientific.

Nobody would deny that science has a crucial role to play in coastal management, but it must be carefully integrated into policy making processes. Moreover, given the time-consuming and resource-intensive nature of scientific research, it often lags behind fast-moving coastal realities.14 When governance authorities rely too heavily—or too selectively—on science, they effectively close off opportunities to develop collaborative approaches that would integrate multiple knowledge systems.15

Together, these three settler colonial characteristics—state-led governance, fragmentation/legal pluralism, and the inconsistent application of multiple knowledge systems to policymaking—have created a coastal governance system that is poorly equipped to manage the growing conflicts along Nova Scotia’s coastline.

Other jurisdictions in Canada and abroad provide valuable lessons for Nova Scotia to draw from in addressing its persistent, multi-decade coastal governance challenges. The third and final blog in this series highlights examples of inclusive, bottom-up coastal governance that could inspire further debate among both activists and policymakers in tackling provincial issues.

This publication is the result of a collaboration between the Ecology Action Centre and Climate Justice: Values and Vulnerability. 

References

  1. Warrior, M., Fanning, L., & Metaxas, A. (2022). Indigenous peoples and marine protected area governance: A Mi’kmaq and Atlantic Canada case study. FACETS, 7, 1298–1327. https://doi.org/10.1139/facets-2021-0128 ↩︎
  2. Wilson, L., & Wiber, M. G. (2009). Community perspectives on integrated coastal management: Voices from the Annapolis Basin area, Nova Scotia, Canada. Ocean & Coastal Management, 52(11), 559–567. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ocecoaman.2009.08.008 ↩︎
  3. Warrior, M., Fanning, L., & Metaxas, A. (2022). Indigenous peoples and marine protected area governance: A Mi’kmaq and Atlantic Canada case study. FACETS, 7, 1298–1327. https://doi.org/10.1139/facets-2021-0128 ↩︎
  4. Mbatha, P. (2022). Unravelling the perpetuated marginalization of customary livelihoods on the coast by plural and multi-level conservation governance systems. Marine Policy, 143. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.marpol.2022.105143 ↩︎
  5. East Coast Environmental Law (2024). Volume 21 – Summer 2024: Coastal Access in Nova Scotia. https://www.ecelaw.ca/summary-series/coastalaccessinnovascotia ↩︎
  6. Iidb. ↩︎
  7. Mbatha, P. (2022). Unravelling the perpetuated marginalization of customary livelihoods on the coast by plural and multi-level conservation governance systems. Marine Policy, 143, 105143. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.marpol.2022.105143 ↩︎
  8. Brooks, K., & Fairfull, S. (2017). Managing the NSW coastal zone: Restructuring governance for inclusive development. Ocean & Coastal Management, 150, 62–72. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ocecoaman.2016.10.009 ↩︎
  9. Hewitt, J. E., Lundquist, C. J., Pilditch, C. A., Thrush, S. F., & Urlich, S. C. (2022). Barriers to coastal planning and policy use of environmental research in Aotearoa-New Zealand. Frontiers in Marine Science, 9. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2022.898109 ↩︎
  10. Soomai, S. S. (2012). The Use and Influence of Scientific Information in Environmental Policy Making: Lessons Learned from Nova Scotia. Proceedings of the Nova Scotian Institute of Science, 47(1). https://doi.org/10.15273/pnsis.v47i1.3382 ↩︎
  11. Hewitt, J. E., Lundquist, C. J., Pilditch, C. A., Thrush, S. F., & Urlich, S. C. (2022). Barriers to coastal planning and policy use of environmental research in Aotearoa-New Zealand. Frontiers in Marine Science, 9. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2022.898109 ↩︎
  12. Nursey-Bray, M. J., Vince, J., Scott, M., Haward, M., O’Toole, K., Smith, T., Harvey, N., & Clarke, B. (2014). Science into policy? Discourse, coastal management and knowledge. Environmental Science & Policy, 38, 107–119. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.envsci.2013.10.010 ↩︎
  13. Foale, S. (2006). The intersection of scientific and indigenous ecological knowledge in coastal Melanesia: Implications for contemporary marine resource management. International Social Science Journal, 58(187), 129–137. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-2451.2006.00607.x ↩︎
  14. Bremer, S., & Glavovic, B. (2013). Exploring the science–policy interface for Integrated Coastal Management in New Zealand. Ocean & Coastal Management, 84, 107–118. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ocecoaman.2013.08.008 ↩︎
  15. Foale, S. (2006). The intersection of scientific and indigenous ecological knowledge in coastal Melanesia: Implications for contemporary marine resource management. International Social Science Journal, 58(187), 129–137. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-2451.2006.00607.x ↩︎

Featured Image: Aerial photo of coastal community and coastal infrastructure, La Have region, Lunenburg County. Nicolas Winkler Photography (2025).

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Rethinking coastal authority: How do we move forward?

