Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324

Contents lists available at ScienceDirect

Journal of Environmental Management

journal homepage: http://www.elsevier.com/locate/jenvman

Research article

The human ecology of the Danube Delta: A historical and

cartographic perspective
Mihnea Ta �sescu a, Stefan Constantinescu b, *
�na
a
Vrije Universiteit Brussel, Political Science, Pleinlaan 5, 1050, Brussels, Belgium
b
University of Bucharest, Department of Geography, Bl. Nicolae Balcescu 1, Bucharest, Romania

A R T I C L E I N F O A B S T R A C T

Keywords: We present a case of environmental transformation, in the Romanian Danube Delta, driven by the interplay of
Political ecology state power, technological intervention, geomorphological processes, and local practices. Through the presen­
Cartographical history Danube delta tation of a cartographic archive (1856–2017), together with participant observation and historical research, we
Ecological modernism
detail the various stages of transformation in the deltaic environment and show the relative interplay of driving
Human ecology
forces. We show that each transformation of the Delta is at the same time an imposition from without and an
adaptation from within, a move of consolidation of state power and a resistance to being fully incorporated. We
show how in the history of this particular environment, the main drivers of change pass from being of a
geomorphological nature to being related to the use of state power. We detail three stages in the transformation
of the delta, through which the conceptualization of, and interventions in, the environment, go from a border­
land to be secured, to a rich exploitation ground, to an ecological marvel to be protected. We argue that this kind
of analysis can be particularly relevant for the governance of protected areas.

1. Introduction
This article presents a case of environmental transformation at
multiple scales and across a significant historical arch. We show how the
expansion of state power into marginal territories can itself be consid­
ered a main driver of environmental change, and detail how this
expansion has happened in the case of the Romanian Danube Delta,
known as one of the best preserved and most biodiverse European en­
vironments. We show that this space is in fact a human-ecological cre­
ation,1 understood as a complex interaction between state power,
technology, ecology and local experience. The early history of the
Danube Delta is one in which ecological, geomorphological, and local
habitation were the main drivers of change. Starting with the late 19th
century, state power under the guise of engineering prowess radically
transformed the deltaic environment. Throughout the 20th century
hundreds of channels and dikes were constructed, with a massive impact
delta-wide. We chart and analyze the changes in the deltaic environment
over the last two hundred years, each transformation being at the same
time an imposition from without and an adaptation from within, a move
of consolidation of state power and a resistance to being fully
incorporated. Foreign practices become emplaced, and these form new
bases for further interventions and transformations. We argue that the
sequence of transformations that we show for the Danube Delta, and the
complex nature of their interactions, can be generalized to other wet­
lands or areas of environmental interest.
We are aware of the fact that mapping has always been an instrument
of power, and therefore take into account the tight relationship between
cartography and the governing of territories. Mapping has always
played a fundamental role in the control exerted by colonizing states in
distant, or ‘unruly’ territories, and this dynamic is no different in the
case of the Danube Delta (Akerman, 2009; Edney, 2009; Elden, 2013).
As we have previously argued (Constantinescu and T� ana
�sescu, 2018 ),
“the map […] is not a benign representation of the territory, but rather
one crucial aspect of the wielding of power”. Tracing the history of
cartographical representation allows us to understand both changes to
the physical territory, and to the mode of governing those (increasingly
transformed) territories.
Maps are not the only, perhaps not even the primary, means of
extending power from the center to the periphery. For example, social
policy in all of its guises is a very powerful driver of change in the Delta,

* Corresponding author.
E-mail addresses: mihnea.tanasescu@vub.be (M. T�an�
asescu), stefan.t.constantinescu@gmail.com (S. Constantinescu).
1
We align our understanding of the environment with Scott (2008) and Blackbourn (2007), which showed persuasively that environments are always a co-creation
of human and natural forces.

https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jenvman.2020.110324
Received 5 August 2019; Received in revised form 25 November 2019; Accepted 21 February 2020
Available online 27 February 2020
0301-4797/© 2020 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu
affecting everything from the makeup of the population to what people
can do on the land. Technological interventions, as we will show, are a
further powerful tool of transformation. However, our analysis chooses
to use mapping as a primary means of analysis for several reasons. First,
cartography shines a particular light on other drivers of transformation,
by revealing the conceptualization of territory itself from the point of
view of state power. In other words, the state thinks of the territory to be
controlled as a map, and therefore is able to interact with it – whether
through technology or social policy – inasmuch as it is able to see it. How
it sees territories is itself worthy of investigation. Second, other authors
have already focused on sociological (Van Assche et al., 2009; Van
Assche et al., 2011a, 2011b; Van Assche, et al., 2012; Iordachi and Van
Assche, 2015; Dorondel and Mitroi, 2017) or historical (Gatejel, 2016,
2017, 2018) analyses of deltaic transformation, and we wish to bring
geomorphology in dialogue with this literature. Lastly, maps allow us to
treat the space of the Delta as itself an agent in its own history. By
comparing historical and contemporary maps, and playing with their
juxtaposition, we are able to show what in so many analyses gets left
behind: the life of the territory itself. We show a sequence of trans­
formations that, over and beyond their intended purposes, end up
creating a novel assemblage that we call the Danube Delta and that
cartography can, however imperfectly, briefly reveal. We believe that
our method of investigation can also lead to successful results elsewhere.
1.1. Methodological note
The article relies on extensive field work in the Danube Delta
(2015–2018) as well as historical and cartographical analyses (gathering
material from 1856 to 2017). Through the construction of a cartographic
archive we show the patterns of imposed transformations in the Danube
Delta as well as the local background of these interventions. Comparing
and juxtaposing cartographical records allows us to highlight the
changes in the deltaic environment and when they occurred. Com­
plementing this with field work and archival data further allows us to
understand the nature of these changes, and the forces that drove them.
For this study we only selected historical maps that were a major
cartographic contribution in that they were based on field measure­
ments. This resulted in the following materials being used: E.C.D. maps
(1856, 1861, 1871, 1887), Romanian topographic surveys from the
beginning of the 20th century (1899, 1911), and topographic maps from
the communist period (1960s, 1980s). To these, we added satellite im­
ages (2017, Landsat 8, Sentinel 2) and aerial photography (2005, 2008,
2010). All of this data was georeferenced and transformed to the same
projection, Stereo 70 (EPSG code 3844), using the QGIS 2.18
application.
In order to validate the cartographical findings, we used participant
observation, drawing on a collective local memory that maintains ties to
disappeared territories. Field work was carried out by the authors in
2015 (the months of March, July and October), 2016 (the months of
February, April, October), 2017 (10 days in February, one week in April,
the months of June, July, August, 10 days in October, one week in
December), and 2018 (10 days in February, mid-May to beginning of
September). This work was based mostly in the village of Sfa ^ntu
Gheorghe, though research trips were taken to Letea, Caraorman, C.A.
Rosetti, Sulina, and many of the currently uninhabited areas that suggest
historical land uses on older maps.2 We conducted semi-structured in­
terviews (15 in total) with mayors, herders, fishermen, and people
employed seasonally in tourism. More importantly, we spent a lot of
time in the communities we studied and participated in village cele­
brations and many daily activities related to subsistence (for example
2 4
Each settlement in the Delta has a different history and different socio-
economic status (also see supplementary material for more). Because of this,
we were weary of basing our analysis on Sf^antu Gheorghe only and therefore
travelled to the other places mentioned.
2
Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324
gathering forest products, gathering wood, fishing, retrieving cattle,
cooking). Using our long-term field work, we detail how the deltaic
space is used and lived today.
2. Early exploration
The Danube is the most international river in the world, collecting its
waters from 19 countries, having the longest (2870 km) and highest
discharge (6470 m3/s) of all other rivers in the European Union. It also
provides over 60% of the entire runoff reaching the Black Sea (Giosan
et al., 2012) and therefore has a profound influence on both terrestrial
and marine ecosystems. It forms its delta by splitting into three main
branches (from North to South: Chilia, Sulina, Sfa ^ntu Gheorghe) and
filling the in-between with labyrinthine channels and lakes. This deltaic
labyrinth has always had two major roles: home for the locals, and
strategic borderland for the state (Fig. 1).
The Danube Delta was a veritable ethnic and religious melting pot, a
territory that often acted as a buffer between great powers (Ottoman,
Russian, Austro-Hungarian; see Enachescu, 2013; Constantinescu and
Tanasescu, 2018). It consequently experienced frequent changes of
borders, also reflected cartographically. For the most part, borders have
been drawn along the main branches of the Danube and have ignored
the dense inside of the Delta that was, at least from the point of view of
authorities, unknown. This is the case for Russian maps from 1771,
1835, 1853 and 1856 and European Commission of the Danube maps
(also see below) from 1856, 1861, 1871 and 1883 (see Constantinescu,
2014a for a detailed discussion).
The first topographically accurate maps of the Danube Delta date
from the middle of the 19th century. We can assume that before this
period the delta was a terra incognita, as exemplified by earlier maps
that relied on hear-say rather than topographical surveys and bathym­
etry (Constantinescu, 2014a). We use the expression ‘terra incognita’ to
designate the view of the Delta from the point of view of authorities.
Before the middle of the 19th century, anyone that wanted a power
claim over the Delta had a hard time knowing on the ground realities,
and therefore controlling them. The cartographical efforts of the 19th
century are therefore preoccupied with mathematical precision and with
charting the interior delta, a land in constant evolution and flux (Con­
stantinescu and T� ana�sescu, 2018).
Mapping itself has always been an exercise of power, and the first
stage in the mapping of the delta is dictated by military needs. Given the
status of the area as a borderland between empires (Ottoman, Russian,
and Austro-Hungarian; see Fig. 23, as well as Iordachi, 2001), it was
important to know the labyrinth for strategic purposes (Docan, 1914;
Netta, 1930; Popescu-Spineni, 1978). Fig. 3 shows the delta in its natural
state,4 with indications of the 19th century uses of the territory. Given
the nature of cartography itself, the uses indicated on the map are those
that state power saw fit to indicate. Of particular interest are the many
military outposts along the Sulina (middle) branch of the Danube. This
branch is the only one that leads to a busy and practicable port, in the
city of Sulina, and was therefore strategically important.
Other uses of the territory can be glimpsed through their state
portrayal. For example, we notice a series of huts and fisheries distrib­
uted throughout the delta, as well as a network of roads that traverses
the liquid territory. This early period of state exploration in the delta can
therefore be characterized by, on the one hand, military transformation
and, on the other, a local presence deeply connected to the territory. The
3
This figure can be consulted throughout in order to place the analysis in the
appropriate historical context. It shows the evolution of political regimes in
tandem with mapping technologies and changing land use patterns.
By ‘natural state’ we don’t mean to imply that local uses of the delta had not
already modified it. Instead, we wish to separate this period in the delta’s
history from the sustained technological transformations that begin in earnest
in the 20th century and that have a profound impact.
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu
Fig. 1. Danube Dela on a Landsat image from 2010. Source: Constantinescu and Tanasescu (2018).
local presence, unlike today, is not particularly concentrated in dense
villages, but is rather spread along the labyrinth. We can clearly see
significant uses of the territory along the main branches and lakes
(mostly, but not limited to, sturgeon fishing) and well into the interior of
the delta where huts indicate the presence of livestock farming.
Fig. 3 also shows a series of fisheries along the coastline (marked in
yellow) that have subsequently disappeared. Their location on the map
suggests that they were primarily used for the sturgeon trade, and their
names are connected to their particular owner (for example Ignat Carni,
Murgu Iani Melano). The number of fisheries in this location gives a
strong indication as to the importance of sturgeon fishing in the area,
and the toponyms connect the sturgeon trade to particularly important
people in the local community. For instance, Iani Melano is the same
person that built the church tower in the village of Sfa^ntu Gheorghe, in
1899. Due to coastal erosion (Vespremeanu, 1983, 1984; Vespremea­
nu-Stroe et al., 2007; Giosan et al., 2013), these fisheries disappear in
the first decades of the 20th century. The phenomenon of erosion that
slowly eats away at the fisheries was itself accelerated by the
3
Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324
construction, at the end of the 19th century, of the jetty in Sulina
(Constantinescu et al., 2010; Budileanu, 2013). The fact that the fish­
eries were not rebuilt on the new shoreline is explained by subsequent
state interventions in the deltaic space. Already in the 1960s the fish­
eries are state owned (black dots in Fig. 3) and distributed along the new
coastline in smaller numbers, reflecting the more intensive nature of
exploitation (also see section 3).
Through most of the 19th century state interventions5 are limited to
military outposts, while local use of the territory is extensive, as
5
As Fig. 2 illustrates, ‘state interventions’ have meant different things in
different times. The powers that projected control over this space ranged from
the Ottoman, Russian, and Austro-Hungarian empires to the new Romanian
nation state and to one of the first international organizations, the European
Commission of the Danube (see further in this section). What remains constant
throughout this history of changing governance regimes is the desire to reign in
an area that, for geomorphological as well as social reasons, is hard to control.
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu
Fig. 2. Timeline of transformations in the Danube Delta, juxtaposing political regimes, mapping technology, and uses of the territory.
indicated by the presence of windmills along the Chilia branch and
around Letea forest (see Fig. 3), together with the many fisheries, roads,
and livestock shelters. Local inhabitants, however, took advantage of the
increasing presence of the state and also managed to make a living from
the new imperial interest in their territory, acting as guides, providers of
key resources, and loaders/unloaders in the port of Sulina (Con­
stantinescu, 2014a).
In the 19th century therefore the deltaic space was being constructed
through an interaction of local practices and military power, on the ever-
present background of a geomorphology in constant evolution. One
research participant (male, 68 yo) recalls the great number of sheep that
were traditionally present in his native Letea village, in the interior
delta, in the 1950s and 60s. His family had been sheep herders for
generations and had used the roads in the interior delta for trade and
grazing. As state power expands, it transforms the physical environment
in ways that will render such local practices rare, while new practices
will develop.
The initial military exploration of the delta transformed the physical
space relatively little, but paved the way for subsequent interventions,
the most significant of which occurred during the 20th century.
Cartography itself was a first crucial use of technology that set the stage
for further interventions. The military efforts to accurately map the delta
were indispensable for further interventions. Starting with the
straightening and shortening of the main navigable arm of the delta,
Sulina (1868–1902), a series of interventions designed to simplify and
make accessible the deltaic space occurred. The main reasons for these
interventions were of an economic nature. The Danube Delta offered
rich fishing grounds and the greatest reed expanses in the world. Besides
these economic reasons, the consolidation of the state itself played an
important role in the manipulation of a borderland (see next section).