Rethinking coastal authority in Nova Scotia: We all share the coast—so let’s share its governance! Part 3: How do we move forward? Author: Myles De Jong. Research Assistant. International Development Studies BA program, Dalhousie University (2021-2025). While the shortcomings of Nova Scotia’s coastal governance system may be complicated to address, lessons can be drawn from alternative models that have already shown promise in addressing similar conflicts—both in Canada and abroad. The common thread among these models is an emphasis on inclusive, bottom-up governance, where those most affected by decisions play an active role in shaping them. On paper, this sounds simple: involve local people in local decisions. In practice, however, there is an important distinction between stakeholder engagement and true participatory processes. Historically, engagement in Nova Scotia has meant things like town halls, consultation surveys, or requests for public support on pre-determined coastal legislation. But too often these result in tokenistic exercises, allowing governments to claim community involvement while the real decisions are made elsewhere.1 This box-ticking approach leaves people feeling unheard, deepens mistrust, and even perpetuates systemic inequities such as environmental racism.2 Environmental racism: the reproduction of race-based discrimination through the impacts of environmental damages, as well as exclusion from the decision-making processes that cause them.In fact, African Nova Scotians have already explicitly stated their concerns about environmental racism along the coast. According to the ENRICH Project—a research program oriented towards climate justice for African Nova Scotians—inclusive decision-making, community empowerment, and capacity building should all be priorities for the government in order to avoid the kind of systemic marginalization that has characterized its governance models in the past. Truly participatory processes go much further. They involve communities, Indigenous Nations, conservation groups, and other stakeholders in every stage of decision-making—from setting priorities and exploring options to implementing actions and reviewing results. These processes are iterative, unfolding over multiple phases, and focus on building the skills, relationships, and trust needed for everyone’s voice to carry real weight. 3 Done well, they bring together a diversity of stakeholders—each with their own values, knowledge systems, and lived experiences—who share responsibility for both the process and its outcomes. The result is not only more equitable management of the coast, but an approach that people are far more likely to buy into and remain committed to over time. But even the best-intentioned participatory processes can fail if they overlook practical and structural barriers. Time, resources, and trust all matter. When participation is unpaid or logistically inaccessible, it effectively excludes those without the means to attend. On the other hand, when processes are designed with these realities in mind—by compensating participants for their time, ensuring meetings are culturally and geographically accessible, and fostering trust and continuity with government officials—participation becomes more equitable and the resulting decisions more legitimate.4 While this can be difficult to implement in the real world, there are examples—nationally and globally—which show what’s possible when participation is meaningful and leadership is shared: Marine Protected Area Network (MPAN), British Columbia, Canada Between 2015 and 2023, federal, provincial, and Indigenous governments worked alongside commercial fishers, environmental groups, tourism operators, and scientists to design a network of Marine Protected Areas that balanced ecological goals with socio-cultural and economic needs.5 This co-management approach ensured that local expertise complemented scientific assessments; that Indigenous stewardship principles were embedded in the network’s design; and that those affected by the MPAs shared both the responsibility and the benefits of their protection.6New management positions were even established so that First Nations representatives were employed in paid positions across all stages of the process, removing some of the financial barriers to participation in coastal governance.7 Marine and Coastal Area’s for Indigenous Peoples (MCAIP), Chile Chile’s MCAIP provides a pathway for Indigenous communities to apply to manage marine and coastal spaces traditionally used for cultural and livelihood purposes. Once approved, the community leads all planning, rule-setting, and enforcement in the area, often in partnership with scientists and conservation agencies.8Since the policy’s adoption, researchers have found evidence that MCAIP status has helped shift unequal power dynamics, restore marine habitats, promote community tourism, and reinforce cultural identity in coastal regions9—a powerful case for how formal recognition of Indigenous leadership can lead to more effective coastal governance. Furthermore, it is important to note that communities in Nova Scotia have long been willing to step up. Coastal users and residents have a documented history of organizing, consulting, and even implementing their own changes in Nova Scotia since the 1990s.10 Yet structural issues in governance—jurisdictional fragmentation, exclusion of Indigenous voices, and state dominance—still prevent those efforts from shaping real outcomes This brings us back to the question: what role can each of us play in shaping the future of our coast? Given the challenges we face, relying on fragmented, non-inclusive consultations that exclude genuine community leadership won’t work; at some point, we must question the viability of the current governance model and push for broader, more inclusive coastal justice. Coastal justice means making sure that access, benefits, and responsibilities are shared fairly. It means recognizing that decisions about the coast aren’t just technical or legal, they’re moral, cultural, and deeply personal. And it means ensuring that the voices of those most connected to the coast—whether through fishing, ceremony, science, or daily recreation—are heard and respected. Whether that be through community co-management, Indigenous leadership, or another governance model that has yet to be explored, it is clear that there must be, at the very least, an open discussion about who should have decision-making power over the coast. And while that is a conversation which no single person can be responsible for, it doesn’t mean individuals can’t make a difference—we just need to focus our energy where it counts most: Nova Scotia’s coast is a shared space. So let’s share its governance. This publication is the result of a collaboration between the Ecology Action Centre and Climate Justice: Values and Vulnerability.  References Featured image: Prospect Village during winter, Halifax Regional Municipality. Nicolas Winkle Photography (NWP), 2024

Rethinking coastal authority: Coastal stakeholders, values, and perspectives

Although the coast is a common space for people in Nova Scotia, its meaning is far from universal. The way individuals, communities, and institutions understand and use coastal areas is shaped by a range of social, economic, political, and cultural values. And because these perspectives often pull in different directions, conflicts between coastal stakeholders are inherently present. 

Rethinking coastal authority in Nova Scotia: Introduction

As climate change transforms coastal regions, those least responsible for the emissions and pollution accelerating it are often the most vulnerable to its impacts.

This three part blog series explores these complexities present along Nova Scotia’s coast by asking three important questions—questions that every coastal resident or user should consider: What is it that each of us values about the coast? Who should be responsible for coastal governance? And, what role can each of us play in shaping its future?

Migrant farm workers on the job.

Resources for Migrant Workers

The Centre for Migrant Worker Rights Nova Scotia provides information and support to migrant workers, also known as Temporary Foreign Workers, across Nova Scotia. Its work includes direct support, public education, and advocacy around issues like healthcare access and permanent immigration status for all migrants. The Centre assists migrant workers who are facing abuse or injury and can help them access emergency food, housing, healthcare, and benefits.

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