Despite the well-established role of the state in consolidating mar­
ginal territories through engineering (Cioc, 2002; Blackbourn, 2007;
Pritchard, 2011), the first radical transformation of the physical delta
was overseen by an international organization, the European Commis­
sion of the Danube (Gatejel, 2018). It is only in subsequent trans­
formations of the deltaic space that the nascent Romanian state takes the
opportunity to assert its control through engineering works.
The European Commission of the Danube (E.C.D.) was an institution
created by the Great Powers, after the Crimean War, responsible for
maintaining the navigability at the river mouth and upstream. Initially
the E.C.D. had been operating for a period of two years, starting in 1856,
4
Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324
but its activity was prolonged until the Second World War. John Stokes
was the British delegate who managed prospects along the entire deltaic
space. The previous Russian maps (1835, 1853) were considered obso­
lete and a new topographical survey was entrusted to Captain Thomas
Abel Spratt. Based on eight detailed boards published in a report (August
8, 1856) a general map of the entire delta appeared in 1861. Many other
versions will appear in the next years (1871, 1883, 1932 and 1937)
under the supervision of the chief engineer Charles Hartley who was
assisted by Robert Hansford (Constantinescu et al., 2010; 2014a,b;
Budileanu, 2013).
In being overseen by an international organization, the straightening
and shortening of the Sulina branch is a unique case of international
cooperation in river modification. It is also the first time in the delta’s
history when modifications are achieved through a massive intervention
dictated by engineering professionals, and therefore by what we would
today call expertise. Gatejel (2018) argues that “the engineers and
commissioners in the Danube Delta quite often discarded previous local
practices of river management as irrelevant for their work, instead
relying exclusively on their own methods of observation and calcula­
tion”, a classic case of top-down, expertise-driven interventions. Though
the organizing entity in delta modifications will change from the E.C.D.
to the state, the ethos of technical expertise will remain unchanged.
Though the E.C.D. was an international organization, the reasons for
it overseeing the Danube Delta and undertaking the engineering works
to ensure maximum navigability of the Sulina branch were certainly
connected to the interests of the member states. In particular, Great
Britain and Austria had a pronounced interest in securing grain via the
Danube (Ardeleanu, 2011). The E.C.D. will continue its activity, under
different organizational guises, until the Conference in Belgrade (August
1948) where the USSR and its new allies in Eastern Europe terminated it
(Ardeleanu, 2011; Stanciu, 2002).
3. The long 20th century
The newly independent Romanian state, having come into possession
of the Danube Delta in 1878, was keen to exercise its control over the
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324

Fig. 3. Danube Delta in the pre-industrial period (XIX century), showing reduced anthropogenic imprint. Data sources: E.C.D. maps from 1856, 1861, 1871, 1887;
Harta Dobrogei 1887; Topographic maps 1960, 1980; satellite images 2017 (Sentinel 2, Planet, Landsat 8).

5
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu
new territory. It also became a member of the E.C.D.6, but this was not
its only means of exercising control and projecting power. The Dobrogea
region, where the Danube Delta is, was annexed from the Ottoman
Empire, and the Romanian authorities in the early 20th century un­
dertook a policy of ethnic homogenization and territorial consolidation
(Boia, 2017; Iordachi and Assche, 2015). While the E.C.D. was respon­
sible for the engineering works ensuring the navigability of the Sulina
branch, the Romanian state exercised its power through the control of
the various deltaic populations and the regulation of their relationship
to the land. The state encouraged settlers to move to the delta region by
granting them land and loans, while formalizing previously informal
property relations and extending taxation. Whereas in 1878 the majority
of the local population were Turkish, Russians, Tatars and Bulgarians,
with only 20,6% Romanians, in 1913 41% were Romanians (Karpat,
1985; Dorondel, 2005; Dorondel and Mitroi, 2017).
Iordachi (2001) argues that the process of integrating the Danube
Delta (and the wider Dobruja region as well) into the Romanian state
was one of internal colonization, “characterized by administrative
distinctiveness and excessive centralization supported by claims of
cultural superiority of the core region, by intense ethnic colonization,
and by uneven regional economic development” (p.122). Following the
annexation of the region by the Romanian state in 1878, it was subjected
to the modernizing efforts of the state, which included a policy of ethnic
homogenization in a region that was seen as dangerously diverse.
Despite great population shifts, the Danube Delta remained and remains
a region of multiple ethnic backgrounds that tie it to its long Ottoman
past.
Despite abundant local knowledge, the Danube Delta was largely
unknown to the Romanian state in this period, being a terra incognita
that demanded cartographical and regulatory efforts in order to be in­
tegrated within the state’s networks. Geomorphological dynamics
constantly changed the lakes and channels making up the deltaic terri­
tory. Floating islands were in constant flux, blocking channels, closing
entrances, or getting stuck and growing in size, forming entirely new
areas of wetland. From a ground-bound perspective, there were no easy
landmarks, everything being enveloped in endless reeds and shifting
water. The early technological modifications of the delta are therefore
aimed at simplifying navigation.
In 1893, Grigore Antipa, a Romanian naturalist, began putting that
bases of delta-wide fisheries that would not only capture existing stock,
but increase catches in time. Two years later, Antipa had finished his
study (Antipa, 1895) that became the inspiration for the 1896 fishing
law (Dorondel and Mitroi, 2017). Both the study and the law took a
holistic approach to fish exploitation, thinking systemically about the
hydrological cycles of the delta and how these influence fishing.
Consequently, the state intervened to reduce and control silting, the
natural process of sediment deposits in lakes that decreases fish avail­
ability. The overall hydrological cycle was managed for the benefit of
fishing, and this required extensive interventions in the overall ecolog­
ical system.
In Constantinescu and Tanasescu (2018), we showed the extent of
the new channels dug in this period, in order to facilitate access with
larger boats: “Dunava �ț (1907), Enisala (1913), Dranov (1914), Litcov
(1928–1932), Crasnicol (1930–1934).” They continue: “the increased
volumes of water brought to the lakes by deeper and shorter channels
(therefore with greater water speed) would help restore the productivity
of the lakes”, and this was achieved through engineering the width and
depth of the new channels. However, “the most difficult task was
maintaining a depth greater than 1.6m” (Rudescu et al., 1965, cited in
6 widely available. This also means that the local knowledge of the ter­
The history of the E.C.D is fundamental to understanding the history of the
Danube Delta as a whole. In particular, it is important to realize that this or­
ganization functioned well into the establishment of the new Romanian state.
The interested reader should consult Gatejel (2017), Constantinescu et al.
(2010).
6
Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324
Constantinescu and Tanasescu, 2018). This intervention within the
deltaic space also committed the state to the maintenance of the new
infrastructure which, under natural conditions, would degrade through
the process of silting. Interestingly, the perpetual intervention of the
state within the territory in order to maintain it in a simplified version is
something that local inhabitants themselves start to expect, as we will
show later.
Later transformations, from the 1950s onwards, are characterized by
a steep acceleration in the rhythm of simplification. After the second
world war a communist regime is installed in Romania (see Fig. 2), and
this has deep implications for the transformation of the Danube Delta.
The communist regime intensified both resource exploitation and the
cutting of channels and building of dikes for a multitude of purposes,
particularly the exploitation of fish stocks and the transformation of
large swaths of swamp into agricultural land. In line with the hyper-
modernism of the regime, the delta became a space of experimenta­
tion: forests were planted to see if they would grow and, if they did, to
stop dune formation; entire swaths of territory were dried in order to be
converted into agricultural polders; dikes were built to gather and pro­
tect villages; experimental gardens were set up to see what could be
grown where, and fisheries were collectivized and organized for
maximum productivity (the most important catch being sturgeon,
exploited for its roe, the prized caviar).
Fig. 4 juxtaposes the natural water regime of 1887 with the one of
2017. This map is a synthesis of anthropic interventions in the Danube
Delta in this period. The red color marks cut channels or modified
Danube branches, while the blue represents natural water courses. The
Sulina branch became navigable during this period, enduring the
greatest shortening of its course (from 83,4 km to 62,6 km) and the
deepest dredging. Towards the end of the 19th century the Sulina branch
had an average depth of 3,8m, while in 2010 the average depth was
9,0m. This branch has not only deepened, but has also become narrower,
going from average width of 210m (1887) to 141m (2010). All of these
changes led to an increase in the speed of flow and therefore have had
profound consequences on the deltaic ecosystem. For example, the
Sfa
^ntu Gheorghe branch had a natural length of 102 km; through
shortening, it has been reduced to 69,7 km. Migratory fish species
(sturgeon, pontic shad) are affected by the variation in discharge speed,
choosing to use the natural meanders of the river as opposed to the new
channels (Constantinescu, 2016).
The difference in the deltaic territory is stark and illustrates well the
extent of transformation. The earlier fisheries and huts do not disappear
as such but are moved according to the new territorial configuration.
The space of the delta goes from being dictated by geomorphological
and ecological forces to being shaped by the state. The local perspective
does not disappear throughout this transformation, but rather responds
and adapts to it. Synthesizing maps across time allows us to conceptu­
alize the dynamism of the territory itself, both responding to and
building upon anthropic interventions. The previously presented Fig. 3
shows how the various uses of the territory shifted around to respond to
new demands and realities.
The former use of roads all but disappears and the delta becomes
primarily a liquid environment. With the 21st century advent of
outboard engines, this has a significant impact on how the territory is
lived. In the early 20th century transportation meant rowing, so also a
significant amount of time spent engaged in the activity of getting from
one place to another. This had significant consequences for territorial
use. For example, fishermen routinely camped out in specially built huts,
because there was not enough time during the day to get to the fishing
grounds, fish, and come back home. The network of huts built for this
purpose largely disappears once motorized transportation becomes
ritory becomes restricted to those places reachable by motorized boat,
and losses its holistic character. Moving through the landscape at speed
no longer allows for a detailed knowledge of all that lies along the way.
One complementary way of understanding the profound
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu
Fig. 4. Comparison of the deltaic space 1887/2017.
transformation of the delta in the past 200 years, at the intersection of
competing forces, is through the change in toponyms. Fig. 5 indicates
the presence of toponyms in 1911 and in 2017. It is immediately
apparent that the humanization of the deltaic space has always been
profound. The density of toponyms, a hundred years ago as well as today
indicates that the entire delta, not just the main branches best known to
the state, have been lived and imbued with local experience. In absolute
terms, there are slightly more toponyms today (677) than there were in
1911 (629). However, where the named places are located shifted
7
Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324
significantly through the last 100 years. The Pardina complex, in the
north-western delta, was much more significantly lived by locals before
it became an agricultural polder. Other places show similar shifts in
toponymy that follow the territorial modifications pursued by the state.
Names themselves changed in relation to the exercise of state power.
For example, in the early 20th century 35.5% of levee toponyms
expressed who the first person to settle in the area had been. Names such
as Grindul lui Ta�nase (Ta
�nase’s levee) were common. Similarly, fisher­
men that cut their own little channels for fishing and gathering reeds had
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu
Fig. 5. Toponyms 1911/2017.
de-facto property rights to the area they used, which was often called
with their proper name (Dorondel, 2005) reports on G^ arla Firchina, a
water channel cut by Firca in the village of Jurilovca and that therefore
inherited the owner’s name). The communist regime changed many of
these (28% of levee names) in order to erase the connotation of private
property that they carried. The above-mentioned levee (Ta �nase) re­
ceives, under the new regime, the name Grindul Frasin (Ash’s levee),
named after the presence of an Ash tree (Constantinescu, 2014b). This
systematic replacement, or sometimes even erasure, realigns the deltaic
8
Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324
space away from lived experience and towards the ideological de­
terminations of the state.
The Vidrașcu map of 1909–1911 shows the existence of a variety of
anthroponyms, many of them destined to disappear through the clog­
ging of old channels or else surviving only at the level of micro-
toponymy (toponyms specific to micro-regions or small communities
only). For example, these are some of the historical toponyms that sur­
vive in local use:
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu
- ga
^rla (smallchannel) Condrat Ferent (North of Erenciuc Lake)
- grindurile (levees) Crasovschi, D� anila
� (these are absent from official
documents but survive in use in Sfa ^ntu Gheorghe village)
- Gavrila� lake, g^
arla Ifrim Chirilov, ga
^rla lui Chiriac Farjac, g^
arla lui
Mihai Gloisana � , g^
arla lui Andrei Na�t ^
angu, ga
^rla lui Androni Geli­
brovi, ga
^rla lui Ion Zabarsciuc, and so on. All of these have officially
disappeared through the creation of the Pardina polder complex, but
remain at the level of local use.
The change in toponyms, however, was not a communist invention.
The monarchy that preceded it itself changed names from Turkish, and
these were once more changed by the communists. The channels Regele
Carol, Principele Ferdinand, Regina Elisabeta became (or sometimes
reverted back to) Dunav�aț, Dranov, and Enisala, names without specific
ideological connotations. Despite the communist effort of replacing all
property names, at the local level many remain, though officially un­
acknowledged. Similarly, many channels and lakes still maintain pre­
vious names.
The naming of places cannot occur unless a place is known enough to
be named. The variety and number of early toponyms suggests a deep
emplacement of the local populations. Many names are functional,
denoting an extensive use of the territory. These have mostly survived
the various regimes of deltaic transformation. For example (D� anescu,
1896):
� Periboina�: an artificially dug channel.
� Feric: secondary channel connecting two periboine.
� Periprava�: permanent channel with one-way water flow.
� Perivoloc: permanent channel with fluctuating flow direction
dependent on water level.
� Periteașca: the place of discharge of a channel or the place of contact
between a lagoon and the sea.
Naming is an important way of both humanizing and controlling a
territory. Because of this, the struggle to control names reflects the
struggle between local practices and outside state power. For locals,
names are tied to functions or people, whereas for the state they are tied
to official ideology and population control through the projection of this
ideology. The simultaneous existence of state-sanctioned and local
names reflects the continuous hybridization of the deltaic space.
4. The ecological age
In 1990, after the fall of the communist regime, the Danube Delta
was designated a Biosphere Reserve. This designation inaugurated the
contemporary regime of deltaic transformation, dictated by the eco­
logization of the previous modernist discourses. Despite the extensive
history of environmental transformation that we detailed in the previous
sections, the status of Biosphere Reserve transformed the 6.000 square
kilometers of territory into an ecological wonder. The territory now
came under the jurisdiction of the Danube Delta Biosphere Reserve
Authority (D.D.B.R.A.), newly created under the Environment Ministry.
The founding law of D.D.B.R.A. (Law 82/1993) established the au­
thority of the new administration over the entire deltaic territory, and
divided the space into different zones, according to the logic of a
Biosphere Reserve. There are economic areas, where economic activities
are permitted, buffer areas, and strictly protected areas, where no eco­
nomic activity is permitted. The idea was to divide the delta into its most
important ecological components and protect them as strictly as
possible. The economic areas are in fact villages and adjacent territories,
and the buffer zones, as the name suggests, are supposed to protect the
important parts – the ecologically significant areas – from human
interference. The core areas of protection are understood as being
important primarily because of the presence of vegetation or fauna that
is of ecological interest. Whatever previous uses of these territories ob­
tained has been unimportant for the zoning of the territory. For example,
9
Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324
lakes that were traditional fishing grounds but also nesting grounds for
birds became strictly protected under this arrangement, meaning that
fishermen can no longer access them.
Today, strictly protected areas amount to 9% of the delta; buffer
zones – 20.7%; ecological reconstruction areas – 2.7%, which tend to
increase over time (see Fig. 6). The agricultural polders and the fish
farms still exist (7% each), but their efficiency is questioned, and their
degradation is the main issue. Furthermore, the statistical data associ­
ated with their distribution is very often unreliable, and it should be
regarded only as an approximation.
The phase of ecological protectionism in the history of the Delta is a
continuation in the projection of state power over a marginal territory.
As Kelly et al. (2017, p.6) argue in introducing the concept of a “nature
state”, “conservation in myriad forms has been one particularly visible
way in which state agencies have tried to control, manage or produce
nature, both physically and symbolically, for reasons other than raw
exploitation”. The Danube Delta Biosphere Reserve is the state agency
that regulates the use of the territory strictly and therefore decides
which changes are acceptable and which are not. Even when an area is
strictly protected, its characteristics change precisely because of the
ways in which it is cut off from the greater deltaic space.7 Von Hard­
enberg et al (2017) argue that, simply because the reason for control has
shifted away from “raw exploitation” should not lead us to think that
state control over the territory lessened or is more benign.
The relationship between this kind of ecological state control and
local inhabitants is complex. On paper, the D.D.B.R.A. is tasked with
guaranteeing local inhabitants’ traditional livelihoods. However, there
is a strong historical current running against local experiences in the
governance of the Danube Delta, and this administration does not stand
out as having changed course. As we detailed in the previous sections,
local experiences of the Danube Delta have been captured by the state
apparatus ever since the formation of the Romanian state, and local uses
of the territory have been permitted or tolerated inasmuch as they were
in some way beneficial to the state. During the communist regime for
example the labor power of locals was firmly integrated within the
exploitative modernist state, but local claims to territories were erased.
Every regime has walked this line between erasure and integration of
local inhabitants, and in this respect the modern ecological state goes
much further in the direction of erasure than previous projections of
state power did.
The D.D.B.R.A. is also tasked with undertaking ecological recon­
struction work, in an attempt to reverse the anthropic changes of the last
centuries. The history of territorial modification in the Danube Delta,
through fisheries, forestry, agricultural activities and reed harvesting,
have led to the profound modification and, in many cases, degradation,
of the environment. This history has led to a restorationist agenda that
aims to reverse past anthropic changes. In 1994, the Babina polder was
the first project of restoration, with an initial 2.100 ha targeted, later
extended to 15.000 ha. The most widely used method of restoration has
been the flooding of former agricultural polders by breaching the
existing levee system (D.D.B.R.A., 2019). Other areas where similar
processes of restoration are ongoing are Cernovca (1.744ha), Popina II
(3.600ha), Furtuna Sud (2.115ha), Carasuhat (924ha). At the level of the
entire Danube Delta, there are currently 12.350 ha marked for
7
Fencing forests off (as in the case of Letea forest), regulating where feral
cattle can go, or what can be fished or hunted, are examples of the human-
induced changes in the context of the ecological modernization of the state.
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu
Fig. 6. Danube Delta Biosphere Reserve according to land designation, data from Gastescu and Stiuca, 2008) (Constantinescu and T�
restoration.8
Given the dynamics of delta formation and the extent of previous
transformation (also see Fig. 4 above), the current agenda of ecological
8
Compared to the size of the Danube Delta, this figure is quite small. The
slow pace of restoration reflects the difference between stated goals and the
capacity of D.D.B.R.A to achieve them. It should also be noted that official data
on restoration is not entirely reliable when compared to realities on the ground.
However, despite small gains in restoration, the criminalization of informal
practices in many areas of the Delta is rampant, even outside of reconstruction
zones (see Prelz Oltramonti; Tanasescu, 2019).
10
Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324
an�
asescu, 2018).
reconstruction cannot literally bring the delta back to a previous state.
Both in geomorphological and land-use terms, it is impossible to
reconstruct the environment of a thousand years ago.9 This being the
case, reconstruction under the D.D.B.R.A. becomes itself a tool of exer­
cising control, not least through the zoning of the territory. The implicit
assumption of reconstruction is that a humanized delta is not a natural
one, and therefore has less value. As we demonstrated through our
discussion of toponyms, the Delta has been used and modified for as long
as it has been inhabited. Fishermen used to hand-dig channels for fishing
and gathering reeds, small systems of levees were built for fishing, and
9
The issue of the exact baseline used for restoration work is only ever
implicitly tackled. The usual target for such projects is a pre-disturbance state,
but this kind of state is impossible to determine in an area of such geomor­
phological and social dynamism.
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu
animal husbandry (exemplifies through the network of roads we iden­
tified) had an impact on the territory.
The ways in which locals use their territories has also adapted past
anthropic impact to current needs. For example, planted forests are now
an integral part of local land use. In the region of the Sfa ^ntu Gheorghe
village, the artificial forest is used by locals for gathering forest products
as well as harvesting animals. Under the current ecological regime, the
forest is strictly protected, and therefore the ways in which locals have
adapted to its existence is delegitimized and criminalized. There is a
contradiction between the pre-disturbance baselines used for ecological
restoration and the strict protection of forests planted in the 20th cen­
tury. Nowhere is the Danube Delta conceptualized, and governed, as the
human-ecological creation it is.
As Fig. 6 exemplifies, the conceptualization of the delta under the
ecological regime tends towards a dichotomous territory: naturalized
areas, and zones of exception. The naturalized areas are those that come
under the protectionist impulse of ecological modernism. These make
little use of historical distinctions, treating planted forests and remote
lakes as equivalent inasmuch as human inhabitants are forbidden from
accessing them. The zones of exception, on the other hand, are those
where humans are permitted to exist (villages and economic areas), but
the exceptional nature of these places comes precisely from their being
human-inclusive. The Danube Delta as a Biosphere Reserves therefore
comes to be understood, and governed, as a natural regime with spaces
sacrificed to human habitation. One of the results of this way of thinking
is that local populations are cut off, legally speaking, from the wider
delta that has always supported their activities and ways of life. As van
Assche et al., 2012 put it, “[D.D.B.R.A.‘s] focus is still conservation and
control, and inclusion of local perspective on the Delta and its devel­
opment is structurally difficult and unlikely”.
The agenda of D.D.B.R.A., understood as the latest episode in the
extension and wielding of state power in a marginal territory, reveals the
way is which extreme forms of interventionism can mutate from engi­
neering to administrative modes. The Romanian state, member of the
European Union since 2007 and member in good standing of all relevant
international governance bodies, can no longer be seen to exercise the
kind of authoritarian, resource-intensive power that it wielded in the
delta throughout the 20th century.
Instead, it has embraced ecological modernization as the currently
efficient way of using its power. To this end, the delta has been reframed
as primarily an ecological space, where human influence has always
been negative. No distinction is made between local uses of the territory
and the large-scale technological transformation of the delta by the
state. This supposedly ecocentric ethic successfully hides powerful state
interests in the area (agricultural concessions, tourism operations, fish­
ing, reed exploitation) and very successfully marginalizes locals and
delegitimizes their own claims to the territory. Old traditional fishing
grounds are no longer accessible (at least not legally so), because they
are now part of a Biosphere Reserve that sees local fishermen as in­
terlopers (also see Dorondel and Mitroi, 2017). But far from actually
protecting fish stocks, on which little reliable data is available, these
measures are aimed at reinforcing the hierarchy that places state power
above local experience.
Prelz Oltramonti and Tanasescu (2019) and Dorondel and Mitroi
(2017) detailed the criminalization of informality, that is to say of
traditional livelihoods, in the specific case of fishing in the Danube
Delta. However, it is not only informal fishing practices that are crimi­
nalized, but a whole series of traditional activities related to general
livelihood. van Assche et al., 2012 argue that the local is constructed as
“scrutinized and silenced, exoticized, subjugated and marginalized”.
Prelz Oltramonti and Tanasescu (2019) detail how, “after powerful
storms come through the area – a relatively common occurrence in the
cold season – driftwood is washed on the wide sandy beaches of Sfa ^ntu
Gheorghe village, at the end of the southernmost branch of the Danube.
Villagers gather this wood to use for heating during the winter. Tech­
nically speaking, this is not allowed, because the beach is in the
11
Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324
administrative territory of the Biosphere Reserve” They continue: “wild
boar hunting in the nearby forest is not allowed, for similar reasons.
Allowing a cow to decompose where it died is also illegal, because it
needs to be cremated by the owner, regardless of there being no facilities
for doing this. Allowing cows to roam freely, which is in line with
traditional husbandry in the area, also leads one into illegality, because
cows know not the border between a strictly protected and a buffer area.
Burning reeds, another traditional activity, is not allowed without a
permit, which is never given” (p.62), though this does not mean that
locals cease to engage in any of these activities.
Most local activities are marginalized in this fashion, and the current
governance of the delta has successfully combined de jure criminaliza­
tion with de facto relaxed enforcement. During our collective years of
participant observation, we spoke many times with fishermen disgrun­
tled by the loss of their traditional fishing grounds and the ever-
changing maze of regulations that, they perceive, is designed specif­
ically to exclude them. One often repeated sentiment is that, for the
authorities, it would be better if there were no local inhabitants at all.
The Biosphere Reserve follows the top-down, fortress conservation
model that has been amply criticized for its exclusionary practices,
particularly in the African context (Büscher and Whande, 2007; Hutton
et al., 2005). Local residents do not meaningfully participate10 in the
governing of their own territories, and their significant ecological
knowledge seems of no use to the authorities (Dorondel and Mitroi,
2017).
Many locals have adapted to the new ecological regime by taking
advantage of tourism and the opportunities it brings. For locals
participating in the tourism industry, this means hosting tourists in their
homes, cooking traditional dishes, and increasingly investing into high-
speed boats that cut the travel time between the nearest city (Tulcea)
and the rest of the delta. Despite this adaptation, tourism exists in the
same grey area as all other local activities. Technically, access to strictly
protected areas (the ones that tourists want to see) is forbidden, yet
informal arrangements exist that de facto allow boats with powerful
engines to enter ecologically sensitive areas. The opportunity to move
towards co-management that tourism could have brought has been
largely missed, as the authorities keep their top-down version of
governance while the locals slip through the net of control in pursuing
profits from tourism. Needless to say, neither one nor the other strategy
is delivering particularly powerful environmental results.
During the intensive exploitation of the 20th century locals were
centrally organized by a state eager to use their labor power. This came
with benefits for locals in terms of service provision. Many local in­
habitants today remember fondly the organizing power of the state.
Fishermen recall how tools and boats were provided for them and how
they were organized in formidable fishing brigades. Men and women
worked at the local fish processing plant, now a ruin, and recall with
pride their individual records in packing caviar or salting fish. Medical
clinics, doctors, and the hospital in Sulina gave locals a sense that they
were not living at the end of the world.
Most state services have been withdrawn, to be replaced by a
vacuous guarantee of traditional economic activities. Given the human
ecological history of the Danube Delta that we have presented, it is clear
that the very notion of a traditional activity is fraught with uncertainty.
The governance regime of the delta does not consult with locals to
establish what might count as a traditional activity,11 and therefore this
category is used selectively to reinforce the power of the state.
10
There are mechanisms that, in theory, ensure local participation through
various forms of consultation. However, as all scholarly authorities cited
throughout this article demonstrate, these are not sufficient for meaningful
local participation. Agenda-setting remains a top-down exercise, and consul­
tations are more formal than substantive affairs.
11
See footnote 12 above. In particular, the meaning of ‘traditional economic
activity’ is not open to local contestation.
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu
Importantly, there is a strong moralizing element in outlawing practices
that locals themselves consider to be traditional: wild “boar hunting is
undeniably a traditional subsistence activity, but the authorities refer to
it as poaching, which not only has an implication of illegality, but also a
connotation of immorality” (Prelz Oltramonti and Tanasescu, 2019,
p.63). For local inhabitants, the delta as home has never been a reserve,
something to protect on the basis of natural processes devoid of humans,
but rather a difficult environment that they have expertly adapted to,
making use of all resources available.
Through the regulation of the deltaic space, local practices are
rendered invisible and therefore the new cartographical understanding
of the Danube Delta as a Biosphere Reserve (see Fig. 6) gives no inkling
as to the actual use of the territory. Maps depicting the different zones of
ecological protection make it seem as if there are clear borders between
core and buffer areas, for example. In fact, these are only administrative
borders that are only sometimes, and often erratically, enforced in
practice. Local inhabitants are often themselves unsure as to what the
status of an area is, in official terms, a situation paralleling the 20th
century coexistence of state-sanctioned and local toponyms.
The technology of administration is today geared towards repre­
senting the delta as a quintessentially natural space, a continuation of
the use of cartography for accomplishing the goals of power. Local in­
habitants have appropriated the use of modern technology to escape the
regulatory web of the state and continue their exploitation of the terri­
tory. For example, fishermen are in constant dialogue with each other
via mobile phones, thus announcing a possible check by the authorities
well before field agents are able to arrive at the target territory. A fishing
WhatsApp group is the perfect means of communication that allows
users to slip under the regulatory web of the state. Similarly, GPS
positioning is used to place tools and traps without visible external
markings, thus escaping state control.
Local adaptations to extensions of power from the center outward
have always been guided by the need to survive in a difficult environ­
ment. Pointing out that local inhabitants are not meaningful participants
in the governance of the territories they inhabit is not the same as
claiming that local behaviors are somehow inherently pro-
environmental. If anything, local adaptations to technological exten­
sions of power tend to be extractive in nature. The ecological agenda, as
we have argued throughout, pertains precisely to the expansion of state
power, and is not inherently shared by locals.
The current ecological regime uses modern technology to map,
control, and regulate the territory. The physical transformations of the
delta are driven by the effort to restore habitats, as detailed above. But
besides these efforts, territories are also transformed through the se­
lective use of dredging. Widening and deepening channels, of both
human and natural origin, used to be commonplace in the 20th century
when the primary use of state power was aimed at resource exploitation.
Before then, in the 18th and 19th centuries, locals themselves dug
channels and used them for gathering resources. In the ecological regime
dredging is used differently, namely to maintain the main navigable
branches. This use of dredging is geared towards maintaining the delta
as accessible to navigation and to outside networks of exchange (trade,
tourism, and so on). Local residents remember when lakes and channels
that they use for fishing were regularly dredged, for their benefit also,
and decry the lack of intervention of the current administration. Locals
would like the authorities to dredge channels and lakes more often so as
to stimulate water flow and increase the productivity of fishing grounds.
On the rare occasion when a dredging operation is initiated by the D.D.
B.R.A., locals have little idea as to the rationale behind it and are
therefore distrustful.
This local adaptation to technological state interventions has a his­
tory going back to at least the beginning of the 20th century, when under
the guidance of Antipa state fisheries made use of dredging in order to
increase water levels in the lakes and marshes that were most produc­
tive. Antipa successfully showed that these interventions did increase
the fish catch. The communist regime’s brutalist experiment had the
12
Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324
opposite effect, of decreasing fish quantities, but local inhabitants seem
to only correlate decreasing catch with the current ecological regime.
For example, fishermen of Sf^ antu Gheorghe regularly decry the loss of
Lejeai lake, now mere centimeters in depth. Not only is this lake silted to
such an extent that it is no longer productive, but it is also strictly
protected and therefore off limits to locals. From a local perspective, a
traditional fishing ground – Lejeai lake – has been protected to death,
and they can do nothing to change its fate. The interventionism of locals,
one of the longest standing traditions in their metabolism with the
environment, is frustrated by the lack of access to key territories. Resi­
dents are forced into passivity through an administrative apparatus that
projects power through its strategic regulatory behavior.
5. Concluding remarks
By detailing the history of the state exercise of power in the Danube
Delta, we have shown how a human-ecological history is always hidden
behind the dominant interests of power. In the 19th century, the delta
was primarily a borderland to be secured. In the 20th century, a rich
ground to be exploited, while in the 21st it is an ecological wonder to be
protected. Throughout these phases, the delta is incorporated within
networks of state power through different means. The first phase
described implied the mapping of the territory and the building of ar­
tillery battery and guard outposts. The second phase implied a literal
simplification of the environment, while the third and current implies a
strict zoning policy that restricts access to certain areas while crimi­
nalizing most local activities, everywhere. All of these historical stages
are themselves drivers of environmental change.
These massive, historical transformations have always been in play
with the local uses of the territory. In the 19th century, locals used the
new interest in their territories to gain employment, while maintaining
independent livelihoods in the heart of the delta. In the 20th century,
locals benefitted from service provisions while using their ecological
knowledge to aid the state in resource exploitation. Nowadays, locals are
reimagining their territories in ways that allows them to slip through the
web of regulations designed to exclude them from their homeland. The
technologies that the state uses to control the territory are best under­
stood as the interface between the state and the local population, sites of
contestation that either become resisted in practice, or incorporated into
a new kind of local experience and life. Importantly, the state controls
and models the territory equally through engineering and administra­
tive tools. The large-scale transformation of the territory is achieved just
as much through regulation as through dredgers.
From this perspective, the notion of a ‘traditional lifestyle’ is
vacuous. Locals have always taken from the technology of power what
they saw fit. For example, they have uniformly embraced outboard en­
gines, and nobody complains that, through the shortening of channels, it
takes less time to travel to key destinations. Similarly, local inhabitants
have never conceptualized the delta as an ecological whole to be set
aside and protected through non-intervention. They have therefore
incorporated the state’s interventions in modifying the physical land­
scape quite profoundly, being generally supportive of intervening in the
natural order of the delta in order to reap benefits for themselves. The
idea of a ‘traditional lifestyle’ betrays an Arcadian imagination of the
territory with no historical basis. Importantly, this fiction bolsters the
idea of the Danube Delta as an ecological marvel to be set aside and
protected, and therefore the very notion of a traditional lifestyle is
complicit in the current governing of the territory and in its modifica­
tion. This insight might be particularly relevant to the construction of
protected areas elsewhere, where locals are either excluded or else
falsely portrayed as inherent guardians of nature.
We have showed how, in the case of the Danube Delta, the history of
environmental transformation is at the intersection of competing forces
and scales. A similar cartographic analysis, complemented with field
work and historical data, can help in demystifying the idea that there are
truly natural areas, where environmental change is simply driven by
M. T�
an�
asescu and S. Constantinescu
natural processes. Instead, we suggest that a mixture of local practices,
state power, and technological innovation is always in play with natural
processes, thus rendering long-term environmental change a matter of
relative advantage between these general forces. Lastly, we think that a
more veridical historical and cartographic analysis of protected areas is
an indispensable basis for improving their governance.
Declaration of competing interest
The authors declare that they have no known competing financial
interests or personal relationships that could have appeared to influence
the work reported in this paper.
CRediT authorship contribution statement
Mihnea Ta �na
�sescu: Conceptualization, Methodology, Writing - re­
view & editing, Funding acquisition, Writing - original draft. Stefan
Constantinescu: Data curation, Software, Visualization, Writing -
original draft.
Acknowledgments
This research was made possible with the generous support of the
Research Foundation Flanders (FWO), Belgium, grant number
FWOTM756.
Appendix A. Supplementary data
Supplementary data to this article can be found online at https://doi.
org/10.1016/j.jenvman.2020.110324.
References
Akerman, J.R., 2009. The imperial map: cartography and the mastery of empire. The
Kenneth Nebenzahl, Jr., Lectures in the History of Cartography. University of
Chicago Press, Chicago.
Antipa, G., 1895. Studii asupra pesc� ariilor din Rom� ania. Imprimeria Statului.
Ardeleanu, C., 2011. The European commission of the Danube and the results of its
technical and administrative activity on the safety of navigation, 1856–1914. Int. J.
Marit. Hist. 23, 73–94. https://doi.org/10.1177/084387141102300106.
Blackbourn, D., 2007. The Conquest of Nature: Water, Landscape, and the Making of
Modern Germany, 1. Publ. As a Norton Paperback. Norton, New York, NY.
Boia, L., 2017. ^In jurul Marii Uniri de la 1918: natiuni, frontiere, minorit�
ari. Humanitas,
Bucuresti.
Budileanu, M., 2013. Evolution of the Sulina mouth bar (Danube river). Rev. Geomorfol.
49–55.
Büscher, B., Whande, W., 2007. Whims of the winds of time? Emerging trends in
biodiversity conservation and protected area management. Conserv. Soc. 5 (1),
22–43.
Cioc, M., 2002. The Rhine: an Eco-Biography, 1815-2000. Weyerhaeuser environmental
books. University of Washington Press, Seattle.
Constantinescu, Ș., T� an�asescu, M., 2018. Simplifying a deltaic labyrinth: anthropogenic
imprint on river deltas. Rev. Geomorfol. 66–78. https://doi.org/10.21094/rg.2018.
023.
Constantinescu, Ș., 2016. Anthropogenic Intervention in Danube Delta: a Diachronic
Perspective. Presented at the Black Sea from Space, Constanța.
Constantinescu, Ș., 2014a. Toponimie deltaic� a comparat�a. In: Universitar�
a, Bucuresti, p.
(Eds.), Geografia M� arilor Și Oceanelor Din Perspectiva Geomaticii, p. 162.
Constantinescu, Ș., 2014b. Various approaches to the Danube delta: from maps to reality.
The Bio-Politics of the Danube Delta. Nature, History, Policies. Lexington Books,
p. 482.
Constantinescu, Ș., Giosan, L., Vespremeanu-Stroe, A., 2010. A cartographical
perspective to the engineering works at the Sulina mouth, the Danube Delta. Acta
Geod. Geophys. Hung. 45, 71–79. https://doi.org/10.1556/AGeod.45.2010.1.11.
D�
anescu, G., 1896. Dicționarul geografic, statistic și istoric al județului Tulcea.
Stabilimentul Grafic I. V. Socecu, București.
D.D.B.R.A. Danube Delta Biosphere Reserve Authority, 2019. Reconstrucţie Ecologic� a ^In
Rezervaţia Biosferei Delta Dun� arii accessed. http://www.ddbra.ro/administratia
/dezvoltare-programe-i-proiecte/reconstructie-ecologica-in-rezervatia-biosferei-d
elta-dunarii-a732. (Accessed 8 May 2019).
13
Journal of Environmental Management 262 (2020) 110324
Docan, N., 1914. Exploratiuni Austriece pe Dunare la sfarsitul veacul al XVIII-lea. Analele
Academiei Romane, Memoriile Secțiunii Istorice Seria II.
Dorondel, Ș., 2005. The “Voices” of the Romanian integration into EU: land and
environmental practices in a village from Dobrudja. Anthropol. East Eur. Rev. 23,
30–40.
Dorondel, Ș, Mitroi, V., 2017. Nature, state and conservation in the Danube Delta:
turning fishermen into outlaws. The Nature State: Rethinking the History of
Conservation. Routledge, Routledge Environmental Humanities. ROUTLEDGE.
Edney, M., 2009. The irony of imperial mapping. The Imperial Map: Cartography and the
Mastery of Empire. University of Chicago Press, Chicago.
Elden, S., 2013. Secure the volume: vertical geopolitics and the depth of power. Polit.
Geogr. 34, 35–51. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.polgeo.2012.12.009.
Enachescu, V.-A., 2013. Understanding multicultural dobrogea. J. Community Posit.
Pract. XIII 108–115.
Gatejel, L., 2018. Building a better passage to the sea: engineering and river management
at the mouth of the Danube, 1829–61. Technol. Cult. 59, 925–953. https://doi.org/
10.1353/tech.2018.0091.
Gatejel, L., 2017. Imperial cooperation at the margins of Europe: the European
commission of the Danube, 1856–65. Eur. Rev. Hist. 24, 781–800. https://doi.org/
10.1080/13507486.2017.1292218.
Gatejel, L., 2016. Overcoming the iron gates: Austrian transport and river regulation on
the lower Danube, 1830s–1840s. Cent. Eur. Hist. 49, 162–180. https://doi.org/
10.1017/S0008938916000327.
Giosan, L., Constantinescu, Ș., Filip, F., Deng, B., 2013. Maintenance of large deltas
through channelization: nature vs. humans in the Danube delta. Anth 1, 35–45.
https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ancene.2013.09.001.
Giosan, L., Coolen, M.J.L., Kaplan, J.O., Constantinescu, Ș., Filip, F., Filipova-
Marinova, M., Kettner, A.J., Thom, N., 2012. Early anthropogenic transformation of
the Danube-Black Sea system. Sci. Rep. 2 https://doi.org/10.1038/srep00582.
Hutton, J., Adams, W.M., Murombedzi, J.C., 2005. Back to the barriers? Changing
narratives in biodiversity conservation. In: Forum for Development Studies, 32, No.
2. Taylor & Francis, pp. 341–370.
Iordachi, C., 2001. The California of the Romanians: the Integration of Northern
Dobrogea into Romania, 1878–1913. Nation-Building and Contested Identities:
Romanian and Hungarian Case Studies, pp. 121–152.
Iordachi, C., Assche, K.V. (Eds.), 2015. The Biopolitics of the Danube Delta: Nature,
History, Policies. Lexington Books, Lanham, Maryland.
Karpat, K., 1985. Ottoman Population. Demographic and Social Characteristic. The
University of WIsconsin Press.
Netta, G., 1930. Expansiunea economica a Austriei si explorarile ei Orientale. Cartea
Rom^ aneasc� a, București.
Popescu-Spineni, M., 1978. Romania in izvoare geografice si cartografice: din antichitate
pina in pragul veacului nostru. Editura Stiintifica si Enciclopedica, București.
Prelz Oltramonti, G., Tanasescu, M., 2019. The criminalization of informal practices in
the Danube delta: how and why. In: Polese, A., Russo, A., Strazzari, F. (Eds.),
Governance beyond the Law. Springer International Publishing, Cham, pp. 49–65.
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-05039-9_3.
Pritchard, S.B., 2011. Confluence: the Nature of Technology and the Remaking of the
Rh^one, Harvard Historical Studies. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass.
Rudescu, L., Niculescu, C., Chivu, I.P., 1965. Monografia Stufului Din Delta Dunarii.
Editura Academiei Republicii Socialiste Romania, București.
Scott, J.C., 2008. In: Nachdr (Ed.), Seeing like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve
the Human Condition Have Failed. Yale Univ. Press, New Haven, Conn. Yale
agrarian studies.
Stanciu, Ș., 2002. Rom^ ania Și Comisia European� a a Dun� arii: Diplomație, Suveranitate,
Cooperare Internațional� a. Editura Pax Aura Mundi.
van Assche, K., Bell, S., Teampau, P., 2012. Traumatic natures of the swamp: concepts of
nature in the Romanian Danube delta. Environ. Val. 21, 163–183. https://doi.org/
10.3197/096327112X13303670567297.
Van Assche, K., Beunen, R., Jacobs, J., Teampau, P., 2011a. Crossing trails in the
marshes: rigidity and flexibility in the governance of the Danube Delta. J. Environ.
Plann. Mann. 54, 997–1018. https://doi.org/10.1080/09640568.2010.547687.
Van Assche, K., Duineveld, M., Beunen, R., Teampau, P., 2011b. Delineating locals:
transformations of knowledge/power and the governance of the Danube delta.
J. Environ. Pol. Plann. 13, 1–21. https://doi.org/10.1080/1523908X.2011.559087.
Van Assche, K., Devlieger, P., Teampau, P., Verschraegen, G., 2009. Forgetting and
remembering in the margins: constructing past and future in the Romanian Danube
Delta. Mem. Stud. 2, 211–234. https://doi.org/10.1177/1750698008102053.
Vespremeanu, E., 1984. Morphological and morphodynamic aspects of the submarine
relief in front of the Danube Delta. Rev. Roum. g�eologie, g� eophysique g�eographie
79–84.
Vespremeanu, E., 1983. Geomorphological evolution of the Sf. Gheorghe arm mouth in
the last 200 years. Rev. Roum. g�eologie, g�eophysique g� eographie 61–68.
Vespremeanu-Stroe, A., Constantinescu, tefan, T� atui, F., Giosan, L., 2007. Multi-decadal
evolution and north atlantic oscillation influences on the dynamics of the Danube
delta shoreline. J. Coast Res. 157–162.
The Nature State: Rethinking the History of Conservation. In: von Hardenberg, W.G.,
Kelly, M., Leal, C., Wakild, E. (Eds.), 2017. Routledge.